He did not bother to respond, nor did he berate his housekeeper for daring to ask such an impertinent question.Mrs. Fitch, along with Grimes, Martha, and several others in the household, had been in service to his family since he was a child. They knew him well enough to sense that he held some interest for the vicar’s niece. He never would have given up his own bedchamber for anyone else. “Just take those newspapers up to Miss Temple.”
“Of course.” She bobbed a curtsy and scurried out, closing the door behind her.
Jonas let out a breath and settled in the chair behind his desk once he was alone again.
There were several investment proposals awaiting his review that had been sitting on his desk for several weeks now. He also had certain grain contracts to read over that his London solicitors had prepared and now awaited his signature.
The work took the rest of the day to complete.
As the last rays of sunlight began to fade and the sky turned a darker shade of gray, he rose and stretched his aching back.
Soon, the sky would turn black as ink and there would be no light save for the moon’s silver glow, or as much of it as could filter through the clouds. He walked to the window and stared out of it as he had done several times over the course of the afternoon.
He noticed the outline of a moon visible against the sky. Were the clouds breaking up? Did this signify the blizzard’s end? Or was this just a pause?
Surprisingly, he wished the snowfall to continue. He was not ready to lose Ailis yet, and not only because he still owed her those eight kisses.
Ah, kissing the mouthy spinster.
The taste of her still lingered on his lips.
He had eaten several meals since those kisses, and yet…the sweet taste of her was still on his tongue and in his memory.
He shook off the thought. Having accomplished a solid amount of work for the day, he set the rest aside and walked upstairs to look in on Ailis.
She looked up and cast him a beaming smile as he strode in. “I hope you had a productive afternoon, Your Grace. Can you believe it is still snowing? I wonder when it will let up.”
“Probably soon. The sky cannot be holding much more snow. I expect we will wake up to blue skies and brightest sunlight tomorrow morning.”
“I hope so. I need to get back to my uncle.”
“Why? You cannot move that shoulder without the risk of damaging it. Has my staff not been taking excellent care of you?” He studied Ailis, who looked snug as a little bird nestled in his big bed. She was huddled under the covers and had the woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. A few gossip rags were strewn atop the covers and others were piled on the chair beside her bed. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting the room in a familiar amber glow.
It all felt rather cozy.
Splendid, too.
“Oh, yes. I have been treated like a princess.” Ailis’s hair was drawn off her face and fashioned in a loose braid down her back. Her bright eyes held his gaze and captivated him. “Here, do sit down, Your Grace.” She reached for the newspapers on the chair and attempted to remove them with just one hand.
He quickly came to her side and took them all before they fell to the floor. “I have them.” Grumbling, he handed them to Martha to set aside on the table for now. “But this proves my point, Miss Temple. Does it not? You are going to hurt your shoulder if you insist on doing things for yourself.”
She let out a breath. “Admonishment received, Your Grace. By the way, thank you for the reading material.”
“Have you read all the scandal sheets?” he asked, settling into the chair beside the bed.
“Just the ones I had piled on the chair. These others are for tonight.”
“Have you come across anything particularly lurid or tantalizing?” he asked with a grin.
She cast him the prettiest smile. “Oh, yes. Lots. There’s even mention of you and the ladies who people are betting on to win your heart.”
He snorted and stretched his legs before him. “They are all going to lose their bets.”
“Oh, you mustn’t say that. Lady Viola Carstairs is the daughter of the Duke of Carstairs and reputed to be not only this year’stondiamond, but the diamond of the decade. I think she will be among the party coming to Langford Hall with your mother for Christmas. Lady Willa Montroy is another candidate for your affections. She’s the only daughter of the seventh Earl of Montroy and another young lady much coveted for her beauty.”
“Temple, do not indulge this nonsense. I have escorted both of them around London before and found them deadly boring.”
“How can you say such a thing? They are witty and polished, and I am certain they have dozens of men falling at their feet.”
