He’s been installed as earl."
Eleanor considered for a moment, her sharp mind quickly grasping the intricacies. "They’ll never accept Michael as Edward’s child."
"No, they never will."
"They’d have to disavow the other boy. They never would."
"No, never."
"Could Michael be…in danger from them?"
"I don’t think so, but we shouldn’t linger here and find out."
Eleanor’s shoulders slumped with defeat. "What now?"
"Now, we walk to the Abbey, locate Michael and—next time—do a better job of running away."
CHAPTER FIVE
"I need to learn to ride and shoot and fight."
"That’s quite a list."
"A boy should be good at all those things, don’t you think?"
"I absolutely agree."
Jackson grinned at Michael. They were in the library at Milton Abbey, enjoying some cake and conversation while waiting for Grace to stomp in like a mad hornet.
"My mother would never allow any fighting," Michael said. "She felt a gentleman shouldn’t."
"But sometimes a fellow has to brawl."
"Exactly," Michael solemnly stated. "I tried to explain it to her, but she was a girl. She didn’t understand."
Jackson nodded in commiseration, disturbed to discover that he liked Michael very much.
He was smart as a whip, mature for his age, well-mannered, and confident in his speech and demeanor. And he looked so much like Edward. His facial expressions, his gestures, his smile. Jackson was mesmerized and alarmed, and he caught himself hoping that Michael was his nephew.
He hadn’t yet met Percival—his other, real nephew—but he’d heard the stories. Percival was chubby and bumbling and possessed none of Edward’s remarkable traits. And with Percival having bright red hair, there were constant rumors that Percival wasn’t Edward’s son, that Susan had had an affair.
Jackson had never believed the gossip. Susan had been too intent on becoming a countess, and she wouldn’t have jeopardized her situation.
"When will Grace arrive?" Michael asked.
"I expect her any minute."
"She’ll be upset with me."
"She won’t be angry with you. She’ll be angry with me ."
"Yes, I’m afraid she will be."
Jackson shrugged. "Don’t worry. She’s tiny so she won’t do much damage."
"She may be tiny," Michael sagely advised, "but she can be fierce when riled."
"I’ll keep that in mind."
A ruckus commenced in the front vestibule, and Michael’s eyes widened with dismay. It had to be Grace.
Jackson pointed to the French windows that led onto the rear terrace.
"Why don’t you go to the stables? Inform the lads you’re to have a tour. Pick out the horse you like best, and tomorrow we’ll start your riding lessons."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Irate footsteps pounded in their direction, and Michael frowned. "Shouldn’t I talk to Grace first? She’ll want to be sure I’m all right."
"I’ll tell her you’re fine. You don’t need to stay."
Michael flashed a look of male conspiracy, the precise sort Jackson had shared with Edward when they were boys and plotting against their mother.
"Go," Jackson urged. "I’ll come out in a bit and find you."
"Thank you, Uncle Jack."
The endearing term caused Jackson to flinch. He supposed he should caution him about using the intimate mode of address. After all, he couldn’t have Michael running about, calling him uncle , but Jackson liked the sound of it.
Just as Michael vanished, Grace marched in, her sister trailing behind. Grace was as furious as he could have predicted, and he was having difficulty displaying the appropriate reaction. He was charmed by Michael, humored by their scheme to conceal him from Grace, and actually eager for their next round of sparring.
"You scurvy dog!" She stormed over until they were toe to toe. "Where is my ward?"
"I’m hiding him. I’ll give him back when you behave better."
"When I behave better?" She was nearly apoplectic. "You are a lecherous, salacious, lazy,
Eleanor considered for a moment, her sharp mind quickly grasping the intricacies. "They’ll never accept Michael as Edward’s child."
"No, they never will."
"They’d have to disavow the other boy. They never would."
"No, never."
"Could Michael be…in danger from them?"
"I don’t think so, but we shouldn’t linger here and find out."
Eleanor’s shoulders slumped with defeat. "What now?"
"Now, we walk to the Abbey, locate Michael and—next time—do a better job of running away."
CHAPTER FIVE
"I need to learn to ride and shoot and fight."
"That’s quite a list."
"A boy should be good at all those things, don’t you think?"
"I absolutely agree."
Jackson grinned at Michael. They were in the library at Milton Abbey, enjoying some cake and conversation while waiting for Grace to stomp in like a mad hornet.
"My mother would never allow any fighting," Michael said. "She felt a gentleman shouldn’t."
"But sometimes a fellow has to brawl."
"Exactly," Michael solemnly stated. "I tried to explain it to her, but she was a girl. She didn’t understand."
Jackson nodded in commiseration, disturbed to discover that he liked Michael very much.
He was smart as a whip, mature for his age, well-mannered, and confident in his speech and demeanor. And he looked so much like Edward. His facial expressions, his gestures, his smile. Jackson was mesmerized and alarmed, and he caught himself hoping that Michael was his nephew.
He hadn’t yet met Percival—his other, real nephew—but he’d heard the stories. Percival was chubby and bumbling and possessed none of Edward’s remarkable traits. And with Percival having bright red hair, there were constant rumors that Percival wasn’t Edward’s son, that Susan had had an affair.
Jackson had never believed the gossip. Susan had been too intent on becoming a countess, and she wouldn’t have jeopardized her situation.
"When will Grace arrive?" Michael asked.
"I expect her any minute."
"She’ll be upset with me."
"She won’t be angry with you. She’ll be angry with me ."
"Yes, I’m afraid she will be."
Jackson shrugged. "Don’t worry. She’s tiny so she won’t do much damage."
"She may be tiny," Michael sagely advised, "but she can be fierce when riled."
"I’ll keep that in mind."
A ruckus commenced in the front vestibule, and Michael’s eyes widened with dismay. It had to be Grace.
Jackson pointed to the French windows that led onto the rear terrace.
"Why don’t you go to the stables? Inform the lads you’re to have a tour. Pick out the horse you like best, and tomorrow we’ll start your riding lessons."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Irate footsteps pounded in their direction, and Michael frowned. "Shouldn’t I talk to Grace first? She’ll want to be sure I’m all right."
"I’ll tell her you’re fine. You don’t need to stay."
Michael flashed a look of male conspiracy, the precise sort Jackson had shared with Edward when they were boys and plotting against their mother.
"Go," Jackson urged. "I’ll come out in a bit and find you."
"Thank you, Uncle Jack."
The endearing term caused Jackson to flinch. He supposed he should caution him about using the intimate mode of address. After all, he couldn’t have Michael running about, calling him uncle , but Jackson liked the sound of it.
Just as Michael vanished, Grace marched in, her sister trailing behind. Grace was as furious as he could have predicted, and he was having difficulty displaying the appropriate reaction. He was charmed by Michael, humored by their scheme to conceal him from Grace, and actually eager for their next round of sparring.
"You scurvy dog!" She stormed over until they were toe to toe. "Where is my ward?"
"I’m hiding him. I’ll give him back when you behave better."
"When I behave better?" She was nearly apoplectic. "You are a lecherous, salacious, lazy,
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