Page 29 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“Why?”

“Beg pardon, milord?”

“You haven’t known him long.”

“It don’t take time to like seeing people happy. Most folks do, unless they’re bad ’uns.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say so, with the life you’ve led.”

Tom looked over at him as they walked. “It ain’t been that bad, milord.”

“Many would disagree with you. Don’t you grieve for your parents, for example?” Grief had been on Arthur’s mind recently.

“I never knew them.” Tom shrugged. “I don’t think a person grieves over what they can’t remember.”

“Even though their loss was quite unfortunate for you, and unfair?”

“That’s not the same, is it, milord?” The lad’s plain face creased in thought. “I might feel aggrieved, if I was that way inclined, which I ain’t. Because what’s the use? But that wouldn’t be grieving.”

“No?”

Tom shook his head. “Grief is more like… Say I had a meat pie, and I took a bite, and I found it was the finest pie I’d ever et. A little taste of heaven, y’see? Everything about it just perfect. And then say, right then and there, I dropped that pie in a river. After just that one bite. And there wasn’t another such pie to be had, for any money. Then I’d grieve.”

“Because you knew what you’d lost.”

“That’s it, milord.” Tom nodded, satisfied he’d made his point.

“‘Grief’ seems a strong word to use over a meat pie,” Arthur replied. He was finding Tom a surprisingly stimulating conversationalist. “Not much like losing a person you care about.”

“I ’spect that’s a deal harder. I wouldn’t know.” The lad thought for a moment. “I’ve left some people behind. Mrs. Dunn who ran the dame school was right sad when I went. But I had to move on.”

Was he shallow or cold? “You weren’t sorry to make her sad?”

“I was, milord. But you know, she was sad over every single kiddie who left for more schooling or a ’prenticeship. So it weren’t just me. And I promised I’d go back and visit her. Which I did. And will whenever I get back to Bristol.”

The path divided before them, one branch heading for the front door of Furness Hall, the other for the back. “Was there anything else you wanted, milord?” Tom asked. Arthur shook his head, and the lad gave him a little bow before taking the latter route.

He should do something for Tom, Arthur thought as he walked on. He wasn’t sure what as yet, but the lad was full of possibilities. Was this more of the interference that Miss Saunders had deplored? Surely helping people was a good thing? Arthur smiled as he heard Miss Saunders’s voice suggesting that he might want to consult Tom before defining the specifics of thishelp.

• • •

The meal Jean shared with Lord Furness and his uncle that evening was stiff and formal. They’d had easy conversations over the last two days, but on this night their exchanges died away after a response or two. Their host seemed morose, his uncle distracted. Jean’s spirits sank as she searched for remarks to break the silence. She was glad to rise from the table and go back upstairs.

Some hours later, she woke from a bad dream and lit her candle. She took deep breaths to push the dark away. Reaching for her book, she looked also for Tab. He’d curled up on the coverlet when she got into bed, a purring comfort, but he wasn’t there now. “Tab?” she said.

He had a habit of mewing when she spoke to him, but there was no response. Jean held up the candlestick and looked about the room. He wasn’t on the window seat or the armchair or the hearthrug. She couldn’t see him anywhere. “Tab?”

Silence. Jean got out of bed and carried her light about the room, illuminating the dark corners. She looked under the bed, inside the wardrobe, behind the open draperies. There was no sign of the kitten. She checked the windows. They were securely closed against the raw March night. Tab couldn’t have gotten out, yet he wasn’t there. “Tab?”

Concerned, she looked everywhere again. There was no sign, no sound. She set down the candlestick and put on her dressing gown and slippers. Holding her meager light, she slipped out into the corridor. It ended on her left, and Tab wasn’t in it. Jean turned right and walked toward the center of the house, searching. She knew there was little chance of finding one small kitten in this great, dim house, but she couldn’t help but try.

At the stairs, she could only go down. The servants’ quarters above were reached by another stair. Jean searched the parlors on either side of front hall, calling softly and beginning to feel foolish. This was obviously a futile quest. She had given up and turned back when she noticed a line of light under the library door. She went in, finding the chamber still warm, the coals of a fire still glowing. “Tab?” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jean started so violently that a drop of hot wax splattered from the candle to the back of her hand. The pain made her breath catch.

Lord Furness rose from the chair by the hearth. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “With no lights?” In her fright, she sounded accusing.

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