Ivo stared at her in silent amazement. He’d never imagined paying attention to this level of detail. His grandfather certainly didn’t. The marquess didn’t even know the names of most of his servants, let alone his tenants. The maids were all Mary, the coachman was John, and the stable hands were all simply called boy.
Ivo had managed to learn their real names over the past few months, but he’d never thought to go to these lengths. It wasn’t that his grandfather was a bad man, he was simply feudal in an entirely different sense: undisputed ruler of his own small kingdom.
Ivo much preferred Lord Glendower’s sensibilities.
George would make more than a dream lover…she’d been in training her whole life to make a lord the perfect wife. If he could only bring her round he could have them both: the lady in the drawing room and the whore in the bedroom.
What more could any man wish for?
At Greely’s clock and watch shop, George explained what she needed to Greeley Senior and inspected the selection he pulled out for her.
Every inch of wall space was covered in clocks, the table tops a sea of them as well: gilt, ormolu, wood, all of them ticking until the sound was comforting, like the roar of the ocean.
‘What do you think, Dauntry?’ she asked, having whittled the contenders down to three. ‘Open-faced, or closed so he gets that satisfying snap when he shuts it?’
‘Snap,’ Dauntry ruled.
George nodded, sure the old martinet would appreciate the extra flair opening and shutting the watch would offer.
‘It’s settled, then. I’ll take this one.’ She pointed to a small one with a tortoiseshell case. ‘And a nice heavy chain, and a good fob.’
Mr Greely pulled out a suitable chain and offered her a velvet-lined tray with a selection of fobs. George looked them over carefully, and finally chose a detailed, miniature sphinx.
‘That completes our errands. Shall we go and find the children?’
She stepped out of the shop, squinting as the full light of the afternoon sun hit her. Dauntry bumped into her as she stopped abruptly. She glanced over her shoulder.
The corners of Dauntry’s lips curled up, one hand went to the small of her back, steadying her.
‘George—’
‘We’re in the middle of the street, my lord.’ She took a step away from him, shook out the skirts of her pelisse. She knew that tone. The sound of a man about to make a confession. ‘You can have your say in the privacy of the parlour, if you must.’
Fortunately, when they arrived at the White Hart the Tilehurst girls were waiting for them, all of them sitting in the parlour, reviewing their purchases. The earl gave her a put-upon look to which she refused to succumb.
Julius and Aubrey arrived as George was taking off her coat, Julius loaded down with a varied assortment of packages. They’d gotten their father a very long black carriage whip, and several packages of replacement whip ends, as well as an ingenious brass handwarmer meant to be filled with sacks of heated sand. Julius unwrapped a beautiful silk and mother-of-pearl fan for their mother, explaining that he and Aubrey had had to pool their money for it, but that it was worth it. George agreed, heartily endorsing their choice. It was just the sort of pretty bauble that Victoria would love, and the plain silk could be painted with any number of fanciful designs.
Lunch was already on the table, and the meal half eaten before Hayden and Simone came scrambling in. They set their packages down on a small side table and came over to join everyone else.
‘Sorry we’re late, Aunt George,’ Hay said, sliding into an empty seat and helping himself to some sliced beef and a few carrots and parsnips. ‘It took us longer than we thought to find everything.’
‘That’s what I assumed.’ George took a sip of her wine and eyed them thoughtfully. They didn’t look excited—or dirty—enough to have been out causing any real mayhem. Perhaps they’d actually behaved themselves? While the children finished their meals, George wandered back out to the taproom to supervise the inkeep’s son loading the gig she’d hired to carry all their purchases back to the Court.
‘Thank you, Thomas. I can always count on you.’ She slipped a guinea from her pocket and held it out to him.
The boy beamed, almost blushing, and ducked his head as he took the coin. She leaned against the wall, watching the gig fill with crates, boxes, and parcels tied up in brown paper.
Her shoulder blades twitched and she glanced across the yard. She hated the sensation of being watched. She liked the lick of fear that flickered through her even less. Before all this nonsense with the highwaymen it would never have occurred to her that the sensation boded ill, but today she couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t ignore it.
Her own half-formed fears after being attacked by the highwaymen, combined with Brimstone’s concern when she’d confided in him, suddenly welled up. Panic flooded through her. Choked her.
She whirled about and all but ran back into the inn.
Dauntry met her just inside, the children trailing behind him, loud and excited, full of chocolate and sticky buns.
George took a deep breath. She was being ridiculous. She was in Leicester, for Heaven’s sake. Safe and sound. The streets were hardly likely to be teeming with criminals.
Dauntry called for the sleigh while she bundled the children back into their coats. The innkeeper passed her, carrying hot bricks for their feet, and she ushered the children out behind him.
Dauntry was already on the box, breath fogging in the crisp, cold air. Julius scrambled up beside him while she and the rest of the children settled under the blankets once more.
She spent the drive back watching Dauntry guide Julius’s hands on the reins, trying to shake the panicked feeling of being watched. Wondering what it was he had wanted to say.
‘Tighten up on the reins,
