sloshed tea from the spout. She stopped and took a breath.
“Here”—Mr. Featherton took the pot from her hands—“allow me.”
He was being surprisingly kind, considering how angry he was.
“Milk or cream?” he asked.
“Simons will have brought milk.”
The corners of Mr. Featherton’s well-shaped lips rose. “Sugar?”
“Yes. Two, please.”
Now that she was sure he wasn’t about to rail at her—at least not immediately—she allowed herself to study his features. His wavy hair was cut in the latest style, reminding her a bit of Byron, though his shoulders were much broader than the poet’s. Mr. Featherton dressed in the mode of a country gentleman, though it was clear no tailor less talented than the famous Weston had made his clothing. Beneath a fine layer of dust, she could see her reflection in the high gloss on his boots.
“There now.” He glanced up. His blue eyes caught her gaze. “Here is your tea, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Her hands still quivered a little, but the tension had begun to ease. She took a sip. She had to get control of this conversation. “I assure you I have said nothing about you to either the townspeople or the servants. I—I would not have slandered you. In fact, I did not truly know it was your property.”
“Indeed?”
Unable to look at Mr. Featherton, Mary smoothed her skirts. “You must wish to know how this deception came about.”
“That is what brought me here,” he said in a dry tone.
She flinched. “Yes, of course.”
Really, she told herself, she was acting like a fool. “This was my worst fear. Grandmamma and Aunt Eunice said it wouldn’t happen, but it did, and I knew it would.” Mary straightened her shoulders. “I am sorry. My aunt and I shall leave in the morning, or as soon after as may be.”
He took a sip of tea, then placed his cup on the table. “I do not think that is the best strategy. Your immediate removal would cause unwanted talk. I would like to know how you came to be living here. After all, you do not resemble the typical adventuress.”
He was taking it all so coolly that Mary relaxed even more. She surprised herself when a gurgle of laughter escaped. “Is there such a thing?”
He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “A good question. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting such a woman.”
Given his straitlaced reputation, that wasn’t startling. She took another sip of tea. “I said they should have leased a property, but my aunt said that would leave a trail.”
He went still and stared at her, and there was an almost dangerous edge in his voice as he asked, “And just who are you so afraid of that your safest option was to masquerade as my wife?”
CHAPTER SIX
M ary knew that Mr. Featherton deserved to know the truth, and there was no point in hiding it now that she’d been discovered.
“My cousin, Gawain Tolliver.” She took a breath. “Since my mourning for my father ended, I have been moving from family member to family member hiding from him. His father, my uncle, is my trustee.” Mr. Perfect—if she kept thinking of him by that name, she was going to slip and end up blurting it out—Mr. Featherton listened patiently while she tried to tell the story in a logical fashion. “That is how I ended up at Rose Hill.”
He was quiet for several moments, his brows drawn together in thought. “Your cousin has not found you here, has he?”
“No.” She heaved a sigh. “The months I’ve been here are the first time in years that I’ve felt safe from him. Being at Rose Hill has been like heaven.” She smiled, remembering all she had done. “I was able to try new ideas for the estate and refurbish the formal garden.”
Kit set down his cup. His anger rapidly drained as he considered Mary’s plight. Now that he could see her , the only thing he could think was that Lady Mary had a beautiful smile and he was happy to finally see it aimed in his direction. In a rueful tone, he said,
“Here”—Mr. Featherton took the pot from her hands—“allow me.”
He was being surprisingly kind, considering how angry he was.
“Milk or cream?” he asked.
“Simons will have brought milk.”
The corners of Mr. Featherton’s well-shaped lips rose. “Sugar?”
“Yes. Two, please.”
Now that she was sure he wasn’t about to rail at her—at least not immediately—she allowed herself to study his features. His wavy hair was cut in the latest style, reminding her a bit of Byron, though his shoulders were much broader than the poet’s. Mr. Featherton dressed in the mode of a country gentleman, though it was clear no tailor less talented than the famous Weston had made his clothing. Beneath a fine layer of dust, she could see her reflection in the high gloss on his boots.
“There now.” He glanced up. His blue eyes caught her gaze. “Here is your tea, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Her hands still quivered a little, but the tension had begun to ease. She took a sip. She had to get control of this conversation. “I assure you I have said nothing about you to either the townspeople or the servants. I—I would not have slandered you. In fact, I did not truly know it was your property.”
“Indeed?”
Unable to look at Mr. Featherton, Mary smoothed her skirts. “You must wish to know how this deception came about.”
“That is what brought me here,” he said in a dry tone.
She flinched. “Yes, of course.”
Really, she told herself, she was acting like a fool. “This was my worst fear. Grandmamma and Aunt Eunice said it wouldn’t happen, but it did, and I knew it would.” Mary straightened her shoulders. “I am sorry. My aunt and I shall leave in the morning, or as soon after as may be.”
He took a sip of tea, then placed his cup on the table. “I do not think that is the best strategy. Your immediate removal would cause unwanted talk. I would like to know how you came to be living here. After all, you do not resemble the typical adventuress.”
He was taking it all so coolly that Mary relaxed even more. She surprised herself when a gurgle of laughter escaped. “Is there such a thing?”
He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “A good question. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting such a woman.”
Given his straitlaced reputation, that wasn’t startling. She took another sip of tea. “I said they should have leased a property, but my aunt said that would leave a trail.”
He went still and stared at her, and there was an almost dangerous edge in his voice as he asked, “And just who are you so afraid of that your safest option was to masquerade as my wife?”
CHAPTER SIX
M ary knew that Mr. Featherton deserved to know the truth, and there was no point in hiding it now that she’d been discovered.
“My cousin, Gawain Tolliver.” She took a breath. “Since my mourning for my father ended, I have been moving from family member to family member hiding from him. His father, my uncle, is my trustee.” Mr. Perfect—if she kept thinking of him by that name, she was going to slip and end up blurting it out—Mr. Featherton listened patiently while she tried to tell the story in a logical fashion. “That is how I ended up at Rose Hill.”
He was quiet for several moments, his brows drawn together in thought. “Your cousin has not found you here, has he?”
“No.” She heaved a sigh. “The months I’ve been here are the first time in years that I’ve felt safe from him. Being at Rose Hill has been like heaven.” She smiled, remembering all she had done. “I was able to try new ideas for the estate and refurbish the formal garden.”
Kit set down his cup. His anger rapidly drained as he considered Mary’s plight. Now that he could see her , the only thing he could think was that Lady Mary had a beautiful smile and he was happy to finally see it aimed in his direction. In a rueful tone, he said,
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