Jane Ingleby inclined her head graciously, and Ferdinand flushed and made her an awkward little bow and looked downright embarrassed.
“I say, Tresham,” he said, “has the injury turned you daft in the head?”
“I believe,” Jocelyn said, setting one hand to the aforementioned head, “you were about to take your leave, Ferdinand? Some advice, my dear fellow, though why I waste my breath giving it I do not know since Dudleys are not renowned for taking advice. Leave the Forbeses to me. Their quarrel is with me, not with you.”
“Damned rogues and gangsters!” His brother bristled. “They would be better employed giving their sister a good smacking. How you could have got involved with plowing that particular piece of skirt, I do not know. I—”
“Enough!” Jocelyn said coldly. “There is—” He was about to say there was a lady present, but he caught himself in time. “I am not answerable to you for my affairs. Take yourself off now, there’s a good fellow, and send Hawkins in to me. I intend to attempt to make clear to him that his future employment in this house depends upon his letting no one else beyond the doorstep for the rest of the day. If my head does not explode before nightfall and cause my brains to rain down on the books, I shall be very surprised.”
Lord Ferdinand left and the butler stepped into the library a minute or two later, looking apprehensive.
“I do apologize, your grace—” he began, but Jocelyn held up one hand.
“I will concede,” he said, “that it would probably take a whole regiment of seasoned soldiers and a battery of artillery to keep Lord Ferdinand and Lady Heyward out when they are determined to come in. But no one else today, Hawkins. Not even the Prince Regent himself should he deign to come calling. I trust I have made myself clear?”
“Yes, your grace.” His butler bowed deferentially and withdrew, closing the door behind him with merciful quietness.
Jocelyn sighed aloud. “Now, Miss Ingleby,” he said, “come and sit here and tell me how you plan to amuse me for the next three weeks. You have had plenty of time to think of an answer.”
“YES, IPLAY ALLthe most common card games,” Jane said in answer to a question, “but I will not play for money.” It had been one of her parents’ rules—no gambling in their home for higher stakes than pennies. And no playing at all after half a crown—two shillings and sixpence—had been lost. “Besides,” she added, “I have no money with which to play. I daresay you would derive no pleasure from a game in which the stakes were not high.”
“I am delighted you presume to know me so well,” he said. “Do you play chess?”
“No.” She shook her head. Her father had used to play, but he had had strange notions about women. Chess was a man’s game, he had always said with fond indulgence whenever she had asked him to teach her. His refusal had always made her want even more to be able to play it. “I have never learned.”
He looked at her broodingly. “I do not suppose you read,” he said.
“Of course I read.” Did he think her a total ignoramus? She remembered too late who she was supposed to be.
“Ah, of course,” he repeated softly, his gaze narrowing. “And write a neat hand too, I daresay. What sort of an orphanage was it, Miss Ingleby?”
“I told you,” she said. “A superior one.”
He looked hard at her but did not pursue the matter.
“And what other accomplishments do you have,” he asked, “with which to entertain me?”
“Is entertaining you a nurse’s job, then?” she asked.
“My nurse’s job is exactly what I say it is.” His eyes were looking her over as if he could see beneath all her garments. She found that gaze more than a little disconcerting. “It is not going to take you twenty-four hours of every day to change my bandage and lift my foot on and off cushions after all, is it?”
“No, your grace,” she admitted.
“Yet you are eating and living at my expense,” he said. “And I believe I am paying you a rather handsome salary. Do you begrudge me a little entertainment?”
“I believe,” she told him, “you will soon be heartily bored with what I have to offer.”
He half smiled, but rather than softening his face, the expression succeeded only in making him look rather wolfish. He had his quizzing glass in his hand, she noticed, though he did not raise it to his eye.
“We will see,” he said. “Remove that cap, Miss Ingleby. It offends me. It is remarkably hideous and ages you by at least a decade. How old are you?”
“I do not believe, your grace,” she said, “that my age is any of your business. And I would prefer to wear a cap when on duty.”
“Would you?” He looked suddenly haughty and not a little frightening with his eyebrows raised. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “Take it off.”
Defiance seemed futile. After all, she had never worn a cap before yesterday. It had just seemed like a good sort of disguise, like something beneath which she could at least half hide. She was not unaware of the fact that her hair was her most distinctive feature. She reluctantly untied the bow beneath her chin and pulled off the cap. She held it with both hands in her lap while his eyes were directed at her hair.
“One might say,” he said, “that it is your crowning glory, Miss Ingleby. Especially, I daresay, when it is not so ruthlessly braided and twisted. Which poses the question of why you were so determined to hide it. Are you afraid of me and my reputation?”
