Page 9

The next morning at breakfast, the children were still talking about their adventure at the inn, gushing over the fun they’d all had milking Blythe the cow.

As was often the case with siblings, however, the harmony did not last, and before Frederick was finished with his first cup of coffee, the discussion had devolved into a full-fledged argument over whose efforts had yielded the most milk.

“You are such a liar, Willie,” Gretchen said, waving her fork at her brother from across the table. “I filled more than half the pail myself, and then Cathy took her turn, and then you took yours. You couldn’t have filled half the pail yourself. It is a mathematical impossibility.”

Hiding a smile behind the rim of his cup, Frederick looked at Penelope, who rolled her eyes with exasperated amusement.

“I did so fill half the pail!” Willie cried, his outrage audible, even with a mouthful of egg.

Gretchen snorted. “You did not.”

“I did .”

“Liar.”

“I am not a liar!” Willie shouted. “ You’re the liar!” And then he lobbed a crust of bread at his sister’s head, missing by mere inches.

Gretchen gasped with great drama and raised her fork as if preparing to retaliate, but then Penelope shot to her feet, and a hush fell over the table.

“Gretchen, William,” she said firmly, “I want you both to apologize to your uncle for your appalling behavior, and then you will take your sister to the nursery, where you will remain until I decide you may leave.”

“Please, Mama, no!” Gretchen cried, but the warning look her mother gave her quickly put an end to her protests.

The two oldest children did as they were instructed, mumbling dejected apologies to Frederick before ushering poor Cathy, who had done nothing wrong, from the breakfast room for the confines of their temporary prison.

“Well,” Frederick said once they were gone, “this has certainly been a lively breakfast so far.”

Penelope dropped onto her chair, wearily brushing a strand of dark hair from her forehead. “Heavens above, those two can argue about anything. My apologies, Freddy. My children are usually better-behaved than that.”

Frederick smiled. “It was like sharing a table with you and Robert when we were young. You two couldn’t make it through a single meal without bickering over something or other.”

“Only because Robert insisted he was right even when he knew he was wrong.”

Frederick nodded. “He always was a know-all.”

“He still is,” Penelope harrumphed, though her eyes held a glint of fondness.

Frederick knew exactly how she felt. Robert had always been proper and responsible, an honorable man who never seemed to make a false step, and while this could sometimes cast him in a sanctimonious light, he did mean well. And he was usually right, not that Frederick would ever admit it to him.

“Thank goodness for George and his peacekeeping skills,” Penelope said, her gaze fixed on the cup of tea in her hands. “Without them, I probably would have murdered Robert.”

Frederick laughed. “Probably?”

“All right, definitely.” And then she was laughing, too.

For the next several minutes, the two siblings reminisced about their growing-up years and then, after finishing off the last of his coffee, Frederick said, “Thank you for another superior breakfast, Pen.”

He pushed his chair back and rose. “Now, if you have no objections, I think I’ll take a stroll through this charming little village of yours and perhaps visit the tavern for a mug of local ale.”

He felt guilty about lying to his favorite sister, but he’d given this arrangement with Lily a great deal of thought and he’d decided it would be best if Penelope didn’t know about it.

Even though his intentions were pure—well, mostly pure—he knew his sister wouldn’t want him around her friend, no matter the reason, and it would simply be better for everyone if she was kept in the dark.

“Of course I have no objections,” Penelope said with a smile. “And if you do stop in at the tavern, you might consider ordering a mug of Mr. MacGregor’s brown ale. It was always William’s favorite.”

“I’ll do that,” Frederick said, feeling like an absolute rat as he pushed his chair in. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” She spooned orange marmalade onto a slice of bread and then met his gaze. “You can make me a promise that you will stay out of trouble today.”

She took a dainty bite of toast and eyed him pointedly.

Frederick gave her a guileless smile. “What trouble could I possibly get into in Little Bilberry?”

“I don’t know, but if anyone can find trouble here, it’s you.”

The words cut, although he knew there was some truth to them. Still, he couldn’t help but say, “I don’t look for trouble, you know.”

His sister sighed. “I know you don’t, Freddy. But neither do you run from it.”

