Page 24

T he next morning, Kit strolled into the breakfast room and found Mary already reading a gazetteer while she dug into a dish he’d never seen before. “Good morning.”

She glanced up, startled, as if she had not expected to see anyone else. “Good morning to you as well. I thought you’d still be asleep.”

Apparently she’d taken him for an idleby.

Though in fairness, they had not met at breakfast before.

Yesterday, not wishing to spoil their fragile accord, he’d had his valet bring him a tray, and the two previous days, Mary had broken her fast in her room.

“No, it’s my habit to rise early.” He took the chair next to hers.

There were no dishes set out on the sideboard as he was used to, but a pot of tea was on the table. “Is the tea fresh?”

“Let me ring for more.”

She jiggled a small silver bell and Simons appeared immediately. “My lady?”

“Bring a fresh pot of tea, and”—she turned to Kit—“what else would you like to eat?”

Ah, this was his opportunity to discover what she had. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” He took out his quizzing glass. “What is that?”

Mary grinned. “It’s a bacon floddie. They are usually served with eggs and the local sausage, but I’m not fond of any sausage.”

“I’ll have two of those with their full accompaniment, and toast.”

Her butler bowed again and left. Why he thought of the servant as hers when he’d been paying the man’s wages for years, Kit didn’t know.

A few minutes later Simons returned. “Your breakfast will be ready shortly, sir.”

“Thank you. ”

As the door closed behind the butler, he considered opening it again for propriety’s sake, but that would appear odd as everyone thought they were married.

Why the devil wasn’t Lady Eunice down here playing gooseberry?

He’d have to have a word with her. Craning his neck, he attempted to read the paper over Mary’s shoulder. “Is there anything interesting?”

She swallowed and glanced up. “This is the Post . We won’t receive the Gazette until later in the day. Are you still interested?”

That was a challenge if he’d ever heard one. Perhaps she didn’t like to share her newspaper, or did not like to be interrupted when reading. “I’m as prone as the next person to want to know what is going on in the ton .”

She handed him one of the pages that she’d already read. It was probably good to know she was proprietary over her reading material. “It’s too early in the Season for much to occur, but there is one engagement announcement. A Miss Charlotte Manning has accepted Lord Peter Marshall.”

Simons brought the tea and a stack of buttered toast. Mary poured Kit a cup, adding cream and one sugar. Brilliant woman to have remembered how he liked his tea. Then he focused on what she’d said. “Poor Stanstead.”

She looked over the top of the newssheet. “A friend of yours?”

“Yes.” Kit took a sip of tea. “He is Robert Beaumont’s cousin.”

“Was Lord Stanstead in love with her?”

“I don’t know.” Kit leaned back in his chair. “He was infatuated, and he had hopes in that direction. They met at Robert and Serena’s wedding last year, yet I never thought she was right for him.”

Mary placed the paper on the table, and met Kit’s gaze. “I wasn’t aware men had thoughts on matters of the heart.”

In that case, she had a great deal to learn. Perhaps now he could make some inroads with his lady. “Stanstead has recently attained the grand age of two and twenty. It’s not time yet for him to marry.”

Her brows rose. “I must agree. It is young for a gentleman. Yet he wished to wed?”

Kit cradled his tea-cup, taking a sip and savoring the taste. “Apparently. He had an unfortunate family life, but his mother remarried last year to a man Stanstead admires greatly. She just gave birth to a baby boy shortly before Serena had her girl, and he wants the same type of life. ”

“What do his friends think of him wanting to settle down?”

That was an interesting question. Kit shrugged. “I’m not sure how many of his friends are his age. He appears older than two and twenty and takes all his responsibilities seriously.”

“Hmm,” was all Mary said before burying herself behind the newspaper again.

He quickly demolished two pieces of toast before his food arrived.

The floddies looked almost as good on his plate as they had on Mary’s.

He eyed hers, just as she glanced over her paper, and she gobbled up the last bites on her plate.

Apparently she didn’t like sharing her food any more than she did her reading material.

Using his fork, Kit cut a piece of the floddie and tasted. “Heaven.”

“I agree.” She eyed his plate. “Aunt Eunice doesn’t like them at all.”

Based on his memory of yesterday’s chicken, he asked, “What are they made of?”

