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Chapter Two

“ H arrison, introduce me to your friend.”

Caden turned at the authoritative voice. He recognized it immediately as belonging to the woman who’d called to his mystery-nurse while he lay flat-out, lakeside.

Silver-gray hair and fine lines on her face marked her as of an age with the earl. She held herself like a queen as she eyed him up and down, clearly taking his measure. Interesting.

He flashed her his most engaging smile.

Her cheeks went pink, as most women’s did.

Harrison hustled to her side, offering his arm. “Lady Wentworth, an unexpected pleasure. I distinctly recall my mother informing Sterling and myself you’d declined the invitation, as expected.”

The lady arched her brows at him.

Harrison hesitated, seeming to recognize he’d committed a faux-pas, while also having no notion where he’d gone wrong .

He turned to Caden, a fresh sheen of perspiration dampening his forehead. “Thurgood, would you believe this great lady, the dowager duchess of Wentworth, is my grandmother’s sister’s sister-in-law?”

“You don’t say?” Caden leaned down to Harrison, offering in a discreet tone, “You still haven’t introduced us.”

Harrison’s face went ruddy. “Yes, of course. Thurgood, meet the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth, my great aunt by marriage. My lady, Mr Caden Thurgood, brother to Lord Ezekiel Thurgood, future Earl of Claybourne. ”

Caden bowed over the lady’s proffered, gloved hand. “A pleasure. Wentworth of Northumberland, my lady?”

She gave a regal nod, looking pleased.

Harrison spoke up. “Thurgood was good enough to accompany me to Lady Bernadette’s engagement party in Sterling’s stead.

You remember my brother, the viscount? An emergency about which he would reveal nothing prohibited his attending.

Of course, he hated to let Aunt Claudine and Bernie down.

His loss, if you ask me. Had he known the infamous Lady Wentworth would put in an appearance, nothing could have kept him away.

” Harrison laid his free hand over his heart.

Lady Wentworth’s lips twitched. “Keep it up, m’ boy, and you may earn the spot as my new favorite…er…nephew or cousin or whatever.” Waving a dainty lace kerchief, she said, “Now be a good lad and run along.”

Harrison wasted no time obeying the lady’s directive.

She pinned Caden with a stare.

She wished to speak with him privately? This grew more intriguing by the minute.

“Shall we stroll, Lady Wentworth? ”

At her nod, Caden tucked her hand into his elbow and led her along the gravel path perimeter of the green.

“Mr. Thurgood, how fares your head?”

He slid her a look. “Quite well, my lady, I suspect due to my having a rather hard cranium—a trait that runs rampant in my family. Pray tell, is it you to whom I owe my life? As I understand it, Harrison left me face down in the muck to either self-resuscitate or suffocate.”

Lady Wentworth gave an unladylike snort. “No, dear boy, it was not I, but my companion, Mrs. Jones, who charged to your rescue. Indeed she dragged you from the shore onto the grass.”

Mrs. Jones? The name didn’t ring a bell.

“Dragged me, you say, my lady?” At well over six feet and a good fifteen stone last he’d checked, that would be no easy feat. “I’d very much like to thank your companion.”

Lady Wentworth smile with evident satisfaction. “I thought you might.”

She directed him to the far side of the lawn. As they drew near, he noted two lounge chairs, one turned to face away from the crowd. It had an occupant.

His eyes trained on the lounger as if the mysterious Mrs Jones would disappear should he look away. A ridiculous notion, and yet, neither he nor Lady Wentworth uttered a word as they made their approach in stealth.

A pair of well-polished black leather boots, crossed at the ankles, were the first he saw of the dowager duchess’s companion. The fine boots were all the more noticeable peeking out from dull brown skirts.

Then his eyes lit on the whole of her.

She reclined, eyes closed as if in sleep. She wore a large, ugly bonnet, rim pushed back to expose a heart-shaped face. The corners of her full pink lips curved upward, just slightly, as if on the verge of a smile .

An answering grin tugged at his mouth.

She looked absurdly serene, like a cat, napping in a snug kitchen. He almost hated to disturb her.

Lady Wentworth, it seemed, had a similar disinclination, and, for a long moment, the two of them gazed upon Mrs. Jones.

Something must’ve given them away, however, because without opening her eyes, she spoke. “You found your scone, I expect?”

The older woman snorted. "I quite forgot the scone. But I did acquire a new friend.”

Jones's lids flew open. In the next instant, she tugged her bonnet down so it covered her, forehead to lip while springing to her feet faster than he could blink. The lounger sat between them like a moat.

Impressive agility. Odd, but impressive.

