arrived late just to annoy Niall.” Or to swallow a few last drops of brandy, Julian thought.
“A shame you don’t put your efforts to more constructive purposes.” Teresa grabbed his arm and led him in the direction of her mother. “Imagine what you could accomplish.”
“And destroy my reputation with respectability?”
Their playful banter faded as they moved away, leaving Julian alone with Miss Vance. At least tonight he could be assured she wouldn’t search his belongings while he dined.
A frown drew down the corners of her mouth as she stared after her charge.
“Come now, Miss Vance.” He extended his arm. “You seemed to enjoy my company on our previous...encounters. Surely a dinner doesn’t warrant such a fierce scowl.”
“I seem to remember our previous...encounters somewhat differently.” She rose from her seat and reached for him, the shawl slipping off her shoulder.
He lifted a lacy edge and slid it back in place. “Your handiwork?”
“My mother’s.” She rested her palm on his arm, her slender, well-formed fingers curling around his sleeve. The chill in her hand permeated the fabric and raised prickles of awareness on his skin.
Together they approached the dining room. Chairs ringed a long table shimmering with crystal and silver. Without awaiting his sister’s instructions, Julian led Miss Vance to an empty seat and held it for her. Her back brushed against his hand as she sat, the wool warm against his skin. Then he claimed the chair beside her for himself. Right next to his sister.
“With your permission, Lizzie?”
“If you insist, Chambelston.” She used his title, not his name.
“Of course. Why would I wish to forego your gracious company?”
“So you can conclude your business with Benedict and be on your way.” And here he’d thought the presence of others would minimize the snide remarks he would have to endure.
“No doubt your husband anticipates many more such evenings of unpleasantness, but I thought I should reserve this one for myself.”
Elizabeth’s chin rose again. “I believe father got his just reward when he ended up with you as his heir.”
“Your sentiments no longer surprise me.” Nor did they particularly concern him—unless his father had shared them.
* * *
Wedged between Lord Chambelston and the detestable Reginald Fleming, Leah shifted on her seat and swallowed her discomfiture with a forkful of fish. Unfortunately both lodged in her throat, seemingly determined to destroy her dinner as surely as Lady Sotherton’s sniping. For a woman so concerned with appearances, if not authenticity, she should realize the staff could overhear every taunt. Gossip would supplement the meal below stairs tonight as those servants present during her fit of pique shared the details with their colleagues.
Leah’s father would have used the opportunity to point her to the appropriate axiom, perhaps one of Johnson’s witticisms or that verse from Proverbs—the one about a dry morsel and quiet being better than a feast and strife. She grabbed a goblet and tried to wash the fish from her throat and the reminders of her parents’ faith from her mind.
What would they think of her...supplementary income? Of her lies and disloyalty and downright treason? She stole a glance down the table where Lord Sotherton—her employer—engaged his mother in meaningless repartee that had the dowager chortling with amusement.
“My grandmother seems in rare good spirits tonight,” Viscount Killiane said to the old woman’s companion.
“I’m glad to see it. She had another episode this morning.” Despite the bleak darkness of Miss Godwin’s dress, her sable hair hinted of former beauty just as the gold locket at her neck suggested a former love. “I thought we should send for the doctor, but her ladyship quite insisted against such a course. I worry for her.”
And for herself? As a mere companion, Miss Godwin’s future depended on the dowager’s longevity. The
“A shame you don’t put your efforts to more constructive purposes.” Teresa grabbed his arm and led him in the direction of her mother. “Imagine what you could accomplish.”
“And destroy my reputation with respectability?”
Their playful banter faded as they moved away, leaving Julian alone with Miss Vance. At least tonight he could be assured she wouldn’t search his belongings while he dined.
A frown drew down the corners of her mouth as she stared after her charge.
“Come now, Miss Vance.” He extended his arm. “You seemed to enjoy my company on our previous...encounters. Surely a dinner doesn’t warrant such a fierce scowl.”
“I seem to remember our previous...encounters somewhat differently.” She rose from her seat and reached for him, the shawl slipping off her shoulder.
He lifted a lacy edge and slid it back in place. “Your handiwork?”
“My mother’s.” She rested her palm on his arm, her slender, well-formed fingers curling around his sleeve. The chill in her hand permeated the fabric and raised prickles of awareness on his skin.
Together they approached the dining room. Chairs ringed a long table shimmering with crystal and silver. Without awaiting his sister’s instructions, Julian led Miss Vance to an empty seat and held it for her. Her back brushed against his hand as she sat, the wool warm against his skin. Then he claimed the chair beside her for himself. Right next to his sister.
“With your permission, Lizzie?”
“If you insist, Chambelston.” She used his title, not his name.
“Of course. Why would I wish to forego your gracious company?”
“So you can conclude your business with Benedict and be on your way.” And here he’d thought the presence of others would minimize the snide remarks he would have to endure.
“No doubt your husband anticipates many more such evenings of unpleasantness, but I thought I should reserve this one for myself.”
Elizabeth’s chin rose again. “I believe father got his just reward when he ended up with you as his heir.”
“Your sentiments no longer surprise me.” Nor did they particularly concern him—unless his father had shared them.
* * *
Wedged between Lord Chambelston and the detestable Reginald Fleming, Leah shifted on her seat and swallowed her discomfiture with a forkful of fish. Unfortunately both lodged in her throat, seemingly determined to destroy her dinner as surely as Lady Sotherton’s sniping. For a woman so concerned with appearances, if not authenticity, she should realize the staff could overhear every taunt. Gossip would supplement the meal below stairs tonight as those servants present during her fit of pique shared the details with their colleagues.
Leah’s father would have used the opportunity to point her to the appropriate axiom, perhaps one of Johnson’s witticisms or that verse from Proverbs—the one about a dry morsel and quiet being better than a feast and strife. She grabbed a goblet and tried to wash the fish from her throat and the reminders of her parents’ faith from her mind.
What would they think of her...supplementary income? Of her lies and disloyalty and downright treason? She stole a glance down the table where Lord Sotherton—her employer—engaged his mother in meaningless repartee that had the dowager chortling with amusement.
“My grandmother seems in rare good spirits tonight,” Viscount Killiane said to the old woman’s companion.
“I’m glad to see it. She had another episode this morning.” Despite the bleak darkness of Miss Godwin’s dress, her sable hair hinted of former beauty just as the gold locket at her neck suggested a former love. “I thought we should send for the doctor, but her ladyship quite insisted against such a course. I worry for her.”
And for herself? As a mere companion, Miss Godwin’s future depended on the dowager’s longevity. The
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