much obliged.”
“We must all do that which it is our duty to do,” replied the vicar, from which Margaret was rightly given to understand that he would be pleased to have Timothy as his pupil.
The relief she felt over having that particular problem solved was tempered, however, by a more immediate difficulty. When she went in search of Timothy to inform him of his good fortune, the boy was nowhere to be found. That situation, in and of itself, was not distressing, for she had quickly discovered that Timothy saw no reason to disclose his intended whereabouts to any of the adults with whom he lived. He had been friendly enough to both Margaret and Lady Celeste. Indeed, he seemed to regard her ladyship with something approaching awe, making Margaret wonder what tales his father might have told him about their grandaunt. But Timothy recognized no one’s authority, least of all Jordan’s or that of Lady Annis. His attitude toward both was little short of contempt. During one contretemps between Jordan and the boy, when Timothy had flatly refused to obey some arbitrary command and Jordan had threatened to thrash the boy soundly, Margaret had intervened without so much as a thought. To her astonishment, Jordan had agreed, albeit sullenly, to let him off. It had not astonished her a jot afterward, however, when Lady Annis had a good deal to say—and none of it to Margaret’s credit—on the subject of spoiling young boys.
When she had looked in the nursery, questioned the maids and Archer, the taciturn footman, and had searched most of the rooms on the upper floors, Margaret turned toward the stairs, intending to walk as far as the stables to see if any of the grooms might have seen him. She knew his dearest wish was for a pony of his own and that his father had for one reason or another not yet provided him with one, but there were animals he was allowed to ride, and Margaret had already learned that young Timothy had little difficulty persuading one or another of the stable lads to take him out whenever he wished to go.
She was halfway down the main stairs leading to the hall when the front door was flung open and Jordan strode in, looking furious.
“Where the devil is that young scamp?” he demanded. His airs and affectations for the moment deserting him, he sounded only like an angry man.
“You are looking for Timothy?”
“You’re dam—dashed right I’m looking for Timothy, and this time, sweet coz, there’s not a thing you can say that will save that lad from the hiding of his young life.”
“You haven’t the right to thrash him, Jordan. Not yet.” She hadn’t told him about Abberley’s quest, nor did she intend to tell him. She knew perfectly well that if she did, their relationship would become more strained than it was already. If Abberley discovered that Sir Michael actually had not drawn up a will, then Jordan and Lady Annis would gloat. If, on the other hand, he discovered a will …Well, there was time enough to consider the ramifications of such a discovery if, indeed, it ever took place. She held her ground now as Jordan approached her, taking the stairs in angry strides.
“You won’t stop me, Margaret, not when you see what that brat did to my new Wellingtons.”
“Your boots?”
“Aye, not that they’re worth a split farthing now. Your sweet Timothy filled them with mud and set them near the fireplace to bake. My man didn’t find them until the mud had hardened inside. When I lay my hands—”
“Oh, Jordan,” Margaret said, stifling laughter, “how dreadful. Were they very expensive?”
“They aren’t even paid for yet,” he muttered, glaring at her. “You may well laugh, but I daresay you wouldn’t if they were your boots.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she admitted, frowning, “but I don’t think he would do such a thing to my boots. Why does he dislike you so, cousin?”
4
J ORDAN MADE NO REPLY . With a near growl of anger he passed her, continuing his way up the
“We must all do that which it is our duty to do,” replied the vicar, from which Margaret was rightly given to understand that he would be pleased to have Timothy as his pupil.
The relief she felt over having that particular problem solved was tempered, however, by a more immediate difficulty. When she went in search of Timothy to inform him of his good fortune, the boy was nowhere to be found. That situation, in and of itself, was not distressing, for she had quickly discovered that Timothy saw no reason to disclose his intended whereabouts to any of the adults with whom he lived. He had been friendly enough to both Margaret and Lady Celeste. Indeed, he seemed to regard her ladyship with something approaching awe, making Margaret wonder what tales his father might have told him about their grandaunt. But Timothy recognized no one’s authority, least of all Jordan’s or that of Lady Annis. His attitude toward both was little short of contempt. During one contretemps between Jordan and the boy, when Timothy had flatly refused to obey some arbitrary command and Jordan had threatened to thrash the boy soundly, Margaret had intervened without so much as a thought. To her astonishment, Jordan had agreed, albeit sullenly, to let him off. It had not astonished her a jot afterward, however, when Lady Annis had a good deal to say—and none of it to Margaret’s credit—on the subject of spoiling young boys.
When she had looked in the nursery, questioned the maids and Archer, the taciturn footman, and had searched most of the rooms on the upper floors, Margaret turned toward the stairs, intending to walk as far as the stables to see if any of the grooms might have seen him. She knew his dearest wish was for a pony of his own and that his father had for one reason or another not yet provided him with one, but there were animals he was allowed to ride, and Margaret had already learned that young Timothy had little difficulty persuading one or another of the stable lads to take him out whenever he wished to go.
She was halfway down the main stairs leading to the hall when the front door was flung open and Jordan strode in, looking furious.
“Where the devil is that young scamp?” he demanded. His airs and affectations for the moment deserting him, he sounded only like an angry man.
“You are looking for Timothy?”
“You’re dam—dashed right I’m looking for Timothy, and this time, sweet coz, there’s not a thing you can say that will save that lad from the hiding of his young life.”
“You haven’t the right to thrash him, Jordan. Not yet.” She hadn’t told him about Abberley’s quest, nor did she intend to tell him. She knew perfectly well that if she did, their relationship would become more strained than it was already. If Abberley discovered that Sir Michael actually had not drawn up a will, then Jordan and Lady Annis would gloat. If, on the other hand, he discovered a will …Well, there was time enough to consider the ramifications of such a discovery if, indeed, it ever took place. She held her ground now as Jordan approached her, taking the stairs in angry strides.
“You won’t stop me, Margaret, not when you see what that brat did to my new Wellingtons.”
“Your boots?”
“Aye, not that they’re worth a split farthing now. Your sweet Timothy filled them with mud and set them near the fireplace to bake. My man didn’t find them until the mud had hardened inside. When I lay my hands—”
“Oh, Jordan,” Margaret said, stifling laughter, “how dreadful. Were they very expensive?”
“They aren’t even paid for yet,” he muttered, glaring at her. “You may well laugh, but I daresay you wouldn’t if they were your boots.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she admitted, frowning, “but I don’t think he would do such a thing to my boots. Why does he dislike you so, cousin?”
4
J ORDAN MADE NO REPLY . With a near growl of anger he passed her, continuing his way up the
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