Page 54 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

Sutton had directed the preparations with his usual good cheer, and they had made the rest of the house ready with the aid of villagers eager to put extra coin in their purses. Andrew wasn’t in residence often, and with only one man to wait upon, the castle hadn’t had a full staff in years.

“A charming way to spend an afternoon, Sir Andrew, I must say.” Mrs. Hepsworth spoke with her usual tone of self-importance and bluster. “The invitation delighted us, did it not?” She turned to her daughters, arrayed on the rug around her, along with Isabelle and Rosalind.

Andrew tried to show attention to all his guests while keeping an eye on Josephine. She sat on a rug, a cushion beneath her, with her grandmother on one side and Lord Hartwell on the other. He could’ve done without Hartwell’s nearness, but Andrew satisfied himself that Josephine smiled as bright as the spring sunshine.

“I am pleased you could come, Mrs. Hepsworth.” Andrew bowed at the waist, prepared to move on, when Miss Hannah waved her dainty hand at him.

“Oh, Sir Andrew,” she half-whispered to him. “Do tell us more about your other guests. We have never met Lord Hartwell or his brother until today. Do you know them well?” Her eyes cut to the others.

Andrew crouched down to bring him into an easier speaking distance with the young woman, whose admiration of the baron wasn’t at all surprising. The Hepsworth ladies had always set their sights on highborn men. “Hartwell is an old school chum. Farleigh and I have known him for years. His brother is a few years younger.”

“How very interesting. And they reside in York?”

“Most of the time, yes. Indeed, they prefer York to London.” If Andrew expected that to mark the other men with disfavor for the young women, he saw at once that it didn’t dissuade them at all.

“A baron,” Miss Hepsworth, the betrothed sister, said with a gleeful wave of her fan. “Think on it, Hannah.”

The youngest Hepsworth sister, Elspeth, actually met Andrew’s eyes and winced. She mouthed the word, “Sorry,” and Andrew’s estimation of Isabelle and Rosalind’s young friend went upward. He rose and went next to the gathering of chairs beside the stream where the rector, Mr. Wood, spoke with Andrew’s invited neighbors.

The Pratts had brought their children—little boys who had taken one look at Hartwell’s massive dogs and fallen in love with the beasts. Hartwell had readily given the boys permission to play with the dogs, though Lyness had followed after the enthusiastic children and animals, doubtless to keep watch.

Simon shifted from group to group like Andrew, speaking with everyone, as the duke would if he were present. The duke’s heir never really took a day away from his responsibilities, present or future. It was something Andrew had noticed years before, and the reason why he tried to involve Simon in as much of his mischief as possible.

As for his current mischief… It had an entirely different purpose. He cast his gaze toward Josephine as often as he could without appearing obvious about it. At last, he circled back to her, and here he meant to settle for a time. He sat across the old rug from Josephine.

“There you are, Sir Andrew.” She raised that single eyebrow at him, a thing that he adored even as it drove him mad. “How do your duties as a host suit this afternoon?”

He didn’t bother hiding his grin from her. “Well enough. I cannot think why you always boast of your abilities in this area, my lady. It’s a simple feat to entertain pleasant company.”

“Ah, that explains your ease.” Her blue eyes, a perfect compliment to her gown, twinkled with amusement. “Pleasant company always provides for a delightful occasion. It is when one must also juggle the unpleasant company that hostessing becomes a challenge.”

Hartwell edged into their conversation. “Sir Andrew is fortunate in his guests, especially with you as the guest of honor.”

Andrew watched as Josephine lowered her gaze a moment, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. Because of Hartwell? Usually, her blushes came and went during his spats with her. Uncertainty pricked his heart.

“I think we have a good assortment here,” Andrew said, taking in the people talking and laughing, and the Hepsworth sisters conspiring. “A pleasant, informal gathering of friends. And the fine weather I ordered turned out as planned.”

Josephine scoffed. “You cannot take credit for the weather.”

“Are they always like this?” Hartwell said, sotto voce, to Simon.

“Always.” Simon took another drink of his wine.

Andrew ignored them both. “Why shouldn’t I take credit? I wished it fine, and here it is. A sunny morning and afternoon, just the right touch of clouds to speckle the sky, and a crisp breeze—”

“Will you claim the green of the grass was your idea, too?” Josephine wrinkled her nose at him, though that playful light remained in her eyes. This was a new sort of debate. A more pleasant one, too. In which neither of them need win. The fun was all in the argument. “Or perhaps the butterflies?”

“I ordered them painted white and green myself, yes.” He gestured to the meadow. “And the birdsong was specially orchestrated to complement the meal.”

“Ridiculous children.” The dowager duchess tutted and rose from her chair, sending Hartwell, Simon, and Andrew scrambling to their feet. “Andrew, I am going inside your house. This spring air is all well and good for you young people, but I had rather enjoy the cool indoors. Thank you for the picnic.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Andrew bowed. “May I escort you inside?”

“No. Sterling will do.” She looked to the edge of the group, where the guard stood as though waiting for command. In reality, he kept watch over the scene with eyes as sharp as a falcon’s. He saw the dowager duchess’s gesture and came at once, offering his arm as support to lead her back to the house, where he would stay and keep watch while the other guards remained in the meadow.

Miss Hannah slipped from her place to Her Grace’s vacated seat, the opportunity too good for her to resist. Andrew didn’t grimace, though he and Josephine exchanged a glance. He caught Simon edging backward, too.

“Isn’t this just the most delightful afternoon?” Miss Hannah asked, her voice taking on a saccharine quality that Andrew had heard her use before. On Simon. But this time, the young woman’s sights were set on the baron.