another appointment. We wouldn’t want to disappoint, um, Aunt Meredith.”
Sinclair stepped back.
“Who? Oh, er, yes, Aunt Meredith.” Lord Graham stood, also brushing crumbs from his lap. “No, wouldn’t want to disappoint the old gel.” He bowed over Lady Sinclair’s hand. “Beg your forgiveness, but we must be off.”
Lady Sinclair gave a regal nod.
Lord Graham gave an awkward bow in Sinclair’s direction, then held out his arm for his daughter. The two headed for the door, not even looking back to see if Miss Ogilvie followed. She did, but only after a last searing glance at Quincy.
Harper opened the door and escorted the guests from the room.
“Mama?” Sinclair cupped her cheek.
Quincy examined the pattern in the carpet, biting her bottom lip in debate. Should she get up and leave, too?
Lady Sinclair held still for a moment, then grasped her son’s hand, her voice bright. “Wasn’t that a refreshing change, Benjamin?”
Sinclair helped his mother rise from her chair. “I’ve never found encroaching mushrooms to be particularly refreshing.”
Lady Sinclair gave a quiet chuckle. “Mr. Quincy?”
She jumped to her feet. “Yes, my lady?”
“Thank you for your help. It would have been rather awkward without your presence.”
Quincy hoped the skepticism she felt wasn’t visible in her expression. “My pleasure.”
Sinclair’s mouth tightened and he dropped his gaze, but Quincy thought he was hiding amusement.
“I’ll let you lads get back to work then, shall I?” Lady Sinclair gave her son a final pat on the arm, and left the room.
Quincy headed back to the library, Sinclair in step beside her. Though neither spoke, the silence did not feel awkward or uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. The realization surprised her enough to make her steps falter.
“Easy, lad,” Sinclair said, grasping her elbow to steady her.
Quincy stared at him in surprise, from the informal address as much as from the contact of his hand around her arm.
Sinclair tilted his head to one side, brows raised, smiling at her. It was a genuine smile, that lit up his warm brown eyes and showed nearly perfect white teeth behind full but utterly masculine lips. A smile that made her insides melt like chocolate.
She swallowed. Sinclair gestured for her to precede him across the hall, and the moment passed.
“You acquitted yourself…adequately, Mr. Quincy,” Sinclair said as he sat on the sofa in the library, while Quincy settled in the big leather chair at the desk. “But your social skills…frankly, they lack polish.”
Quincy felt her back stiffen. “You didn’t hire me for my social skills.” Indeed, there had been scant opportunity to practice social niceties, since Quincy had been engaged in efforts to keep her family fed and sheltered. When most girls her age were learning to play hostess, Quincy was learning to correspond with her father’s business associates.
“True.” Sinclair stroked his chin. “But if my mother has her way, and she usually does, you’ll get ample opportunity to practice those rusty skills.”
“Why would Lady Sinclair care about my polish? Or lack thereof?”
“She doesn’t.” Sinclair grinned and opened a folio. He must have felt her steady gaze boring into him, because he finally put down the papers. “You will simply be present any time we need to even the numbers. I agreed to let Mama parade debutantes before me in a scheme to help me choose a wife, but only if she were to leave off her mourning and face the tabbies. She has apparently decided it is finally time to do so.”
Quincy could only reply with a soft “Oh.” She picked up a penknife and began to sharpen a quill. The knife slipped as the implications of his words sunk in. She pinched the tiny wound between her teeth. “You intend to marry?”
Sinclair looked at her sharply. Must have heard the squeak in her voice. “Of course. As the eldest son and now the Earl of Sinclair, it is part of my
Sinclair stepped back.
“Who? Oh, er, yes, Aunt Meredith.” Lord Graham stood, also brushing crumbs from his lap. “No, wouldn’t want to disappoint the old gel.” He bowed over Lady Sinclair’s hand. “Beg your forgiveness, but we must be off.”
Lady Sinclair gave a regal nod.
Lord Graham gave an awkward bow in Sinclair’s direction, then held out his arm for his daughter. The two headed for the door, not even looking back to see if Miss Ogilvie followed. She did, but only after a last searing glance at Quincy.
Harper opened the door and escorted the guests from the room.
“Mama?” Sinclair cupped her cheek.
Quincy examined the pattern in the carpet, biting her bottom lip in debate. Should she get up and leave, too?
Lady Sinclair held still for a moment, then grasped her son’s hand, her voice bright. “Wasn’t that a refreshing change, Benjamin?”
Sinclair helped his mother rise from her chair. “I’ve never found encroaching mushrooms to be particularly refreshing.”
Lady Sinclair gave a quiet chuckle. “Mr. Quincy?”
She jumped to her feet. “Yes, my lady?”
“Thank you for your help. It would have been rather awkward without your presence.”
Quincy hoped the skepticism she felt wasn’t visible in her expression. “My pleasure.”
Sinclair’s mouth tightened and he dropped his gaze, but Quincy thought he was hiding amusement.
“I’ll let you lads get back to work then, shall I?” Lady Sinclair gave her son a final pat on the arm, and left the room.
Quincy headed back to the library, Sinclair in step beside her. Though neither spoke, the silence did not feel awkward or uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. The realization surprised her enough to make her steps falter.
“Easy, lad,” Sinclair said, grasping her elbow to steady her.
Quincy stared at him in surprise, from the informal address as much as from the contact of his hand around her arm.
Sinclair tilted his head to one side, brows raised, smiling at her. It was a genuine smile, that lit up his warm brown eyes and showed nearly perfect white teeth behind full but utterly masculine lips. A smile that made her insides melt like chocolate.
She swallowed. Sinclair gestured for her to precede him across the hall, and the moment passed.
“You acquitted yourself…adequately, Mr. Quincy,” Sinclair said as he sat on the sofa in the library, while Quincy settled in the big leather chair at the desk. “But your social skills…frankly, they lack polish.”
Quincy felt her back stiffen. “You didn’t hire me for my social skills.” Indeed, there had been scant opportunity to practice social niceties, since Quincy had been engaged in efforts to keep her family fed and sheltered. When most girls her age were learning to play hostess, Quincy was learning to correspond with her father’s business associates.
“True.” Sinclair stroked his chin. “But if my mother has her way, and she usually does, you’ll get ample opportunity to practice those rusty skills.”
“Why would Lady Sinclair care about my polish? Or lack thereof?”
“She doesn’t.” Sinclair grinned and opened a folio. He must have felt her steady gaze boring into him, because he finally put down the papers. “You will simply be present any time we need to even the numbers. I agreed to let Mama parade debutantes before me in a scheme to help me choose a wife, but only if she were to leave off her mourning and face the tabbies. She has apparently decided it is finally time to do so.”
Quincy could only reply with a soft “Oh.” She picked up a penknife and began to sharpen a quill. The knife slipped as the implications of his words sunk in. She pinched the tiny wound between her teeth. “You intend to marry?”
Sinclair looked at her sharply. Must have heard the squeak in her voice. “Of course. As the eldest son and now the Earl of Sinclair, it is part of my
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