Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,9

sensation radiating from Charley’s chest.

Simply because Daisy was in her grandmother’s employ didn’t mean that she was not a human being with thoughts and ideas like everyone else. Nonetheless…

“Do not be disappointed when I don’t. We’re only here to secure new business connections.” Which, despite the ridiculous trappings of London society, Charley did consider to be a worthwhile endeavor.

“Oh, I won’t be.” Daisy winked. “Disappointed, that is. Soon enough, you’ll realize that by marrying a proper English gentleman, you’ll be helping your father out at the same time. Now climb into bed, Miss Charley, I already see shadows staring out at me beneath your eyes.”

Charley shook her head, suppressing a grin. She did not want to encourage Daisy’s quest.

“Come morning, I’ll look the same as I did today. But I do want to be thinking my best. If I’m to be of any assistance to my father.”

“Thinking! Too much of that and you’ll scare them all away.” But Daisy was laughing as she moved to slip into the dressing room where a cot had been set up for her. “Sweet dreams, Miss Jackson.”

“Good night, Daisy,” Charley murmured.

She drifted to sleep, not thinking of husbands and marriage and romance, but of grains and water and yeast.

* * *

“Please tell me it’s simple fare,” Charley said to her father who was sitting alone at the very long table. She eyed the covered dish suspiciously but took a plate for herself anyhow. A person could hardly start a day without first eating a hearty breakfast. It was barely seven in the morning and the evening before, Lady Bethany had informed her that guests weren’t expected to rise until after noon. Which was neither here nor there. Simply because they were waking up in a different country didn’t mean Charley or her father would take to lounging in bed until noon.

Charley had risen at dawn to dress and just as she expected, found her father already finished with his first cup of coffee, spectacles perched on the end of his nose, reading correspondence from one of his managers.

Since the age of seven, when she’d realized her father inspected his facilities first thing every morning, she’d made it a point to always be ready to tag along. It had been comforting then but was almost even more so now, to listen as her father mused about the various aspects of their business. At some point, he’d told her that his father had done the same.

Her father grunted before answering. “Could only make out about half of it.” He gestured with a fork toward the plate he’d pushed to the side.

Charley draped her coat on a nearby chair and then turned to the sideboard. If guests weren’t expected to rise until later, why was so much food already laid out? Unless Lady Bethany had been wrong—Charley resisted the urge to cluck her tongue in disapproval—a good deal of this might go to waste.

Taking a few slices of bacon, eggs, and toast for herself, she set right to eating so she was almost finished when her father pushed back his chair.

Not wanting to be left behind, she moved the plate away, slipped her arms into her coat, and followed him as he strode purposefully through the corridor and then out the front door.

Her father finally broke the silence when they were some distance from the manor. “What do you think of England, Charley?”

She felt almost giddy whenever her father asked her opinion and this morning was no exception. Charley glanced around and carefully considered her answer.

Grudgingly, she conceded to herself that the grounds at Westerley Crossings were more interesting than she’d originally noticed when they first arrived. Trees, green fields, paths winding snake-like throughout the vast acreage, and she could hear flowing water nearby. Still, she refused to offer up any compliments.

“Everything is so old,” she said.

“Your grandparents have your best interests at heart.”

“Not them.” Charley rolled her eyes. “Just… everything else. And the people are arrogant. They think they’re so much better than us.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but it was mostly true.

“You seemed to get on well enough with Westerley’s sisters last night.”

“They are… an exception.” Most of the people she’d been introduced to had studied her as though she was some sort of unique artifact brought to England from faraway lands. That was how it had felt, anyhow.

“You need to be more open-minded, Charlotte.”

“Why?” She scowled at the ground. “It’s not as though we’ll be here very long. Must we really remain for this