A Fresh Perspective, A Regency Romance by Elisabeth Fairchild Page B

her command.
    So insistent were her questions, so frequent her interruptions, Reed could not think straight, much less finish his figuring.
    “I mean to go to the Lakes,” he informed her when he could no longer face her without gritting his teeth. “For a sennight. There. . .” in peace and quiet, he thought, “I shall finish figuring the books and return to tell you everything I know.”
    “Well,” she huffed. “Our situation cannot be as bad as you would have me believe if you are inclined to dilly-dally about the countryside with Miss Breech, rather than see promptly to our affairs.”
     
    She was mistaken. It was with every intention of setting to rights the Talcott finances that Reed arrived in Grasmere four days later, travel weary and no further along with his calculations. He found the cottage Megan had given him as address without any trouble. It looked cozy enough, but it was Augusta who offered warm welcome when the door was opened to him, not Megan, as he had hoped.
    “Reed! How wonderful to see you. We did not expect you. Megan told us you were too busy to join us. I am so pleased you have changed your mind.” Her greeting seemed, Reed thought, overly fervent.
    “Where is Megan?” he asked, when Tom went with him to the local inn to see to the disposition of his carriage and team.
    Tom gave him a sliding, sideways look. “She and her new friends have ridden to Ambleside. Traveling performers are entertaining at one of the inns. Megan will not be back until midnight.”
    “So late?”
    “Yes. Has me rather worried. Augusta will not say a word to Megan about the wild ways of this group she has taken up with. She has whispered in my ear a request that you wean her away from them if you can. You will have far better luck at it than Gussie, and well she knows it.”
    “Who does Megan attach herself to?”
    “Better you should experience them firsthand. I would like to hear your unbiased opinion.”
    Not another word was to be wrung from either of them. Reed was fed fit to bursting on Tom’s catch of the day, broiled perch fresh from the lake. After a long-winded chat in which he caught up on all of Tom and Gussie’s news, he retreated to the little attic room designated his. By the light of the moon, and two flickering candles, he played with the figures in the ledgers until his eyes watered with fatigue. Tucking himself into bed, his mind turned over the trouble of his family finances as much as it toyed with the idea of Megan falling into bad company. He thought he would wait up for her, so restless was he, but in the end, candles burned out, he dropped off, only to be awakened by laughter, the nicker of a horse, and low voices.
    He rolled out of bed, cracked his head on one of the low beams of the angled attic ceiling and stubbed his toe on something in the dark. Hopping and groaning, he made his way to the window, through which voices and a slice of moonlight filtered.
    Below him he recognized the dark shapes of four horses and their riders. One of the shapes dismounted and helped a second to dismount.
     “There you are, Senorina Breech. As promised, safely returned to your sister’s care.” The man spoke with an Italian accent, rather sultry Italian at that. “Do your limbs tremble from having ridden so far?” He dared ask!
    “Bloody flirt!” Reed murmured, rubbing his toe, but fully prepared to climb over the sill to pummel the man if he overstepped his bounds again.
    Megan’s response was a trifle breathless. “I am fine, thank you. Thank you for a  marvelous adventure, both to witness the farce at the inn, and to ride through unfamiliar country in the moonlight. How very kind you all are, inviting me to accompany you.”
    “Our pleasure entirely,” the Italian murmured. He appeared to bow over her hand to kiss it.
    “Glad you could come.” A female voice. “The players were so bad as to be almost droll, weren’t they?”
    “Shall I see you inside?” The Italian continued