Page 20 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“Or I could tie you to a tree,” Tom replied. “And leave you there to watch us eat the feast Cook packed up.”

Miss Saunders jerked as if someone had pushed her, though she stood quite alone. The look on her face puzzled Benjamin.

“You wouldn’t do that,” said Geoffrey.

“Not unless you drive me to it with your daft starts,” Tom replied. “Hang you down a cavern indeed! Nasty creatures, bats.”

To Benjamin’s surprise, Geoffrey took this in good part. “I’m hungry now!”

“You’re always hungry.”

“So are you!”

Tom acknowledged the hit with a grin.

“It seems we should eat,” said Benjamin. He herded his party over to the spread blankets. The two servants began to lay out the contents of the hampers—a crisp roast chicken, bread, a block of cheddar cheese, a jar of pickles, bottles of cider, an array of small cakes. When his son dived for the latter, Benjamin said, “You can help serve our guests, Geoffrey.”

The boy’s hand halted in midair. He met Benjamin’s eyes, blinked, and drew it back.

Benjamin carved the chicken and set a portion on one of the plates from the stack wrapped in a napkin. He handed it to Geoffrey.

With his leash played out to a greater length, Geoffrey carried it to Miss Saunders. Someone had taught him a few manners, Benjamin thought. He ought to know who, but he didn’t. Geoffrey took the next serving to his great uncle, and so on down the line. When everyone had chicken, he trotted about offering the other dishes. Everyone was served before he glanced at his father, received his smile and nod, and sat down before his own food. Geoffrey snatched up a chicken leg and took an enormous bite. He chewed the hunk of meat with some difficulty, his small cheeks distended.

“Geoffrey!” said Benjamin.

His son struggled on, jaws working mightily, and finally managed to swallow. Tom handed him a napkin, and he wiped his greasy lips and hands on the cloth. Under his father’s frown, Geoffrey then raised the drumstick in careful fingers and took a dainty bite. He smiled angelically at the watching adults.

It was as if Alice suddenly sat in their circle. The bright hair, the piquant face with precisely that slant of brow, the cerulean-blue eyes, even the hint of a dimple that appeared when she smiled in just that way. Memory and regret sank their claws into Benjamin. Bitterness rose in his throat. He wanted to rail at the unfairness of life. Then Geoffrey bent to tear off a bit of bread, and the resemblance wavered—as if the portrait in the library had moved, realigned, and revealed another person entirely.

Shaken, Benjamin took up his plate. He would have given a great deal to be magically transported to that library, and to be alone. But reality was cruel and offered no escape. He sat in the place his uncle had left him, next to Miss Saunders.

“Youwouldn’thave let Tom tie him to a tree,” she said.

The quaver of fear in her voice grated on feelings rubbed raw. A bolt of rage slammed through Benjamin, cleaving his gloom and resentment and confusion. “Why not?” he hissed with quiet venom. “According to you, I neglect and torment my son. What should stop me from staking him out like a sacrificial goat?”

She flinched as if he’d hit her. Her plate fell from shaking fingers, spilling chicken, pickles, and the rest over the crimson folds of his mother’s riding habit. Runnels of grease and brine trickled onto the blanket. “Oh!” cried Miss Saunders, and burst into tears.

The picnic erupted. The nursery maid surged forward with a handful of napkins to sop up the spill. Benjamin’s uncle pulled out his handkerchief and leaned over to offer it to Miss Saunders. Geoffrey moved to retrieve the dropped plate, was brought up short by his leash, and flailed in the center of the blanket. Jack stepped in to tidy the mess. Tom poured a glass of cider and set it near Miss Saunders’s side.

Through it all, Benjamin sat still, feeling beleaguered. He’d been rude—granted. He admitted it. Very rude. He shouldn’t have growled at her. But he’d said harsh things to the woman before without provoking such an extreme reaction. Worse things, and she hadn’t dissolved into a watering pot. There was no excuse for such a display: wailing and snuffling and making him look like a brute. She’d invadedhishouse after all. No one had asked her to come here and turn his life upside down. He hadn’t meant to overset her, of course, butwhydid she keep on crying?

“Let’s walk a little farther into the gorge,” his uncle Arthur said. He picked up Geoffrey, leash and all, and walked toward the winding lane. Tom followed perforce, pulled by the rope. At his uncle’s gesture, the servants went along. And just like that, Benjamin was left alone with a sniffling, hiccupping…mess. When his uncle threw an enigmatic look over his shoulder, Benjamin vowed to have a serious discussion with his august relative at the earliest opportunity, right before he sent him packing.

“I beg your pardon,” snuffled his companion.

“I think I am supposed to be begging yours,” Benjamin replied. “I’m sorry you’re distressed.”

“You don’t sound sorry.” She sniffed. “You sound annoyed.”

“Can you blame me? You’ve subjected all of us to a bout of inexplicable waterworks.”

Jean felt herself flush, even more mortified, if that was possible. She wasnota weeper. She couldn’t remember when she’d cried this way, made such an absolute fool of herself. Something about that phrase—sacrificial goat—and the way he’d said it had set her off. Coming after the look on his face when he’d held his son close. The two together, or one after the other, or something, had cut too close to the bone.

“Iamsorry I made you cry,” he said in a kinder tone. “I’m not sure how I did, really.” He looked rueful. “I was no ruder than on a couple of previous occasions. Of course, it has been a trying morning.”

Something between a choke and a gurgle escaped Jean’s throat. “An understatement.”

Lord Furness nodded. “Geoffrey did his best to stop my heart with that climb. He appears to have a positive genius for mischief.”

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