Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

He watched her hand slide out from beneath the sheet and placed the damp cloth on her palm. He heard her talking to herself, probably discussing both sides of this problem, although he couldn’t imagine how there could be a second side. He wished he could make out her words. He had a feeling that if he could, he’d be howling with laughter.

“You won’t leave the house ever again, will you, Jason?”

“Oh no,” he said. “Oh no.” And because he was worried, he pulled the sheet off her and made certain she was all right himself.

CHAPTER 34

Northcliffe Hall

August 10th

Hallie sent a blinding smile out to the table at large as she said to her father-in-law, “You wish to know about the Isle of Wight, sir? Hmm. Well, yes, I have it—Ventnor is quite picturesque. It lies on the southeastern coast, I believe. I have sent the duke and duchess of Portsmouth a watercolor of Dunsmore House to thank them.”

Corrie said, “I didn’t know you did watercolors, Hallie.”

“Well, I do, actually, but I didn’t do this one. There simply wasn’t enough time. I commissioned it from a young man we found painting on the beach.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t have time?” Hallie’s father asked, his fork still over his plate, an eyebrow up. “I found two weeks more than ample time for me to do everything I wished in London.”

“You forget, Alec,” Douglas said. He snapped his fingers. “At certain times in life, time goes by that fast.”

Baron Sherard said, grimmer than any reaper, “Not when we’re speaking of my daughter, it doesn’t. Whenever I thought about her with your damned son, knowing what damned sons are like, since I was one once, my belly cramped.” Alec sent a look of acute dislike to his new son-in-law.

Lady Lydia announced, “I never had a honeymoon worth speaking of.”

“I don’t speak of mine either,” Angela said.

“When we finally had a honeymoon,” Alex said, beaming at her husband, “I believe we spoke French the whole time.”

The earl rolled his eyes.

Lady Lydia snorted. “Always after my boy, you were—still are—don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing when I was visiting on Wednesday, laughing behind the estate room door. It’s a disgrace.”

Hallie sat forward, all earnest, her eyes on her father’s face. “Two weeks on the Isle of Wight is nothing like two weeks in London, Papa. There was so much to do—”

“Like what?” her father asked.

“Well, like eating and sleeping now and again, and watching the sun rise, not to mention the sunsets.”

Douglas caught his wife’s eye, then smiled at his new daughter-in-law. She looked glorious, she glowed, her eyes were bright, she sparkled, she was complacent. And she couldn’t seem to stop laughing. What she was, Douglas thought, was a pleased woman. As for his son, Douglas realized Jason looked content, perhaps he even looked at peace. He wondered if Hallie was pregnant yet. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Corrie, far more innocent than she’d ever believe, said, “I visited the Isle of Wight only once, as a child. Uncle Simon got vilely seasick, so he swore he wouldn’t ever leave his dinner in The Solent again. You remember, Hallie, The Solent is what they call the strait in the English Channel between Southampton and the Isle of Wight.”

“Of course I remember. Hmm. We didn’t leave from Southampton, did we, Jason?”

“No, we left from Worthing.”

Corrie said, “Is the bright red house still on the hill overlooking the harbor?”

“Red house, you say? Jason, do you remember a red house? On a hill overlooking the harbor?”

Jason looked perfectly blank.

His twin said, “That’s all right, Jase. What’s a red house in the big scheme of things? What did you do besides visit Ventnor?”

Jason continued to look perfectly blank.

“We went down on the beach,” Hallie said, and raked her fork along the tablecloth just like she was raking sand. She paused and her hand trembled. Jason knew exactly what she was thinking.