No one ever said Fiona was uninteresting, though. Odd, perhaps. Scandalous. An upstart—all insults that Fiona barely registered. She was who she was, and she made no apologies for it.
It was admirable. And if Charlotte was a little jealous that her new sister had changed the world, impressed half of society without bending backward for it, and found the love of her life, well, that jealousy was to be expected, surely.
Grace held out a dressing gown for Charlotte to step into. “Will you need me again, my lady?”
“No. Thank you. Please ask a footman to bring some hot milk to the study.” She tied her dressing gown with a knot and stepped into the slippers on the floor by the bed.
Fiona and Edward would be having a nightcap in their shared office. After Luella’s attempt to force Edward into marriage, there was no chance either of them would mirror Grace’s tolerance of Luella’s behavior.
Halfway down the corridor, her slippers began to chafe against the blisters. She kicked them off and picked them up, letting them hang from her fingers. It might raise an eyebrow with the footmen on duty, but both Ned and Fi had seen her in worse states of undress than this.
As she got closer to the study, she could hear Fiona’s laugh through the open door. Smiling to herself, she picked up her pace. David, the footman standing by the doorway, started forward, his eyes wide as he saw her in her nightclothes, barefooted with her hair in braids. He moved to block her entrance.
“Oh, David. It’sfine,” she said, rolling her eyes and stepping around him. “It’s not as though we have visit—” She stopped still, both her words and her feet, because they did have a guest. Seated in the armchair opposite Fiona was John Barnesworth, relaxed and smiling.
John, who had been the subject of all her childhood dreams.
John, whose name she’d scrawled over and over in her diaries.
John, who had never returned to London once he’d left for Oxford.
John, who had left for Boston years ago and she thought she’d never see again.
John, who was Lord Harrow now.
He was every bit as lovely as he had been when she last saw him. His longish chestnut hair, much in need of a trim, flopped into his eyes in a roguish manner. It was streaked with gold from the American sun. His skin was a shade darker than she remembered, and his emerald eyes stood out in contrast.
Emerald eyes that looked up as she entered, flaring in surprise. He stood quickly and bowed fluidly. She had always admired that about him—the gentleness and grace with which he moved. Her brothers were both overly tall, with a bulkiness that drove their seamstress to despair. John was all long, slender lines and graceful movement. He was the embodiment of a perfect gentleman.
As he moved, an urge to reach out to him almost overwhelmed her. As his gaze traveled her person, herdressing gown, and landed on her bare feet, she hugged herself instead, her slippers knocking against her side.
She had fantasized about seeing John again so many times, and in all of those fantasies, she’d been in a ballroom, surrounded by other men, dressed in her finest clothing. His eyes were drawn to her, and he would have a moment of double take as he realized the beautiful young woman in front of him was the grown-up version of the gangly girl he’d barely noticed.
She didnotimagine him seeing her with her hair in braids and wearing nightclothes, as though she was unchanged from the child she’d been when he last visited.
“What are you doing here?” She regretted the words the moment she said them. It was bad enough that she was dressed as she was. Now she’d let her embarrassment make her churlish.
He raised an eyebrow as he straightened. “Leaving.” He gathered his jacket from the back of the chaise longue and slung it over his elbow. From the small table, he picked up a notebook, tucking it under his arm. He nodded to Edward and Fiona, the latter of whom rolled her eyes. “Get gone then, if ye dunnae want to stay. We’ll talk more of this tomorrow.”
As he passed Charlotte, he gave her a smile that was really more of a grimace, and left without a backward glance.
“Well,” she said, mortified. “That was rude.” Of course, he’d simply answered her rudeness in kind. She had no one but herself to blame if he didn’t bother with a basic greeting after all these years.
“Don’t mind John,” Edward said. “He wasn’t expecting to see a half-dressed girl appear wielding a pair of slippers.”
“I’m notwieldinganything. My feet hur—” She narrowed her eyes as her brother chuckled. “Oh, you are bothersome,” she said, annoyed that he’d once again gotten a rise out of her. “What is he doing here?”
“John? He has returned to England.” Edward didn’t take his eyes off her as he swirled the brandy in his glass, an infuriating knowingness in his stare.
She knew exactly what he was doing, what he expected her response to be, yet she couldn’t put on the disaffected expression she wanted to.
“Clearly,” she ground out. Of course, John had returned to England. She’d been expecting his arrival for months. One couldn’t ignore a summons from the crown, and when one became a newly minted viscount, that was as good as a summons. “What is he doinghere? At midnight? While I’m in my nightclothes?”
Edward cocked his head. “I don’t think any of us could have anticipated you being home this early, let alone ready for bed.”
Charlotte rubbed her forehead. “You’re being deliberately obtuse, brother.”
Edward sighed and rubbed the crease between his brows. “Given he’s Fiona’s business partner and my friend, he joined us for dinner. His cook has been…indisposed. But Char—”
