Page 85 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

How did she know that about the neighbor dogs? Jean wondered. Her mother or one of the servants must have mentioned them. “Mama was acquainted with our neighbors,” she continued, working out the idea as she spoke. “She’d grown up in the area. Why did I never think of that? She went visiting. She wasn’t left all alone.”

Tab harried the diminishing ball of yarn around the floor.

“She never took me along on her calls or allowed me to meet them. I was… I…” She faltered, trying to put half-formed thoughts into words. “I became the fate she complained about.”

“Meow,” said her cat.

“Confusing, yes. What I mean is, the plight Mama bemoaned over and over—being alone, having nothing. That wasn’t really true for her. She made thatmylife.” Jean was shaken by a mixture of anger and sadness.

Tab growled around a mouthful of yarn.

“Of course, we couldn’t afford much of anything. Papa gave us apittanceto live on.” Jean could hear her mother’s voice repeating these phrases, a truism of her childhood. “That was the word she always used, a pittance. With such venom, you can’t imagine. I don’t know how much it was really. And she kept no records. None that made sense anyway.” Jean had had to deal with her mother’s tangled affairs when she died. She’d left most of it to a helpful solicitor, and by the time he’d sorted everything out, her father’s fortune had come to her by law a year later. Jean had spent her time learning to manage her new income, rather than dwelling on the past.

“Meow.”

“But I’m just realizing, Tab, that if she wanted a new gown or trinket, she always got it.” There’d been no talk of hardship when such things arrived. Jean remembered bouts of wild gaiety, dancing through corridors, until her mother’s discontent descended again. “Why did I never see this before?”

She’d pushed away her memories in the years since her mother died, Jean realized. She’d been so eager to put her early life behind her, and to establish herself on her own terms. Now, with some distance, the picture looked different. “Mama hardly ever told the truth,” she said meditatively.

“Meow,” declared Tab.

“Or, she had a distorted picture of life.” Jean nodded, better pleased with this phrase. “So why would I believe her about anything? Including the nature of husbands. She was probably—almost certainly—wrong. I should ignore her dreadful advice. I will!”

“Meow!” said the cat more emphatically.

The trouble was, there were ideas and resolutions, and then there was how she felt, Jean thought. You could be in a dark cupboard even when you weren’t.

A scrabbling, scraping sound made her turn. Tab was thoroughly entangled in the yarn he’d unraveled, like a parcel of cat tied up with woolen bonds.

“Oh dear.” Jean went to kneel beside him and undo the snarl. “Stay still while I get it off.”

He did not, of course, but tried to hurry the process along with teeth and claws. Jean avoided these hazards as she accepted the lesson circumstance had offered. Freedom sometimes required time and patience. The slowness and setbacks could be irritating, but it didn’t do to give up.

Sixteen

“Miss Warren will be joining the household in a week,” Benjamin told his son. He’d decided to give Geoffrey this news during a riding…session. One could hardly call them lessons at this point. In truth, despite his small stature, Geoffrey was now capable of handling his pony at any gait. He took a daily ride with Tom and a groom in tow, and he always seemed happiest at these times. Benjamin often joined in and asked Jean along as well, as he had today. He wanted her everywhere he was. His uncle came less frequently; he seemed preoccupied with matters of business, if the number of letters he wrote and received was any measure.

“Is she the one with the horrid eyebrows?” Geoffrey asked.

Benjamin had no recollection of such a feature on any of the hopefuls. Was this a trap? “No.”

“The scared one?” the boy asked slyly.

“And why would any of them have been scared?” They hadn’t discussed Geoffrey’s performance outside the library. Benjamin had decided to leave this issue to the new nanny, telling himself it was a good test of her skills. But if Geoffrey chose to bring it up, he wouldn’t shy away.

“Bugs,” said his son promptly. “Or maybe rats.”

All of them looked at him. He grinned as if he knew very well he was being absurd. “Miss Warren was the last one we talked with,” Benjamin said.

“Oh, the one who almost…” Geoffrey paused, then said, “She was the best.”

“Who almost what?” asked Jean Saunders.

She looked as curious as Benjamin felt. How had he been graced with such a precocious son? Though he didn’t undervalue his own intellect, Benjamin was certain he’d never been as sharp as Geoffrey at this age.

“Did you help choose?” Geoffrey asked her instead of replying.

Jean nodded. “I hope you’ll be kind to her.”

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