Page 22 of Joy to the Earl

“No idea. Never understood the appeal, myself,” said Jack, stifling a chuckle.

“Nor I,” said Rosalind. “But we are less than a mile from the townhouse now, darling, and it is nearly suppertime. I’m sure there will be some hot broth to warm your tummy, then you and Wellington can retire to the nursery and dream of your next adventure.”

“Good-oh. Are Uncle Donald and Aunt May coming for supper?”

“Not tonight, they will have supper at their own house. But I’m sure they will visit soon.”

As Felicity snuggled up to her mother, he turned away with a lump in his throat. That was how it should be, casual affection and a loving closeness. The little girl may have lost her father, but everyone around her cherished her very existence and obviously had never dreamed of shunning her because of her leg. Actually, he pitied the person who might ever try it. Rosalind, Sir Donald, and Lady Kilburne in full battle stance would be a formidable sight indeed.

They travelled in companionable silence the rest of the painstaking journey through the snow, eventually pulling up in front of a small but charming townhouse. Two footmen dashed out, each holding a large candelabra to light their way, revealing the building was fashioned of cream brick and stone, with a cherry-red door complete with polished brass knocker.

The carriage door opened, and one of the footmen lowered the metal steps. “Good evening, Lady Nelson. Oh, and good evening to you too, sir.”

Rosalind slowly got to her feet, expertly shifted her daughter onto one hip, and climbed out of the carriage with the footman’s help. “Good evening. Would you please advise the kitchens we need supper at once? Whatever is available, although I know Miss Felicity would enjoy hot broth. And a guest room for Mr. Reynolds.”

“At once, madam,” said the footman, bowing and hurrying away.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Banished already?” he began, but didn’t say another word when Rosalind gave him the tiniest shake of her head and meaningfully glanced at her daughter. This was another whole new world for him to learn—how to behave like a father figure.

After making their way up the townhouse steps and across the polished wooden floor of the narrow entrance hall, they were seated in a small dining room. Soon, the same two footmen from the front door began bringing in dishes, and his stomach rumbled at the scents. There were potatoes boiled with parsley and butter, a thick beef and vegetable broth, freshly baked bread, and sliced green beans. He, Rosalind, and Felicity all ate with gusto, making short work of the food, and the vanilla custard that followed, then Felicity trotted off happily to the nursery with a maid, Wellington in tow.

“Now,” said Jack. “Tell me about our sleeping arrangements.”

She sighed. “Even I must observe certain proprieties.”

“What do you mean ‘even I’?”

“In London I have a certain…reputation…due to my work. They call me the Wicked Widow.”

“Somehow your tone doesn’t indicate that is amusing or complimentary,” he said carefully, abruptly feeling like he tip-toed through a field of sleeping French soldiers.

“It isn’t. But then members of so-called polite society rarely are amusing or complimentary,” she said tartly.

“Excuse me, my lady,” said an older woman, possibly the housekeeper, knocking on the door frame before coming in. “But this letter came for you, and the runner said you were to get it as soon as possible.”

Rosalind frowned, sliding her finger under the seal and unfolding the paper. “It’s from the Countess of Lynthorpe.”

Unaccountably, he recoiled at the name. “What does she want?”

“To meet me. Actually, she wants to meet both of us. Tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock sharp for tea at Wakefield House, Hanover Square. My my, very fashionable.”

“Why would a countess want to meet me?”

She shrugged. “Maybe she wishes to hear your version of the accident. Some people need details, to clear their own minds when grieving.”

“You’d be more helpful than I would. I still can’t remember any damned part of it. It’s like my life stopped at Northridge then restarted at Nelson Manor. Do you want to go?”

Rosalind hesitated as she twirled a spoon through the remains of her custard. “Not really. After what Phillip and Claire had to say about the late earl and his retainers, I believe the Lynthorpes are a family I’d like to avoid entirely. But on the other hand...it is the right thing to do. And we don’t have to stay long. Then the matter is taken care of once and for all.”

“Agreed,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “And now, Lady Nelson, I believe you are looking rather fatigued, and should be bathed and put to bed.”

“Gracious me. Imagine if my toilette happened to be disturbed by a big, strapping carpenter from the north, right when I’m helplessly naked and dripping wet.”

Jack met her hot gaze with one of his own. “I’m sure that can be arranged, ma’am.”

* * *

She wanted to enter Wakefield House like she wanted to get a tooth pulled.