Fitzgerald, the victor, to teach him. Being too good-natured to turn him down, Fitz was distracted from his woes.
There Alfred found them. Miss Brooke had sent him to report on progress, “though there ain’t a great deal as yet, my lord,” he said apologetically. “First babies often takes their time, the young lady says, but her ladyship is resting comfortable between the pains, and in good spirits.”
“Pains!” Fitz groaned. Mr. Selwyn hastened to ask his advice on a difficult shot.
Edmund went over to his valet and murmured, “Thank Miss Brooke for the news.”
“A fine young lady, my lord, and kind, too.”
“Admirable. How is it that you are her messenger?”
“I took it on meself to make sure the ladies has all they need, my lord, seeing as how her ladyship’s housekeeper were grumbling fit to bust about taking orders from strangers.”
“Thank you, Alfred. What should I do without you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, my lord,” said the valet with the familiarity of many years acquaintance.
He reappeared several times as the night wore on into the small hours of the morning. The gentlemen returned to the library to play endless games of cribbage and vingt-et-un. At intervals a sleepy footman came in to build up the fire and replace guttering candles. Then a different footman arrived to draw back the curtains and douse the candles. Outside, the fog was a ghostly, luminescent white.
It was not Alfred but Jane Brooke who entered next. Her honey-coloured hair had escaped its pins to hang in uneven loops framing her tired but exultant face.
“You have a daughter, my lord!”
Jumping up, upsetting the cribbage board, Fitz dismissed this irrelevance. “Daphne—how is Daphne? May I see her?”
“If you come at once, sir. She was very nearly asleep when I left.”
Fitz sped to the door. She tucked her arm through his in the friendliest way and started telling him about his child as they went off together.
Edmund watched, trying to ignore a twinge of jealousy. Miss Jane Brooke disturbed his emotions in a way he was quite unused to and strongly objected to. He put her out of his mind and turned to the lawyer with a grin.
“Dare we go to bed?”
Mr. Selwyn grinned back. “I believe we might venture to do so, my lord.”
* * * *
“May I offer you a drop o’ port, Miss Ella?”
“Thank you, Mr. Alfred, I won’t say no.”
“Been a long night. Cheers.”
“Cheers. It don’t seem so long, though, when there’s a babe at the end.”
“You’re right, it don’t, somehow. We’d’ve been in the suds all right without your lady.”
“My...Miss Gracechurch is always ready to lend a hand.”
“And that Miss Brooke, a fine young lady, and kind with it, like I was saying to his lordship. A spot more for you, Miss Ella?”
“Not for me, ta all the same, I’m off to bed. What did his lordship say to that?”
“Admirable is what he said. And that’s a change of tune, I tell you no lie, for he took agin her from the first.”
“Miss Jane c’d win over the Devil himself. Good night, Mr. Alfred, or good morning, I should say.”
“Sweet dreams, Miss Ella.”
CHAPTER SIX
The library was empty. Jane was beginning to realize how vast Wintringham Abbey was. Since coming downstairs shortly before noon, she had met only the Tuttles and Mr. Parmenter, all in the breakfast room.
She had decided on waking that she was more in need of sustenance than sleep. Now, after satisfying her appetite at the munificent buffet, she wanted to curl up with a book. She looked around the huge library, of which she had caught a glimpse last night, and wondered where to begin. It would take a lifetime to explore the delights gathered on those well-dusted shelves.
Purely by chance, she came across Boswell’s Life of Johnson. Having found his Tour to the Hebrides entertaining, she took down the first volume and retired to one of the cavernous wing-chairs by the fireplace.
A footman came in to
There Alfred found them. Miss Brooke had sent him to report on progress, “though there ain’t a great deal as yet, my lord,” he said apologetically. “First babies often takes their time, the young lady says, but her ladyship is resting comfortable between the pains, and in good spirits.”
“Pains!” Fitz groaned. Mr. Selwyn hastened to ask his advice on a difficult shot.
Edmund went over to his valet and murmured, “Thank Miss Brooke for the news.”
“A fine young lady, my lord, and kind, too.”
“Admirable. How is it that you are her messenger?”
“I took it on meself to make sure the ladies has all they need, my lord, seeing as how her ladyship’s housekeeper were grumbling fit to bust about taking orders from strangers.”
“Thank you, Alfred. What should I do without you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, my lord,” said the valet with the familiarity of many years acquaintance.
He reappeared several times as the night wore on into the small hours of the morning. The gentlemen returned to the library to play endless games of cribbage and vingt-et-un. At intervals a sleepy footman came in to build up the fire and replace guttering candles. Then a different footman arrived to draw back the curtains and douse the candles. Outside, the fog was a ghostly, luminescent white.
It was not Alfred but Jane Brooke who entered next. Her honey-coloured hair had escaped its pins to hang in uneven loops framing her tired but exultant face.
“You have a daughter, my lord!”
Jumping up, upsetting the cribbage board, Fitz dismissed this irrelevance. “Daphne—how is Daphne? May I see her?”
“If you come at once, sir. She was very nearly asleep when I left.”
Fitz sped to the door. She tucked her arm through his in the friendliest way and started telling him about his child as they went off together.
Edmund watched, trying to ignore a twinge of jealousy. Miss Jane Brooke disturbed his emotions in a way he was quite unused to and strongly objected to. He put her out of his mind and turned to the lawyer with a grin.
“Dare we go to bed?”
Mr. Selwyn grinned back. “I believe we might venture to do so, my lord.”
* * * *
“May I offer you a drop o’ port, Miss Ella?”
“Thank you, Mr. Alfred, I won’t say no.”
“Been a long night. Cheers.”
“Cheers. It don’t seem so long, though, when there’s a babe at the end.”
“You’re right, it don’t, somehow. We’d’ve been in the suds all right without your lady.”
“My...Miss Gracechurch is always ready to lend a hand.”
“And that Miss Brooke, a fine young lady, and kind with it, like I was saying to his lordship. A spot more for you, Miss Ella?”
“Not for me, ta all the same, I’m off to bed. What did his lordship say to that?”
“Admirable is what he said. And that’s a change of tune, I tell you no lie, for he took agin her from the first.”
“Miss Jane c’d win over the Devil himself. Good night, Mr. Alfred, or good morning, I should say.”
“Sweet dreams, Miss Ella.”
CHAPTER SIX
The library was empty. Jane was beginning to realize how vast Wintringham Abbey was. Since coming downstairs shortly before noon, she had met only the Tuttles and Mr. Parmenter, all in the breakfast room.
She had decided on waking that she was more in need of sustenance than sleep. Now, after satisfying her appetite at the munificent buffet, she wanted to curl up with a book. She looked around the huge library, of which she had caught a glimpse last night, and wondered where to begin. It would take a lifetime to explore the delights gathered on those well-dusted shelves.
Purely by chance, she came across Boswell’s Life of Johnson. Having found his Tour to the Hebrides entertaining, she took down the first volume and retired to one of the cavernous wing-chairs by the fireplace.
A footman came in to
Similar Books
