does know you are here, doesn’t be?” Ian asked, worried that this young pair might have slipped their leashes without permission. He could be charged with kidnapping, next.
“Of course he knows. Did you think Troy and I stole away in the middle of the night?” She carefully dribbled a spoonful of willow bark tea into her brother’s mouth. “It was no such thing. Rensdale was happy enough to see us leave, as long as we took the Reverend Mr. Wiggs with us. As I said, Lady Rensdale and I do not agree on the proper management of Renslow Hall, although I am well aware that she is mistress. Not that Veronica would let anyone forget for an instant. Anyway, my older brother was not averse to our leaving, as long as it did not cost him anything.”
Ian nodded. “I’d heard he was a squeeze-penny. But how did you finance the journey?”
“I had some monies put aside, gifts from my mother’s family, mostly, and both Troy and I had been saving our allowances.”
He could tell the frugal lass had not been spending her pin money on new gowns and fripperies, and he was disgusted that any man of means should keep his own kin in such straitened circumstances. Ian’s own sister had never wanted for anything he could provide, and never would. “Your brother’s care for his dependents leaves much to be desired,” he noted.
Athena bit her lip. “Rensdale is my brother and I owe him my loyalty. Forgive me, my lord, I should never have spoken. Please excuse my mention of such personal matters as a product of the late hour.”
“Nonsense—we have come to be friends, have we not?” To his own surprise, Ian found that to be true.
They had talked and worked together, and yes, they had sung together. He found the chit intelligent and interesting, when she was not being impertinent.
As for Athena, she was comfortable enough in his lordship’s presence now that she was sitting cross-legged beside Troy on the bed, her feet tucked under her skirts, while the earl relaxed in the comfortable chair she had been using.
The idea that ordinary Attie Renslow could be friends with a London buck of the first water brought a smile to her lips. She liked the notion very well, and liked his lordship, when he was not trying to order her around. Then she grinned. “If we are friends, my lord, I am forced to admit that Rensdale does not know my uncle is not in town. The captain was supposed to take leave this month, but bad weather delayed his ship. We told Wiggy—Mr. Wiggs, that is—that dear Uncle Barnaby suffered a relapse of an old malady and is resting. Otherwise, Spartacus would have known as soon as the first post was delivered.”
“He knows now.”
She looked over at him through a curtain of damp curls that framed her face. “Pardon?”
“I say, your brother knows you and Troy are alone—were alone—here in London. I wrote to him.”
Athena sucked in her breath and mumbled a word suspiciously like one no gently bred miss should know, much less say. Ian doubted she’d learned it at the Reverend Mr. Wiggs’s side, and blamed the old sailor Macelmore. Now he said, “Pardon?”
She had the grace to blush. “Excuse me. But that was a remarkably forward, presumptuous, managing kind of action for you to take.”
Ian did not like being called forward or presumptuous. As for managing, that was what a gentleman did.
He unrolled his shirtsleeves for a more dignified appearance, lest the chit forget that while they might be friends, he was still in charge. “How could I not write to Viscount Rensdale when his brother—his current heir, I understand—was injured and taken to my home? What if he heard gossip or such, from your Mr. Wiggs or another acquaintance? Do you not think he should know his brother is ill?”
“I do not think he will care much either way. He never did. If he cared, he should have been the one to bring Troy to town to visit the specialists.”
“But if the injuries your brother suffered turn
“Of course he knows. Did you think Troy and I stole away in the middle of the night?” She carefully dribbled a spoonful of willow bark tea into her brother’s mouth. “It was no such thing. Rensdale was happy enough to see us leave, as long as we took the Reverend Mr. Wiggs with us. As I said, Lady Rensdale and I do not agree on the proper management of Renslow Hall, although I am well aware that she is mistress. Not that Veronica would let anyone forget for an instant. Anyway, my older brother was not averse to our leaving, as long as it did not cost him anything.”
Ian nodded. “I’d heard he was a squeeze-penny. But how did you finance the journey?”
“I had some monies put aside, gifts from my mother’s family, mostly, and both Troy and I had been saving our allowances.”
He could tell the frugal lass had not been spending her pin money on new gowns and fripperies, and he was disgusted that any man of means should keep his own kin in such straitened circumstances. Ian’s own sister had never wanted for anything he could provide, and never would. “Your brother’s care for his dependents leaves much to be desired,” he noted.
Athena bit her lip. “Rensdale is my brother and I owe him my loyalty. Forgive me, my lord, I should never have spoken. Please excuse my mention of such personal matters as a product of the late hour.”
“Nonsense—we have come to be friends, have we not?” To his own surprise, Ian found that to be true.
They had talked and worked together, and yes, they had sung together. He found the chit intelligent and interesting, when she was not being impertinent.
As for Athena, she was comfortable enough in his lordship’s presence now that she was sitting cross-legged beside Troy on the bed, her feet tucked under her skirts, while the earl relaxed in the comfortable chair she had been using.
The idea that ordinary Attie Renslow could be friends with a London buck of the first water brought a smile to her lips. She liked the notion very well, and liked his lordship, when he was not trying to order her around. Then she grinned. “If we are friends, my lord, I am forced to admit that Rensdale does not know my uncle is not in town. The captain was supposed to take leave this month, but bad weather delayed his ship. We told Wiggy—Mr. Wiggs, that is—that dear Uncle Barnaby suffered a relapse of an old malady and is resting. Otherwise, Spartacus would have known as soon as the first post was delivered.”
“He knows now.”
She looked over at him through a curtain of damp curls that framed her face. “Pardon?”
“I say, your brother knows you and Troy are alone—were alone—here in London. I wrote to him.”
Athena sucked in her breath and mumbled a word suspiciously like one no gently bred miss should know, much less say. Ian doubted she’d learned it at the Reverend Mr. Wiggs’s side, and blamed the old sailor Macelmore. Now he said, “Pardon?”
She had the grace to blush. “Excuse me. But that was a remarkably forward, presumptuous, managing kind of action for you to take.”
Ian did not like being called forward or presumptuous. As for managing, that was what a gentleman did.
He unrolled his shirtsleeves for a more dignified appearance, lest the chit forget that while they might be friends, he was still in charge. “How could I not write to Viscount Rensdale when his brother—his current heir, I understand—was injured and taken to my home? What if he heard gossip or such, from your Mr. Wiggs or another acquaintance? Do you not think he should know his brother is ill?”
“I do not think he will care much either way. He never did. If he cared, he should have been the one to bring Troy to town to visit the specialists.”
“But if the injuries your brother suffered turn
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