to say the least. He’d called her a silly romantic, as if it was some sort of flaw.
Well, she was a romantic and not ashamed of it either. She couldn’t be happier for Carrie and Avery, who had clearly fallen head over heels in love.
When Ethan found no sign of O’Cleary in the kitchen, he put the kettle on the hob. Damnation. He’d left his cravat in the study. He dashed upstairs and, well used to dressing in haste, soon had a new cravat tied neatly at his throat.
Returning to the kitchen, he found O’Cleary setting a tray with cups and saucers. ‘Where the devil were you?’
‘Putting the carriage to. I assumed you wouldn’t send her back on Shanks’s pony. Er...my lord.’
Mollified by O’Cleary’s anticipation of his wishes, he grinned. ‘Well done.’
‘Hmm. Had you not better get back to your guest?’ He ran a discerning eye over Ethan and pulled a comb from his pocket. ‘Here. This might help.’
Ethan dragged the comb through his hair. ‘Thanks.’ He strode back to his study.
Lady Petra was gazing out of the window when he arrived. Despite the dust on her hems and the tendrils of hair escaping from their pins around her face, she looked good enough to eat.
Blast it. He had forgotten to ask O’Cleary to add biscuits to the tray. If indeed they had any. She would think him as even more of an ill-mannered brute than she must do already. Why on earth had he made such a stupid invitation?
‘Tea will be along shortly,’ he announced.
She jumped as if she had been so far away in her thoughts that she had not heard him enter despite the fact he had not been in the least bit quiet about it. Her blue eyes were filled with sadness.
He stiffened. Was it something he had said? Was she one of those females who needed treating with kid gloves? She seemed so self-sufficient, but perhaps it was all an act intended to keep a man on his toes.
Women did that. Pretended. His mother had always fussed over him, as if she loved him, but only when his father was about, to make him jealous of her attentions. Sarah had pretended she cared about him just to gain his title.
Lady Petra’s eyes widened as her gaze took him in, clearly realising he had tidied himself up. What? Did she think he had no manners? If he had been a bit rough around the edges when he first joined the army at the age of fifteen, his fellow officers had soon put him straight.
She smiled and he felt like preening at her obvious approval, when he really didn’t care if she approved of him or not. He smiled back, it was the obvious thing to do. When in doubt, smile. He’d learned that from his mother’s interactions. She’d always stalked off if he’d shown the least sign of being unhappy. Any upset had always brought heaps of coals down upon his head. His mother had told him quite plainly that she had enough trouble with his father without him adding to it.
However, Lady Petra’s smile faltered at the sight of his own. ‘I really did not intend to put you to so much trouble.’ Her voice was light, nicely modulated, music to the ears of a man mostly used to the coarse words of soldiers. Perhaps that was why he had found Sarah so alluring after twenty years of all-male company.
Twenty years. A long time. And yet he was still in his prime at thirty-five. And lucky to be alive, given how long he’d been fighting for his country. Something he’d sooner do than sit here entertaining a lady in his drawing room.
A lady far too attractive to be a soldier’s wife. A man would surely worry about leaving such a lovely woman behind when he went off to war. He forced the wayward thought aside.
‘No trouble at all, my lady. You’ll find O’Cleary is a dab hand at brewing a pot of tea.’
‘O’Cleary?’
‘My batman. Well, no longer a batman, more a valet-cum-butler-cum-groom. He let you in.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘A man of all work, then.’
‘A good description indeed.’ He couldn’t hire any proper staff until he knew exactly how the estate stood financially. The account books had been left to keep themselves during the last few years of his cousin’s illness, as far as he could tell.
Her brow furrowed. ‘I understand you inherited the estate more than two years ago?’
His mouth tightened. ‘I did, but other, far more important matters engaged my attention.’
She looked shocked.
Could no one truly understand that he did not want this title? He was an army man through and through and here he was struggling with information about yields and labourers and bushels and baskets and... Bah! It was his duty and he would do it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Well, he would get it licked into shape, provide it with a countess and an heir and get back to what really mattered in short order.
‘The French. The war.’
She coloured. ‘Yes, of course.’ She did not, however, sound convinced. But then she might not, considering how she had lost her husband.
O’Cleary entered with the tea tray, picked his way around the clutter and set it down on the table in front of Lady Petra with a smile and a wink. ‘The shortbreads are a bit singed. But I cut off the worst of it.’
Ethan cringed at the sight of jagged edges and burnt crumbs. ‘You will have to excuse us, Lady Petra. We are bachelors used to army tack. Take them away, O’Cleary.’ O’Cleary was still not used to the newfangled oven in the kitchen. He was more used to cooking over a campfire.
O’Cleary reached for the plate, but Lady Petra Davenport put out a hand to forestall him. ‘Thank you, Mr O’Cleary, I am sure they are fine.’
The smile she gave O’Cleary and the grin he gave her back made Ethan want to grab his batman by the collar and heave him out of the door. He blinked at the odd urge. He didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Deliberately so. He’d learned early that it was a pointless emotion.
‘That will be all, O’Cleary,’ he said gruffly. ‘I think Lady Petra can manage from here.’
O’Cleary walked out whistling. The idiot.
The lady poured out cups of tea and added milk. ‘The village will be delighted that you have finally moved in.’
‘I am glad they are pleased.’ He picked up his cup and took a sip. Somehow, she’d got it exactly the right strength.
‘You do not like the idea?’
‘No.’ He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. Why on earth was he telling her this? But now he had said it, he could hardly call a halt to the conversation. Even he knew that was the height of rudeness. ‘I know nothing about farming or managing an estate. The army is my life.’ He sighed. ‘I am not cut out for this.’ He made a gesture to encompass the house, the land and the whole of Kent.
He’d
