“Yes, Your Grace. That’s what I said.” She folded her hands in front of her, a perfect picture of innocence. “The pond at the bottom of the hill behind Hammond Court will almost certainly be frozen by now. It’s quite a large one, and lovely for skating.”
The girl had lost her mind. “Allow me to congratulate you, Miss St. Claire.”
A pucker appeared in that smooth white brow, one that should have marred that angelic face, yet somehow made her look adorably confused, and only enhanced her appeal.
“Congratulate me? Whatever for?”
“You, Miss St. Claire, have managed to hit upon the one activity I detest above all others. I commend you on your fertile imagination. Now, run along, and find something useful to occupy yourself.” He waved a dismissive hand toward the door. “More of those tea cakes wouldn’t go amiss.”
Miss St. Claire was without a doubt the most troublesome lady alive, but there was no denying she made delicious tea cakes.
But of course, shedidn’trun along, but crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest, because she was incapable of doing a single thing asked of her without an argument.
“What can you possibly have against ice skating, Your Grace? It’s lovely, especially on such a sunny day as this.”
“It’s cold and wet, and the skates pinch.” At least, he assumed they did. It had been so long since he’d gone ice skating, he couldn’t remember.
She scoffed. “Oh, what nonsense.”
Nonsense?The gall of the chit.
“You do realize, Your Grace, that you’ll need to provide some sort of entertainment for your house party guests.”
What the devil? “You mean to tell me, Miss St. Claire, that in addition to feeding them, housing them, and permitting them to drink all my best port, I’m meant to entertain them, as well?” No, surely not. That couldn’t be right. Why would anyone ever host a house party, if that were the case?
She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to determine whether or not he was jesting, then threw back her head in a laugh. “Why, of course, Your Grace! Have you never hosted a party before? An ice-skating outing would be just the thing. I believe ice skating is quite popular among the fashionable set, and the Hammond Court pond is ever so much nicer than the Thames.”
He tore his spectacles off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She’d been in his study for fewer than ten minutes, and a headache was already pulsing behind his eyes. “There will be no ice skating, Miss St. Claire. I assure you, any further argument on this matter is a waste of your breath.”
“Very well. I’ll go by myself, then.”
She turned with a flounce of her skirts, and the next thing he knew, he was on his feet. “No. You’re not going alone. It’s out of the question.”
“I don’t see why it should be.”
“What if the ice is unsound? You could crash through, and there won’t be a soul there to fish you back out again.”
She shrugged. “The pond isn’t terribly deep, Your Grace. Besides, I’ve skated on it by myself dozens of times before. I know how to check the ice for soundness. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“You’ll be frozen through before you ever get to the pond, and if you do fall through, it’ll be a long walk home with wet clothing.” Not but that a dousing in an icy pond might do her a world of good by cooling some of the heat from that saucy tongue of hers.
“You could send me in your carriage.”
“No. I can’t spare the driver, or the carriage today.” It was a bald-faced lie, of course. He had nowhere to go, and even if he had, he owned several carriages and employed an under coachman.
“No matter.” She turned toward the door with a toss of her head. “The walk will keep me warm enough.”
Damned if she didn’t have an answer for everything.
She had a hand on the doorknob before he managed to dredge up another objection. “You don’t have any skates!” Good Lord, he sounded half-hysterical.
“Not to worry, Your Grace. There are dozens of pairs of skates at Hammond Court.”
“Hammond Court!” He was around the desk in an instant and at the door, looming over her. “Has it escaped your memory, Miss St. Claire, that Hammond Court’s roof caved in? Do you not recall nearly being crushed under a pile of rubble only yesterday?”
“A pile of rubble! Why, it was only a few bits of wood and flakes of plaster, for goodness—”
“Don’t forget the slate tiles I found littering the grounds in front of the house. Those jagged edges are sharp, and could leave a nasty—”
