The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,22

won’t forget my jonquil ribbon or—”

“Girls,” their mother chided. “He’s your uncle, not your footman.”

His nieces flushed.

Jago gave them a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I shan’t forget any of my instructions.” He turned to Claire, pleased to see her up and about so early in the day. Although she still was far too pale and thin, he thought the reduction of laudanum was beginning to make a difference.

“I’m sorry that I can’t take all of you with me this time,” he told his sister-in-law, “but it will be a quick, hectic trip filled with business.”

A flicker of anxiety passed over Claire’s limpid blue eyes. “I hope you discover good news.”

Jago was not so optimistic, but he kept that unhelpful thought to himself.

Instead, he said, “Next time, I promise we’ll all go and make a small holiday of it.”

The sound of carriage wheels reached his ears.

“I’d better get going.” He let himself out of the foyer—which reminded him again that he needed to engage at least one footman—and then froze on the top step, gawking at the coach like a love-struck youth.

“Did you build me a new coach, Ben?” He gazed from the highly polished carriage to his liveried stable master.

The boy grinned and looked down at his boots, his ears bright scarlet beneath his hat.

Jago handed his leather doctor’s satchel—now crammed with documents rather than medical implements—to Ben before taking a walk around the coach. He ran his fingers over the slick lacquer. “You are a miracle worker.”

“It’s nothing, my lord. Just a little beeswax and turpentine.”

“It’s a damned sight more than that,” Jago demurred as he dropped to his haunches to look beneath the coach, which was oiled and free of dirt, dust, cobwebs and even rust, just like a brand-new chassis.

He glanced up at the boy. “Where did you learn to do such work?”

Because Jago had hired the lad directly from Stephen Worth, he’d skipped investigating Ben’s background, certain that the American would have already done all that. As a result, he knew little about him.

“Er, my first job was at a smithy in a little village in the North you’ve probably never heard of, my lord.”

“I thought you were from Bristol?”

“Oh, I moved there when I was still quite young.”

Jago stood, his knees protesting loudly as he straightened. “Young? You mean as opposed to now when you are so terribly old?’

“I am twenty, my lord.”

Twenty? Jago looked at the tall, thin boy, whose eyes were almost on a level with his own. Behind Ben’s smudged spectacles were big, round eyes that were an unusual shade of pale blue—almost turquoise. His face, which was deeply tanned from the sun, sported a nose that would have done a Roman senator proud. There was hardly a hint of golden down on Ben’s smooth cheeks and his lips were red and bow-shaped, almost girlish.

Jago would have put him closer to seventeen than twenty and he wondered if the boy might be fibbing about his age to help him get work.

Ben flushed under his inspection and lowered his eyes. Eyelashes as thick and pale as freshly made straw brooms swept his tanned cheeks. Sometimes the boy looked downright—

The massive front door swung open.

“You forgot this, Uncle Jago.” Catherine ran down the steps, holding out a brown paper package, her eyes on young Piddock rather than Jago.

He took the package, looking from his niece to Ben, who was staring fixedly at his boots.

“Er, thank you, Catherine. Your mother would have been vexed with me if I’d left this behind.”

Catherine didn’t seem to hear him, her gaze riveted on the young man.

For his part, Ben kept his eyes down, absently spinning his single spur with the toe of his other boot.

Jago looked between the two youngsters and frowned. Hmmm. This did not look good.

“Well, I’d better be off,” he said.

Catherine’s head jerked up and she smiled brightly. “Goodbye, Uncle.”

Once Jago was settled inside the coach he watched through the carriage window as Catherine stared at Piddock, adoration writ large over her pretty face.

The boy touched his forelock to her but did not linger.

A moment later the carriage rolled forward and Jago relaxed against the buttery brown leather, which Ben had treated with some miraculous substance to make it glow. He stroked the supple hide absently, pondering his niece’s expression. So, Catherine was enamored of his new stable master, was she?

Well, he supposed young women were drawn to handsome young men, even if they were not of the appropriate status. It was an attraction that