Page 48 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“I gather there was no large estate to manage. Naturally, I don’t have financial details.”

Benjamin nodded. “And her mother? There’s something important about her.”

Arthur waited, but his nephew provided no clarification. “She was the daughter of a country squire, quite young when she married. That’s as much as I know.”

“Unhappy, I imagine. Married to a man who didn’t want to see her.”

“That seems very likely.”

“So I suppose she wasn’t a…jolly parent.”

“She may have found solace in her child.”

“I don’t think so.”

Once again Arthur waited for more. But Benjamin was silent.

They continued along the path for some time, each occupied with his own thoughts.

• • •

Sarah spent half an hour combing out Jean’s hair that morning. “It came loose from the braid in the night,” Jean told her.

“Did you have a nightmare?” the maid asked as she dealt with the tangle of curls.

Jean winced. It was difficult to hide her bad dreams from the person who shared her room at inns when they traveled. “A kind of nightmare, yes,” Jean said. In the mirror, her eyes had a steely glint, which she was pleased to see. She’d wrestled that strident inner voice into silence once more. As shealwayswould.

Downstairs, Jean stopped in the library, first peering around the doorframe to make sure the chamber was empty. She searched the shelves until she found what she was looking for and went on to breakfast. Blessedly, that room was vacant, too. But when she came out after her meal, she encountered Lord Furness and Lord Macklin returning from a walk. She spoke before either of them could. “I was thinking I could read to Geoffrey. I always liked being read to as a child. I suppose you did as well.”

“No,” said Lord Furness.

“You don’t wish me to read to him?” Jean felt a spurt of indignation. “Why not?” She wanted to make a more personal connection to Geoffrey. She also wanted to divert attention—her host’s attention—from last night’s debacle.

He regarded her steadily. Not diverted, Jean thought. Not even a little. “No, I didn’t like being read to,” he said.

“Really?” Stories had been a rare solace of Jean’s childhood. They took you somewhere else entirely, and she’d often wanted to be somewhere else.

“I preferred being outside on my own.” Lord Furness gestured at the book she held. “What have you got?”

She showed him. “The enjoyment often depends on the reader.”

He scanned the cover. “Goody Two-Shoes? Are you serious? That sounds dreadful.”

“I found it in the library,” Jean replied. “There weren’t many books for children. I thought perhaps this had been read to you when you were young.”

“No.” Lord Furness eyed the book. “Does that girl keep a menagerie?”

The image included two birds, a sheep, and a dog. “I don’t know,” said Jean. “One reads books to discover what they’re about.”

“Is it so indeed?” He pretended to be amazed.

“I’ve heard of that book,” said Lord Macklin. “Rather well known, isn’t it?”

“Didyoulike being read to as a child?” Jean asked him.

“Never was, much. Were you?”

It seemed to Jean that both men were overly interested in her answer, which made her more reluctant to give it. Her mother had been a marvelous reader, or rather performer, of books. When in the mood to entertain, she’d used different voices and swept about the room, miming the action as she held the volume up before her. Even when Jean didn’t understand the story, as was often the case with the sort of book her mother enjoyed, she’d been enthralled. And her mother had reveled in the applause and admiration she offered. Reading had brought some of their rare moments of harmony. “Yes.” Jean turned away. “I’m going to try it on Geoffrey.”

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