might have in acquiring worldly goods as an adult would be washed away. Finally, the infant was wrapped in her father’s shirt before being turned over to the nurse Jennifer had hired a week ago. Alice was barely older than a child herself, but she was bright, eager to please, and was well thought of in the village.
Harrison would be invited to visit his wife and their daughter as soon as Lauren was dressed in a clean gown and the linens changed once more.
Jennifer went in search of her brother now, knowing that despite the early hour Harrison was probably awake.
He was in the library, the first place she looked, his feet propped up on the desk that had been commissioned by their great-grandfather, a snifter of brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other.
She stood in front of the desk until he looked up, saw her, and nodded. Evidently, that was the only recognition she was going to get.
“You have a beautiful baby girl, Harrison.”
He took a sip of his brandy, then waved his cigar in her direction.
“Not an heir, then. Pity.”
She understood his need for an heir, but at the same time she couldn’t help but feel a surge of irritation. Lauren had been in labor a day and a half and he could at least come and visit her.
Nor had he inquired as to his wife’s health in the past eight months. If Ellen hadn’t gone to London to get him, would Harrison have even come home? She had the sinking feeling that he wouldn’t have bothered. Perhaps he would have sent some type of gift to Lauren, a string of pearls to mark the occasion, but little else.
Gordon had once said that Harrison was the epitome of a perfectly selfish person. She’d always tried to find something about her brother to admire, but he’d been making it more and more difficult in the past few years.
“You need to come and see the baby.”
“Why? She won’t know I’m there. Babies aren’t real people until they’re six or seven or so.”
How had he made that judgment?
“Lauren will know. You need to see her, too. Pretend you’re married, Harrison, just for a few minutes. Surely you can do that.”
His eyes narrowed. “Has being a spinster turned you into a harpy, Jennifer?”
“Is it being a harpy to remind you of your duty?”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
Jennifer didn’t bother answering him. He’d evidently been drinking steadily ever since he’d arrived. Harrison, inebriated, was even more irksome than Harrison, sober.
She was turning to leave when he spoke again. “I got rid of him. The gardener’s boy. I told him to get out.”
“Yes, I know. Or did you think someone wouldn’t tell me? I know most of what happens at Adaire Hall. Unlike you. You had no right to ask Gordon to leave. He was a guest.”
“You’ve always been a fool about him, Jennifer. He knows that. He takes advantage of it.”
“How exactly has he taken advantage of it, Harrison? I invited him to stay at the Hall. He didn’t ask. Nor did he expect it.”
Harrison only waved his hand in the air. “This is my home and I won’t have him here.”
“It’s only your home when you remember. It’s my home, too, Harrison. Who do you think manages Adaire Hall while you’re off in London?”
She left before he could respond. The less she saw of her brother, the better.
Chapter Nineteen
It was nearly dawn by the time Jennifer got to sleep. She woke only four hours later, her thoughts on Gordon. She realized she was smiling, the sensation so unusual that she pressed her fingers against her lips. How long had it been since she was this happy? Five years. Five long years.
She sat up, then swung her legs over the side of the mattress. The hours just after dawn were the most productive for her. She liked to get a start before most of the inhabitants of the Hall were up and about. She had time to plan her day before any of the normal complications arose.
Now, however, all she could think about was Gordon. They were going to be married.
She dressed while still smiling. She even laughed at herself in the mirror. Happiness made her pretty. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes sparkled.
She knew exactly what she had to do today, all of it written out on a list she had made the month before. Her habit of making lists, keeping a calendar,