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“Musgrave is a good chap, and trustworthy. And yes, you were prescient in smoothing his path.” He held up the missive. “I have here a letter from the man himself, and he hopes to arrive in the not-too-distant future.”
“How good it will be for you to have a friend.”
He placed the letter on the table nearby. “I confess it will be nice to swap stories with someone whom I need not scruple to own my identity.”
“And he will keep your secret?”
“I rather think he will consider it a good jest. Though he might prefer to see me called Billy Willikins,” he mused.
She chuckled. “You mistake, sir. It is Willie Dillikins. Although the odds of two such men being called that in this area are extremely unlikely.”
“I would certainly hope so.”
She bit her lip to stop her smile.
His gaze, which a moment ago had seemed so alive with amusement, now seemed to have softened into regret.
“What is it, sir?”
“Miss Stapleton, truly I did not mean to get you into such a mess. I would have owned the truth last night save for the fact he seemed so eager for me to be but a servant.”
Guilt wove within. “That might have been encouraged a little by myself. I might have implied you were.”
“So you do dissemble, then.”
“Sometimes, Mr. Daniel, we must do what we must.”
He laughed. “Still, I cannot like it. I shall have to one day soon own to the truth of who I am.”
“Why?”
“‘To tell truth and shame the devil’?” he suggested.
Her lips lifted in appreciation. “By that remark, do you mean we should satisfy the scruples of Mr. Bellingham? I do not think such things are necessary, do you?”
“But your reputation—”
“My reputation has long been that of an honest, God-fearing woman with an unfortunate propensity to common sense. If people choose to sully their minds with idle speculation that suggests otherwise, then, frankly, I have no inclination to alter my actions to pander to such narrow-minded morality.”
“While such a view is noble, I cannot dislike feeling I will be responsible for impairing your marital prospects once the truth is known.”
Her laughter rippled.
He stared at her. “How have I amused?”
“Oh, it is not you, sir. I simply appreciate that you think I still have any marital prospects at all.” Her gaze grew wry. “This is not London. And even if I were still young, it is not as though we live surrounded by eligible gentlemen wishing to toss the handkerchief.”
“I fear you do yourself much disservice, Miss Stapleton.”
Did he really think her a fine catch? “And I fear you might be a trifle addled in your wits, sir, to think otherwise. However that’s probably a reaction to the medication,” she added kindly.
He studied her for a long moment, until she grew uncomfortable and wondered what he was thinking.
No. Enough of this foolishness. She needed to get back to work. To attend to the household and the garden and to busy herself with good deeds. He disconcerted her, this man, with his too-discerning eyes and his too-quick and charming smile. She found herself far too easily succumbing to his charm, charm that lived in his jovial nature and ready wits, charm that made her feel younger and prettier than she could ever recall before. Charm that suggested her days as one destined to be overlooked were over, and perhaps she need not think of herself as a wallflower any longer.
Daniel’s smile lingered after she gently closed the door, though the room seemed to at once hold less of the morning light. He was not used to encountering a lady who made him wonder about the exact color of her eyes, or how many freckles adorned her nose, or what secrets quirked her soft, sweet lips. Most young ladies he’d met were all too eager to divulge their every thought, many of which would have been better left unsaid. For what could a man of war have in common with a lady whose idea of conversation was about the color of a shawl? His life in the army had hardened him to female concerns. His time in London had inured him to feminine wiles, and rare was the social encounter that didn’t leave him at the edge of utter boredom. Yet this young lady …
But no. He had no time for such contemplations, especially not if the remaining letter contained the news he hoped it would.
