Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,64

childhood dessert not suitable once one reaches one’s maturity?”

Elizabeth chuckled as she took a bite. “I don’t know,” she managed to mumble between bites.

“You know, I’d dearly love to see my mother’s face if she were to witness me eating this.”

“Why?”

“My mother is an unusual woman, and that may well be an understatement. She has an arrogant manner one could cut with a knife and is one of the highest sticklers in the ton, yet she is the clumsiest woman, forever knocking over things and breaking them. Father says she adopted her arrogance as a defense for her clumsiness. If she ignores it, it’s like she defies anyone else to notice it. She can be damned infuriating. I don’t know how Father can stand to live with her, but in their own way, they do seem devoted to each other, not that Mother would dare display any such feeling publicly.”

“So why would she react to your eating this?”

“Because she has reached the stage where she has decided I need to become somber, serious, and able to put aside childish things. I must become a paragon of rectitude.”

A trill of uninhibited laughter assailed his ears. “You?” she asked, “a paragon of perfection?”

“So she would have me be.”

“How boring.”

“My thought exactly.”

“At least you have parents who cared. I don’t think my father has ever cared one whit whether I lived or died.”

“Surely you jest!”

“Do I? My father has never forgiven me for killing my mother and refuses, when he can, to recognize my existence.”

“Doing it a little too brown, Bess,” he said severely.

“What do you know of it? You’re much too cocksure of yourself by half. Mama contracted pneumonia after rescuing me from a duck pond. She died a few days later. I was only five at the time; however, Papa blamed me for her death and it was years before he would even look at me, and he never speaks to me unless he has to. The only person who has ever cared whether I lived or died is Hattie, my old nurse.”

“I care.”

His soft words hung between them. Elizabeth ardently wished she could believe them. A look of open vulnerability appeared in her eyes, pulling at St. Ryne.

“Bess—” he murmured, rising.

A light knock halted him. He turned toward the door, then cast one last glance in Elizabeth’s direction before granting permission to enter.

“Excuse me, my lord, Mr. Tunning's here to see you, sir.”

“Show him in.”

“Do you wish me to leave?” Elizabeth asked, color slowly returning to her face.

“No, that’s not necessary,” he assured her. He turned to confront Tunning when he entered. “Where have you been? I sent for you hours ago.”

“Beg pardon, my lord. I was checking on the cost of supplies for the stable. Some of those tradesmen can be real crooks, boosting prices just ’cause they works for gentry. I put them in their place right enough. We’ll not be gulled by any merchants in these parts.”

St. Ryne relaxed a bit at hearing Tunning's explanation. “I sent for you regarding the estate room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It’s locked again, damn it! What are you about, locking my own estate room against me?”

“I assure you, my lord, it weren’t done intentionally. I guess locking the estate room has just become habit of late, like I told you when you returned, because of all the strangers about. I assumed you had a key, my lord. I’ll have the smith make up another.”

“Have him make two,” interposed Elizabeth.

Tunning looked from St. Ryne to the Viscountess and back. “Two, my lord?”

“Yes, an excellent idea. You should have one on your ring, my dear.”

“Are you intending to work in the estate room, my lord?” Tunning asked in a strangled voice.

“Yes, about time I acquainted myself with the crops and numbers.”

“I will make myself available to assist you.”

“I think I am capable of reading by myself,” St. Ryne drawled.

“Well, I’ll just be by to answer questions, then.”

“That will not be necessary as my hours in the estate room will no doubt be erratic. Any questions I have will be brought out later.”

“If you’re sure, my lord. . . ”

“Yes, Tunning, confound it, there is no need for you to live in my pocket.”

“To be sure, my lord, no offense meant. Will that be all?”

“Yes— No! Give me your key for now. We will deal with the smith later.”

Reluctantly, Tunning removed a large brass key from his pocket.

“Thank you. You may go.”

“Very good, my lord.”

St. Ryne turned the key over in his hand, blindly staring at