Page 18 of Adeline

Blast it all, but it made him feel more than a mere sense of inadequacy. He felt like an outsider in his own home.

He pivoted and started back toward the hearth, glancing out the window as he stalked across the room. True to his word, the storm was clearing, the clouds pushing toward the far horizon, allowing a rare glimpse of the sun during a normally foggy March day.

By now, the blasted woman should be returned to her room as he’d commanded, and Jasper would be free to slip from the house unnoticed. When he was informed that his horse was ready, that was.

He chuckled, thinking of her determination to have her way.

Aunt Alice would have liked the woman immensely, while his uncle would have mumbled about the folly of women raised with a mind of their own. Yet, Jasper’s father’s younger brother had chosen just such a woman to take as wife. No matter his gruff nature and whispered criticisms, Lieutenant Colonel Bartholomew Benedict was a man who insisted on a woman with spunk and wit. Things his aunt had possessed in spades.

Jasper wondered if his own father, Balthazar Benedict, the fifth Earl of Ailesbury, had the same preference in the fairer sex. Alas, he’d been but a boy of twelve when Lord and Lady Ailesbury died, along with three servants and a half dozen horses, in the fire that had burned the earl’s stable to the ground—nearly taking Jasper’s life, as well.

Shaking his head, Jasper pushed the old wounds back where they belonged—buried and ignored. There was little to be gained from spiraling into that deep hole of guilt and doubt, or so his aunt had told him for years.

Bloody hell, but he missed the woman…and his uncle. Sad that his time with them here at Faversham held far more memories than those with his blooded parents. His aunt had doted on her nephew since she and his uncle hadn’t been blessed with a child of their own. They’d seen to his education, private though it was as they thought it best his tutors come to the Abbey. His uncle had taught him the courage and strength of a soldier, as well as the kindness and compassion needed to help others. Jasper had been instructed in the ways of estate management, including keeping the ledgers, how to resolve disputes between servants and villagers, and household management. The last was due to his aunt’s persistence…in case it was many years before Jasper wed.

A knock sounded at the door, bringing him back to the present with a start.

“Enter.” He cleared his throat to dispel his gravelly tone.

His aunt and uncle had been gone for many years now. Crying would not bring them back nor give him another day with them.

Abbington entered, his steps sure and his head held high. “Your steed awaits you out front, my lord. The storm has receded, and your bow is at the ready.”

“Out front?” Jasper’s brow furrowed. He’d never once had his horse brought round to the front of the house. His path to the best hunting grounds lay behind the manor, toward the gunpowder plant. “Very well. I will depart immediately. Make certain Miss Adeline has all that’s needed until her carriage departs.”

“Of course, my lord.” Abbington gave him a crisp nod before twisting to allow Jasper to pass and proceed him into the foyer.

There was something off with the servant, and Jasper could only think it was the woman’s presence in his home. There was little other explanation for his staff’s formal attitude and rigid posture. It was as though they sought to impress Miss Adeline.

Ludicrous—and a waste of time and energy, if you asked Jasper.

Miss Adeline Price belonged in London, surrounded by hoity-toity gents and ladies in outrageous garb. She belonged in elaborately decorated ballrooms or ensconced in private opera boxes. She was used to finely furnished townhouses with grand foyers and sparkling chandeliers with hundreds of candles, casting illumination on her below.

Faversham Abbey hadn’t seen a proper renovation since before Jasper was born—if not several decades before that. He’d never set foot in a ballroom nor an opera house.

Damnation, he had no recollection of what London looked like except for the drawings and a few paintings his mother had brought with her to Kent after wedding his father.

Though it did not leave him with melancholy or wanting a stay in the grand city.

He and Miss Adeline came from two different worlds, and Jasper needed no further proof of that than his stumbling upon her stranded alongside the roadway.

Jasper pulled up short when he entered the foyer.

He rubbed at his eyes, blinked several times, and even tilted his head to the left a smidgen.

There was no way he did not imagine the vision before him. Perhaps he was ill and hadn’t taken a moment to realize it, or his thoughts of Miss Adeline had conjured the dreamscape before him.

Certainly, one of the two explained Miss Adeline Price’s appearance at the bottom of the staircase, garbed in a riding habit of the deepest scarlet he’d ever seen with a bow slung over her shoulder.

Jasper would recognize the habit anywhere, though it had been over twelve years since he’d seen it.

“It fits admirably, does it not Lord Ailesbury?” The woman had the nerve to spin around, her heavy skirts staying about her ankles and her bow remaining high on her shoulder.

“Who gave you that habit?” He would enact swift justice on the servant who dared disobey his command.

“Poppy brought it to me,” she said with a shrug. “It is well made with a master’s skill at stitching.”

A squeak sounded from above, and Jasper narrowed his stare on the landing in time to see Emily—and Adeline’s maid, Poppy—scatter out of view. So, his servants were in cahoots with hers.