“And what about you?” she asked, hoping her cup remained steady in her hands. “Restless, too, in tired old, stodgy London? Are you yearning to race through underground tunnels in Paris again?”
He shrugged blithely and then chuckled as he made himself more comfortable by leaning on his elbow and stretching his long, powerful legs out on the blanket, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. It was highly irregular for a man to be so relaxed in front of a lady he wasn’t married to. Should anyone they know pass by and see them, there could be talk enough to turn into a scandal. Still, Brina couldn’t bring herself to remind him of the indiscretion he was exhibiting. Looking at him was simply too tempting to deny herself the joy.
“There’s no time now for such idle thinking as was my pastime in France,” he told her. “I’m still trying to make sense of the evils of fate.”
“Ah, is that all? Well, my lord, let me assure you that can’t be done. I’ve tried to figure it out myself.”
“I’m sure you have.”
Her gaze held a moment too long on his, so she cleared her throat and finished off the last sip of chocolate before placing her cup on the saucer in front of her. She hadn’t meant to return their conversation to such a troubling one.
He saved her from having to reply to his softly spoken sentence by adding, “It’s more than just that I neverwantedto be an earl.” He absently opened the chocolate, poured more into her cup, and handed it to her. “The thought of ever being the earl and head of my family never entered my mind. There were too many male relatives in line for the title for it to have been possible. If not for that cruel stroke of fate. I’ve been Zane Browning, the black sheep of the family for as long as I can remember. It’s hard to stop being him.”
From experience, Brina knew no one could help him settle his issues with how his life had changed and the reasons for it. She’d tried it herself for years. She could be a buttress, but not an anchor, nor an answer.
“That’s why you wanted to court me, was it not? To help you adjust to the proprieties of being an earl rather than a rake.”
“If only that had turned out the way I had planned.”He chuckled good-naturedly. “You have not made my way easier. You have made it even harder.”
She needed to hear that. “As was my intention. Now, tell me, what did you do today?”
He looked at her as if she were asking him a trick question. “Are you thinking I might have mumbled a coarse curse or two when my uncles and solicitor arrived at the door before my morning coffee?”
“Of course not.” She twitched him a smile. “But I do expect that if you do, you’ll let me know so we can end our arrangement. In the meantime, if you are going to insist we spend some time together, we must have something to talk about or things will become quite boring.”
“I could never get weary looking at you, Mrs. Feld.”
“You say that now, but I doubt you would feel the same three weeks from now, if you by chance make it that long, and we had nothing to talk about.”
“All right. My uncles, solicitors, and accountants continue their long list of instructions for all the things I’m now responsible for, decisions I have to make concerning businesses, tenants, contracts, families, allowances. Frankly, Mrs. Feld, I was happy for them to rush me out to make sure I wasn’t late to your house.”
“Speaking of lists. It so happens I have something for you.” Picking up her reticule, she pulled it open and reached inside. She took out a small book and folded sheet of vellum. She handed the book to him. “It’s a little worn because I’ve read it several times. It’s small and will fit very nicely in your coat pocket.”
He glanced down at the front of it before catching her gaze again. “It’s poetry.”
“Yes,” she said as seriously as possible, considering the confused expression on his face filled her with glee. “Every gentleman, especially earls, should alwayshave a little book of poetry with them. For you, specifically, whenever you feel the need to gamble, drink, or whatever—pull it out of your pocket instead. You’ll find it will quiet you and help curb your urges.”
Wrinkles formed on his forehead and around his eyes. “That sounds very much like a prison sentence to me, Mrs. Feld.”
Good, she thought. He was making it difficult for her not to laugh. “Poetry strengthens the mind, the heart, and the soul. You can’t absorb too much of it. You’ll find it sustaining in your weaker moments.”
“You are a clever one,” he chided lightly, and pointed to the sheet of paper in her lap. “So, what’s this? You give me an entire book to read, but you only have one piece of paper. That hardly seems fair.”
His attitude was perfect, and she was quite happy. He needed to be a little irritated with her. It was far better for her. “That’s because these are my notes, and I am going to be studying them while you read on this windy day. Imagine how delighted your uncles would be if they came riding or walking by and saw you sitting in the park, reading the much-maligned poet John Keats.”
His expression was relaxed and he was so easy to look at. The allure of him suddenly made her shiver and she pulled his scarf tighter about her shoulders.
“They would indeed be shocked. No doubt about that, Mrs. Feld. They’ve never forgiven me for not being a better student of subjects such as poetry when I was at Oxford.”
“You had things other than your studies on your mind, did you?”
“Always, but they were happy to know I did well enough to comprehend all the intricate notations and explanations of numbers in the account books they have placed in front of me. It shouldn’t have surprised them.I’ve always been good with numbers. They seem to stay in my mind without me trying to make them.”
“I’m sure that’s been helpful for you when playing cards.”
“Immensely. The natural talent added with the skills I’ve learned has been good to me.”
“It sounds as if authority and responsibility weren’t the things you wanted fate to gift you.”