“Potatoes, eggs, onions, flour, and bacon.”

“You are the only lady of my acquaintance who would know that.” He finished the one and made short work of the other. Perhaps he should request more. Kit wondered what it would be like to feed her.

Mary’s chin rose a bit. “I make it my business—”

“No no.” He held up his hand and chuckled. “Don’t pull caps with me. I admire you greatly for it. My great-grandmother used to know all manner of useful things.”

She picked up her cup and sighed. “My great-grandmother did as well. I do not understand what happened.”

“The same thing that occurred with landowners.” He wanted to sigh himself.

“There was a time when the typical gentleman knew much more about husbandry than most do now. Although there is a growing movement to recover the knowledge and find new ways of making estates more productive without harming one’s dependents. ”

She stared almost longingly at his plate. “Eat your eggs before they become cold.” Mary refilled her cup. “How do you feel about farming?”

He did as he was told before answering. How pleasant it was to break his fast with her. “I believe one should know as much and more than one’s steward.”

She raised the most eloquent and skeptical brow he’d ever seen. Now how would he explain why he hadn’t been here in years? “I am kept busy going to my father’s estates, and I’ve spent time in Norfolk at Pope’s farm. But you are in the right of it. I should not have neglected Rose Hill.”

She took a piece of fresh toast. “No, you should not have, but at least you are learning what you need to know. Are your family’s properties extensive?”

“In a word, yes. I’ve been told the only reason we hold a mere viscountcy and not an earldom or higher is that my ancestors knew better than to curry too much royal attention. Instead, they concentrated on building up their holdings.”

She studied her cup as she asked, “Does that include recent generations?”

Ah, he’d forgotten she was an heiress and had probably been courted for what she could bring to a marriage rather than for herself. Not an intelligent way to treat a progressive-thinking lady. “No. My parents married for love, and my mother expects me to do the same.”

The corners of her lips curved up as she took a drink. “My parents wanted that for me too. That is one reason I know Papa would never have arranged for me to marry my cousin.”

If that was the case, then why the devil did their grandmothers cook up this untenable scheme? Those two old ladies had some explaining to do. Normally he greatly admired and was very fond of his grandmother, but right now, he could wring her neck.

His stomach still rumbled. “Shall I order more floddies?”

“If you wish. You’re sure to get on Cook’s good side if you do.”

Mary discovered she enjoyed having breakfast with Kit.

Unlike her father and brothers, he was not at all grumpy in the morning.

For a few moments she thought he’d attempt to take the newspaper, but he hadn’t.

That had surprised her. And he was interested in trying new foods.

She couldn’t imagine most of the gentlemen she knew doing that so easily.

Still, she had not trusted him when he glanced at her plate.

He was probably one of those people who thought everyone should share.

Harrumph. The twins used to think that as well, and learned better.

He might get a fork in his hand if he tried to take any of her food.

He rang the bell and when Simons appeared he ordered more bacon floddies. “I take it Barham’s holdings are extensive? ”

“Not so much in land as in other investments. My father said my uncle helped build back the family fortunes after my grandfather depleted much of it.”

Kit’s tea-cup hung suspended between the plate and his mouth. “The same uncle who is insisting you marry his son?”

For a moment she’d forgotten about Uncle Hector’s role.

Really, Mr. Featherton’s presence had a derogatory effect on her brain.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Which is yet another reason his insistence there was a betrothal agreement does not make sense. He built his own fortune as well. Why would his son have any need of marrying an heiress?”

“I have people looking for your uncle. When we find him, we’ll make a point to ask.” Kit drained the last of the tea.

Mary appreciated his concern, but doubted he would have success where her brother had failed.

She glanced up to find his plate already clean.

He must have polished off the last of the toast as well.

She would have to ensure there was more food on the table to-morrow, or have a few serving dishes set out.

That would please Cook. “What are your plans for the day?”

“I thought I’d leave it to you. What would you normally do?”

Simons reappeared with floddies, toast, and another pot of tea.

“Yesterday, I was making assessments. To-day is when I take the tenants items they need or could use. I detest those ladies who ride out bestowing their bounty, never knowing what a family truly requires.” Try as she might, Mary couldn’t keep the hard edge from her voice.

But what did it matter? He should know how she felt.