Lady Jessie chewed, swallowed, and blotted her lips. “I have been out for four years, and after only one Season Papa announced he was tired of paying so much for a lost cause. You see, Papa is rather thrifty.”
Harry suspected that was a euphemism of unusual tact.
“So I’ve not been in society these last three years. Then Papa married again, and my stepmother convinced him sending me here would be an economical way to establish my betrothal, and heaven knows she doesn’t want to be seen at a party with me. She says it’s because I’m tactless. I think it’s because I may be twenty-two years old and a spinster on the shelf, but compared to her, I’m a babe in the cradle.”
Throwing back his head, Harry burst into laughter. Tactless? This girl was as blunt and direct as a cudgel!
“I suppose I shouldn’t have said that.” But Lady Jessie didn’t seem to suffer undue remorse, and she watched him with a tiny smile on her lips.
“I suppose not.” Still he chuckled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that. His job was grim and dangerous, so he had become grim and dangerous. Now, as he watched her consume another cake, he experienced a loosening of tension, a desire to laugh and talk—as long as it was with her.
“These are good.” She licked her fingers. “Especially the lemon curd.”
“Your suitors,” he prompted.
“But it’s so pleasant here. Must we speak of them?”
“I think, if I’m to suffer a visit from Jenour-Redmond, that we must.”
She sighed. “Even at the time of my debut, my father didn’t think I could be trusted to pick out a husband. So he would pick them out, and they were invariably dull, stable, older men, friends of his who were willing to put up with me for my fortune.”
Harry could easily imagine the kind of men the viscount called his friends. “Go on.”
“Whenever I found someone I could love, my father got rid of him.” She examined the toes of her black walking boots. “Usually with a bribe.”
“True love, indeed.”
“Not true love, but at least some excitement! Anyway, you see the problem. I can marry a young, ne’er-do-well fortune hunter of my own choosing, or an old, dependable fortune hunter of my father’s choice. The ne’er-do-well would make me miserable. The dependable one would bore me to death.” Putting down her plate, she leaned forward and took Harry’s hand in hers. “As far as I can see, men are never interested in their wives for themselves, only in what their wives can bring to them. I don’t like to hurt your feelings, Mr. Windberry”—she patted his fingers—“but your gender is entirely untrustworthy.”
“Lady Jessie, you have dealt a grave blow to my masculine pride.” He watched with fascination as, once again, that little smile flirted with her lips.
“I believe you’re laughing at me, Mr. Windberry.”
“I believe you show a great deal of wisdom, Lady Jessie.” Turning his hand, he clasped her fingers in his. “But pray tell, if your suitors are here and in pursuit, what good does it do to try and avoid them?”
“If none of them ever find me, I won’t have to reject them.”
“That’s not going to work. You can’t stay at the resort forever, hiding in my shrubbery.”
Her lips trembled. All the beautiful fire in her eyes was extinguished. “I suppose not.”
A movement around the side of the cottage caught his eye. “And I believe, my dear Lady Jessie, your first suitor has caught up with you.”
Two
Jessie turned her head so quickly, her neck cracked. Mr. Windberry was correct. Jenour-Redmond was limping past the rhododendrons, his gaze fixed on her as he extinguished the beauty of their glorious pink blossoms with his presence.
In a panic, she turned back to Mr. Windberry. “Please, please don’t leave me alone with him.”
“It is my cottage.”
Was he being uncooperative? For all his open laughter and kind words, she couldn’t read this man. There was an edge to him, as if beneath the sympathy he hid a razor. He commanded rather than spoke, and always his eyes were watchful. Not that he didn’t focus on her. She had no complaints about that. But at the same time, she would have sworn he observed the flight of every bird, the movement of every creature within view of the cottage. “You mean—you’ll do as you like, not as I say?”
“No, I mean—no one’s going to chase me off of my porch.”
“Oh.” Placing her hand on her bosom, she heaved a sigh of relief. So all she had to do was stay here and she’d be safe from Jenour-Redmond’s disgusting, slobbery kisses. Although Mr. Windberry would have her believe some men’s kisses were acceptable, or even enjoyable.
Mr. Windberry’s?