“Nonsense.” Thea gave a brisk nod. “I’ll find a way to bring Lord Devon around.”
“Aw, but George is right, Miss Sheridan,” Henry said. “I wish I was a lord. It’d be right nice to always have yer own way.”
“Lord Devon isn’t going to get his way—not this time, because I’m going to do whatever I have to do to keep Cleves Court open, no matter how many lords come.” Thea held out a hand to George. “Now, come along, George. You too, Henry.”
George groaned as he slid off his chair. “There’s not going to be more lords, is there? We don’t even know how to handle the one we got.”
“I do!” Martha cried, her face lit up with glee.
“Ye don’t either, Martha.” Henry gave his sister the kind of scathing look only a big brother could manage. “Ye don’t know nothing about managing no fancy lords.”
“Don’t know anything,” Thea said. “You don’t know anything about managing any fancy lords.”
“See?” Henry scowled at Martha. “Even Miss Sheridan says so!”
“I wasn’t agreeing with you, Henry. I was correcting—”
“I do too know about ’em!” Martha stuck her little nose in the air. “I know they don’t like milk in their laps.”
“Martha! You didn’t!” Thea covered her mouth with her hand, not sure if she should be shocked or amused. My goodness, Ethan had been telling the truth. Martha reallyhadassaulted him in his bed.
“Oh yes, I did. Ate all ’is jam, too. Ye should a’ heard him curse.”
“That was very naughty of you, Martha,” Thea said, trying not to laugh. Perhaps she’d use the milk pitcher on him the next time he teased her about his bath. “You’ll have to beg his lordship’s pardon. Not now, though, because now we’re going in search of mistletoe.”
She hurried the children into their winter things and then led them outdoors and around the side of the house where Ethan’s bedchamber was. She glanced up to his window on the third floor, but the sun’s angle prevented her from seeing anything, and he likely still had the drapes drawn.
But if he did happen to peek out the window and look down, he’d see the three of them quite clearly, and just in case he didn’t . . .
“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,” Thea sang, and the children joined in at once, shouting, “A partridge in a pear tree!”
They disappeared into the trees at the far edge of the lawn, their booted feet crunching against the frosty ground, the cold air ringing with true loves and turtle doves, and echoes of childish laughter.
* * * *
Where thebloody helldid she think she was going?
Ethan yanked the drapes back across the window and threw himself into his chair with a curse so wicked even he thought twice before uttering it aloud.
He’d been ringing the bell for the better part of twenty minutes, wondering where the devil his tarts and bath had got to, and now there she went off into the woods, as cool as you please, with those three unholy sprites on her heels.
The littlest one had been skipping.Skipping!
It didn’t look to Ethan as though Martha had received the thrashing she deserved.
Damnation. Now here he was, alone in his bedchamber again, with no tarts and no bath, no Thea to distract him, and no filthy memoirs to keep him amused.
What the devil was he to donow?
He could venture out and fetch his own book and tarts, he supposed, but he wasn’t going to do it. It was the principle of the thing.
Ethan paced back and forth across his bedchamber for another hour, fuming and muttering darkly to himself. Why his father had appointed Thea housekeeper at Cleves Court, Ethan couldn’t imagine. She was far too uppity to be a servant. Why, he had a mind to go after her and bring her back here at once—
Go after her, and bring her back here at once.
He’d thrown his shirt over his head, fastened his breeches—by himself, mind you—and had one arm in his coat before he came to a halt in the middle of his bedchamber.
Dear God, she’d done it again.
