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impulsive and improper she’d been as a child. Or maybe she still liked breaking rules but just didn’t want anyone to know about it.
He decided to let her off the hook. “We should have no trouble keeping out of each other’s way, since I also recall that White Oaks was nearly as big as Edgewood.”
“Bigger,” she rejoined with a tight little smirk, yet another indication of her competitive nature. “My father did some renovating after Eleanor ran off. And I added a conservatory off of the dining room when I decided I’d like to garden year-round rather than just in the warmer months.”
“Another gardener?” he replied with a roll of his eyes.
She raised a brow. “You enjoy flowers?”
“Not in the least, but my man John does.”
“It’s very relaxing, you know,” she imparted. “You should try it.”
“Flowers tend to die when I’m around them.”
She blinked, then made a moue. “That wasn’t very funny.”
“Was I laughing?”
She snorted. “I believe you’ve forgotten how to. Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself all these years, aside from building that remarkable reputation for accomplishing impossible tasks? Wasn’
t it rather—difficult—having your base in France, with Napoleon so annoyed with us?” He did have to work at not laughing this time. “Annoyed? That’s a rather gentle way of expressing the little tyrant’s sentiments toward Britain. He had us blockaded from every one of his conquered countries and forced his allies to do the same, whether they wanted to or not. He was planning on invading England, you know, and probably would have, if he hadn’t been distracted by the Russians.”
“Yes, I know we finally got fed up with the trade blockades and took the war to him,” she replied.
“But did you get involved at all?”
He shrugged. “A little. My particular talents came in handy during the Peninsular War, especially since I’m fluent in the French language, so I offered my services.”
“You acted as a spy!” she guessed.
“How astute of you. But I wasn’t involved for very long, just toward the end, when they forced Napoleon’s brother Joseph to flee from Madrid. And I wasn’t in France when Napoleon marched across it in 1815, gathering his last army, after his abdication. I had several jobs in Italy that year, didn’t even hear about his last effort to regain his throne until he was exiled again. But to answer your question, I bought those ruins only four years ago, after his exile, so no, I haven’t experienced any difficulty making my home in France.”
“You actually call that pile of stones a home?”
“Slip of the tongue, Lady Margaret. You’re right. It’s no more than a convenient place where I can be contacted. As it happens, I’m not there often, and rarely at this time of the year. If I hadn’t had a delivery to make near there, I probably would have been on my way to Italy by now.”
“How fortunate for me that—”
“And unfortunate for me,” he cut in. “Now to the matter at hand. I’ve been away from Kent for eleven years. I need to know what has occurred during that time. Any changes I should be aware of?” Her look was annoyed for a moment over that ‘unfortunate’ remark, but then she briefly ignored him while she gave the question some thought. Even in the full afternoon light, her eyes were still so dark, the brown in them was barely noticeable. She was still gripping most of her hair to contain it, but a few shorter strands kept floating across her cheek. He wondered if she’d notice if he pushed them behind her ear. Possibly not, she was so deep in thought, but he restrained himself.
She was charming in her dishevelment. Not many women were, but with Margaret, it made her seem more—accessible. She was too pretty by half, actually. And she wasn’t even trying to be attractive, far from it. It really did seem as if she couldn’t care less how she was perceived, which was quite odd for a
He decided to let her off the hook. “We should have no trouble keeping out of each other’s way, since I also recall that White Oaks was nearly as big as Edgewood.”
“Bigger,” she rejoined with a tight little smirk, yet another indication of her competitive nature. “My father did some renovating after Eleanor ran off. And I added a conservatory off of the dining room when I decided I’d like to garden year-round rather than just in the warmer months.”
“Another gardener?” he replied with a roll of his eyes.
She raised a brow. “You enjoy flowers?”
“Not in the least, but my man John does.”
“It’s very relaxing, you know,” she imparted. “You should try it.”
“Flowers tend to die when I’m around them.”
She blinked, then made a moue. “That wasn’t very funny.”
“Was I laughing?”
She snorted. “I believe you’ve forgotten how to. Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself all these years, aside from building that remarkable reputation for accomplishing impossible tasks? Wasn’
t it rather—difficult—having your base in France, with Napoleon so annoyed with us?” He did have to work at not laughing this time. “Annoyed? That’s a rather gentle way of expressing the little tyrant’s sentiments toward Britain. He had us blockaded from every one of his conquered countries and forced his allies to do the same, whether they wanted to or not. He was planning on invading England, you know, and probably would have, if he hadn’t been distracted by the Russians.”
“Yes, I know we finally got fed up with the trade blockades and took the war to him,” she replied.
“But did you get involved at all?”
He shrugged. “A little. My particular talents came in handy during the Peninsular War, especially since I’m fluent in the French language, so I offered my services.”
“You acted as a spy!” she guessed.
“How astute of you. But I wasn’t involved for very long, just toward the end, when they forced Napoleon’s brother Joseph to flee from Madrid. And I wasn’t in France when Napoleon marched across it in 1815, gathering his last army, after his abdication. I had several jobs in Italy that year, didn’t even hear about his last effort to regain his throne until he was exiled again. But to answer your question, I bought those ruins only four years ago, after his exile, so no, I haven’t experienced any difficulty making my home in France.”
“You actually call that pile of stones a home?”
“Slip of the tongue, Lady Margaret. You’re right. It’s no more than a convenient place where I can be contacted. As it happens, I’m not there often, and rarely at this time of the year. If I hadn’t had a delivery to make near there, I probably would have been on my way to Italy by now.”
“How fortunate for me that—”
“And unfortunate for me,” he cut in. “Now to the matter at hand. I’ve been away from Kent for eleven years. I need to know what has occurred during that time. Any changes I should be aware of?” Her look was annoyed for a moment over that ‘unfortunate’ remark, but then she briefly ignored him while she gave the question some thought. Even in the full afternoon light, her eyes were still so dark, the brown in them was barely noticeable. She was still gripping most of her hair to contain it, but a few shorter strands kept floating across her cheek. He wondered if she’d notice if he pushed them behind her ear. Possibly not, she was so deep in thought, but he restrained himself.
She was charming in her dishevelment. Not many women were, but with Margaret, it made her seem more—accessible. She was too pretty by half, actually. And she wasn’t even trying to be attractive, far from it. It really did seem as if she couldn’t care less how she was perceived, which was quite odd for a
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