Amelia and Thomas came arm in arm into the room.
“I didn’t cough a single time when I opened my eyes this morning,” Thomas said,
and beamed at us all. “Amelia pronounced me well enough to come down.”
He looked so beautiful, his face so pure in its lines and planes, that I simply
stared at him, a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to my mouth.
“Do get hold of yourself,” John said.
“It is difficult. Is there not anything ugly about him?”
“Not that I have ever seen,” John said, and smiled toward his brother, who was
dishing up an immense amount of food onto his plate, all the while telling
Lawrence about the very brief bout of elevated breathing he’d awakened to at
about two o’clock in the morning.
“I massaged his chest until his heart rate slowed,” Amelia said, all seriousness
and concern. “I must admit to being alarmed for a moment there.”
John cocked a black eyebrow at his brother. “Whatever were you doing at two o’clock
in the morning to increase the speed of your heart?”
Thomas blushed scarlet, from just above his cravat to his hairline.
“Oh,” John said, and saluted his brother with his knife. “If your heart had not
speeded up, Thomas, then it wasn’t worth the effort. It’s natural, trust me on
this.”
“That’s what I told him,” Amelia said, in a voice as cool as the two slices of
toast she slipped onto her plate.
I fed bacon to George, who was thankfully minding his manners, sitting between
me and John. I kept my head down, all my attention on George chomping down on
that bacon. I knew what they were talking about. I wasn’t stupid. I couldn’t
believe they’d talk about such things at the breakfast table.
Lawrence cleared his throat and lightly touched his hand to my shoulder. “Ah,
here is Miss Crislock. Welcome, dear lady. May I serve you some eggs and kippers?”
I had not expected to see her until the afternoon. “Yes, Milly, do join us.”
Once Miss Crislock was seated, a cup of tea placed gently in front of her, and
everyone had been introduced to her, Lawrence said to the table at large, “Are
you familiar with Oliver Wilton?”
“Yes,” Amelia said. “He was the Duke of Broughton. My father knows him, said he
was an old fossil with a splendid brain. I believe he died recently.”
“Yes, that’s right. Actually, he was Andy’s grandfather. Her first cousin, Peter
Wilton, has inherited the dukedom. He is the seventh Duke of Broughton. He is
the former duke’s grandson. Peter and Andy were raised together when they were
young because Peter’s parents were killed when he was a small child.”
“Actually,” I said, trying to smile at everyone, “Peter and I are more brother
and sister than first cousins, and have treated each other as such since I was
just a little girl.”
“Then, what is your name, Andy?” Thomas asked as he carefully studied the crock
of sweet butter at his elbow. Was there a bug of some sort in the butter?
Finally, he pushed it away and began looking over the apricot jam, which was
absolutely delicious.
I said, even as I fed George another bit of bacon, “When I went to live with my
grandfather, he was going to adopt me and change my name to his, but my mother
requested that he wouldn’t, and so I still have my father’s name. I’m Andrea
Jameson.”
“Andrea Jameson Lyndhurst,” Lawrence said. “Regardless, she is Oliver Wilton’s
granddaughter, only offspring of his daughter, Olivia, who was named after him.”
“Both you and your cousin orphaned at such early ages,” Amelia said. “No,
dearest, I think you would prefer the scrambled eggs from this platter. They’re
more firmly cooked, thus reducing the chance of inflaming your stomach.”
Thomas nodded, smiled at his wife, and helped himself to a huge helping of the
firmer scrambled eggs.
George barked.
John looked down at that precious little face with the hair hanging nearly to
his jaws, and said, “George, you are so spoiled you will next demand to climb up
on my lap and eat off my plate.”
“I have never believed,” Miss Crislock said in her sweet voice, “that an animal