Like him.
For the first time since the day he’d arrived back on English soil, Brandt finally had a new goal. It wasn’t long after he’d arrived that he’d been contacted by his solicitor with the news that he had a daughter of whom he’d been unaware. But with the death of her mother, the girl needed a benefactor, as well as someplace to live. He hadn’t felt right about tossing the child into the streets, so he had decided to take her in on a trial basis. For the past three months, she’d been staying at the country estate with his parents, while he split his time between them and London. Each time he found it a little bit more difficult to leave. He had never thought that at nine and twenty he would be ready to settle down, but apparently, this slip of a girl had made the decision for him. His parents had recently returned to London for the start of the season, and he had been traveling back to the city after meeting with his solicitor in the country to let him know that he planned to keep the child on permanently.
Whether Arabella was his daughter or not, she would soon be his ward by law, and he realized that the child needed a mother. His mother kept telling him that she needed a stable home life, a loving family, and he was beginning to believe she was right. However, the thought of subjecting himself to the marriage mart held little appeal. There were too many empty-headed chits who worried about things like needlepoint and the latest fashions. He could never abide such shallow behavior.
But a widow would be a perfect choice.
Mrs. Givens was a perfect choice.
He put a hand over his heart. “Forgive me. I wasn’t trying to be imprudent. It’s just that you seem too young to be widowed already.” He paused, wondering if he should even ask, but then decided since he was already in for a penny… “Do your children live with you?”
Again, he was met with that same resistance. “No. Archie and I weren’t blessed to be parents.”
Brandt noticed the look of pain that briefly touched her face and hated himself for it, because he was the cause for bringing up a bad memory. He sighed heavily. “I seem to be saying all the wrong things this evening.”
He was glad to see that she relented slightly. “It’s not your fault, Mr.…” She paused. “I must apologize, because I didn’t even catch your name.”
“You didn’t ask,” he pointed out with a teasing mien. When her cheeks colored slightly with embarrassment, he smiled and offered, “It’s Brandt Clarke.”
There was a pause that might have been awkward if it wasn’t for the sudden tension that swirled between them. She reached up and rubbed the back of her neck. “I suppose I should be retiring. It’s been a long night. Since I don’t know how long the storm will continue, I will have one of the guest rooms prepared for you.”
He inclined his head. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”
She paused, and then, she took her leave.
It wasn’t until she was gone that the Cook set down her rolling pin. “You couldn’t do any better than our Ada,” she noted with a knowing wink.
Brandt rolled her name around on his tongue and imagined that it was more than just her name that he was enjoying. “Ada,” he murmured. “Yes, I think she shall do quite well.”
As a rule, Ada had no problems sleeping. She generally had a glass of warm milk before bed and slumbered the night away.
Tonight was decidedly different.
Perhaps it was because of all the excitement earlier this evening, or more likely, it had to do with the fact that there was a handsome and eligible gentleman sleeping under the same roof.
Although Ada had no interest in remarrying, or embarking on an affair, she couldn’t deny that she found Mr. Clarke’s presence discomfiting to her peace of mind. She’d tossed and turned for nearly two hours, and as she lay staring at the ceiling, she realized that something had to change or she would be restless all night long.
Throwing the covers off, she grabbed her wrap from the end of the bed and thrust her arms inside. Tying the sash in frustration, she grabbed the candle in its holder by her bed, lit it, and padded on bare feet to the door. She cracked it open slightly, and listened for any sound, but when nothing appeared to stir, she released a relieved sigh and headed downstairs to the library. She didn’t want to encounter anyone when she wasn’t her usual, poised self. Even her hair was left to hang down her back in a thick plait, when she always made sure it was pulled back into a matronly knot. She wanted to portray a confident, self-assured woman when she was in residence, but also, one who had the ability to keep control of her virtue. They had lost several women due to their restless natures.
Unfortunately, Maggie was not the only one who had been eager to entertain a few gentleman callers. Although there were times that Ada might feel the pang of male companionship, it wasn’t bad enough that she wanted to give up her comfortable existence and her freedom to achieve it. That was what she hoped she might get the others to understand by her nature, however prudish they might believe her to be.
Walking into the dark library, Ada knew exactly where she intended to find her solace. If there was one way she kept her needfulness at bay, it was by lulling herself to sleep by a book dedicated to horticulture. Although she loved to traverse the gardens at the back of the house, when it came to caring for the lovely flowers, she had never had much talent in doing so, and although she had read tome after tome on the proper care of vegetation, she had yet to master the art.
She set aside her candle on a nearby table and put her hands on her hips as she scanned the titles before her. She found the spine she was looking for, but it was on a higher shelf. She didn’t require a ladder to reach it, but she did need to stand on her tiptoes. Her fingertips caught the edge, but just as she was about to free it, a soft masculine voice said, “Might I be of assistance?”
Ada let out a brief shriek of alarm and spun around to face the intruder. But it wasn’t an intruder at all. It was Mr. Brandt Clarke. He was sitting in a chair, his booted foot propped on a table as he held a book in his hands. He was still dressed, but his jacket, cravat, and waistcoat had been discarded, leaving him in nothing but a plain, lawn shirt that was slightly open at the throat. She frowned, because there was no light, so instead of answering his query, she demanded, “How can you possibly read in the dark?”
His mouth quirked up at the corner and he gestured to the moonlight shining through the window. “I can see well enough.”
“Surely not,” she returned almost crossly. “You shall ruin your eyes straining them in such a manner.”
He dared to release a chuckle. “Do you truly believe that?”
She lifted her chin. “I do. It is common knowledge that it will make your eyes weary and—”
He held up a hand and interjected. “I shall not disagree with that, and yet, if one cannot sleep, is that not the point? Reading in dim light is the reason we get tired and want to fall asleep faster.”
Ada opened her mouth, but she realized she couldn’t very well argue with that sort of logic. “I suppose I never thought of it in that manner,” she muttered.
