The Heart's Companion - By Holly Newman Page 0,12

was obvious, even though the shadows made his facial expression indiscernible.

Jane paused, frowning in confusion, uncertain how to interpret the scene, for it so strongly worked against her expectations. As she stood facing the windows, her face was open to the afternoon sun, her expression visible to all. On seeing her, the earl rose from his seat and urged the boys to follow his example. They did so with alacrity.

Expressions of surprise, amazement, and curiosity chased across Jane’s unguarded countenance. The earl bowed, as did the boys, and Lady Elsbeth, seated on a japanned and gilded chair with her workbasket at hand, choked down a laugh.

"There you are, Jane," said her aunt in a tone light with contained mirth. "I feared you would not join us."

Recovering her calm mask, Jane acknowledged the earl’s presence and murmured some apologies to all as she slid gracefully into a chair next to her aunt.

Lady Elsbeth poured her a cup of tea. "I forbade the boys and our guest the blackberries until you could join us. I felt it only proper that you have the first taste, as they are your treat. "

"I believe Miss Grantley has already availed herself of a taste. Among other things," the earl drawled as he sat down again. "I distinctly remember a dark purple cast to her lips when I met her this morning. "

Now that she was seated among them, Jane could see the smirk on the earl’s face and realized he’d tasted the berries on her lips. A slight blush stained her cheeks.

"I will admit I lacked forbearance," murmured Jane wryly, catching the earl’s eye. The slight elevation of one of his dusky brows prompted her to add, "A vice I find universal. Now, Elsbeth," she said briskly, perturbed by the earl yet determined to ignore these alien sensations, "since you have waited, allow me to do the honor of serving."

She deftly divided the small harvest into five bowls, then picked up a silver creamer. "My lord?" she asked coolly, holding the creamer over one of the bowls.

"If you please. Miss Grantley."

"Judging from the laughter I heard as I descended the stairs, I gather my prolonged absence was not missed," Jane remarked as she handed the earl a bowl of berries.

"I beg to differ with you, Miss Grantley. You were certainly missed," the earl returned with a smooth, practiced gallantry that made the skin around Jane’s mouth tighten. "But I must confess, the laughter you heard was, lamentably, at my expense."

The wry expression he bestowed on her nephews sent the children into renewed gales of laughter, keeping Jane from making a peevish comment. In awkward defense, she tried to look at him archly, but only succeeded in appearing adorably confused. Worse was the realization that the horrible man seemed to know her thoughts and feelings and found humor in them!

"Lord Royce has been regaling the boys with some of his more youthful exploits. Though perhaps it would have been best if he had refrained from giving them ideas," Lady Elsbeth said pointedly, fixing her nephews in turn with a meaningful stare.

"More to the point, Lady Elsbeth," Royce interceded, "are the punishments that were meted out. Though I must admit, on more than one occasion, my punishments were self-inflicted."

"What do you mean, my lord?" asked Edward, screwing up his face in perplexity, his feet swinging against a leg of the settee.

"He’s just teasing, you nodcock," said Bertram disgustedly. "Lords don’t get punished."

The earl leaned back, the better to assay Bertram. "I beg to differ with you, young master," drawled the earl. "Not only are lords punishable, sometimes they bear punishment, beyond physical scars, their entire lives."

Jane and Lord Royce exchanged covert glances over the heads of the boys. "The most valuable possession a man has is his good name. Lose that and you’re punished day in and day out for all your life."

Jane squirmed under his steady regard, for in his stare she read the real truth of his words, a truth that somehow cut at her heart. Elsbeth pursed her lips, her eyelids drooping over her soft hazel eyes as she feigned renewed interest in her embroidery.

"How can you lose a name? I mean, it’s not like a marble," Edward said.

The earl laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair. "It means to lose the good opinion that people have of you."

"Oh, is that all?" Edward said disgustedly.

"Yes. I know that in youth one holds a name cheap; but believe me, young Edward Litton, when one is an adult,