When Laura joined him for dinner, her conversation centered on the two people she cared for. Frustrated, he could but enjoy looking at her. In a lacy dinner gown of primrose, her dark-blonde hair swept into a careless updo, she was undeniably lovely. He admired her slender arms and dainty hands. Her lissome body, he tried not to think too much about. After dinner, she returned to the sick room, and he saw no more of her until breakfast. He was down in the breakfast room the next morning, although it wasn’t his habit to eat until close to midday. But the maid told him Laura had eaten her breakfast in her bedchamber.
At first, he suspected Laura merely hoped to avoid him, but he came to realize she really cared about the woman and her child. On the next evening at dinner, she seemed more relaxed and talkative. He tried to draw her out, but she avoided any reference to what lay ahead for them. Nor did she flirt with him. That was a novel experience but unsettling. Had he made a mistake in inviting her? He still didn’t know why he’d taken such a chance with a woman he barely knew. It had been purely selfish on his part. Laura’s brother might have found other means to pay his debts, although they were substantial.
Longworth was a fine estate, yet obviously rundown. Peyton was a gambler, Brendan had learned. And he had no patience with such men. Especially considering how his actions had affected his sister’s life. Laura had more mettle than that selfish weakling. She showed more compassion for the two upstairs than her brother would have been capable of.
“Anne Joyce was widowed last year,” Laura said. “It is very sad. She has nowhere to live and must make a home with her aunt. I have feared that I might face a similar fate.”
“Why?” he asked, outraged for her.
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “When we faced financial ruin, I considered casting myself upon my Aunt Gertrude’s good graces.” She smiled, but it failed to reach her eyes. “Aunt Gertrude isn’t an easy person.”
She pushed her meat around the plate with her fork, not attempting to eat it. “Mary is a bright child. She deserves better.”
“Sad, indeed,” he agreed. “That animal on your plate is dead, Laura. There’s no need to kill it again.”
Her blue eyes met his filled with laughter, then he watched them grow shadowed. She ducked her head. Brendan cursed, but he grew hopeful that in time, they might laugh together. Especially as she had opened up to him tonight about herself. It had maddened him to hear it. Her brother needed a good thrashing.
If only they could leave this inferior inn and reach his estate, then this infernally polite wall between them would disappear. Beechley Park was a place made for romance, although it had seen little of it. “Is Mrs. Joyce rallying?”
“Her fever abates.”
“Excellent. We can leave tomorrow.”
Laura’s frown condemned him for such a rash statement. “We cannot leave them yet. Not until Mrs. Joyce is out of bed and able to take care of her daughter. We cannot leave a young girl alone in an inn. Anything could happen.”
Brendan poured her a glass of wine. “And does the doctor know when that might be?”
Laura twisted a curl in her fingers. “He says it’s too early to say.”
Was she being deliberately evasive? “I hope it is soon. In any event, we are to leave on Friday.”
Her fair brows knitted. “So soon?”
He sighed. “Yes. I have urgent matters that cannot wait.”
She chewed her full bottom lip. “Very well. If we must.”
He wished she wouldn’t do that. It was distracting. “I’m glad you agree,” he said solemnly.
Laura took a hasty sip of wine, then put down the glass. “I’ll go up and see if Mrs. Joyce has managed some of the soup. I had the cook prepare it and a coddled egg, especially for her.”
Brendan watched her graceful form cross the dining room. He had been rebuffed, but at least he had won a round. They would depart early on Friday and reach his home by the late afternoon.
No comments:
Post a Comment