How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

Disgust curled through him. “I’ll pay him a visit and see that he makes proper allowances for Miss Green and his child, for when he inevitably casts them aside.”

Harrison nodded, then cleared his throat. “Miss Martin has accepted your generous offer and will travel down by the end of the month to assume her new position.”

“Good.”

Harrison looked off in the distance, a tic working in his jaw. “I…I may call court upon Miss Martin if you’ve no objection.”

Richard never thought he’d see a hardened soldier blush.

“I have no problem if your courting does not interfere with her duties, and if the lady displays interest.”

Harrison smiled, a first since the ending of the war, if Richard was not mistaken.

“I must return to the estate. I have several meetings planned today. Have you broken your fast, do you care to join me?”

Harrison grunted. “I’ve already eaten, and I have no wish to encounter Lord Ashford. I cannot suffer anyone’s disdain over my leg at this moment,” he said derisively.

“Ashford?”

“He is on his way here. We bedded down at the same inn last night, and I heard his missus mention in the common room they were on their way to Kencourt Manor after breaking their fast.”

A curse spilled from Richard. His head had been so far gone with Evie he’d forgotten he made an appointment with Lady Honoria’s father, the recently appointed Earl of Ashford, to discuss the possibility of aligning their families. He’d made the appointment three weeks past. God’s blood, this is what he wanted to avoid. He should have sent her home in the blasted rain. “I must return to the house, God’s speed, Harrison.”

Richard nudged his horse to a gallop to ride back to the estate. Less than half an hour later, he handed the reins over to the stable lad with an order for his stallion to be given oats and a good rub down. He walked inside with clipped strides, curious at the lack of noise. The children should have awoken by now and been giving their governess and tutors grief. The silence was suspicious.

“Where are the children?” he asked of his butler.

Mr. Nugent’s face remained stoic. “They are in the kitchens, my lord.”

The kitchens? Richard went to the large room that was the kitchen and jerked to a halt at the ridiculo

us sight that greeted him. Evie, his daughter, Jack, Clara, and James were covered in flour, and all giggling. No one else lingered within the kitchen, no doubt interrupted from doing their duty with whatever nonsense Evie concocted.

“What is going on here?”

She jerked around, her eyes widening. “You startled me!”

“Oh, Papa, we are baking tarts and biscuits,” Emily said, beaming in delight.

“Where is Mrs. Potts and everyone?”

Evie’s skin was flushed a gentle pink. “Forgive my interference. I’ve given them a couple hours off while we commandeered the kitchen.”

“I see.” Except he truly did not. “I sent Her Grace a note explaining my delay. I’d planned to depart after luncheon.”

“I apologize for my abruptness, but I must encourage you to depart immediately. I will call upon you this evening at Rosette Park.”

He then realized Evie had yet to meet his gaze, and that she was furiously blushing.

Several seconds ticked by and he belatedly became aware everyone was silent, and the children were staring at him and Evie in clear confusion. A flush worked itself up his neck, and he cleared his throat. Devil take it, he was floundering as much as she.

“Papa…” his Emily said almost hesitantly. “Look at all we’ve made. Shortbread biscuits and cinnamon buns. Come and taste.”

In the first years of his and Evie’s unorthodox friendship, he had been her taster. Several times she had amazed his taste buds, and a few rare times Richard had accused her of poisoning him with some awful concoction. It had been a little over two years since he had been treated to Evie’s baking. He’d thought her mother would have stifled that creative and inquisitive bent by now. Pleasure warmed his chest to know she had retained a passion of her own. He walked over, and she lifted a wooden spoon to his lips. It was red and thick, and not very appealing in appearance.

“Are you afraid to taste?” she asked, but her eyes held a thousand questions, and deep in her emerald depths he spied uncertainty.

He closed his mouth over the spoon. A rough sound of approval escaped him before he could stifle the sound. Richard swallowed. “What is it?”