Page 8 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

“My pleasure, Miss Darlington.” His eyes sparkled like the sea at his back, faint lines crinkling at the corners.

Heavens! Regina was right. Sir Jonathan was a fine sight, indeed.

Three

Jonathan and Xavier Vistoire walked behind the cart, the gap widening as the oxen pulled the load up a hill.

Jonathan’s reluctant companion nodded toward his walking stick. “Allow me to hazard a guess. You have a blade hidden inside.”

“One can never be too careful, Mr. Vistoire.”

His shrewd eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t agree more, especially when it comes to Englishmen.”

“Trust should be earned, so I take no offense. I cannot place your accent, sir. It’s not quite French.”

“Neither am I,” Mr. Vistoire said. “I come from the Louisiana territory, New Orleans.”

“Ah, still resentful about the skirmish a few years ago? Your side won the war. If anyone should be bitter…” He smiled sheepishly, hoping to lower the other man’s defenses.

Mr. Vistoire’s lips thinned. “My distrust stems from more recent events, monsieur.”

Jonathan nodded, considering his own troubles with his fellow countrymen. A traitor in the midst of the Regent’s men, a deplorable assignment that eroded his morals, and veiled threats against his former fiancée unless he toed the line.

“I don’t trust many Englishmen either,” he admitted. “We have that in common.”

Mr. Vistoire’s gaze was locked on his wife. “But we are not the same, non?”

Jonathan suppressed a sigh. His usual clumsy charm appeared to have no effect on the other man. Xavier Vistoire could be a problem.

The sisters leaned their heads close, sharing Miss Darlington’s parasol while Mrs. Vistoire peeled an orange. Deep furrows formed between her husband’s brows. The man was clearly worried by her marked fatigue and pallor.

“Orange and lemon trees grow at the villa,” Jonathan said. “After a few days of fresh-squeezed juice, your wife may recover from what ails her.”

The rigid set of Mr. Vistoire’s jaw softened marginally. “Do you suspect scurvy?”

“It happens on ships. I’m surprised you and your sister-in-law were spared.”

“Regina had no appetite. She couldn’t keep anything down, so she stopped eating very much.”

“Possibly started by seasickness,” Jonathan said. “I’ve seen it often on my journeys, but she should recover now that she is back on land.”

The other man kept pace with him as they climbed the steepest part of the hill, neither of them winded. Mr. Vistoire wouldn’t be easy to overcome in a fight unless Jonathan took him by surprise.

“Forgive me if I am overstepping,” Jonathan said, “but I noticed the ladies are traveling without a maid.”

“Oui, their ladies’ maid stayed in London to assist their younger sister. Miss Sophia is participating in the Season. I will hire a maid after we are settled.”

Husband hunting. Jonathan curled his fingers into a fist, then released it. Last year he’d returned to London to find a wife and build a family of his own, but once a Regent’s man, always a Regent’s man. And he had been reminded quickly there was only one way out—death.

“Most of the maids are Athenian and speak no English,” he said. “If you would like assistance translating during interviews, I offer up my services.”

“That would be helpful. Thank you, Sir Jonathan.”

“Call me Jonathan, or Hackberry if you prefer. I’ve never felt Sir was a good fit. It sounds stuffy.”

Mr. Vistoire smiled reluctantly and thrust out his hand. “Xavier.”

Jonathan gave it a firm shake. “You are welcome, Xavier. Perhaps one of Dom’s servants will fulfill the role of ladies’ maid this evening.”