He’d had no response to that, no argument or deflection, and even now, as he made his way up the lane toward The Weeping Whiskers Inn, he could find no way to deny the charge. Penelope was right. He might not hunt for trouble, but it seemed to find him, anyway, didn’t it?

Did that mean he secretly liked trouble, maybe even welcomed it?

He wasn’t sure. In the end, he’d given Pen the promise she’d asked for, and he fully intended to keep it.

He might welcome trouble into his own life, but he did not wish to bring any of it to Lily’s door.

He liked her, and her grandmother, and he was sincere in his desire to help them and maybe spend a bit of time with Lily before he returned to London.

Surely there was no harm in that?

Whistling a low, off-key tune, he strolled along the picturesque country lane, suddenly more cheerful than he’d felt since—well, he couldn’t honestly remember the last time he was genuinely cheerful.

Oh, he played at being cheerful quite well, but it had been a long while since he’d felt anything more than mild contentment, and even that was usually accompanied by a healthy dose of boredom.

An entirely new experience—like helping out at an inn—was precisely what he needed right now.

The inn in question came into view a few minutes later, and as Frederick approached, still whistling badly, he spotted the elder Grayling woman out front, sweeping the walk in a dark brown dress, a red kerchief covering her short gray hair.

She looked up and paused when she saw him, gripping the broom with one hand and waving to him with the other.

He waved back, smiling as he drew up to her. “Mrs. Grayling, good afternoon,” he said. “You are looking especially handsome today. The sunshine is clearly doing you well.”

She laughed, deepening the lines framing her dark brown eyes, lines that suggested it was something she did often. “You needn’t use those plentiful charms on me, Mr. Darrington. Though I will not be unhappy if you do.”

Frederick grinned. He liked this woman.

“Thank you, by the way, for offering your services,” Mrs. Grayling said, propping both hands on the broomstick. “Not only with the chores but also with deterring Mr. Carstairs.” Her nose wrinkled. “It isn’t always easy running this inn, especially for my Lily.”

Frederick nodded. “Does that sort of thing happen often with your male guests?”

She shrugged. “Lily is a pretty girl, unmarried, and with only her ancient grandmother to watch over her. There have been more than a few gentlemen who have shown an interest in her and, unfortunately, not always with marriage in mind.”

Anger surged through Frederick, anger and the impulse to protect, to stand sentry at the inn’s front door and force a promise from each male guest that he would bloody well leave Lily Grayling alone.

Not that Lily was easy prey, of course. He barely knew her, but he’d seen enough to know she could take care of herself.

Even so, he did not like that men came here thinking she was available to them, and that she’d apparently been propositioned for sexual favors as if her favors were freely given, and given away for free, with no expectations attached.

His jaw clenched. He did not like that at all.

The inn’s front door opened behind Mrs. Grayling and Frederick glanced up as Lily walked out, looking lovely in her simple green gown, despite the frown puckering her brow, as if she knew they had been discussing her.

“Mr. Darrington, you’ve come,” she said, her tone serious, verging on officious.

“It’s Frederick,” he reminded her with a friendly smile. “And, yes, I have come and I’m ready to be put to work.”

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Grayling said brightly. “You can assist Lily in the orchard today. The apples are ripe and begging to be picked.”

He nodded and looked at Lily. “I’m ready when you are.”

“I’m ready,” she said, not returning his smile. She turned toward the house. “Will you please carry that ladder for me?”

He followed the direction of her gaze, and spotted the ladder propped against the wall. “Of course,” he said, before tossing Mrs. Grayling a farewell wink.

He followed after Lily, ladder in tow, toward the rear of the inn where, presumably, the orchard awaited them.

He had to admit he’d been relieved when Mrs. Grayling suggested apple-picking for his first job of the day.

He had volunteered his services readily enough, but, honestly, he wasn’t sure how much help he would be.

He’d done very little real work in his life, and he was a little nervous he would embarrass himself.

Picking apples should be easy, though. Surely anyone could pick apples. Even a mostly useless sod like him.

In silence, Lily led the way up the dirt path and into the rear garden toward the small orchard of precisely thirteen apple trees.

She was a little surprised that Mr. Darrington—Frederick—had come today.

Yes, this arrangement had been his idea, and he had seemed sincere yesterday when he said he would see her this morning, but she’d learned long ago that promises were not always kept and therefore must be taken with a grain of salt.