“Can I order any refreshments for you, my lord?”
“No, thank you. Just your company as a change from this fellow’s ugly phiz.”
“Don’t think you’ve been the only one to suffer,” quipped the marquis easily. He turned to Jane. "Where might I find Lady Elsbeth this afternoon?”
“In the stillroom.”
“More herbs?”
Jane laughed. "I’m afraid so.”
He sighed lugubriously. Then he cocked his head and looked at Jane. "Tell me, Miss Grantley, why has your aunt never married?”
She looked at him steadily, uncertain what to say. "For as long as I can remember,” she said slowly, “Elsbeth has devoted herself to the care of others."
The marquis raised his eyebrows.
“Not long ago, I teased her for allowing the family to take advantage of her. She responded that it was not something one planned. It begins either from the notion of being helpful in times of need or, as I thought she was referring to in my case, as an escape from society. Now I wonder if she was strictly referring to me. I know she has long shunned society, but I believe her reasons to be complex and convoluted. Perhaps not even properly understood by herself."
The marquis nodded. "Thank you, Miss Grantley, for your honesty. Now, if you two will excuse me.” He turned to go, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Royce, a slight smile on his lips. "Should I best leave the parlor door open?” Royce looked at him with feigned innocence. "And what of the stillroom door?”
“That, my friend, is none of your concern.”
“I perceive that the wrong one of us has an injured ankle."
"The wrong one of us?” repeated the Marquis, looking askance at Jane, though a smile lingered on his lips. Then he bowed and left the room, closing the door with a distinct snap.
The earl scowled after his retreating back, then glanced at Jane. "Conisbrough is reliving his youth,” he said sourly. He shifted in his seat, ostensibly to ease his ankle.
“Does it hurt much?” Jane asked, uncertain whether to stay or go.
He looked up at her and smiled. It eased the sharp creases in his brow and between his eyes, making him appear younger. "No. Your aunt’s salve has done miracles. But it is still tender, and I’m aware that it will heal faster if I pamper it. There wasa time, I suppose,” he went on reflectively, “when I would have refused to grant it rest and suffered in silence. Stoic heroism.”
“Sounds more like fool’s business to me.”
“Precisely, but oh, for the false pride of youth!”
Jane sat down on the edge of a chair set at right angles to the settee. "What do you mean by that, my lord?”
He looked at her levelly. "I believe, Miss Grantley, you are no more an Ice Witch than I am the Devil’s Disciple.”
“You aren’t?”
A tiny smile curled at the corners of his mouth. "No.”
“I know,” she sighed with a rueful smile of her own.
An arrested expression shone in his eyes. "How do you know that?” he asked, carefully watching her.
She slid back in the chair and cocked her head to the side. "When I first met you, you played the unrepentant rake. And may I say, you play it very well. Nonetheless, it is not intrinsic to your nature."
The earl slid his hands behind his head, thoroughly enjoying himself. "It’s not? How can you be so certain, Miss Grantley? You have heard my story.”
“No, that’s exactly what I haven’t heard. I’ve heard society’s story. I’m convinced there is a significant difference.”
“You have me intrigued. How so?”
“Really, my lord, this is not a subject we should be discussing.”
