Read Online Twelfth Night Secrets by Jane Feather - Free Book Online
Authors: Jane Feather
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chafing dishes on the sideboard.
“Kippers first, then, thank you.” He sat down at the table. “It’s a lovely morning, but the ground’s like iron. It was quite a frost last night.”
The Duke looked concerned. “Not too hard for the horses, I trust. I’d best talk to Jackson about the hunt.” He set his paper aside and stood. “If you’ll both excuse me. I’ll see you later, Marbury. Harriet, send for me as soon as Augusta arrives, will you? She’ll sulk for hours if I’m not there to bid her welcome.”
“Of course.” Harriet hid a smile as her grandfather strode from the breakfast parlor. She set a plate of kippersin front of the Earl and took her own seat, buttering a piece of toast. “He’ll be badgering poor Jackson morning, noon, and night now until the hunt.”
“Jackson?”
“The Huntsman. It’ll be up to him to make the decision about going out on Boxing Day.” Harriet sipped coffee. “It was kind of you to give the children your time this morning.”
“ Kind. Good God, I wasn’t kicking a ball with them out of kindness, I assure you.” He sounded genuinely offended. “It reminded me of impromptu games in my childhood. My brother and I used to play with the village lads when we could escape surveillance.” He dissected his kipper with meticulous delicacy.
“Well, I am grateful, anyway. They need some attention from someone other than myself. Tom, in particular, needs some . . .” Her voice faded. How to say that Tom needed a man’s influence, a man’s attention, now that his own brother and father were no longer there to provide it?
“Yes, I understand,” the Earl said swiftly. “It’s hard for a lad to grow up under a petticoat regime, however sporting and indulgent it may be.” He gave her a swift smile. “You can’t expect to replace Nicholas, my dear girl.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “I don’t.” And now allshe could think was that this man, offering these comforting nuggets of understanding, was suspected of being responsible for Nick’s death, even if he had not actually wielded the knife himself. And maybe he had. No one had seen the killing. She dropped her eyes, knowing they would reveal too much, and pushed back her chair, abandoning her toast. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I have much to do this morning before the guests arrive. I’m sure you are sufficiently at home here to entertain yourself.”
He rose with her, bowing, his face expressionless, his dark eyes unreadable. “As you say.” As she reached the door, he said, “I am still hoping for a tour of the picture gallery at some point, if you should manage to find the time.”
Harriet reminded herself that she would get nowhere by holding him at arm’s length. She raised her eyes to meet his steady gaze. “In an hour, perhaps. I will meet you in the Long Gallery, sir.”
“I look forward to it.” He bowed again as she whisked herself from the room.
Thoughtfully, Julius returned to his neglected kipper. What had been behind that sudden withdrawal? Oneminute she had been all conspiratorial smiles, and the next cold and distant. The instant before she had lowered her eyes, he had caught a sudden burn of anger, but he couldn’t imagine what he might have done or said to cause it. Nicholas had not had a mercurial temperament, he reflected. And as far as he could remember, in his many descriptions of his beloved sister, Nick had never so much as hinted at anything but an intelligent, humorous equanimity.
He shook his head and drank his ale. He had little time for the fair sex in his life, and while he’d had his liaisons, brief encounters over the years, he had never really spent concerted time with any one woman. He was never in one place long enough . . . or so he had always thought. The novel thought occurred now that perhaps he simply hadn’t met a woman who would make staying around worthwhile. He frowned at the pile of fish bones on his plate. How would he know when, or
“Kippers first, then, thank you.” He sat down at the table. “It’s a lovely morning, but the ground’s like iron. It was quite a frost last night.”
The Duke looked concerned. “Not too hard for the horses, I trust. I’d best talk to Jackson about the hunt.” He set his paper aside and stood. “If you’ll both excuse me. I’ll see you later, Marbury. Harriet, send for me as soon as Augusta arrives, will you? She’ll sulk for hours if I’m not there to bid her welcome.”
“Of course.” Harriet hid a smile as her grandfather strode from the breakfast parlor. She set a plate of kippersin front of the Earl and took her own seat, buttering a piece of toast. “He’ll be badgering poor Jackson morning, noon, and night now until the hunt.”
“Jackson?”
“The Huntsman. It’ll be up to him to make the decision about going out on Boxing Day.” Harriet sipped coffee. “It was kind of you to give the children your time this morning.”
“ Kind. Good God, I wasn’t kicking a ball with them out of kindness, I assure you.” He sounded genuinely offended. “It reminded me of impromptu games in my childhood. My brother and I used to play with the village lads when we could escape surveillance.” He dissected his kipper with meticulous delicacy.
“Well, I am grateful, anyway. They need some attention from someone other than myself. Tom, in particular, needs some . . .” Her voice faded. How to say that Tom needed a man’s influence, a man’s attention, now that his own brother and father were no longer there to provide it?
“Yes, I understand,” the Earl said swiftly. “It’s hard for a lad to grow up under a petticoat regime, however sporting and indulgent it may be.” He gave her a swift smile. “You can’t expect to replace Nicholas, my dear girl.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “I don’t.” And now allshe could think was that this man, offering these comforting nuggets of understanding, was suspected of being responsible for Nick’s death, even if he had not actually wielded the knife himself. And maybe he had. No one had seen the killing. She dropped her eyes, knowing they would reveal too much, and pushed back her chair, abandoning her toast. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I have much to do this morning before the guests arrive. I’m sure you are sufficiently at home here to entertain yourself.”
He rose with her, bowing, his face expressionless, his dark eyes unreadable. “As you say.” As she reached the door, he said, “I am still hoping for a tour of the picture gallery at some point, if you should manage to find the time.”
Harriet reminded herself that she would get nowhere by holding him at arm’s length. She raised her eyes to meet his steady gaze. “In an hour, perhaps. I will meet you in the Long Gallery, sir.”
“I look forward to it.” He bowed again as she whisked herself from the room.
Thoughtfully, Julius returned to his neglected kipper. What had been behind that sudden withdrawal? Oneminute she had been all conspiratorial smiles, and the next cold and distant. The instant before she had lowered her eyes, he had caught a sudden burn of anger, but he couldn’t imagine what he might have done or said to cause it. Nicholas had not had a mercurial temperament, he reflected. And as far as he could remember, in his many descriptions of his beloved sister, Nick had never so much as hinted at anything but an intelligent, humorous equanimity.
He shook his head and drank his ale. He had little time for the fair sex in his life, and while he’d had his liaisons, brief encounters over the years, he had never really spent concerted time with any one woman. He was never in one place long enough . . . or so he had always thought. The novel thought occurred now that perhaps he simply hadn’t met a woman who would make staying around worthwhile. He frowned at the pile of fish bones on his plate. How would he know when, or
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