A Favor for the Prince - Jane Ashford Page 0,113

closed behind the young duo.

Silence fell over the entryway. Benjamin’s uncle stood up. The postilion was staring like a spectator at a peep show. Miss Saunders brushed at the drying paint on her skirts. She looked shaken. “You allow Geoffrey to play with…hatchets,” she accused.

“That thing was on a shelf ten feet up,” Benjamin said. He was pretty sure that was the spot. “In a locked room. I’m certain it’s locked.” Wasn’t it always? “I’ve no notion how he got it.”

“Precisely. You know nothing about your own son! Who can tell what other dangers surround him? I’m surprised he hasn’t been killed.”

“Nonsense.”

“And was that…rustic youngster your idea of a proper caretaker?”

Unable to supply any information about this person, and aware that appreciation of his ability to truss up a wriggling miscreant would not be well received, Benjamin ground his teeth.

“I must take Geoffrey to the Phillipsons at once,” his unwanted visitor added.

“Drag him into your post chaise and rattle off together?” asked Uncle Arthur amiably.

Benjamin nearly growled at him. Then he noticed Miss Saunders’s expression. The prospect of sharing a carriage with his naked, paint-smeared, ax-wielding son clearly daunted her. He could almost enjoy that. Indeed, if he hadn’t been defending his home from invasion, he might have laughed at the scene just past. Before taking steps to see that it never recurred, of course.

“It seems to me that we need a bit of time to consider the situation,” his uncle added. “I know I would appreciate a chance to get acquainted with my great-nephew.” This latter sentiment seemed perfectly sincere.

Miss Saunders muttered something. The word savage might have been included.

“I won’t have her in my house!” Benjamin said.

“I’ve no wish to stay with a monster of selfishness!”

But in the end, the earl somehow persuaded them. Benjamin was never sure, afterward, how he’d come to agree. Was it simply easier? Had he been that desperate to escape his two unwanted guests and shut himself in the library again? And why had he promised to review his son’s educational program with these near strangers? It was none of their business. And he was not afraid of what he might discover. Absolutely not. Even though he had no idea what it might be. Finally alone again, he sank into his familiar chair and put his head in his hands.

* * *

Upstairs, Jean Saunders sat on the bed in her allotted chamber, hands folded in her lap, jaw tight, and contemplated a rescue mission gone seriously awry. Her plan had been simple, efficient. She would swoop in, collect Geoffrey, and be gone. She should be on her way back to London by now. Her cousin Alice’s husband had been portrayed as so deeply sunk in mourning that he didn’t care what happened in his household. Hadn’t he? Where had she gotten that notion? She’d expected to face a drooping, defeated fellow who might well welcome a relief from responsibility, not a gimlet-eyed crusader blazing with outrage. How could people have characterized that…masterful man as broken by grief? His eyes had practically burned through her. He’d pounced like a jungle cat to restrain his rampaging son.

Jean let out a long—not entirely unappreciative—breath at the memory. Still, the gossip about his lordship’s shameful neglect of Geoffrey was clearly on the mark. The boy was like some sort of wild animal. If he’d landed a blow with that hatchet… Folding her arms across her chest, Jean realized that she’d expected Geoffrey to be a cherubic child, like the smiling illustrations on top of a chocolate box. She’d envisioned him in a little blue suit with a lace collar, dimpled and pink, putting his arms around her neck and softly thanking her for rescuing him. She’d thought to take his little hand and lead him off to happiness. Nothing could be more unlike the reality of a prancing imp painted red, shrieking, and bent on mayhem. The maniacal glee in his eyes!

She let her arms fall to her sides and sat straighter, gathering her tattered resolution. It wasn’t Geoffrey’s fault that he hadn’t been taught manners, or any vestige of civilized behavior, apparently. That was the point, wasn’t it? He deserved far better. He must be guided and nurtured. She’d come here to save him, and she was going to do so. Hadn’t she’d nagged the Phillipsons half to death to make them offer refuge to their grandson? If Baron Furness found out the whole plan was her idea, and that Geoffrey’s grandparents were far from enthusiastic… Well, he could hardly be angrier than he was now.

Jean gripped the coverlet with both hands. He’d been furious. Standing up to him had been like confronting a force of nature. Perhaps he cared about his child after all? She’d be glad of that, naturally. Yet he hadn’t been affectionate with Geoffrey. And the boy had bitten him! What sort of bond was that?

No, Jean was all too familiar with neglectful parents. Geoffrey needed a new home. Probably her host was worried about his reputation, and resented being exposed and thwarted. An old adage floated into Jean’s mind. Like father, like son. Did Geoffrey get his wild ways from his parent? A shiver passed through her. With a grimace, she banished it. She’d vowed never to be afraid again, and one blustering baron wasn’t going to cow her. Still less a four-year-old child.

The streaks of red paint on her gown caught Jean’s eye. She’d had to promise the Phillipsons that she’d take care of establishing their grandson once he was in London, seeing that he had the proper attendants. They were far too busy to bother with a child. It had seemed a trivial condition at the time, with her righteous indignation in full flood. Jean’s chocolate box vision wavered into her mind again, immediately replaced by the naked, whooping reality. But Geoffrey would improve with gentle guidance and plenty of affection. Wouldn’t he? Quite quickly? Jean had no brothers or sisters. Indeed, she’d never had much to do with children of any stripe. Had she made a mistake?

No. Jean pushed off the bed and stood up like a soldier reporting for duty. She knew what it was like to be a miserable child. Memories of cold, dark silence rushed over her, setting her heart pounding and making her mouth dry. With practiced determination, she shoved them away. She’d come here to do the right thing. She would fight, and she would prevail.

Two

Arthur slipped his arms into the evening coat his valet was holding for him and waited while Clayton smoothed it over his shoulders. The mirror told him that they had achieved his customary understated elegance. “What word among the household?” he asked. “What do they say about young Geoffrey?”

Clayton looked thoughtful. The man had been with the earl for more than twenty years, and Arthur valued his canny insights as much as his personal services. “Opinions vary, my lord, depending on how close the person is to the young heir. Concerning the incident today, the general suspicion is that Master Geoffrey was playing a prank. He does not habitually run about the house clad in a tea towel, I gather.”

“That tomahawk was no toy,” Arthur pointed out.

Clayton nodded. “Yet he didn’t actually strike anyone, I understand. Even under, er, provocation. He’s said to be an intelligent child. Apparently, he can read.”

“What, at four years old?” The earl was impressed. “Who taught him, I wonder?”

“People were reluctant to discuss the exact arrangements of the nursery with an outsider,” Clayton said. “Particularly after the housekeeper entered the kitchen.”

“Hmm.”

“Yes, my lord. The head gardener is of the opinion that the boy disguises what he can and can’t do and is devious in bargaining for what he wants.”

“At his age?” Arthur replied. “That would be precocious indeed.”

“The junior kitchen maid believes he is possessed by the devil.”

Arthur laughed. His valet didn’t, but his eyes showed amusement. “It sounds as if he might become a son for a father to be proud of.”

About the Author

Jane Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight was part of what led her to study English literature and travel widely in Britain and Europe. She has written historical and contemporary romances, and her books have been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Spain, as well as the United States. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. Born in Ohio, she is now somewhat nomadic. Find her on the web at janeashford.com and on Facebook. If you’re interested in receiving her monthly newsletter, you can subscribe at eepurl.com/cd-O7r.

Thank you for reading!

Get to know beloved author Jane Ashford, go behind the scenes, see what’s new and what’s coming, and find entertaining blogs and special materials.

If you love Regency romance, sign up now for Jane's monthly author newsletter.

SIGN UP NOW!