Page 43 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“Yes, miss.”

“Hmm,” Jean heard Lord Furness say behind her. “Rather the look of a superior lady’s maid.”

“I believe she is,” replied Lord Macklin. “I seem to recall seeing her at the Phillipsons’.”

“You were quicker than I expected,” Jean said. She was so glad to see Sarah.

“It seemed you wanted me to hurry.”

“Yes, I did.” Jean gazed at the two large trunks tied on the back of the chaise. “You’ve brought so much.”

“It was Mrs. Phillipson’s opinion that I should pack all your things.”

“Allmy things?” Jean was heartily sick of the clothes she had with her, but she hadn’t meant to abandon the Phillipson house altogether.

“Allher things?” Lord Furness echoed from the doorway.

Sarah handed Jean a note. She broke the wax seal, read it, and crumpled it in her hand. “What did you say to Mrs. Phillipson?” she asked Sarah. “She bids me farewell, sorry that my visit was so brief.”

“I said nothing about that, miss. Your letter put me in a flurry. I was packing when she came to speak to me. She said something about her grandson and then directed me to take everything. I did think that perhaps she’d heard from someone else down here.”

“Who?”

Sarah merely shook her head.

Jean marched back to the doorway. “Did you write to the Phillipsons?” she asked, including both noblemen in the question.

“I did,” said Lord Macklin. “As I would to any of my friends. The blandest of letters. I said nothing that would get you thrown out.”

“I haven’t beenthrown out!” Though in a beneficent way, perhaps she had been; she couldn’t easily return to the Phillipsons this spring. “I’ve been…inconvenienced, because you inserted yourself into my affairs.” She didn’t intend to share the rest of Mrs. Phillipson’s message, or to reveal the history of their negotiations over Geoffrey. “I wish you’d left well enough alone.” Jean was aware of Sarah’s curious, amused observation. And, even more, of Lord Furness’s steady gaze.

“I cannot believe that anything in my letter had this effect,” the older man replied.

Miss Saunders was pure delight when that fiery spirit was directed at someone else, Benjamin thought. Particularly someone like his uncle, whose assumption of omniscience was slightly inflated. In his opinion. How forceful she was! As well as extraordinarily pretty when her eyes snapped with indignation.

“If there is any question of propriety,” Uncle Arthur began, “I would be happy to write again.”

“No!”

He should have offered a simple apology, Benjamin thought. It was easy to see the wiser course when Miss Saunders’s ire was not directed at him.

“There isnosuch question,” she informed him. “And you promised you wouldn’t interfere again.”

“Again?” asked Benjamin. This was better than a play.

“I certainly won’t. But if I can set right any misunderstanding…”

She walked up to the older man. She might be inches shorter, Benjamin thought, but she made him draw back. “Iwill do any setting right that takes place,” she said. “Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.”

Silently, Benjamin urged his uncle to add an apology. Or more than one. Repetition was not unwelcome in such cases, he’d found. But Uncle Arthur only nodded. Miss Saunders looked at the waiting postilions. “Yes, all right, bring the trunks in,” she said.

At this order, Benjamin was struck by a mixture of excitement and apprehension. “Do you have nowhere to go?”

She went very still. The contrast between her previous animation and this sudden quiet was striking. “I have any number of places to go. Do you want the trunks left on the chaise? Shall I go to one of them?”

Easy to see what others ought to say, Benjamin thought. And impossible to apply the same good sense to oneself—or to escape the reaction to remarks better left unsaid. “No. I was only concerned about your welfare.”

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