Perhaps keeping an eye on Cordelia was a mistake. He could not afford to become attached to her. She’d made clear how she felt about him, what she thought about his kind.
But there was something beneath that polished exterior he saw that day when she was thrown from the horse… something he thought he saw a crack in yesterday afternoon. There was a passion hiding underneath the voluminous skirts and straight mouth that made him want to peel it all away, until there was nothing left but who she really was.
Justin was pulled out of his thoughts by the murmur of voices up ahead.
“You know you shouldn’t be out alone, mistress!”
Squinting, Justin saw that it was the youngest sister, Beatrice, being escorted by an older woman. The young miss was cradling something in her arms.
“Portia told me that I would be allowed to go out on my own this morning if I finished my needlepoint!” Beatrice said.
Justin was learning that the women in this family needed to have the last word; in fact, they absolutely required it.
“What’s this about?” Justin asked as the two parties met on the road.
“I found the young mistress wandering around my garden, Your Grace,” the woman said. She looked to be a farmer’s wife or daughter. Her sleeves were rolled up and the fingernails had dirt caked beneath them.
“I was not wandering! I was trying to fly my kite. It’s a good day for it. The wind is perfect!” Beatrice protested. She held up the remains of the kite, with its red fabric hanging off the side of a broken dowel. “But then it got caught in Mrs. Thatcher’s tree.”
“I saw the little dear climbing the blooming thing from my kitchen window! Luckily my Roger was able to bring her down. There’s not a scratch on her, Your Grace,” the woman said, clearly pleased with herself.
“Can’t say the same for this,” Beatrice said, holding up the useless toy with a heavy sigh.
Justin nodded at Mrs. Thatcher. “Thank you very much.”
“No problem at all, Your Grace! I am pleased to finally meet you,” she said, offering him a curtsy.
Out of habit, Justin had extended his hand. By the time he’d realized his gaff, she laughed and shook it. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, a knot unwinding in his chest.
“We were very sorry to hear about Will. But stranger than fiction, a working-class man being made a duke!” she exclaimed. “Can’t believe one of us made it into Hollyhead House!”
Justin laughed, and then winked at Beatrice, who was watching the exchange with raised eyebrows.
“Shall we get that fixed?” Justin asked the child as Mrs. Thatcher waved them off.
“You could fix this?” Beatrice asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“I can try,” Justin said, holding out his hand to examine the kite. Beatrice handed it to him after a moment, her eyes narrowing. She folded her arms across her chest as she watched him run a finger along the broken dowel.
“Right, we’ll need to consult with Sam in the stable yard, but I think this kite is entirely repairable,” he said. “Shall I escort you back to the house, Lady Beatrice?”
Beatrice laughed loudly at that as she skipped along beside him. “No one has ever called me that!”
“Really?” Justin asked. “I’m supposed to call your sisters that.”
“Well, they’re truly ladies, aren’t they? I’m only eight and a half, which is much different.”
“Indeed. So what shall I call you?”
“Bea’s fine. Everyone calls me that. Even Mrs. Thatcher, when I go ’round her house for pound cake. You won’t tell Portia I was playing with my kite by myself, will you?” Bea said, looking up at him, her eyes as large as saucers.
“Should I be keeping secrets from your sisters?” Justin said. He waved at Sam as they approached the yard.
“I don’t think it would present a problem. They are keeping secrets from you,” Bea said, scratching her arm.
That piqued Justin’s interest. “Is that so? What kind of secrets?”
Bea shrugged. “Well, I’m not exactly supposed to say… but it has something to do with a piece of paper. I saw them bent over it in the library before I came out here. They wanted me to stay out of their way.”
