Her smile fell, but she shrugged it off. “Meeting new people can be overwhelming.”
“You’ve never seemed overwhelmed by me.”
She stood, straightening her attire. Then she asked, without glancing at him, “Are you ready to leave?”
“Can I at least finish my tea?” Without waiting for her to answer, he walked over and retook his seat.
She tipped her cup back, finishing the remainder of her tea before setting her cup down and then walking over to him.
With her gaze looking him up and down, Leonard felt himself sinking lower into his chair. How he wished he could go back upstairs to bed. But this woman was his means to an end, and the sooner they could get this awful ordeal over with, the better.
Then her eyes caught on a painting hanging above the mantel. “Is that your family?”
He sat up in his chair. Why did she feel the need to pry into his personal life? That had nothing to do with their current endeavor. “I don’t feel that’s important at the moment.”
His words had no effect on her as she now stood below the painting, studying it with a finger pressed to her chin. “You look like your father.”
“Please don’t say that.” He rubbed his brow, then stood and refilled his cup.
“Why not? He is an attractive man. And your brother . . .”
Leonard’s hand froze, lingering in the air above the cream. “What about him?” The man who had painted their family’s portrait had specifically been told to make Samuel look healthy. But healthy to their family and healthy to the rest of the world were different things.
“I do see a resemblance. But I believe he favors your mother more.”
Lucky man. At least in that one regard. “Yes. I would agree with you.”
She spun toward him, a pleased smile on her face. “That is the first thing we have agreed upon, I believe. A triumph.”
With his cup now replenished, he ambled back to his chair and plopped into it.
“More tea?” Mrs. Gillingham sighed as she paced the room. “I am quite anxious to be on our way.”
“And I am quite content to finish my cup.” He nearly grinned as she crossed her arms at his response. The woman was clearly not accustomed to being at someone else’s disposal.
Finally, much to Leonard’s chagrin, his cup was empty, and he had no excuse to postpone the day any longer. “All right.” He sighed, standing. “Let us get on with it.”
She didn’t waste a moment, making for the door quickly—and he allowed himself a moment of weakness to appreciate her figure as he watched her go.
Chapter Thirteen
“Idon’t like this.”
Honora wondered if Mr. Stanton had that phrase on a plaque somewhere, hung proudly for all to see. Perhaps he read it every morning before he left his bedchambers, ingraining it into his mind. That might explain why it kept rolling off his tongue.
“We haven’t even done anything,” she said, trying to fight her smile. He might think his prickly demeanor would ward her off, but she found the way he was unapologetically honest and himself to be quite refreshing—nothing like her father at all.
With arms crossed over his chest, he leaned over just enough to peer out the window and see their surroundings. “We certainly have done something.” He spared her a glance. “You awoke me, dragged me from my home in the early hours of morning, and then forced me into a hired cab whose springs are in much need of repair.”
As if to prove his point, they hit a bump on the road, to which Stanton grimaced and rubbed his hip.
“Come now,” Honora said, no longer fighting her grin. “You are not an old man. Crusty, yes. Old, no. Surely your hip will survive.”
He rolled his head to look at her. “Survive, yes. Enjoy, no.”
She covered her mouth, laughing. “See? You are actually quite funny once one looks past the other attributes of your personality.”
“Oh, joy. I am a lucky man indeed.”
