“Eggs?” Lord Ashton offered. “Mother will scold us if you fade away before she gets here,” he explained.
She nodded, although she was not remotely hungry. He piled on two eggs and some ham and went to put another piece of toast and some kind of rice on her plate that he called kedgeree. It smelled of faraway spices, but her stomach was too nervous to try new things.
“Anthony,” the duke admonished from behind his paper. “Surely, there is no need to force feed poor Miss Sterling.”
Poor Miss Sterling? Is that how they saw her? Pathetic little orphan. Homeless, starving, dependent Miss Sterling? She was so sick of being poor Miss Sterling.
Lucinda sat, and a footman poured tea. She could not believe that this man opposite her was her guardian as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, as he ate and conversed with his brother. Pushing her eggs around the plate dutifully and taking a bite of her buttered toast, she listened to the siblings’ easy repartee and envied their ease with each other.
“What news from the house?” her guardian asked the duke.
The duke turned from the sideboard where he was filling up his plate. “The usual bickering over the glass tax mostly.”
“Sounds positively riveting.”
The duke sat down and began cutting into his breakfast. “Not as exciting as the never-ending debate over the corn laws.”
“I don’t know how you stand it, but I suppose someone has to debate these things.”
“I would gladly hand over the duty to you, if it were possible.”
Lord Ashton shook his head and laughed. “No, thank you. I am quite content doing my own thing.”
“Oh, yes. And what is that exactly? I am sure Miss Sterling would love to know.”
Her guardian gave his brother a warning look before turning back to her. “I work for Lord Stafford,” he said to Lucinda before turning back to his brother. “You know I cannot tell you more. Lord Stafford is a very private man.”
“Hmm. One day I will find out, mark my words. For now, I do not have time to deal with hypotheticals on how you spend your time.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Lord Ashton winked at her again before directing his attention back to his own breakfast while the duke shook out the morning paper.
Lucinda blinked back at him. Was this how it was between brothers? Breakfast had always been a sober affair at Miss Covington’s. The plain scratched-up table and chipped china had not felt out of place when she was there. Now? She wasthe chipped cup with no saucer of its own. So out of place here. Would she eventually get used to this type of life? A life from which she should have been a part of but had been excluded.
From behind his teacup, Lord Anthony glanced at her still-full plate before he brought his gaze to hers. A frown settled on his brow. Lucinda squirmed in her chair. She supposed she should at least try to eat something. She picked up her toast and took a bite. Goodness, even the butter was better here.
“I must see Lord Stafford this morning,” he said to her, “but I will return this afternoon. I can take you on a tour of the garden when I return if you like.” He put down his napkin and stood. “While I am gone, perhaps you could make a list of all the things you require, and I will see that you have them.”
“Thank you, Lord Ashton.” She stood also, and the duke folded down his paper to look at them both.
“Well, go on then,” he said. “Do not just stand there staring at each other. One would think you have never seen the other sex before.”
Lucinda blinked and Lord Ashton laughed, took her hand, and kissed it before striding out of the room. She looked back at the duke, who waved her out. Breakfast was over, it seemed.
She took her time going back to her room. Taking in the splendor all around her. Had she once lived like this? Her father had been a viscount and, from memory, an important man. Her recall was hazy at best, but surely, she would remember the place she had grown up in until that fateful day when her father had packed her up and deposited her in her very first finishing school at nine. Unfortunately, they had moved so often before that day that everywhere they had lived seemed to have melted into one blurred memory.
Lord Stafford wasa freakishly tall man. His hair had gone gray in places and thinned considerably since the first time Tony hadmet him three years ago, and his once athletic form was frailer now, too. For all this Lord Stafford, Spymaster for their minor operation known only as The Ring, still held great authority. Tony had profound respect for him, which made the decision to have Miss Sterling dumped in his parlor at the crack of dawn even more confusing. He thought Stafford should have known better and kept the girl with him until this Markham matter was resolved.
“Ashton. It is good to see you. Please sit.”
Tony sat and waited until Stafford had made himself comfortable behind his enormous desk.
“I assume you are here about Captain Markham.”
“Yes. I wish to be assigned to the mission to find him.” It was all he could think about. His friend and his duty. Markham would do the same for him.
Stafford steepled his fingers. “You are presuming he is still alive.”
“Do we have confirmation that he is not?” Worry settled between his brows.
