Page 12

He frowned as he reached the fireplace and poked at the cinders until the flame came to life.

He should just let her go. It would be best for both of them. But…

Throwing a log on the fire, he straightened and took a candle from the candelabra on the mantel. Sticking the wick into the growing flame, he placed it back in the holder and turned around.

His face softened, and something happened in his chest that he could not quite name.

She stood next to the sofa, poised for what? Flight?

“Let me ring for a servant,” he said, striding toward the bellpull. “Then perhaps you will tell me why you’ve been crying.”

He tugged three times before returning to the couch. His first inclination was to sit beside her, perhaps take her hand in his. That’s what he did when his sisters were sad.

But he thought better of it and chose the chair on the opposite side of the low table. If someone came in, the distance between them could only help to enforce their assertions that they were only talking.

The door opened. A maid came in and curtsied. “May I help you, sir?” She looked back and forth at them. “Miss?”

“Lady Phoebe and I would like you to stay and act as chaperone.”

“Yes, sir?” The hesitation in her voice made it clear she did not think it would suffice. But she settled in a chair at the other side of the room, her gaze averted, even as it constantly darted toward the doorway.

“Now,” Freddie scooted to the edge of his chair, his fingers intertwined, his hands dangling between his knees. “What has brought you to tears?” He was fairly certain he knew the answer.

She lifted her eyes to him. “It is nothing you need trouble yourself with, my lord.”

He swallowed. While he knew propriety demanded she use such formality, he could not claim to like it. They’d been on a slightly more intimate basis years before—or as intimate as one could be with a child. She’d called him Waymie—a name he loathed even still—but it seemed better than ‘my lord’. “It’s no trouble. I’d like to be of service to you if I can.”

A sad smile crossed her lips. “You did not use to feel so inclined.”

“And if I recall, you never used to call me ‘my lord.’” He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Is it too late to beg your pardon for the rudeness of my youth?”

“You were hardly a youth, my lord. You were nearly two and twenty.”

He grinned. She was still as tenacious as she’d been all those years ago. “Then may I apologize for the rudeness of my—” He paused. What did one call their early twenties? “Let’s just say for my rudeness and leave it there.”

She smiled briefly, and he wondered how she was not yet married. “Only if I may beg your pardon for my youthful impertinence.”

He nearly asked about her current impertinence, but thought better of it. Leaning back, he crossed one knee over the other and stared at her. “All is forgiven, then?”

She nodded.

Lud, even with a tear-stained face, she was lovely. “With apologies and pardons out of the way, will you tell me why you came to cry in the library?”

“Only if you will tell me why you came to be alone.”

Freddie opened his mouth, but she stopped him.

“It’s more than just escaping the ballroom, is it not?” One corner of her mouth rose. “It’s been many years, but I still see when something’s troubling you.”

He wanted to challenge her assertion. She’d not been more than twelve when last they were together. What twelve-year-old has such insight? He had difficulty imagining she’d paid him such attention as to know all his expressions.

And yet…she was right.

He held out his hand to her. “Ladies first.”

She lifted her little finger to her mouth and chewed at it. But when she saw him watching her, she dropped it into her lap. “It seems my father is pinched.”

Freddie tightened his clasped hands, his head nodding slowly. “Yes, I’d heard. What happened?”