suppose you’ll be looking for a wife sooner rather than later.”
She was still nosing about, however delicately. Maybe, to the daughter of a minister, life would ever be one great churchyard.
“If I were looking for a wife, the last thing I’d do is announce my task.” Hadrian winked to suggest camaraderie rather than rebuke, but this bantering small talk was tedious and tiring.
Just what did Fenwick discuss so intently with Avis?
“I assume you’ve already familiarized yourself with the local ladies?”
Lily Prentiss was damnably persistent. “I grew up here, Miss Prentiss. I consider many of the ladies cordial acquaintances, but none are under consideration in any other capacity.”
“They can be very intolerant.” Intolerance was apparently a deadly sin in Miss Prentiss’s opinion. “Lady Avis was sorely tried in her youth, though you may not know the details. The upshot was a broken engagement, and many of the ladies have never forgiven her for that.”
“I was at university when Lady Avis came of age,” Hadrian said, because something in Lily Prentiss’s words again rankled—but then, everything rankled of late. “That was a long time ago. How does Lady Avis get her daffodils to grow so large?”
“Fenwick would tell you it’s a matter of fertilizer, and enjoy conveying the information in as indelicate a manner as possible.”
“You don’t approve of him?”
“I don’t approve of any man who thinks Avis Portmaine is available for a flirtation. Ashton Fenwick does not know his place.”
Hadrian was coming to like that about him. “Isn’t it for Lady Avis to say what his place is?”
“My regard for Lady Avis is without limit, Mr. Bothwell, but her judgment has been faulty in the past. I will not share details, though you may trust that I have only her best interests at heart when I regard Mr. Fenwick’s attentions with skepticism.”
Oh, for mercy’s sake
. Avis was not some blushing seventeen-year-old fluttering around London in anticipation of her first season.
“In the next few weeks, Mr. Fenwick will be kept so busy, you won’t have to worry about him attending to anything but woolly sheep and bleating lambs.”
Thankfully, they’d come full circuit on the tiled slate walkway. Fenwick bowed over Lady Avis’s hand, and Hadrian made a correspondingly appropriate fuss over Lily Prentiss.
“I’m off to the stables to say my good-byes to Harold,” Avis said. “He’ll try to slip away without any scenes, but the lads have their orders.”
“I’ll leave you then,” Miss Prentiss said. “Mr. Bothwell, my thanks for your escort.” She left in a swirl of skirts, her curtsy to Hadrian as deferential as her rudeness to Fenwick was blatant.
“I don’t think she cares for you, Fenwick.” Which was puzzling.
“She doesn’t care for anybody or anything that comes between her and Avis,” Fenwick said. “Much less my dirty, disreputable self.”
“You’re reasonably well turned out. Any steward will work up a sweat if he’s earning his salt.” Today Fen was without his sizeable knife, though even in Sunday finery, he bore a piratical air.
“You don’t know, do you, Bothwell?”
“What don’t I know?” Hadrian fell in step beside him as they trailed Avis to the stables.
“My mother was the daughter of an Irish earl,” Fenwick said. “My father was a younger son of an impoverished Highland title, and a rascal. He eventually married my mother, though by then I was a busy little fellow with two younger sisters. As it happens, my younger brother might well inherit that Highland title, and so I keep my distance here for the nonce.”
“You had a mother and a father.” Hadrian slapped his riding gloves against his palm, wondering if he’d ever escape small-minded rural communities. “The same can be said for each of us.”
“My parents were hardly respectable, Bothwell. Not according to any customs recognized in civilized society.”
Hence Fen’s
She was still nosing about, however delicately. Maybe, to the daughter of a minister, life would ever be one great churchyard.
“If I were looking for a wife, the last thing I’d do is announce my task.” Hadrian winked to suggest camaraderie rather than rebuke, but this bantering small talk was tedious and tiring.
Just what did Fenwick discuss so intently with Avis?
“I assume you’ve already familiarized yourself with the local ladies?”
Lily Prentiss was damnably persistent. “I grew up here, Miss Prentiss. I consider many of the ladies cordial acquaintances, but none are under consideration in any other capacity.”
“They can be very intolerant.” Intolerance was apparently a deadly sin in Miss Prentiss’s opinion. “Lady Avis was sorely tried in her youth, though you may not know the details. The upshot was a broken engagement, and many of the ladies have never forgiven her for that.”
“I was at university when Lady Avis came of age,” Hadrian said, because something in Lily Prentiss’s words again rankled—but then, everything rankled of late. “That was a long time ago. How does Lady Avis get her daffodils to grow so large?”
“Fenwick would tell you it’s a matter of fertilizer, and enjoy conveying the information in as indelicate a manner as possible.”
“You don’t approve of him?”
“I don’t approve of any man who thinks Avis Portmaine is available for a flirtation. Ashton Fenwick does not know his place.”
Hadrian was coming to like that about him. “Isn’t it for Lady Avis to say what his place is?”
“My regard for Lady Avis is without limit, Mr. Bothwell, but her judgment has been faulty in the past. I will not share details, though you may trust that I have only her best interests at heart when I regard Mr. Fenwick’s attentions with skepticism.”
Oh, for mercy’s sake
. Avis was not some blushing seventeen-year-old fluttering around London in anticipation of her first season.
“In the next few weeks, Mr. Fenwick will be kept so busy, you won’t have to worry about him attending to anything but woolly sheep and bleating lambs.”
Thankfully, they’d come full circuit on the tiled slate walkway. Fenwick bowed over Lady Avis’s hand, and Hadrian made a correspondingly appropriate fuss over Lily Prentiss.
“I’m off to the stables to say my good-byes to Harold,” Avis said. “He’ll try to slip away without any scenes, but the lads have their orders.”
“I’ll leave you then,” Miss Prentiss said. “Mr. Bothwell, my thanks for your escort.” She left in a swirl of skirts, her curtsy to Hadrian as deferential as her rudeness to Fenwick was blatant.
“I don’t think she cares for you, Fenwick.” Which was puzzling.
“She doesn’t care for anybody or anything that comes between her and Avis,” Fenwick said. “Much less my dirty, disreputable self.”
“You’re reasonably well turned out. Any steward will work up a sweat if he’s earning his salt.” Today Fen was without his sizeable knife, though even in Sunday finery, he bore a piratical air.
“You don’t know, do you, Bothwell?”
“What don’t I know?” Hadrian fell in step beside him as they trailed Avis to the stables.
“My mother was the daughter of an Irish earl,” Fenwick said. “My father was a younger son of an impoverished Highland title, and a rascal. He eventually married my mother, though by then I was a busy little fellow with two younger sisters. As it happens, my younger brother might well inherit that Highland title, and so I keep my distance here for the nonce.”
“You had a mother and a father.” Hadrian slapped his riding gloves against his palm, wondering if he’d ever escape small-minded rural communities. “The same can be said for each of us.”
“My parents were hardly respectable, Bothwell. Not according to any customs recognized in civilized society.”
Hence Fen’s
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