Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

“Miles, dear, do you care for some toast?” Iris said, pointing to a tray upon which lay breakfast items. “On Sundays, we are most informal.”

“Mama likes to hurry and get to church early,” Cassandra confided with a giggle. “She is afraid of the Reverend Morley.”

Iris scowled and checked the mantel clock.

Miles declined the offer of food but poured himself a cup of hot coffee from the tall, silver pot. He paid no attention to it until he took his first sip. Not coffee, but chocolate. He choked down the swallow and placed the cup aside.

Jenny came into the room with a murmured apology for her lateness, and Miles felt a surge of satisfaction. He had been afraid she would somehow escape.

Escape? What an odd thought. Escape what? Him?

She did seem determined to avoid him. It made him crazy trying to imagine why, and even crazier trying to imagine why it mattered so much to him.

Today, she was different; he noticed that immediately. Her hair was not so severe, with a few loose pieces curled around her temples. The new style flattered her.

“Jenny, hurry and have your breakfast,” Iris called. She looked at the clock again.

Sending the briefest of hellos his way, she went to the tray. Miles watched her, saw how the blush crept across her cheeks. That tender sign of embarrassment did something to Miles, that tight pulling sensation tightened inside him again.

“Oh, Jenny,” Cassandra said, noticing her cousin, “your hair is a mess.”

Immediately, Jenny put a hand to the coif. She was nervous, Miles saw. “Nonsense,” he said before he could stop himself. “It looks charming.”

Jenny ducked her head and poured a cup of chocolate.

“I must warn you, Miles,” Iris said, “that Reverend Morley is very exacting. I wish you to be prepared for him and not to take offense if he seems . . . er . . .”

“A prig,” Cassandra supplied, then trilled a laugh again. “You must not allow him to bully you.”

?

?I doubt that shall prove problematic,” Miles replied dryly.

“Strict,” Iris said firmly, with a glare at her daughter. “Miles, dear, remember what we talked about. Parents with eligible daughters will be present. It would put them off if Reverend Morley were not approving.”

“We wouldn’t wish Reverend Morley not to approve,” he replied. He risked a glance at Jenny. She was sipping her chocolate. “I do so detest it when I am met with disapproval.”

She ducked her head again. So, she was determined not to confront him. This he found too annoying. He did not appreciate being ignored.

Not by her.

She’d been much in his thoughts. He’d thought about their conversations, how her eyes flashed and her mouth moved when she fought a smile. He had wondered what her scent was like. Every woman had a scent. Would Miss Alt smell of soap and simple rose water, a reflection of her prim exterior, or something spicy to hint at her lively spirit?

He spoke pointedly to her. “Miss Alt, you do not seem overly concerned with promptness. Do you not care for the Reverend Morley’s approval?”

Jenny grasped her cup. “The reverend has a right to expect his congregation to be in their pews when services start.”

“And yet you were tardy today. Did you not sleep well last night?”

Her back went ramrod straight. “I slept soundly,” she replied, not meeting his eye.

“Ah, the sleep of the just. How I envy you.”

Just as he’d hoped, she could not resist. “Is your sleep plagued, my lord?”

Cassandra’s cold voice cut her off. “Really, Jenny. The earl’s sleeping habits are a monstrous crass topic for conversation.” She stepped between Jenny and Hatherleigh, cutting off his view. “Miles, pay no attention to her. I told you how ridiculous she was with these forward ideas. It is the folly that comes from reading so much.”

“But it was I, Cassandra, who brought up the topic. Surely you are not chastising me?”