“For the, er, boys’ safety.” Had she worried the man was after them? She must have, though she hadn’t said as much. Even someone as unconventional as Rebecca would have realized Ryleigh’s title alone would protect them. A thought that set his mind at ease… a little.
Eleven
“I’m pleased you accepted my invitation,” Thomas Lynnwood said, handing Rebecca a glass of sherry.
“How could I refuse?” she murmured. “Not with the two handwritten notes included from my previous charges.” Those boys were truly adorable. The first one read:
Dear Lady Rebecca. Thank you for saving my life. Please come to supper. Yrs, Oliver.
The second one stole her breath:
Dear milady. Please come tonight. Marry my papa and stay forever. I am speaking better every day. Thank you. Owen.
“They refused to let me see what they’d written,” he said with a wry smile.
Thank heavens.Owen’s note had made her blush, and she never blushed. She was much too old for that sort of nonsense. But their notes had touched her unlike anything before. “Did you speak to the boys regarding their adventure?”
“They were entirely closed-mouthed.”
A worrisome thought. Rebecca leaned forward, determined to make him understand the danger the boys had faced without breaking their trust. “Mr. Lynnwood, I would implore you to—” The door burst open, cutting her off, and the twins charged in. A harried young man followed and snapped his fingers. Immediately, Owen and Oliver pulled up, moderating their rush to strained walks. Each bent at the waist, bowing first to their father then to her.
“Father, Lady Rebecca.” They spoke in unison.
Rebecca smothered a grin, inclining her head as if she were the queen. “How very gallant you both are. Owen, I’m so pleased to hear you speak.”
Owen’s grin warmed her heart. So did his pinkened cheeks.
Oliver muscled his way forward. He did another bow, only this time, it was over her hand. “May I escort you into supper?”
“Oliver,” Mr. Lynnwood said a little sharply. “Dinner hasn’t even been call—”
“Supper is served.” The butler was standing in the doorway.
Again, Rebecca found herself swallowing a smile. She rose and took Oliver’s outstretched arm. But, of course, Owen darted forward, holding out his arm as well. She shot Mr. Lynnwood a sheepish grin, accepting Owen’s with great aplomb.
Supper turned into a lively event with the twins each attempting to out talk the other. Owen, apparently, was making up for lost time.
“How is Duke doing?” she asked them.
Mr. Lynnwood frowned. “Did you not see him before you came over?” There was a slight rebuke in his tone at refusing his carriage and taking her own. But she’d had enough of societal dictates. She was in the country, not Mayfair with eyes all agog on the doings of others.
The boys giggled. “She’s asking about Duke, Papa. Nottheduke.”
He still looked confused.
“Duke is the dog we adopted on our journey, Mr. Lynnwood,” Rebecca told him. “He’s very sweet.”
His affront was insulting. “That mixed mongrel?” He snorted his disgust.
“You should have seen her shove that bully who was hurting Duke, Papa. She knocked him on his arse.”
“Oliver! We don’t speak that way at the table, and certainly not in front of a lady.”
Oliver’s chin dropped but not before Rebecca caught the flash of mischievousness in his eyes.
“Apologize at once, young man.”
“But, Papa, it’s true,” Owen chimed in.
