Mercifully, her angelic little boy stepped in to distract before the thought could take root in Abe’s mind. “Do you want to meet the new puppies?” he asked, grabbing at Abe’s hand, impatient forthe attention to return to him. “Do you want to see them, Uncle Abe? Do you?”
“Of course I do, lad,” Abe laughed, sparkling with joy as he was tugged out of the room.
Patricia and Claire watched them go.
“Does he know,” Claire asked after a moment, “that the puppies are in the dower house?”
“He does not,” Patricia answered with a mischievous little smile. “Usually, I’d trail along to observe an unsuspecting soul’s first encounter with Tommy, but alas, I find myself quite spent for motivation while playing the bride.”
Claire laughed. Tommy was her son’s great-grandmother, a steel beam of a woman with very little patience for overt charm. It was hard to say how Abe Murphy would fare against her, even with little Oliver in tow.
“She might like him,” Patricia said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “She tends to prefer more common folk, after all.”
“Be nice,” chided Claire, while silently and completely agreeing.
She smiled, unchastened. “Frederick—my Frederick, I mean, Freddy’s father—he used to introduce people to his mother by asking them first if they had worn something thick that day. He’d tell them they were going to need the armor.”
“It’s good advice,” Claire replied, leaning against the sideboard with a sigh. “Freddy said the same thing to me once, when speaking of her. Almost word for word.”
“Ah, well, boys and their fathers,” Patricia replied wistfully, blinking a couple of times at the sunlight streaming in throughthe large windows opposite them, little dust motes dancing in the air.
Claire watched them too, watched how languid and unbothered they were by the world around them. Oh, to be a dust mote.
“Speaking of which,” Patricia cut into her thoughts, scattering the motes with her very breath. “What have you told Oliver? Do you plan to … to introduce them? When he arrives, I mean?”
“I …” Claire tried to swallow, her throat suddenly dry. “I … oh, drat. Oh, dratting hell!”
“Ah,” said the dowager countess, not unkindly. “Perhaps it’s something to think about, dear.”
Claire huffed.
She had quite enough to think about already.
CHAPTER 2
Freddy Hightower woke at dawn.
Of course, there was not a damned thing to do at dawn, especially at a coaching inn. Wasn’t that always the way?
He’d tried to read the book he had brought for the journey, but the words kept blurring and melding together on the page.
They were just outside of Oxford. He could buy another book if this one was defective, though of course, the bookshop owners were probably still on their lazy arses in bed at this hour.
He sighed, tossing the book onto his rumpled bed and making his way to the window to look out at the environs beyond, the little streams that sprouted from the Thames, reaching in all directions like they didn’t know how feeble and narrow they were.
Everything was green now. The white and pink and yellow of early spring bloom had fallen away to the vibrant monochrome of summer, well ahead of the necessary deadline.
Freddy preferred the flowers, of course, but he didn’t mind the milder weather. It suited his walks; it let them meander out for longer, taking him to places he might not have found before.
In fact, it had been a bit of a torment, hadn’t it? Not having his walks, spending all day cooped up in a carriage with Ember and Joe, who couldn’t stop touching one another and softly whispering things that Freddy was cursed to have to overhear.
Some months ago, they had passed a portion of the winter together on the Cornish coast. That place had allowed for the most magnificent walks, all jagged cliffs and seafoam on the shore. There weren’t the birds Freddy usually looked for above, but underfoot had been all manner of life, some completely new to him.
Those walks had been ideal. He could go for one of those walks just now. Sadly, however, only freshwater streams tickled at the terrain here, a pale attempt at matching the majesty of the sea.
Oh well, Freddy decided with a shrug. He knew a fair amount about pale imitations. Maybe he would find fraternity with the streams.
Yesterday morning, back when they had been closer to London, he’d spotted a nightingale. He’d have to tell Tommy about it when he got to Crooked Nook. He wanted to see her wrinkled face contort into envious approval at the announcement. Her letters never held quite the same gravity.
