Page 14 of Courting Miss Lancaster
“Estimable?”Athena objected, though she kept her voice too low to carry beyond their small group. “I do not care how well his tailor turns him out, I do not place any confidence in that man’s evaluation of any person. Mr. Peterbrook is without a doubt the most shallow, self-absorbed individual I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“Am I to assume he will not be in the running for your hand, Athena?” Harry asked, leaning closer to her and speaking so softly she could barely make out his words.
“How could you think otherwise?” Athena replied, matching his volume.
“He is a gentleman, I assure you, and entirely eligible. And, you must admit, has the ability to hold up his end of a conversation. He is also not overly somber.” Harry shrugged slightly. “Those were, I understood, your only specific requirements in a suitor.”
“Well, you may add ‘some depth of character’ and ‘a healthy dose of humility’ to that list, Mr. Windover,” Athena answered, pursing her lips. Drat the man, he was practically forcing an unromantic list-making on her.
“Mr. Windover?”Harry repeated. “Are you upset with me?”
She sighed. “No. I simply find I do not very much care for your friends,” Athena answered, thinking of Mr. Howard as well as Mr. Peterbrook.
“Howard and Peterbrook are more acquaintances than friends,” Harry said as if reading her thoughts. “Of course, if you would prefer I not introduce you to the gentlemen I know...”
“No,” Athena reassured him. How was she ever to find the man of her dreams if she never met anyone? “I appreciate your helping Adam and Persephone with my Season, truly I do.”
“It is my pleasure,” he replied, but something in his tone sounded almost regretful.
“Dare I hope you will eventually introduce me to a gentleman whodoesn’thave a glaringly lacking character?”
His reply sounded almost like “Don’t hold your breath.” But such a response would not make sense, so Athena dismissed the possibility.
A gentleman who is eligible, conversant, lighthearted, possessing some depth of character, and who is not self-absorbed and conceited.Surely that was not too much to ask for. The romantic in her still objected to the cold and calculating nature of a list, but Athena’s logical side was finding it remarkably beneficial.
Chapter Six
VW
Harry was whistling as hewalked into Adam’s book room. Adam hated when Harry whistled. And though it was difficult to do so while fighting a grin, Harry took the opportunity to whistle a jaunty tune once in a while when Adam was certain to overhear.
Adam was rolling his eyes as Harry dropped into his usual wingback armchair just to the side of Adam’s imposing desk. Harry had long ago refused to sit in the abnormally low straight-back chair that sat directly across from Adam. It was a place meant to inspire a feeling of inferiority and discomfort to its occupant. Harry would really rather not.
“Your message sounded urgent,” Harry said casually. In all reality he was excessively curious.Falstone House. Now.That was the extent of Adam’s scrawled note. The curtness of it meant Adam was either angry or annoyed. Harry preferred annoyed—it was a far less tricky state of mind to navigate. Adam was a touch too unpredictable when he was truly angry.
“And yet,” Adam said, “you took more than an hour to arrive.”
The irritation in Adam’s tone was reassuring. “It didn’t soundthaturgent,” Harry replied, leaning back in his chair, presenting the very picture of unconcerned relaxation.
“A gentleman of sense would have found any correspondence from me urgent to the point of panic.”
“The fact that I am so obviously something of a flat must really burn your spleen,” Harry observed.
“Cut the cant, Harry.” That was Adam’s usual reply to Harry’s use of slang. Adam disliked slang as much as whistling. Probably more. “I am out of patience with you as it is.”
“And what sin do you have to lay at my door this time?” Harry asked with a chuckle he didn’t bother to hide. He had become something of an expert on Adam Boyce over the years, learning to read his expressions and tones as easily as he read words on a paper. It was true, Adam was certainly annoyed with Harry. But his disgruntled feelings didn’t go beyond that. There was no true anger, simply irritation.
Adam raised an eyebrow, face stern, mouth a thin line of disapproval. He held up a sheet of paper, its writing visible but not legible from a distance, folded in a way that proclaimed it a piece of correspondence.
Odd. Harry couldn’t immediately identify what a letter could contain that would gain him Adam’s ire. Nor could he guess from whom the letter might have come.
Quite suddenly, Adam was not alone at his desk. A girl, small for her age with her dark hair pulled back in two long plaits, deep-brown eyes contrasting against her pale face, stood beside Adam, her gaze darting between the two men. Daphne, Athena’s twelve-year-old sister, had a way of moving about the house in such absolute silence that one never anticipated her arrival in a room.
Harry smiled at her, as he always did when they were in company with one another. Her cheeks pinked as usual. But to Harry’s surprise, instead of the posture of bashful discomfort she had assumed in the past, Daphne moved closer to Adam, curling into his side. Adam reached out to his silent sister-in-law and wrapped his arm around her slim shoulders, actually pulling her closer to him, remaining seated. Harry stared in astonished disbelief. This was not the prickly, unapproachable Adam Boyce he knew.
“What is it, Daphne?” Adam asked, every trace of annoyance gone from his tone. Harry thought Adam even almost smiled.
“I wanted to come sit with you,” she answered, her voice so quiet Harry could barely make out her words. Her eyes darted to him for a moment before returning to gaze at her clasped hands, hanging in front of her. “It is four o’clock. As always.”
