“I’m fine,” Winston bit off, his ire clearly directed at his sister, who was still sitting on the bench, looking extremely satisfied with her recent accomplishments.
Miss Cadogan looked past him to Olivia, who was shaking her head, mouthing, “He’s not.”
“I will definitely bring you that tincture,” Miss Cadogan said. “It tastes a bit foul, but our housekeeper swears by it. And I insist that you return home at once. It’s chilly out.”
“It’s really not necessary,” Winston protested.
“I was planning to return soon, anyway,” Miss Cadogan put in, proving that young Bevelstoke was no match for the combined might of two determined women. “You may escort me.”
“Do inform Mother that I shall be back momentarily,” Olivia said sweetly.
Her brother glared at her, but he had clearly been outmaneuvered, and so he took Miss Cadogan’s arm and led her away.
“Well played, Lady Olivia,” Harry said admiringly, once the others were out of earshot.
She gave him a bored look. “You are not the only gentleman I find irritating.”
There was no way he could ignore a comment like that, so he sat beside her, plopping right down into the spot recently vacated by Miss Cadogan. “Anything interesting?” he asked, motioning toward her newspaper.
“I would not know,” she replied. “I am besieged by interruptions.”
He chuckled. “My cue to apologize, I am sure, but I shan’t indulge you.”
Her lips pressed together, presumably pinching back a retort.
He sat back, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, letting his lazy pose signal that he was settling in beside her. “After all,” he mused, “it is not as if I am invading your privacy. We are sitting on a bench in Hyde Park. Open air, public place, et cetera, et cetera.”
He paused, giving her the chance to comment. She did not. So he continued on with: “If you’d wanted privacy, you might have taken your newspaper to your bedchamber, or perhaps to your office. Those are places, would you not agree, where one might operate under the assumption of privacy?”
Again he waited. Again, she refused to engage. So he lowered his voice to a murmur and asked, “Do you have an office, Lady Olivia?”
He did not think she would answer, as she was staring straight ahead, quite determinedly not looking at him, but much to his surprise, she ground out, “I do not.”
He admired her for that, but not enough to change tack. “Pity, that,” he murmured. “I find it most beneficial to have a place that is my own that is not used for sleeping. You should consider an office, Lady Olivia, if you wish for a place to read your newspaper away from the prying eyes of others.”
She turned to him with an impressively indifferent expression. “You’re sitting on my maid’s embroidery.”
“My apologies.” He looked down, pulled the fabric out from beneath him-he was barely on the hem, but he decided to be magnanimous and decline to comment-and set it aside. “Where is your maid?”
She waved her hand in an unspecific direction. “She went off to join Mary’s maid. I’m sure she will return at any moment.”
He had no response to that, so instead he said, “You and your brother have an interesting relationship.”
She shrugged, clearly trying to be rid of him.
“Mine detests me.”
That caught her interest. She turned, smiled too sweetly, and said, “I would like to meet him.”
“I’m sure you would,” he replied. “He is not often in my office, but when he gets up at a reasonable hour, he breakfasts in the small dining room. The windows are just two past my office toward the front of the house. You might try looking for him there.”
She gave him a hard look. He smiled blandly in return.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
He motioned to his mount. “Out for a ride.”
“No, why here?” she ground out. “On this bench. Sitting next to me.”
He thought about that for a moment. “You vex me.”
Her lips pursed. “Well,” she said, somewhat briskly. “I suppose that’s only fair.”
The sentiment was rather sporting of her, even if the tone was not. She had, after all, just minutes earlier said that she found him irritating.
Her maid arrived then. Harry heard her before he saw her, stomping over the damp grass with great irritation, traces of a Cockney accent evident in her voice.
“Why does that woman seem to think I should learn French? She’s the one in England, I say. Oh.” She paused, looking at Harry with some surprise. When she continued, her voice and accent were considerably more cultured. “I am sorry, my lady. I did not realize you had company.”
“He was just leaving,” Lady Olivia said, all sweetness and light. She turned to him with a smile so dazzlingly sunny he finally understood all those broken hearts he kept hearing about. “Thank you so much for your company, Sir Harry,” she said.
His breath caught, and it occurred to him that she was an exceedingly good liar. If he hadn’t just spent the past ten minutes with the lady he was now referring to in his head as “Surly Girl,” he might have fallen in love with her himself.
“As you indicated, Lady Olivia,” he said quietly, “I was just leaving.”
And so he did, with every intention of never seeing her again.
At least not on purpose.
Thoughts of Lady Olivia firmly behind him, Harry got back to work later that morning, and by afternoon was lost in a sea of Russian idioms.
Kogda rak na goryeh svistnyet = When the crawfish whistles on a mountain = When pigs fly.
Sdelatz slona iz mukha = Make an elephant out of a fly = Make a mountain out of a molehill.
S dokhlogo kozla i shersti klok = Even from the dead goat, even a piece of wool is worth something =
Equals…
Equals…
He pondered this for several minutes, idly tapping his pen against his blotter, and was just about to give up and move on when he heard a knock at the door.
“Enter.” He didn’t look up. It had been so long since he’d been able to maintain his focus for an entire paragraph; he wasn’t going to break the rhythm now.
“Harry.”
Harry’s pen stilled. He’d been expecting the butler with the afternoon’s post, but this voice belonged to his younger brother. “Edward,” he said, making sure he knew exactly where he’d left off before looking up. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“This came for you.” Edward crossed the room and placed an envelope on his desk. “It came by courier.”
The outside of the envelope did not indicate the sender, but the markings were familiar. It was from the War Office, and it was almost certainly of some importance; they rarely sent communication of this sort directly to his home. Harry set it aside, intending to read it when he was alone. Edward knew that he translated documents, but he did not know for whom. Thus far Harry had not seen any indication that he could be trusted with the knowledge.
The missive could wait a few minutes, however. Right now Harry was curious as to his brother’s presence in his office. It was not Edward’s habit to deliver items about the house. Even if he had been the one to receive the letter, he most likely would have tossed it on the tray in the front hall for the butler to deal with.
Edward did not interact with Harry unless forced to do so, by outside influence or by necessity. Necessity usually being of the financial variety.
“How are you today, Edward?”
Edward shrugged. He looked tired, his eyes red and puffy. Harry wondered how late he’d been out the night before.
“Sebastian will be joining us for supper this evening,” Harry said. Edward rarely ate at home, but Harry thought he might, if he knew Seb would be there.
“I have plans,” Edward said, but then he added, “but perhaps I could delay them.”