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Bertram could well imagine not, for there was nowhere his son had to be except within the safe confines of Rose Manor.
“Very well, we shall take a short ride. But Papa is tired, all right? So we shall be back soon.”
George nodded vigorously, his blond curls, so like his mother’s, flying every which way. “Yes, Papa.”
Bertram smiled at the boy, smoothing back his hair affectionately, eyes lighting on his apple-cheeked plumpness. “Mrs. Haversham tells me you made a new friend.”
George’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Friend?”
“Yes, I hear she bakes you cakes and biscuits, and so many other desserts.”
His son’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you mean Miss Strange? Yes, she bakes the most delicious food. You’ll see.” He jumped up and down with enthusiasm. “Today she’s baking me something new. It is a surprise.” He wiggled excitedly on his seat. “I can’t wait.”
Bertram smiled indulgently. “It sounds like you have her firmly wrapped around your finger.”
George gave him a strange look, as if he was speaking gibberish. He stuck his head out of the window, letting the wind caress his face as he enjoyed the passing scenery. Bertram watched him, a tender smile on his face, marveling at how much bigger he’d grown in just three weeks.
My little boy is becoming a young man.
He felt a stab of pain in his chest, as he reflected on how much of his son’s life he was missing.
This war needs to end.
He sighed, looking outside his own window and relishing the few minutes of respite where he had nothing to do but accompany his son on this joyride. They drew back up to the house and he helped George out while the butler got the rest of his bags. A woman hurried out of the house, coming to the carriage and taking his bag of documents. All his servants should know better than to touch that bag.
“Excuse me, leave that,” Bertram said sharply.
The woman stopped, jumping as if startled, and turned to stare at him with the most intense gray eyes he’d ever seen. Her chestnut hair was uncovered and cascaded down her back in silky tresses. She was really too beautiful for a servant. A woman like her would have made a fortune at the theatre.
“Who are you?” he demanded, knowing for sure he had never seen her before.
She curtsied clumsily. “Jacqueline Letty Strange at your service, sir. People just call me Letty.”
His eyes narrowed. “Strange, you say? Isn’t that a French name?”
“Perhaps, sir, I do not know. I was brought up by my mother and she made no mention of where we got the name.”
Her dark, silky, long lashes dropped demurely to shield her eyes from his view and he felt a moment’s regret at that. Taking a deep breath, he looked around, having forgotten for a moment that they were not alone.
“Miss Jacqueline! May I have my surprise now?” George tugged at her apron, exposing just a little more of the silky-smooth, creamy skin of her ample cleavage. Bertram blinked, looking away. It would not do for him to be lusting after his own staff.
“Not yet, my sweet boy. You have to wait a bit longer.” Her voice was smoother, sweeter, when she spoke to George. Bertram wondered if he scared her. Perhaps the woman thought she might lose her position now that he was back. After all, she had managed to inveigle herself into his household during his absence. Perhapsthatwas the source of her eagerness in reaching for his personal belongings and not something more nefarious.
I mustn’t be so suspicious.
He pinned a smile on his face. “George tells me you’re quite the baker.”
She looked up at him and smiled, and for a moment, it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds. “Yes, I believe I am a good baker. How precipitous it is that you have come today when I am making something utterly delicious.”
“What is it?”
“Chocolate gateau.” She beamed at him again, the hint of dimples showing in her cheeks.
Bertram’s eyes narrowed again. “Really? Is that not a French dish?”
Her smile disappeared. “Well…perhaps. My mother taught me how to make it.”
“I thought you said your mother did not know where you came from.”