The Dowager patted Caden’s forearm and went on as if Mrs. Jones hadn't leapt up like a hunted rabbit. “Quite by accident I crossed paths with Mr. Thurgood. Wouldn’t you know he expressed a desire to meet his rescuer?”

Mrs. Jones made a noncommittal sound, something between a “Mmm,” and a “Harumph,” and angled a brief look at Caden from under the brim of her bonnet.

Lady Wentworth made the introductions. “Mr Thurgood, my companion, Mrs. Anna Jones. Mrs. Jones, your patient, Mr Caden Thurgood.”

Mrs. Jones dipped an elegant curtsy, marking her as a woman of gentle breeding.

No surprise there. As a companion to a duchess, she would have to meet certain standards.

But she had seemed familiar to him. Perhaps they’d met in a social setting before she went into service—mayhap her family had fallen on hard times.

“Mr. Thurgood.” Her voice was low and melodic, and, again, familiar in a vague sort of way .

He waited for her to raise her face, to meet his eyes. When she didn’t, he chuckled under his breath, not so much amused as bemused. Last time he looked he hadn’t grown another head, yet the woman could barely stomach the sight of him.

Perhaps he misread reticence for shyness? That made more sense.

“Mrs. Jones, may I say it’s a pleasure to meet you. I half feared I’d imagined you—that is until Lady Wentworth confirmed your existence.”

He could swear Mrs. Jones slanted an accusatory glare at her employer. Not that he could see past her massive gray bonnet despite the fact the top of her head reached his collar.

She may as well have thrown down the gauntlet.

Challenge accepted. He’d bloody well wait Jones out. He squared his stance and barely resisted crossing his arms over his chest.

Seconds ticked by until either curiosity or politeness got the better of her. She adjusted her bonnet to a less downward slant and peeked up at him.

Those eyes. Like liquid pools of glowing amber.

“Have we…” met, he’d intended to ask, but his voice croaked like a lad’s who hadn’t yet reached puberty, for pity’s sake. He cleared his throat.

Mrs. Jones spoke as if he hadn’t uttered a word.

“I’m gratified to see you much restored, Mr. Thurgood, was it?

Thank you so much for your kind words. Completely unnecessary, I assure you.

” She curtsied again—in dismissal?—and addressed her next words to her employer.

“Lady Wentworth, shall I go in search of that scone?”

“No, indeed, Anna.” Lady Wentworth's tone had lost its gaiety.

Anna. He ran her full name over in his mind. Mrs. Anna Jones . Nothing pinged for him. But her voice, her eyes, her spirit . No doubt about it, he recognized her from somewhere .

“I see,” Jones murmured.

It seemed she did see, because she drew what appeared to be a bracing breath, then lifted her face to send him a shy smile. No, not shy. Anxious?

“I must admit, Mr. Thurgood, you gave us quite a scare this morning.”

His stomach dropped, and a bead of sweat formed on his brow then began a slow trickle down his temple. That voice. He knew her.

Her smile vanished in a flash and her wispy dark brows beetled. She moved toward him, hands outstretched, as if to take his arm. In a blink she retracted her reach, but her evident angst remained. “Perhaps you should sit a moment, Mr. Thurgood?”

He did feel odd. Off balance and a tad breathless, in fact. Lingering effects from his earlier injury? Regardless of why, he hated admitting as much to the ladies—all right, to one in particular.

On the other hand, he could use this to his advantage. And wasn’t that his supposed modus operandi? Living for himself with nary a care for the rest of the world?

“I say. Don’t faint on us m’boy. Sit,” Lady Wentworth commanded.

Drawing a hand to his brow, he made a show of wincing. “I may have over done it. But, I couldn’t possibly take a seat from a lady. A moment, if you please.”

He didn’t wait for Jones to argue—somehow he knew she would—but went in search of a third, unoccupied chaise.

Moments later, he settled his lounger opposite hers. He aimed his most devastating smile her way.

She slanted him a suspicious look. “How fares your head now, Mr. Thurgood?”

“Throbs,” he lied, and just like that, her comportment softened. The woman had no future in poker.

“Anna, call one of the footmen for a lemonade.”

“An excellent notion, my lady.” Anna sounded nearly as authoritative as the dowager duchess. She eyed Caden, then threw a pointed look at his unoccupied chaise.

He dropped onto the lounger obediently.

Seemingly satisfied, she flagged a servant, procuring a lemonade, and thanking him with a good deal more courtesy than she’d shown Caden thus far.

How perplexing. He could not recall a time a woman openly disdained his attentions. Perplexing and intriguing. Game on.