Page 33 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

Then he went to the top of the steps and looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes bright and expression merry. “Watching you color up and grow flustered is one of my favorite amusements when I visit the castle.” Then he had the audacity to wink at her before disappearing down the steps.

Josephine growled in frustration. How dare he? She snatched up one of her cushions, ran to the top of the steps, and threw it after him, grazing his shoulder as he turned out of sight.

Her ill-aimed volley only made him laugh, and she felt the color he spoke of rising hotly into her cheeks.

Rather than stop to puzzle out why Andrew never failed to get a reaction from her when she could so easily wear her ladylike mask for everyone else, Josephine went to her desk and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil.

One ought never to annoy a writer, for who else could get their revenge in print?

CHAPTER 11

Breakfast at the duke’s table, in a room half the size of the formal dining room, seemed odd without the duke present. Even though they’d been at the castle for a fortnight with the head of the family still in London, Andrew couldn’t help glancing at the head of the table, from time to time, where the duke normally sat.

Simon had kept his usual place to the right of the duke’s chair, and Andrew couldn’t blame him. It couldn’t be easy for his friend, to know that one day he would lose his father and have to fill His Grace’s shoes. Even after nearly a decade as baronet, Andrew still hesitated to enter the rooms his father had once called his own.

Josephine hadn’t arrived at breakfast yet, but her sisters and their governess were in their usual places when the butler came into the room. He carried a silver tray, stacked high with folded missives. Invitations, letters, and solicitations for the ducal family.

“My lord, the post has arrived.”

“Excellent. Is there anything from Their Graces in London?”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler bowed as Simon accepted his correspondence. Then the butler made his way to Josephine’s place, where he left a folded letter, then he delivered similar letters to the duke’s other daughters. Finally, he made his way around the table to Andrew.

Andrew had a letter from his steward, as well as one from a friend in town asking him back to meet a cousin.

In the last few years, all his friends had started introducing him to their female relations. Usually under duress, with an aunt or mother forcing them to make those introductions. Thankfully, as a baronet, he wasn’t in near as much demand as someone of Simon’s standing.

He certainly had no interest in marriage at present. He could turn down the invitation without any remorse.

Simon interrupted Andrew’s letter-reading, saying with the raised voice of one making an announcement, “Hartwell is coming for a visit.”

The silence lasted half a breath. Then Simon’s younger sisters started making high-pitched sounds of excitement that made Andrew wince.

“Lord Hartwell? Coming here?”

“While Mama and Papa are away?”

“Grandmama is here, silly. It’s perfectly respectable.”

“Oh, but he’s so handsome.”

“How long is he staying?”

Josephine drifted into the room as her sisters began a volley of questions.

“When will he arrive?”

“Is his younger brother coming too?”

“Will we see them, or are they only hunting?”

Andrew met Josephine’s gaze as she arrived at her chair, her eyebrows raised. “What is all the excitement about?” She always sat beside him, and he across from Simon, at informal meals. The better that they might jab at one another with their words, if not their forks.

Her sisters chorused together, “Hartwell!”

Andrew watched Josephine’s lips curl with amusement, then he turned to look at Simon. “I don’t suppose they ever greet the news of my visits with such enthusiasm?”

Rosalind, the younger of the two schoolroom girls, snorted. “Of course not. You are like a brother to us.”