A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

He was quite certain she’d guessed he wouldn’t be content with one kiss, not now; that was what that warning in her eyes had been about, why she’d so slickly seized the opportunity Crawler had presented to escape.

Did she truly think he wouldn’t pursue it, and her—that she could with just a censorious look warn him off?

Probably.

Unfortunately, she’d misjudged him—again. He had every intention of pursuing her, and would, but he was too wise to simply ride forth to engage with a warrior-queen secure in her domain. He’d pursue her, but on his terms.

In his own time, in his own way, in a place of his choosing.

After that kiss, definitely in a place of his choosing.

One that eliminated all chance of interruptions.

Jack spent a quiet evening letting his staff fuss over him. The dinner Mrs. Connimore set before him would have done justice to a king; it was a pity, he later reflected, nursing a glass of brandy in the library, that a certain warrior-queen hadn’t been there to share it.

He sat and sipped, letting the peace and tranquility of home sink in, the quiet tock of the longcase clock, the comforting crackle of the log in the grate, feeling the glow from the brandy spread through him, reminiscent of the fire Boadicea evoked…

After a long moment, he shifted in his chair, then resolutely redirected his mind to his alternate plan to ensure his succession. It was the only alternative, but if matters fell out as he hoped, it would do.

Gradually, the day caught up with him; his head still ached, but no longer throbbed. Draining his glass, he went upstairs, along the way noticing this and that, little items, glimpses of the past…

He was home.

He slept well, better than he had in thirteen years. He awoke with a clear head, rose, washed, and dressed for the day, a sense of anticipation buoying him.

Walking through the gallery, he saw Mrs. Connimore come out of the bedchamber in which the young man lay. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he waited for her to join him.

“Good morning, my lord.” Mrs. Connimore beamed at him. “And it’s a pleasure to be able to say that, you may be sure.”

He smiled. “Thank you, and good morning to you. How’s the patient?”

Mrs. Connimore’s face fell. “Still not with us.”

Jack nodded and started down the stairs, knowing she’d insist he go first.

Connimore followed. “I’ll send word to Dr. Willis, and to Lady Clarice.”

Jack paused, then shook aside an urge to ask why Lady Clarice Altwood needed to be informed; it would only fluster Connimore, and Boadicea had, after all, been instrumental in rescuing the gentleman. He continued down the stairs and headed for the breakfast parlor. He was disinclined to allow anything to dim his ebullient mood.

After demolishing a plate of ham, eggs, and pikelets, washed down with a mug of strong coffee while perusing the latest news-sheet, he headed for the study, and Griggs. He expected his faithful agent to be eager to go through all that had been done in his absence and reacquaint him with the current state of the manor. In that, he wasn’t disappointed; Griggs, old cheeks flushed with pleasure, laid out ledgers and accounts with not a little pride.

Justifiable pride; the estate was doing better than Jack had imagined it could.

Something else he hadn’t expected was the number of times Clarice’s name figured in Griggs’s explanations for the manor’s improved state.

“Now.” Pince-nez perched on his nose, Griggs set another open ledger before Jack. “We’ve managed to increase the yields from the south fields.”

Jack couldn’t stop himself. “Lady Clarice…?”

“She suggested—oh, a few years ago now—that Hidgson might rotate his clover with his grains. Seemed no harm trying it, so he did.” Griggs pointed to a row of neat figures. “Improved the yield by ten percent the first year, then another five percent the year after. We’re now running the same system in the east fields, and they’re coming along well, too. If you look here…”

Jack looked, and absorbed, and asked himself why he minded.

He hadn’t been here. She had.

A trip to the stables before lunch should have restored his mood; instead, while listening to Crawler bring him up to date on his horses and his herds, he learned that Clarice knew a remarkable amount about horses, cattle, and sheep, and their husbandry. Enough, at least, to have gained the respect of Crawler, a confirmed misogynist, or so Jack had always thought.

Lunchtime arrived; when, later, he visited Connimore and Cook in the kitchens, he discovered the recipe for the asparagus soup he’d so enjoyed had been introduced to his household by…Lady Clarice.