Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,5

about his modest upbringing. But what if it was something else?

“My lady, do you need assistance?”

Phil blinked and focused on her surroundings. Mr. Jennings, the groundskeeper, was walking toward her. With spring coming soon, he was no doubt surveying the grounds and determining what needed to be done as soon as the weather turned.

“Oh, Mr. Jennings. How lovely to see you.”

“Are you well, my lady? Do you want me to take you inside?”

“I’m quite well. I just stopped to rest and enjoy the cool air.” How long had she been away? Was her mother worrying about her? “What time is it, Mr. Jennings?”

“Almost half past one, my lady.”

“Ah. Thank you. I should go inside and eat something. No wonder I’m feeling tired.”

“Shall I escort you, my lady?”

“No need.” She pushed off from the tree, feeling more grounded and less shaky now. “Do carry on, Mr. Jennings.” And she strode away, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at the dowager house in the distance.

Once inside, she slipped into the dining room. With relief, she noted her mother was not there. Phil grabbed an apple and headed for her brother’s library. With the current duke in Berkshire with his new wife, the library hadn’t been in use much. Her mother preferred to deal with matters of business in the morning room. Though their butler would deal with most of the hiring of staff, Phil hoped one of her brothers or her mother would also have records.

She paused at the door to the library, glanced over her shoulder, then went inside, closing the heavy door silently behind her. The chamber was dark, and she pulled the curtains open to let in some light. Fortunately, she hadn’t removed her pelisse as the room was also cold. She went to the desk and opened several drawers before she found records of payments to the staff. Looking through those, she confirmed James Finnegan had been added to the household the year before in June. She had been in London then and hadn’t met him until she’d returned. She stared out the window now, remembering that day in late July when she’d returned to the country at the close of the Season and spotted him among the other servants lining the front drive.

Of course, she’d noticed him. He was taller than many of the other men and it was clear his stockings needed no padding. He had dark hair, thick and black, and eyes almost as black under thick eyebrows. She’d known him for an Irishman even before he’d spoken. With effort, she’d drawn her gaze away. As the daughter of a duke, it was unseemly to stare at the footmen, but again and again that summer, she had found herself looking for him.

He had been everything that was right and proper. If he’d ever looked at her with more than polite deference, she had not caught him. Of course, he must have noticed her and wanted her as she’d wanted him, but he had not pursued her.

It was only after the death of her brother Richard at Christmastime that they’d spoken more than what was customary between mistress and servant. With Richard dead and Phineas to rise to the position of duke, no one had much time to spend with her. She’d been crying quietly in the dining room one afternoon, and James had entered. He’d looked appalled to have disturbed her, but instead of leaving as she’d expected, he’d offered her his handkerchief and sat with her. He’d been kind and understanding, and she found herself spilling all of her worries and sorrows. He’d listened and been sympathetic.

The next day she’d sought him out and apologized for her behavior, but he had insisted there was no need for an apology. And he’d left her with a phrase she hadn’t forgotten to this day: I was honored to serve as your friend.

She’d needed a friend during that time, and gradually they began to find ways to spend more time together. That time became more than simply friendly. She had been the one to suggest meeting at the dowager house, and that was where he’d first kissed her. She knew what people would say if they found out—he had seduced her. But the truth was that nothing had happened that she hadn’t wanted to happen.

But James Finnegan had a life before that summer of 1816. Why hadn’t she thought to ask more about it before now? She put the ledger of payments away and sifted