Cody realized Brandon’s surprise was genuine. Good. “It was something Shannon said.”
“What?”
“She was speaking to the tinker when he passed through the other day. Asked him if he knew of any positions at the other plantations. He promised to get back to her if he heard of anything.”
“And you thought I put her up to it?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? She seemed to be fitting in quite well here, then, I don’t know, she began to look distracted and nervous, even desolate.”
“How can you tell?” Brandon asked, bitterness surfacing. “Every time I see her she seems perfectly happy.”
“Catch her in the odd moment; you’ll see what I mean. She makes an effort to hide it, but it’s wearing on her. You, on the other hand, make very little effort to hide your displeasure.”
Brandon almost laughed out loud. Displeasure? What a paltry word to describe the depth of what he was feeling. “Well, I have no intention of asking her to leave. You may tell her that. Her work with Clara has been eminently suitable. If she chooses to go, it will be because she wants to.”
“You tell her.”
Brandon pushed away from the table. “I will.”
When Brandon was gone from the room, Cody rubbed his palms together gleefully, deciding Machiavelli had nothing on the machinations of Cupid.
Brandon knew exactly where to find Shannon at this time of the morning. He paused outside the door to the nursery and forced himself to take a calming breath. Nothing would be accomplished if he ranted at her.
He pushed open the door and was confronted by two faces, only one of which registered the least delight in his presence. He examined his daughter’s jam and butter smile and found his own lips lifting in kind. “Good morning, Clara.”
“Good morning,” she said brightly. “Would you like a scone, Papa?”
“No, thank you,” he returned gravely. “I came to speak to Miss Kilmartin. Would you mind finishing your breakfast belowstairs? I’m certain Oplas has something good for you in the kitchen. There’s a good girl,” he added as Clara scooted off her chair. She lifted her sticky face for a kiss, which Brandon obligingly gave her. He tapped her playfully on the bottom as she skipped out of the chamber.
“That was accomplished much more easily than I expected,” he admitted, turning toward Shannon.
Shannon busied herself cleaning up the breakfast remains and placing everything on a tray. “You have a spot of jam on your cheek,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“You have a spot of jam on your cheek.”
“Oh.” He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped it away. Not the most auspicious beginning to this interview, he thought, replacing the linen square.
For Shannon’s part, she thought she shouldn’t have told him about the jam. He looked less intimidating with the remnants of Clara’s sticky kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked formally.
Brandon looked around at the child-size furniture and wondered where he could sit. He had no intention of towering over her. Nothing seemed particularly accommodating. He opted to stand at the far end of the room against the window. He had no idea the sunlight at his back cast his face entirely in shadow. Brandon thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I understand you are thinking of leaving the folly,” he said without preamble. He was already concentrating on his next words and never heard Shannon’s soft gasp. “I suppose it makes sense from your perspective, and I cannot blame you for holding me in disgust, even though your reasons are not clear to me. I know that I betrayed your trust in me. I told you I never touched anyone in my employ. You have been the exception. Naturally you are concerned that it will happen again. I promise—”
Shannon stood abruptly. “Please! Do not say another word!”
“But—”
Shannon stamped her foot in agitation. “Not another word!”
Brandon’s shock was a palpable thing. His brows lifted in astonishment to hear Shannon speak with such vehemence. His mouth snapped shut when he realized he was gaping stupidly at her.
“Forgive me,” she said, staring at the floor now, her voice but a whisper. “But I do not wish to speak of the past.” She drew deeply for air. “Are you asking me to leave the folly?”
“No! It’s what I came here to prevent, unless it is your wish, of course.”
“I have no wish to leave.”
“But what of the tinker?”
