Page 11 of An Engagement with the Enemy

Her father cleared his throat and changed the topic of conversation, injecting cheer into his next words. “I have had word from Tom.”

Jessica usually brightened at the mere mention of her brother’s name. This time, she barely managed a smile. “How go his studies? His apprenticeship?”

“Well enough, though you know how impatient he is.” Her father’s fond smile held no real disapproval. “He doesn’t want to wait another three years to be called to the bar for his examination, even though he has much yet to learn. But here is the real news, my dear. Tom is coming home, mid-July.”

With a gasp of delight, Jessica put her utensils down. “Truly? How long will he be allowed to stay?”

“Possibly through the whole of August. Mr. Cassidy’s wife persuaded him to take their family to the seaside.” Her father tapped the table. “That is why I waited for you at the table. I knew you would want this good news as soon as possible.”

The barrister who had taken on Tom’s training and support during his education was a younger son of a noble family, and he’d turned to law to make his own way in the world. He’d been an excellent mentor to Tom, or so it seemed from what Tom had shared with his family. The generous leave granted her brother made Jessica even more disposed to like the man of law.

“I am delighted. Tom is always excellent company, and he livens up every event he attends.” Tom’s presence in their home might also distract their father from his sudden desire for Jessica to find a husband.

“Undoubtedly.” Mr. Westcote rose from the table. “Will you accompany me to Amoret? I think I will walk. The day promises fine weather. You may visit with Miss Aldwick while I do what I can to cheer up her father.” His eyes, a lovely blue Jessica very much wished she’d inherited, sparkled with amusement.

“Yes, please. After I finish breakfast, I will change my shoes and find you.” The castle was less than a mile when they took the path across the properties rather than the road. “Perhaps we will find the household cheerful rather than disappointed,” she added thoughtfully. “They may be glad to be rid of Lady Emily. I don’t think anyone will miss her company, in truth. I cannot imagine them wishing her to stay longer, let alone become a member of the family.”

Mr. Westcote tucked his book beneath his arm and kissed his daughter on her forehead. “Let us hope they view the situation in a positive light.”

He left the room with a thoughtful expression, and Jessica gave her full attention to the breakfast that had turned completely cold. She winced and gave a pleading glance to one of the footmen in attendance.

“Would you bring me a fresh pot of tea?”

Cold pastries were not the end of the world. Nor was room-temperature bacon. But Jessica couldn’t abide tepid tea. She shuddered and moved her cup away. Tea ought to be warm and strong, especially when needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

When the tea at last steamed from her cup, Jessica held the little vessel by both handles directly beneath her nose. She loved the two-handled teacups that had belonged to her mother. She’d seen cups with no handles, and some with as many as four, but two seemed the perfect amount. It let one hold the soothing concoction in both hands, dedicating their full attention to a drink that soothed as often as it sharpened the mind.

She took a deep breath in and sighed happily. Jessica frequently found that the ritual of savoring her tea calmed her thoughts her and helped her achieve mental clarity and focus.

Especially when her heart and mind were filled with anxiety.

The vise around her heart loosened somewhat, as did the ache in her temples, as she let her breathing slow. She didn’t feel fully prepared to take upon herself the tasks and decisions that awaited her. Pleasant and unpleasant alike.

The prospect of marriage most certainly fell into the latter category. She didn’t want to marry. Because she didn’t want to burden anyone with the parts of her she tried to keep hidden. She wouldn’t suffer herself to be a lifelong companion to someone who viewed her as excess baggage or some fragile, breakable thing kept behind glass.

This was all James Alwick’s fault.

A new reason to loathe James, even though she well knew it was not precisely his doing that her father had brought up the idea of marriage. Because he was expected to marry, she was expected to look for her own suitor. Why did he have to ruin everything merely by his presence?

She finished her tea.

“This will not do,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at the dregs left in her cup. She had heard of people who read fortunes in tea leaves. Sadly, she was not possessed of such a skill. Nor were there any leaves in her cup for her to try.

The tea had still done its job. Even though she hadn’t any clear answers, her heart and breathing had calmed. She could consider the problem rationally. If she found a way to prove to her father that no one wanted her for a wife, or that she could survive without the protection of a husband, everything could return to normal.

CHAPTER FIVE

The gardens at Amoret Castle stretched northward in a long rectangle with high walls between the garden and a public road. Trees on both sides of that wall had grown to such a height as to have branches both escaping from and intruding upon the grounds. As a boy of eight, James had spent a prodigious amount of time one summer discovering which trees were best for climbing and which branches were best used for making a sneaky exit from his family’s lands.

Today, he hadn’t fled the grounds entirely. Merely climbed up one of his favorite trees on the castle’s side of the wall and tucked himself into the safety of the branches as though he wasn’t a man of eight-and-twenty. Yet he felt no shame as he settled his shoulders against the trunk and let his legs fall to either side of the branch.

Though his position wasn’t the least bit dignified, James relaxed for the first time in days. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, enjoying the rich scent of the tree, its leaves, the earth below, and the unique scent of a summer’s day drenched in sunlight and softened by the occasional breeze from the direction of the lake.

That boy of eight had imagined that this tree in particular was the most special, the best of them all, not merely due to its ease of climbing. No, this tree was more than that. It was the ancient guardian of them all, looking after the land as a shepherd looked after its flock. Or so the boy James had pretended.

James let out a soft sigh, finally allowing his thoughts to form words. He spoke in hushed tones, as if confiding in a trusted friend.

“You know, old friend,” he began, his voice carrying a touch of wistfulness, “there are moments when I long for the simplicity of childhood. The days when climbing trees and riding imaginary creatures were the grandest adventures of my world.”