Her smile faded. “Oh. Then forgive me for intruding.” She made to rise.
“No. Not at all. Please stay.” He reached out and touched her hand, then snatched it away again just as quickly. “You misunderstand. It is only large crowds that tire me. And speaking before such a group—an argumentative group, I might add—with so much depending on the outcome...” He shook his head. “But talking with one person, especially you, has quite the opposite effect. You are like fresh air and sunshine after a storm.”
She blinked, then ducked her head, pleased but self-consciousunder his praise. When she looked up, she saw him reach up and adjust his cravat, again reddening above it.
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I sound a very poor poet.”
“Not at all.”
“Poet? Freddy? This Imusthear.”
Thomas strode into the courtyard, dragged over a chair from a nearby table, and plopped down next to them, helping himself to the remaining piece of seed cake and licking his fingers like a child.
He eyed her expectantly, golden eyebrows high.
A quick glance revealed Frederick’s discomfort. When he said nothing and shifted in his seat, Rebecca said, “Sir Frederick was only telling me about the meeting.” She added, “Something of a ... storm ... apparently.”
“Oh, is that all.” Thomas sighed. “I had hoped for something more interesting. But yes, the meeting had its stormy bits. Flashes of lightning and drenching rain ... but also a few bright moments amid the clouds.”
Frederick smirked. “Now you sound the poet.”
“Miss Lane has inspired me. Although I am sorry to report that Frederick put your poor Lady Fitzhoward straight to sleep.”
Now Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Lady Fitzhoward was there?”
“Indeed. Until she snored and woke herself up.”
Rebecca grinned and shook her head. “I must say, I never before heard anyone use the wordpoorto describe her.”
Thomas grinned back then looked at his brother. “So what’s the final tally? Seems our mad doctor is in as well as Hess and Fernsby.”
Frederick nodded. “Not enough, however.”
“Mad ... doctor?” Rebecca echoed, attempting a laugh, which came out as a warble.
“Dr. Fox,” Frederick corrected. “A highly reputable physician. His new methods are far more humane than those of others of his ilk.”
“Who cares about his methods; how deep are his pockets?” Thomas asked with a sly wink. “It is good of him to involve himself at all, after he—”
Sir Frederick sent his brother a warning glance. “Thomas...”
The younger man raised his hands in surrender. “Never mind. Surely Miss Lane knows not to heed anything I say? Or if not, she will soon figure that out.”
6
Rebecca tentatively approached the room adjacent to Lady Fitzhoward’s suite to ask Nicole Joly to help her dress for dinner an hour earlier than the evening before.
She felt oddly nervous. She knew the lady’s maid resented that Rebecca dined with their employer while Miss Joly took her meals in her room or—when at Lady Fitzhoward’s home—with the housekeeper. So Rebecca knocked and clasped her hands, bracing herself for a sullen response.
Instead, the Frenchwoman agreed without rancor. Setting aside her sewing, she adjusted her beribboned lace cap and followed Rebecca upstairs. As the maid helped her into the same evening dress, Rebecca glimpsed the woman’s reflection in the mirror and was surprised to see a hint of a smile on her thin mouth.
“And what has you looking so happy?” Rebecca dared ask.
Joly shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps because I am eating well here. The chef isFrançais.”
“Ah. And have you met this French chef?”
She nodded. “When I go to the kitchen for my lady’s chocolate, I hear someone speakingen français. I respond in kind,etvoila! Monsieur Marhic asked where I come from, and offered to prepare for me the special dishes from home. A welcome change from the bland English food.” Nicole Joly sighed wistfully. “He is very kind.”
