five? He could not recall if this salon had a particular use or name. The music room? He pushed open the door and looked in. He didn’t think he’d been in it more than a dozen times since he came to Bitterward with his sister and brother in tow.
He did not see musical instruments.
What he did see was Nigel standing by a table, his back to the door, one hand on the top rail of a chair occupied by Miss Lily Wellstone. A paisley shawl draped down her back. Nigel was bent over her shoulder, intently watching something.Eugenia and Miss Jane Kirk were here, too, as intent as Nigel on the table. Jane sat enough to one side that if she were to look up, she’d see the door. And him. Her gloved hands were pressed together and her cheek rested on her uppermost hand. He was struck by what a pretty woman Jane was. He could not do better for his duchess. Like Nigel, Eugenia and Miss Kirk were absorbed in whatever Miss Wellstone was doing.
As best he could tell, Miss Wellstone appeared to be writing or perhaps drawing. Sketching the room as she liked to do? Her intention, she’d said, was to draw the entire house before she departed. Rather than continue in and interrupt them, he leaned against the door and drank in the sight of Lily. He remembered how she’d melted in his arms, the taste of her, the touch of her lips, the roar of passion through him.
She laughed in that heartfelt way of hers, and Eugenia leaned closer to look. His sister giggled. So did Jane, for that matter. Miss Wellstone reached forward with one hand, did something, then drew back. An action consistent with dipping a quill into ink. So. She was writing or drawing something.
“Have a care,” Nigel said.
Miss Wellstone spared his brother a quick glance. “I am being very careful. Honestly, Lord Nigel. Has disaster struck yet?”
“No. But you’re tipping it.”
She did something with whatever they were looking at. “That’s because you distracted me.” She wrote or drew something. “Don’t distract me, my dear young man, and all will be well.”
Eugenia propped her chin on a fist this time and said, “What are you going to write next?”
Jane craned her neck to look. Her dark hair contrasted with the blond of the others. She would do well as his duchess. Very well indeed. He wondered if they had decided to write a play. There were enough young people in the environs of High Tearing to put on a creditable production. Lord,he hoped they did not intend to perform their creation at Bitterward. The house would be overrun, and he’d be forced to lock himself in his office to escape the agony.
“Something dramatic,” Miss Wellstone said. “Something to pull at our hearts. Unless anyone wants to compose an extempore poem, a line from Shakespeare I think.
Out damn spot!
” She made a flourish in the air then returned to her paper and wrote something down. “Out, out, you dreadful lout.”
Nigel guffawed. “Oh, poetess!”
On the other hand, Mountjoy was convinced Miss Wellstone would prove an adept actress. It would be amusing to watch her in a dramatic role. If they were writing a play, he would not object to having the performance here despite the disruption to his schedule. So long as they did not disturb him with their rehearsals.
“‘Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’” Miss Wellstone did a creditable Lady Macbeth, full of fearful lunacy.
Nigel said, “Write something else.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. ‘The weather is fine today’?”
“No,” Jane said. “Write, ‘Mountjoy has not smiled these seven years.’”
Nigel gave her a quick look. Miss Wellstone continued writing, pausing frequently to dip her pen in what Mountjoy presumed was an inkpot. “Why would I write that?”
“Because it’s true,” Jane said. “Isn’t it, Lord Nigel?”
“He has a great many duties, Miss Kirk, to
He did not see musical instruments.
What he did see was Nigel standing by a table, his back to the door, one hand on the top rail of a chair occupied by Miss Lily Wellstone. A paisley shawl draped down her back. Nigel was bent over her shoulder, intently watching something.Eugenia and Miss Jane Kirk were here, too, as intent as Nigel on the table. Jane sat enough to one side that if she were to look up, she’d see the door. And him. Her gloved hands were pressed together and her cheek rested on her uppermost hand. He was struck by what a pretty woman Jane was. He could not do better for his duchess. Like Nigel, Eugenia and Miss Kirk were absorbed in whatever Miss Wellstone was doing.
As best he could tell, Miss Wellstone appeared to be writing or perhaps drawing. Sketching the room as she liked to do? Her intention, she’d said, was to draw the entire house before she departed. Rather than continue in and interrupt them, he leaned against the door and drank in the sight of Lily. He remembered how she’d melted in his arms, the taste of her, the touch of her lips, the roar of passion through him.
She laughed in that heartfelt way of hers, and Eugenia leaned closer to look. His sister giggled. So did Jane, for that matter. Miss Wellstone reached forward with one hand, did something, then drew back. An action consistent with dipping a quill into ink. So. She was writing or drawing something.
“Have a care,” Nigel said.
Miss Wellstone spared his brother a quick glance. “I am being very careful. Honestly, Lord Nigel. Has disaster struck yet?”
“No. But you’re tipping it.”
She did something with whatever they were looking at. “That’s because you distracted me.” She wrote or drew something. “Don’t distract me, my dear young man, and all will be well.”
Eugenia propped her chin on a fist this time and said, “What are you going to write next?”
Jane craned her neck to look. Her dark hair contrasted with the blond of the others. She would do well as his duchess. Very well indeed. He wondered if they had decided to write a play. There were enough young people in the environs of High Tearing to put on a creditable production. Lord,he hoped they did not intend to perform their creation at Bitterward. The house would be overrun, and he’d be forced to lock himself in his office to escape the agony.
“Something dramatic,” Miss Wellstone said. “Something to pull at our hearts. Unless anyone wants to compose an extempore poem, a line from Shakespeare I think.
Out damn spot!
” She made a flourish in the air then returned to her paper and wrote something down. “Out, out, you dreadful lout.”
Nigel guffawed. “Oh, poetess!”
On the other hand, Mountjoy was convinced Miss Wellstone would prove an adept actress. It would be amusing to watch her in a dramatic role. If they were writing a play, he would not object to having the performance here despite the disruption to his schedule. So long as they did not disturb him with their rehearsals.
“‘Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’” Miss Wellstone did a creditable Lady Macbeth, full of fearful lunacy.
Nigel said, “Write something else.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. ‘The weather is fine today’?”
“No,” Jane said. “Write, ‘Mountjoy has not smiled these seven years.’”
Nigel gave her a quick look. Miss Wellstone continued writing, pausing frequently to dip her pen in what Mountjoy presumed was an inkpot. “Why would I write that?”
“Because it’s true,” Jane said. “Isn’t it, Lord Nigel?”
“He has a great many duties, Miss Kirk, to
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