Page 114 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“Good morning.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Or, rather, good afternoon. It’s nearly one o’clock.”

“So it is.” He crossed the hall to join her. She looked unbearably pretty in her plain white frock with its violet ribbon sash at her waist. Soft and touchable. He suspected she wasn’t wearing her corset.

Without a lady’s maid to assist her, she’d been managing her own morning toilette. Of necessity, some components had gradually fallen by the wayside. The result was a softer, simpler style of dress that suited her far better than the overly constricted silhouettes of her days in London. Even her hair was lovelier than it had been in town. No longer pinned into submission, it was swept back into loose chignons or haphazardly tucked into silken nets.

Imperfection became her. Made her even more beguiling. Like a wild rose blooming in a hedgerow.

Noticing his regard, she smoothed her hands over her skirts. “I’m rather rumpled, I know. Mary used to press my gowns. I don’t know how to do it myself. Not yet.”

“I’d be pleased to do it for you.”

“Oh no,” she objected quickly. “I couldn’t ask that. You have too much to do already.” She didn’t specify what.

So far, his work had remained a mystery to her. True to their agreement, Julia never asked him what he was doing every morning in the tower—though she was plainly curious.

She’d referenced it only once in passing, and he’d responded vaguely, muttering something about estate business. It was true enough in a general way. Whatever he earned from his labors would go toward maintaining the estate.

If he ever earned anything again.

After this morning’s work, he had plenty of cause to doubt his abilities.

“I shall simply have to learn how to look after my clothes myself,” Julia said. “Not only how to press them, but how to treat the stains. It’s that which may prove difficult.”

The solution was obvious. “You require a new maid.”

“Perhaps a housekeeper-cook might suffice?” she suggested. “And a parlor maid to assist her with the housework?”

“You’ve been giving it some thought, I see.” He wasn’t surprised. There were only so many days a baronet’s daughter could spend at the Hall without feeling the profound lack of staff. It impacted everything from their meals to the delivery of the water she’d been washing with this morning.

“I have,” she said. “Surely, we can afford it now?”

“It’s not only a matter of money. The servants you have in mind would first have to be persuaded to work here. That’s not as easy as you might think, given the house’s reputation—and my own.”

“It’s not impossible, either. Not now you’re respectably married.”

“Speaking of my recent marriage . . .” He came closer, his large frame looming over her small one. He was conscious of her every change in breath. “How have you been occupying yourself today?”

“I finished The Hero’s Return,” she said.

“Ah. And your verdict?”

“It wasn’t as adventurous as I’d have liked. But it was rich with sympathetic characters, and really quite romantic.” A pensive frown touched her lips. “There was only one part that troubled me.”

Jasper was instantly alert. “Which part?”

“The part where Colonel Fulham’s body was loaded into a cart with other wounded men.”

“What about it?”

“I wonder how he could have been mistaken for a common soldier.”

The answer was obvious enough to Jasper. “He was grievously injured, and all was in chaos. Without his horse or his coat—”

“I’m still not certain it’s believable. Not when you consider his rank.”

“Believable or not, it’s based in fact,” he said. “Many mistakes are made in the aftermath of a battle.”

Julia frowned. “Is that how it was after the fall of Sebastopol?”