“A shilling,” she chanted in a sing-song voice, timing her words to her bounces. “A shilling. Will you take me shopping?” she asked breathlessly.
Not yet six years old and already eager to shop, he thought with an inward smile. Where did women learn this inclination? Was it in their chemical composition? “There aren’t any shops nearby, but if you’re good, after breakfast I’ll show you my sundial.”
She bounced once again to land on her bottom, then sat there in her twisted white nightgown, looking dubious.
“And later this week, I’ll take you to the village.”
“To shop?”
“Yes, to shop.” The way things were going, she ought to have amassed a small fortune by then. He rolled over and swung his legs off the side of the bed, rubbing his face.
“Uncle Ford! I can see your knees!”
Blinking, he cast a glance over his shoulder. “Have you not seen your father’s knees? And your brothers’?”
“Yes.” She giggled. “But they’re my family.”
“I’m your uncle, which is family, too.” Standing, the shirt covered him to mid-thigh. Should he have left his breeches on as well? He normally slept bare, but he supposed, for her sake, he’d have to keep himself clothed while she was here. He held little hope that she’d stay in her own bed at night.
Meaning he’d best brace himself for more long hours of nocturnal pummeling.
What had he done to deserve this?
As the youngest of four, he’d never had much to do with children, save as a charming uncle who bestowed the occasional coin or pat on the head. Whatever compelled people to desire these strange beings—and the headaches that went with them—was beyond him.
His clocks struck noon before he managed to coax some breakfast into her and get her dressed in a miniature pink confection of a gown whose fastenings he found perplexing. He was itching to work on his watch design, but she hadn’t forgotten about the sundial.
Although St. Swithin’s clouds and rain would have better matched his mood, the day was warm and sunny when they finally stepped outdoors. A fluffy white rabbit blinked at Jewel, then took off toward the Thames. She bounded after it, but Ford followed more slowly, feeling the effects of the sleepless night.
Perhaps he would have to hire more servants. He gave an inward sigh, knowing such an expense would really push his budget. Although he’d been granted the title and Lakefield estate as a boy, shortly after King Charles’s restoration, he’d never really lived here. By the time he’d come of age to set up his own household, the neglected manor house had deteriorated enough to send him running in the other direction. The mere idea of such an enormous renovation project was overwhelming. So, between Oxford terms, he’d lived in the family’s London town house or at Cainewood Castle with his older brother Jason, the Marquess of Cainewood, which left him free to pour what income the estate produced into his laboratory. Someday he’d have to fix up Lakefield House, most likely when he succumbed to marriage. But “someday” had always seemed far, far in the future.
He hadn’t left the manor unoccupied, of course, but the elderly couple who cared for the place—and cooked for him on the rare occasions he visited—was no match for a five-year-old’s energy. If he wanted assistance, he was going to have to hire it. Perhaps the “shopping” trip to the village would come sooner rather than later. He could shop for a nursemaid and household help while Jewel shopped for whatever little girls bought with their shillings. Ribbons, he imagined, already dreading the daunting task of fixing her hair.
“Uncle Ford! Where is it?”
He looked up, noticing Jewel had wandered back while he wasn’t watching. He hadn’t been watching at all, as a matter of fact. She could have fallen into the river.
He heaved an internal sigh. He would have to be more vigilant.
“Have you lost the rabbit?” he asked.
“No.” She giggled. “Well, yes, but I meant the sundial. I cannot find it.”
Egad, where had it gone to?
He paced the garden, which was utterly overgrown. Green and wild, plants and vines intertwined with weeds, all semblance of order gone. Jewel ran after him, her short legs no match for his long strides. The sundial had been in the middle of a circle of hedges and wooden benches…
“Ah, here it is!” He pushed his way through a ring of bushes that seemed to have grown together. The benches he’d remembered were covered with vines. In the center of the mess, he yanked at some greenery and brushed dirt off the carved stone surface of the sundial. “Under here.”
He turned to see her beaming up at him as though he were a genius, melting his heart. “How does it work, Uncle Ford?”
He reached to lift her over the bushes. “Well, you see—”
“Good afternoon, my lord.”
A warm, melodic voice. He turned and frowned at the owner, who stood at the edge of the hedge circle. Although he had a feeling the pleasant-looking matron wasn’t quite a stranger, he couldn’t for the life of him place her.
She plucked two stray twigs off her bright yellow skirts, then raised a groomed brow. “So nice to have you in residence. Trentingham Manor can seem lonely when all our neighbors are away in the City.”
Mystery solved. Trentingham. As in Earl of. The neighboring estate.
Still holding his niece, Ford executed an awkward bow. “Pleased to be here, Lady Trentingham.”
When her wide mouth curved up, her brown eyes smiled to match. Plainly curious, her gaze flicked to Jewel before focusing again on him. “Will you be staying long?”
“Just while I finish a project.” And until he felt up to showing his face in London. He pushed his way back through the hedge and set Jewel on her feet, grimacing as he brushed leaves from his breeches.
The countess shot a glance down the side of the house—he noticed the
