She hesitated, expecting him to agree, expecting him to supply her with detrimental gossip about Roxanne, as he would have when he’d been young and infatuated, but he was stoically silent. When she realized he wouldn’t play her game, her shoulders slumped.
“Did you need something?” he asked her. “Would you like to have a horse prepared?”
“Yes, I’d like a horse. I haven’t been out much lately, and I’m craving some fresh air.”
He went into the barn and hollered for a stable boy to ready a mount. He stopped an older boy too who would accompany her as a groom. Then he returned to her and said, “You’re all set. Give them a minute, and they’ll take care of you.”
“You won’t be coming with me?”
“I can’t. I’m busy this morning.”
“I understand.”
“It’s good to see you up and about. I hope you’ll ride more often. I concur that fresh air can be very beneficial.”
He walked off, and he could sense her glaring at him, her gaze beseeching him to announce he’d escort her after all. What was wrong with her? In the past, he’d loved her more than life itself, but she’d tossed off his affection, crushing him with the admission that she had to stick to her own kind.
He’d moved on, had picked a bride who’d been part of his small world and a much wiser choice. His wife had been a worker, a striver, and she’d shared his view that their simple existence suited them just fine. It was a path Margaret could never have comprehended.
He had his two sons who’d tend him when he was old and grey, so he’d never be alone. In contrast, Margaret had birthed no children, and rumor had it that she was barren, that Howell had nearly divorced her over it.
As he and Margaret aged, he’d have his sons. What would she have?
Like a besotted swain, he thought about hiding and spying on her as she trotted away, but that would be foolish and ridiculous. And he’d been over her for years.
It didn’t matter how she stared up at him with those pretty blue eyes of hers. It didn’t matter how beaten down she looked, how forlorn and dismayed. He’d never been her savior. On that point, she’d been very clear, and nothing between them had changed in the slightest.
He had chores, and he whipped away and got on with his day.
“There you are!”
Roxanne grinned at Jacob as he entered the room. She’d commandeered a rear parlor, making it into an office so she could have a quiet spot to plan their engagement party.
“You’ve been such a hermit,” she told him, “that I was beginning to suppose I’d imagined you being in residence.”
“I am really here.”
She’d had the servants bring a desk down from the attic. She was seated at it, and as he plopped onto the chair across, she said, “I feel like we’re about to commence an employment interview. Will you show me your references?”
“Definitely not. If you learned too much about me, I might not be offered the position.”
She chuckled and studied him, recalling—with a great amount of relief—that he was very handsome. It wouldn’t be difficult to be his bride, and the biggest advantage would be that he was rarely home and wasn’t retiring from the navy any time soon.
She’d wed him, then he’d sail off into the sunset. She was very fussy, and she liked to be in charge, so she’d hate to have a husband around and underfoot. She wouldn’t like to have him counting every farthing and berating her over how she spent his money.
She waved a stack of papers at him. “I’m working on the party.”
“So I heard. I thought I should pop in and see if I could assist you. Are you overwhelmed?”
“No, I’m managing. I figured a two-week fete would be best. Is that all right with you?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I assume you’ll give me a budget.”
“I don’t need to. Just don’t beggar me. I’m not too keen on pomp or ostentation, so try not to over-do. As long as we entertain in moderation, I won’t have any complaints.”
“I should check the guest list with you. I nagged at Kit until he suggested acquaintances and cousins he insisted you’d like, but is there anyone I shouldn’t invite?”
“I can’t think of anyone to omit, but there are three people I’d like you to add.”
“Who are they?” She dipped a quill in the ink jar, the tip poised to write.
“Don’t faint,” he said, “but I’d like to include my half-brothers and their guardian, Sybil Jones.”
Her jaw dropped in surprise. “You want to invite Caleb and Blake Ralston? And Miss Jones? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother will be spinning in her grave.”
He shrugged. “It’s the saddest aspect of dying. You’re not around to tell the living how to behave.”
“You are horrid, Captain Ralston.”
She snickered with amusement, then jotted down the names, but her mind was awhirl as she struggled to deduce how she felt about it. She’d have to warn Margaret. Depending on Margaret’s assessment, they might have to dissuade Jacob.
Miles Ralston had been Jacob and Margaret’s famous father, but he was also father to Caleb and Blake Ralston. To the astonishment of the entire family—most especially Jacob’s mother, Esther—Miles had been a bigamist.
During the years he’d been posted to the Caribbean, he’d had a second wife. No one in England had been cognizant of the disgraceful predicament until after Miles had passed away. Caleb and Blake had lost their mother shortly afterward, and their vicar in Jamaica had sent them to their British relatives.
Miss Jones had traveled with them, and she’d been a vicious sentinel, intent on protecting their interests. If it had been left up to Esther, the two boys might have starved on the streets. As it was, she’d promptly escorted them off the property, then had refused to convene with them again.
Miss Jones had marched directly to the navy and
