far enough that he could see her over the top of it. “I had almost given up hope of seeing you this side of luncheon.”
“I slept late,” she told him, smiling at her mother as she spread her napkin across her lap. It was not a lie, but she had slept late only because she had been late going to sleep. Dawn had already been graying her room. Both Avery and her mother had finished their breakfast, she could see, but were reading over a final cup of coffee. Her mother was looking through the morning post. She set it all aside, however, after Jessica had sat down.
“Mr. Thorne plays the pianoforte extremely well,” she said. “Where did he learn to play, Jessica? In America? Did he say?”
“He did not learn at all,” Jessica said. “He plays by ear.”
“Astonishing,” her mother said. She nodded toward the rose. “I wonder if he sends a rose each day to other young ladies too. To Estelle, for example. Or is it just you?”
“I have no idea, Mama.” Jessica laughed. “I could hardly ask him, could I? And I could hardly ask Estelle.”
“Do you . . . like him?” her mother asked, half frowning. “He has certainly caught the imagination of the ton for some largely inexplicable reason. He is invited everywhere. But it is a bit puzzling, considering how little is known about him. Yes, he is Lady Vickers’s kinsman and godson. But all families have a few ramshackle members one would not wish to see one’s daughters marrying. How do we even know he has a fortune or where it comes from? Do we have any evidence but his word? And do we have even that? I have not heard that he has boasted of being wealthy. Which is to his credit, of course.”
“I know no more about him than you do, Mama,” Jessica said, not quite truthfully. “But does it matter? I am not about to elope to Gretna Green with him.”
Avery set down his paper. “What a very tedious waste of time and effort that would be,” he said, “when you are twenty-five years old, Jess, and could merely toddle along to the nearest church with a special license anytime you chose—just as Anna and I did once upon a time.”
Jessica laughed again. “You must not worry, Mama,” she said. “I have no intention of toddling along to the nearest church with Mr. Thorne any more than I have of running off to Scotland with him.”
Anna came into the breakfast parlor at that moment. She was holding Beatrice, whose head was burrowed into the hollow between her shoulder and neck while she sucked loudly on one fist and cried with soft grizzling sounds. Her only visible cheek was bright red.
“I do apologize for being so late,” Anna said. “Poor Bea really is cutting four teeth at once. We were quite right, Mother. And she will not let go of me, though Nurse tried several times to take her. Bea would only scream.”
Avery had got to his feet, but it was Jessica’s mother who was first to move around the table. “You are spoiling her, Anna,” she said. “Let us see if she will allow her grandmother to spoil her instead so that you can eat. I have finished already. Come, chicken. Come and tell Grandmama what is wrong. Yes, I know. The whole world is against you, is it not?”
She eased the baby from Anna’s arms into her own as she spoke, and miraculously Bea snuggled into her and even stopped grizzling for a moment.
“The magic touch,” Anna said. “You have had it with all four of the children, Mother. Thank you.”
“On behalf of my valet,” Avery added, “a million thanks, Mother. He has a way of not complaining when I arrive in my room with one half of my neckcloth limp and soggy that I find quite unnerving.”
Jessica’s mother remained on her feet and rocked the baby against her shoulder, murmuring nonsense as she did so. Beatrice, still sucking on her fist, seemed to be falling asleep.
“Ah,” Anna said. “Another rose. I do like Mr. Thorne’s style. I assume the rose is from him? A bouquet was being delivered as I was coming through the hall just now. A very large one. I am guessing it is for you, Jessica, and that it is from Mr. Rochford again. He is paying quite determined court to you. He scarcely left your side last evening except when you were at the