parlor. Both men rose to greet her.
“Whatever are you two men talking about?” Becky stood on tiptoe to peck her husband’s cheek, and the sudden movement revealed the thickening about her middle. Paul would be a father soon, and he would be a good one, too. A rush of inexplicable emotion washed over John, leaving him feeling—of all things—envious. Paul was an excellent master, and a stalwart husband. He had taken in his niece, Juliet, as his ward, and was as good to her as a father would be. In a matter of months, he would become a father again by Becky, and would do credit to those duties, as well.
What of it? John shrugged his shoulders, irritated by these thoughts. Paul never came to the gaming tables any longer, or squired women of ill repute around to dubious locations in London. Surely he missed that sort of fun.
John watched hungrily as Becky patted her husband on the shoulder. What would it feel like, being that beloved by someone? “Jane and I are waiting for both of you. Why don’t you come join us in the little parlor off the dining room? Daniel and Susannah will be here in a matter of moments.”
It was not lost on John that she failed to mention Nan, too. Nan Siddons was, it seemed, truly a lost member of her own family—forgotten and neglected.
Yet, he was anticipating her arrival much more keenly than any other person in her party. Would she pretend not to recognize him? Would she join with him in witty repartee? Would her personality be any different than it had been when they met earlier in the day?
He rose and followed his host and hostess out of the room. Kellridge Hall was not as grand a home as his own Grant Park, but it was well run and graciously appointed. Paul ruled the household with a firm hand, that much was certain. Nothing ever seemed out of place at Kellridge. That was why John sought him out. No man could give better advice on the running of a vast estate—something that other fellows seemed born to do. Perhaps, once matters at Grant Park were well in hand, he could leave it behind for months at a time, and continue his roguish ways in London. That was how Paul had managed his life—well, before he met Becky.
As they passed by the front hall, the butler opened the door. A decidedly irritated-looking Nan Siddons marched in, yanking on her bonnet strings.
“Nan!” Becky broke away from her husband and trotted over to embrace her sister. “So good to see you.”
Nan patted her sister’s back and then said, her voice low and urgent, “I need to talk to you and to Susannah. I’ve some news about the shop.”
“The shop can wait,” Becky replied with a little laugh. “We have guests. Mr. John Reed, may I present my sister, Nan Siddons.” She waved her arm in John’s general direction.
Nan nodded and bobbed the slightest of curtsies. Her eyes flashed, and her brows drew together. He cast his most charming smile her way, and bowed deeply. There was something about the spark in her eyes that he wanted to investigate further. His initial suspicion was correct. Nan Siddons could be jolly good fun if she’d let herself go a bit.
“Yes, I know Mr. Reed. I met him today, and will be making a bonnet for his sister.” Nan turned as Susannah and Daniel came through the doorway.
Any sensation Nan’s response might have stirred up was drowned out by her eldest sister’s arrival. Susannah commanded the attention of everyone in the hallway, kissing her sisters, curtsying to John, ordering Daniel about and chiding Paul for what she perceived as the lack of proper maintenance on the curving path that led up to the front gates of Kellridge Hall. This, of course, raised Paul’s ire, and John watched as Becky, Paul, Daniel and Susannah drifted down the hallway, engrossed in loud conversation.
Nan stood with her bonnet dangling uselessly from one hand. “Now I’ll never get the chance,” she muttered fiercely.
“I beg your pardon?” John drew closer to her side. She looked both angry and deflated.
Nan turned to him, as though surprised he was still there. “I had rather hoped to speak to my sisters about a pressing matter of business, but it appears I will have no opportunity to do so.”
He offered her his elbow. “Perhaps we should join them?”
Nan shook her head and cast her bonnet onto the polished mahogany table nearby. “You may go in without me. I need a moment to collect myself.”
“You really should allow yourself to have more fun, you know,” he chided gently. “Why not talk about business matters some other time?”
Nan rounded on him, her blue eyes darkening to black. “Fun? If my business crashes because the village shopkeeper has hired a French milliner, do you know what kind of fun I shall have? I shall be nothing. I’ll be reduced to the status of spinster aunt, living in one of my sisters’ homes. This has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with my perceived lack of a personality, and everything to do with my sisters’ refusal to help me in my time of need!” She paused, drawing in her breath deeply.
“Oh.” He felt like the worst sort of joker. Her anguish was real and profound and he had clumsily teased her at the worst possible time. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”
“Not unless you know how to keep a business from failing.” She offered him a wan smile. Her outburst seemed to have calmed her nerves. Her eyes lost some of their hunted look, and her movements were graceful and fluid once more. “I suppose we should go in,” she added with a sigh.
He offered her his arm once again. “I promise I shall give your problem serious thought. Perhaps I can come up with a solution. Stranger things have happened, you know.”
She took his arm, her fingers resting lightly on the crook of his elbow. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not very nice to let a potential client know that your business may be on the verge of collapse,” she admitted. Her tone was neutral enough, but a thread of sadness ran through it.
“Not at all,” he admitted. “If anything, I appreciate your honesty.”
She glanced up at him, the tight lines in her face relaxing. She was a pretty thing in her own right. All these Siddons girls were lovely. Why was she so certain she was destined for spinsterhood? Her sisters had made brilliant matches of their own, even without a fortune or family to back them. Surely some fellow around here would take a second look at her.
* * *
Nan listlessly poked at the food on her plate as her dinner companions talked and joked around her. Everyone, even shy Jane, seemed to be enjoying themselves. Every time she took a bite, though, the chicken tasted like sawdust and a lump rose in her throat. If she couldn’t get her sisters’ attention long enough to discuss the problem of the French milliner, then she would have to go home and give vent to a good, long sob. No one knew about the tears that wet her pillow so often. She’d hidden the fact that she cried at night from her sisters for years, because someone had to be the practical one of the trio. Susannah would throw temper tantrums and Becky would go off on endless walks whenever trouble threatened. Nan would merely stuff her fears deep down inside and, after bedtime, allow the tears to slide down her cheeks unchecked until her pillowcase was damp.
Thus she had gained the reputation of being stolid and unshakable when really, she just was terribly clever at hiding her hurts.
“I do wish you’d eat more,” a smooth voice spoke up beside her. “You’ve hardly tasted anything all evening.”
Nan flicked a glance over at John Reed, giving him
