The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,31

a theologian, and a patroness of a literary society. If you wonder how growing up as a cousin to those excessively superior individuals was, imagine growing up as their brother.”

“But the captain seems to like everyone.”

“He is unlike them, Elle. And they have always been unkind to him. Even now they poke fun at his profession, as though he is playing at toy soldiers.” She turned away from the window and her eyes lit. “Here he is returned.”

He was not alone. With him now were a tall, slender woman hand-in-hand with a tiny blond girl, a man whose golden good looks were godly, and a girl just on the verge of womanhood. On the captain’s shoulders perched a miniature brunette, her palms spread over his eyes.

“Is this her, Uncle Anthony?” the tiny blonde said, and all of their eyes came to Elle.

He peeled one little hand from atop his eye and smiled so beautifully that Elle lost her breath.

“Aye, Letty. This is her. She.” He lifted a brow. “Right?”

“Correct,” she barely whispered.

“Miss Flood,” he said, “may I make you known to her ladyship, the Countess of Bedwyr?”

“Since you are a friend of Anthony’s, I beg you to call me Jacqueline,” the countess said. Her accent was foreign, soft, and almost shy. “This is my husband and his ward, Claire. And these are my daughters, Letitia and Margaret.”

“How do you do, Miss Flood?” The Earl of Bedwyr bowed gorgeously. “Madame Étoile, a pleasure, as always.”

Elle was gaping. Among Brittle & Sons’s most popular publications, a poem published in three parts titled The Stone Princess had seen enormous success. Demand for the poem continued so high for so many months that Mr. Brittle had finally compiled the parts into a bound volume. It was the very book that gave Elle confidence he might do the same with Lady Justice and Peregrine’s letters.

Here before her now, as gloriously handsome as the faery prince in the poem, stood the anonymous author of The Stone Princess.

“I proof-corrected your poem at Brittle and Sons!” fell out of her mouth. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord,” she mumbled, her cheeks burning. “I am mortified that I just said that.”

Lord Bedwyr grinned. “I am now especially honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Flood. And I am grateful for your assistance with that project. Now, you must tell us where you had the misfortune to meet this fellow.” He gestured to the captain.

“At Brittle and Sons, course,” the captain said.

“A printing house, Anthony?” the earl said with a skeptical twist of his lips. “You?”

“Horse threw a shoe just in front of the shop door, don’t you know,” the captain said breezily. “Had to fix the thing long enough to ride home. Went inside to beg the loan of a tool. Isn’t that so, Miss Flood?”

She did not trust her voice. She nodded.

He was keeping her secret. And he was looking at her again in that manner he had of making her feel that no one else existed except the two of them, as he had looked at her in the library.

“Then a horse’s lost shoe is clearly to our advantage,” Lady Bedwyr said with a smile at Elle.

“Mama!” the miniature brunette exclaimed, then abruptly draped herself over the captain’s head and whispered into his ear. He nodded, and she peered at her mother. “Uncle Anthony wishes to take us to eat lemon ices,” she declared.

“And?” he whispered up to her.

“And he says that if you do not allow it, his heart will break and he will set out to sea again this instant in order to mend it!”

“Lemon ices it shall be, then,” Lady Bedwyr said. “For we must not lose the captain to the sea again so soon.”

~o0o~

His entire bearing changed. As the girls ate ices and the rest of them took tea, he was again liberal with his smiles. Unlike his brother and sister-in-law, these friends were warm and affectionate with Seraphina, and they extended their warmth to her as well. They were obviously his real family. Elle sat mute in her shabby gown, which none of them seemed to note, mingled pleasure and astonishment paralyzing her tongue, and her heart grew thick with longing.

Once upon a time, she had known this deep affection, before Grandfather died. Then Gram’s health collapsed. After that there was mostly pain and quiet endurance, and occasional happy minutes when they read Lady Justice’s pamphlets.

She should now be home with her grandmother, not shopping for lace and gloves that she would