“What? Lord Timothy should be aware of the resources at my disposal.”
To his credit, Lord Timothy did not flee. “I assure you, Your Grace, my intentions—”
“Yes, yes—honourable and pure as snow. Nevertheless, Thomas goes.”
After the party had departed, Edmund turned to Adrian with approval. “You’re learning.”
“Learning?”
“How to let go while maintaining control. It’s an art form—and one you’ll need to master in about eighteen years.” He glanced meaningfully at Marianne’s still-flat stomach.
“Eighteen years,” Adrian repeated faintly.
“More or less. Though daughters are trouble from birth—if Marianne was any indication.”
“I was a perfect child,” Marianne protested.
“You once persuaded the stable boys to teach you to land a proper punch so you could strike the Ashworth lad for pulling your braids.”
“He deserved it.”
“That’s my girl.” Edmund’s pride was unmistakable. “Though you’ll have your hands full if this one inherits your temper and Harrowmere’s stubbornness.”
“We are doomed,” Adrian said gravely.
The morning passed with Edmund regaling them with stories Marianne would have paid handsomely to suppress, while Adrian listened with the fascination of a man discovering new treasure.
“And then there was the time she reorganised my entire warehouse system,” Edmund continued. “She was twelve.”
“Papa, please—”
“Twelve years old and ordering my grown men about—moving crates according to her new efficiency plan. The remarkable thing? It worked. Improved our loading time by thirty per cent.”
Adrian turned to her, intrigued. “You reorganised a warehouse at twelve?”
“It was terribly inefficient,” Marianne admitted. “The heavy goods were kept far from the loading dock, and the fragile ones were stacked absurdly high—”
“She drew diagrams,” Edmund said proudly. “All neatly coloured and labelled, with calculations for the most efficient arrangement.”
“I was bored,” she muttered.
“You were brilliant,” Adrian said, genuine admiration in his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Oh yes, because ‘I reorganised warehouses as a child’ is precisely the sort of thing one shares during a courtship.”
“It is, if one is courting me. I find competence quite arousing.”
“Adrian!” She glanced at her father, mortified.
Edmund laughed. “Goodness, you two are well matched. Your mother would have delighted in this.”
The mention of her mother softened the moment. She had been indisposed of late—nothing too grave, but enough to keep her largely confined to the country.
“Mother will be so pleased about the baby when she’s feeling stronger,” Marianne said gently.
“Aye. If she were here, she’d already be driving you mad with advice and lists for every conceivable occasion.” He smiled faintly. “The physician says she has good days and bad.”
“Is she any better?”
