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Boxby tried to keep from laughing, he truly did. His head still throbbed and laughing would hurt like hell, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never had siblings other than Emily, and he rather enjoyed all the raucous behavior of the Smiths.
“Your motives are crystal clear,” he answered as he pointedly ignored Gris. “Now tell me, my lady. What shall we discuss today? The finer points of serving tea?”
A rather harried-looking woman came into the room carrying a tray. Clearly, she was the cook or kitchen maid by her simple dress and apron.
Mirabelle cleared her throat as she leaned over to whisper. “We don’t have many servants.”
Ken’s mouth tightened as she winced. He was well aware that the Smiths had been struggling until very recently and he didn’t care in the least. But how did he tell Mirabelle that other prospective suitors might? They might mind her gruff brothers, her address, her lack of hired staff.
He thought of her plan. It was nearly impossible for her to execute under the current conditions. A man, like Ace, could wear the clothes, remain stoically silent, and everyone would be fooled.
But for Mirabelle… “What questions do you have for me today?”
Mirabelle tapped her chin before she rose and began to pour everyone cups of steaming tea, serving each guest with skill and beauty.
He was impressed.
As she sat next to him again, a soft and shy smile played about her lips. “I think I should prefer if we just continue with conversation. It’s good practice.”
He gave a quick nod, taking a needed sip of the hot liquid, so glad to have something other than the coffee that had been served in the kitchen. Though, it had helped.
Over the next half hour, they discussed books, though they hadn’t read many of the same; the weather; an upcoming ball; and finally, his sister’s well-being, though it would seem the new couple had hardly left their quarters. A fact that did little to aid his original plan, though he wasn’t certain it still mattered. More and more, he knew that his plan to leave had always been foolish. The life of the rake had appeared enticing, but the truth was…Ken just wasn’t that sort of man.
By the end, Gris, who’d largely been silent, stared at his sister, truly perplexed. “This is what you aspire to?”
Ken dipped his head, though he wasn’t offended. Perhaps amused. The Smiths were hard, strong, uncompromising men and he was glad to know them.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Mirabelle huffed, her spine growing stiffer.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“Ace is a marquess. Some of us must act the part to support him.”
Gris shook his head. “What is the point of being a marquess if you have to act? The entire reason to be that powerful should be that people will need to be nice to you no matter what.”
Mirabelle blinked in surprise, but Ken leaned closer to her, catching a whiff of her delicious scent. “He has a point.”
“Does he?” Anna asked, a brow rising. “That would be a first.”
Ken rarely heard Anna jest and it was so unexpected that a laugh burst from his mouth, causing his head to give a painful throb.
Gris made a face at his sister but to Ken’s complete amazement, he didn’t make a single snide remark in reply. Instead, he looked at Mirabelle. “Is this tea over?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, then she looked at Ken, her eyes sparkling. “We’ve parlor games to play yet.”
“Games?” Gris asked, looking stricken.
Ken turned toward Mirabelle, subtly brushing her fingers with his. “I know this is your boon but perhaps we could play something more in keeping with Lord Griswald’s preferences. I can only assume that you don’t need help with Blind Man’s Bluff or Here Kitty, Kitty.”
Mirabelle shook her head. “I do not. What did you have in mind?”
“A game of cards perhaps? Bridge?”
“The only card games I know how to play are done in a gaming hell,” Gris said, looking between the two of them with a frown.
Ken looked from Mirabelle to Anna. Did they also know those games? He’d very much like to know what the Smiths could teach him about such things. He might not still wish to be a rake but that didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy Mirabelle’s more practical upbringing. He still wished to have the knowledge and grittiness of men like the Smiths. In many ways, he admired them far more than the men that filed his clubs.
“Gris,” Mirabelle chastised. “I’m attempting to learn to be a lady and ladies do not play such things.”
