Page 79 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
Gwendolyn nodded and sailed past Ada, her only parting words for Jack. “Wait for me to speak with Lord Eaden about what we found.”
Jack nodded and watched her climb the stairs then grinned at Ada. “I’d like food.”
Her father clapped her cousin on the back. “Come on, Jack.” The twins danced around them both, and each man picked up a boy and carried them down the hall. Pansy traipsed after them, demanding to know if Jack had brought her a present.
Ada stayed back, a bit breathless from waking to a world with so much energy, and all of it seeming to whirl around tomorrow’s event—Lola’s ball. Her unofficial debut.
Her father and Jackson disappeared into the dining room.
She ran after them. “Papa!”
He turned, Nicholas balanced on his hip. “Yes, Ada girl?”
“I would like to speak with you.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
He set Nicholas on the ground and followed her without another word.
They found the sitting room quiet now and sat in chairs facing one another. She looked about the room as she settled her thoughts and gathered her words and found the two books she’d abandoned a few days ago—the small book with its Persian title and the moral guide. She thought of Cass. And leaving him. And it hurt. She thought of asking him to come with her and being told no, and that hurt worse. So she turned to her father and filled her mind with plans and planning.
She cleared her throat. “It is good to have the house full. James and Jack and Gwendolyn returned.”
“Yes. But Jack and Gwendolyn will not be here long. They should have been here a fortnight at least, but they encountered old Effington’s assistant on the way back to London. He’s a tip about a ruin outside Paris. He’s determined to beat me there. Jack and Gwendolyn have already booked their passage across the Channel. You do not mind that they’ll be off again so soon?”
No. She did not mind at all. In fact… “They leave the morning after the ball?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Papa… I would love to visit Paris.”
“You will. At the season’s end.”
“But… Papa, I want to go sooner than that. As soon as possible.”
Papa leaned forward, took her hands in his and peered into her eyes. When he’d seen whatever he needed to see, he released her and sat back against his chair once more. “You’re quite serious.”
“I am.”
“I want you to have a season. I need you to have one.” To assuage whatever guilt he still harbored from leaving them for so long while he traipsed about the globe, no doubt.
“I don’t want one. I want to travel. I want to see the world. I want to do new things and learn to speak the languages I can only now read.”
“What about the viscount?”
She startled. “Whom do you mean?”
“Lord Albee. The man you disappeared with at the theatre.”
“Ah.” He’d noticed that, then. “You’re angry.”
“I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to trust you to make your own decisions and mistakes. An unconventional stance for a father of daughters, but I’ve always hated convention. I assumed the viscount courted you, and you encouraged it. So I looked the other way at the theatre.”
“We are not courting.”
He cringed. “I regret the theatre, then. Though can’t say I’m not relieved. He has a past.”
