Page 7 of Joy to the Earl

“Bah,” muttered Donald. “Don’t know how the gel tolerates such oppression. Worse than serving under Old Nosey. Bark, bark, bark, that’s all he did in Spain. Don’t go there! Don’t drink that! Attack in this formation!”

“Because of that barking you stayed whole and hardy, so I will forever include Lord Wellington in my prayers. And the gel is four years old, you nincompoop. Besides, with her leg—”

“Aunt May,” said Rosalind sharply. “Enough.”

“You’re right, my dear,” said her aunt remarkably contritely. “Perhaps if you go and find little Fliss, I could give her a pianoforte lesson? I have the most charming new tune for her to learn.”

Donald nodded. “Good idea. Vale, would you care to inspect the horses with me?”

“Of course,” said Phillip, standing up so fast he nearly tipped his chair over. “I’ll see you later, Claire. At our session.”

“Very well,” said Claire morosely, and Rosalind winced. The woman clearly worshipped her husband, and she strongly suspected Phillip felt exactly the same way toward his wife. So why was there such an abyss between them? Their daily sessions were progressing very slowly in terms of unravelling the mystery.

“Do you want to come with me to find Fliss?” said Rosalind.

“No thank you,” replied Claire. “I might do some embroidery for a while, if that is agreeable.”

“Fine, fine.”

Making her way from the dining room and into the hall, Rosalind paused and looked around. Where her daughter could be was anyone’s guess.

Blast it all. What if she’d found Jack and begun the kind of blunt and unrelenting interrogation only a curious little girl could manage? Fliss had received explicit instructions to stay in the nursery and play with her toys until after breakfast, but sometimes “forgot”.

Picking up her skirts, Rosalind began to run.

* * *

He was being watched.

Even with his eyes shut, Jack could feel the unwavering gaze on him, and it was rather disconcerting, especially as he hadn’t heard a door open or close. Hopefully it wasn’t an intruder, although it wasn’t like he possessed anything to steal. Not even clothes. And this guest chamber, while comfortably elegant, didn’t have any valuables either.

Inching one eyelid open, he turned his head on the down pillow and found himself face to face with a dark-haired, green-eyed cherub. She was dressed as a soldier, complete with embroidered scarlet jacket, and hefting a gray-striped kitten under her arm.

He coughed in surprise. “Er…hello.”

The little girl wrinkled her nose. “I am Captain Felicity Nelson, and you should salute me! New recruits are no good. No good at all. Tell me your name, or it’s the stocks for you.”

Jack’s lips twitched. “Jack Reynolds, captain ma’am. You can call me Jack, I don’t mind.”

“Good-oh! But why are you still in bed?”

“Forgive me. I took a blow to the head and forgot myself.”

“I see. A cannonball? Was it big? Did it hurt? My father died when he fell from his horse, you know. Do you like my kitten? Her name is Wellington.”

“That is a, er, fine name.”

“I think so. Uncle Donald said I should call her a silly name like Puss or Stripes. But Wellington is a brave kitten who fights with a sword and wins all the battles. Can you tell?”

He gravely regarded the rumpled scrap of fur dangling with admirable patience from a too-snug grip. “Another name wouldn’t be quite right for such a fearless feline. May I introduce myself to Wellington? If you put her up here, I can shake her paw.”

Felicity beamed at him as she placed the kitten on the edge of the bed. “You may.”

Trailing one hand along the covers, Jack let the kitten stalk him, laughter rumbling in his chest when Wellington batted at his thumb, then pounced. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Furry Field Marshal ma’am. My name is Jack Reynolds. A, er, very new recruit.”

“Your laugh sounds funny, Jack. Don’t you laugh very much? Is your heart hurt?”

He froze, staring at the child, who stared right back and tilted her head imperiously. He’d once overheard a group of village parents ruefully shake their heads at the blunt pearls their little sons and daughters came out with, but this was the first time he’d experienced it. And so many questions. Had he ever asked that many questions? Perhaps he had, but the number of adults he’d known well or even had conversations with as a child numbered well less than ten.