Page 33 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“Horses. Even love them and want to please them?”

“Ascribing such feelings to an animal is sheer sentimentality.”

“But you told Geoffrey to make friends with Fergus,” Jean pointed out. “You said the pony would do whatever he asked once he trusted him.”

“Have you never heard, Miss Saunders, that it is annoying to quote a man’s words back to him?”

“Not from people who stand by what they say.”

A corner of his mouth twitched, from amusement, or perhaps irritation. “I was teaching Geoffrey caution. I said what was necessary.”

“So you don’t believe that true bonds are based in trust?”

Lord Furness looked down at her. “The damp causes your hair to curl even more, doesn’t it? What must it look like, free of all those pins?”

“A mare’s nest,” replied Jean, well aware that this was a distraction. Which was working.

“Harsh,” he said. Gazing at her head, he walked around her.

Jean could feel his eyes on her back. She resisted an impulse to tuck back wayward tendrils of hair. Her hair did expand in wet weather, making it even harder to control. There weren’t enough hairpins in the world.

“You had it in a braid last night. Partly. It does keep coming loose, doesn’t it?” He came around her other side and faced her again. His blue-gray eyes were definitely amused now. In another moment he would reach out and flick a wayward curl.

He was trying to make her self-conscious. And succeeding. Jean started walking back toward the house.

Lord Furness fell into step beside her. “I’m glad your kitten was found. Where was he?”

She’d scurried like a thief to slip a note under his door this morning, Jean remembered. “He was in my room when I got back. Apparently, he was there all the time. Though I lookedeverywhere.”

“There are those who say cats can walk through walls.”

She glanced at him. He smiled. Purposefully. Meltingly. With a clear intent to charm. Jean had no doubt he wanted to fluster her, to render her speechless. Because he didn’t want to answer her question about trust? Or couldn’t? There was an interesting thought. She also noted that he and Geoffrey had this trait in common. Their smiles transformed their faces, and they knew it. “I’ll keep an eye on Tab,” she said. “And learn how he does it.”

Jean was gratified to see that her tone seemed to startle him considerably.

Gazing out the window of the breakfast room, Arthur watched his nephew and Miss Saunders approach the house—side by side, together and yet clearly not. What had taken them out so early? They were coming from the direction of the stables, but there was no sign they’d gone riding.

Friction makes heat, he thought. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing depended on circumstances. It seemed to him that these two might do very well together, but that wasn’t for him to say. As both of these young people had pointed out.

Miss Saunders said something that made his nephew laugh, and Arthur smiled in sympathy. And with just a trace of envy, remembering the joys of companionship. He’d filled the decade since his wife died with familial responsibilities, needed and appreciated by nieces and nephews and cousins of all sorts. But the generation below him was grown up now. He was welcome in their homes; affectionate bonds remained. Their main attention had turned elsewhere, however. Arthur was no longer required. Except perhaps by Benjamin and others like him. He thought of the other young men who’d attended his London dinner. They deserved to laugh again as well.

He turned from the window and addressed his meal. Arthur was a student, almost a connoisseur, of grief. He’d grappled long and hard with loss—the sudden absence of a beloved partner. He’d faced down the void that opened when the person who’d shared a dozen daily anecdotes, and listened to his similar stories, was gone. He’d felt existence constrict around him like a narrowing tunnel, and he’d come out the other side intact. Contented even. He wanted the same for Benjamin. Even more perhaps, as his nephew was young, with most of life before him. So although Arthur had a lively circle of friends and an active social round, which he missed, he was glad he’d come to Furness Hall.

He sipped his cooling coffee. There was also Geoffrey. Arthur was ashamed that his great-nephew hadn’t figured in his plans until he met him and discovered a bright, troubled spirit. He ought to have considered what grief had done to the boy; Jean Saunders had shown him that. He wanted to see Geoffrey carefree and laughing, too.

“I cannot agree,” said Miss Saunders as she entered the breakfast room. She stopped in the doorway. “Oh, good morning, Lord Macklin.”

“Miss Saunders,” Arthur replied. “You’re out early this morning.” She’d taken off her cloak. Her cheeks glowed from the outdoors, and her hair had reacted to the floating mist. It wasn’t appropriate to compare the result to Medusa. For many reasons. Yet the dark strands did seem to have a life of their own.

“I felt like a walk,” she replied. She moved forward, and Benjamin came in behind her.

An atmosphere entered with them. It was interesting, Arthur thought, how an almost visible connection could vibrate between two people even when their conversation was perfectly ordinary. And others—married couples too—gave no such impression even when they embraced.

A hairpin fell from Miss Saunders’s rebellious locks to the floor. The ping as it landed seemed disproportionately loud. Benjamin bent, picked it up, and offered it to her like a bouquet. Miss Saunders flushed, took the pin, and shoved it back into her hair.

“Do you often lose pins?” Benjamin asked with a clear intent to provoke. “You must have a great many.”

Miss Saunders gave him a flashing look. She proceeded with dignity to get her breakfast. “I was thinking,” she said when seated. “We should ask Tom about Geoffrey. He’s been watching over him for a while and must have a good notion what he’s like. His character, I mean. How we might best approach him. Beyond the pony, which Geoffrey obviously adores.”

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