Page 99 of My One and Only Duke
A sudden acquaintance with London cobblestones was the very devil on a man’s skull.
“Now here’s what I need you to do,” Quinn said, crouching over the fallen swain. “You’ll take this coin, which I did earn most honestly, and toddle off to the nearest pub. You’ll want to put ice on the back of your head, for it will be troubling you severely by nightfall. When the countess asks you how I slipped through your clutches, you’ll tell her that a baseborn gutter whelp has ways that a decent young man can’t fathom.”
Quinn held up a sovereign, a fortune to a young fellow in service, and let the lad have a good long look.
“We shall let bygones be bygones, agreed?” Quinn said, allowing the fellow to sit up.
The footman took the coin with one hand while he rubbed the back of his head with the other. “Agreed, but I don’t work for the countess.”
He had the wheat-blond locks of a northern boy far from home. Quinn tousled his hair gently.
“Of course you don’t work for her. Have an ale or two while you’re cooling down that manly temper, though don’t overindulge. You’ll only make the headache worse.”
The fellow remained sitting on the cobbles, rubbing his head and clutching his sovereign, while Quinn went in search of a countess whom he was determined to forgive and—ye gods, what a lovely notion—forget.
* * *
Papa was examining a white porcelain knight that usually graced the mantel in the family parlor. He didn’t even bother to put the figurine down when Jane entered the room, Ivor and Kristoff on her heels.
“Jane Hester, good day.”
The day had been good, then it had turned awful. “Put that back where you found it, Papa.”
He turned the statue upside down, peering at the horse’s belly. “Meissen. You have quite an eclectic collection, Jane Hester, or your husband does. Will he be joining us?”
That is none of your business. “His Grace is not at home. Was there something you wanted?”
Papa set the horseman on the windowsill. “Send one of those handsome fellows for a tea tray, why don’t you. You there.” Papa waved a hand at Kristoff. “Fetch some comestibles. To keep a guest waiting is inconsiderate, to deny him the hospitality of the kitchen rude. Your mother did not raise you to be rude, Jane Hester.”
Papa smiled, a patiently chiding elder tolerating an oversight.
Ivor and Kristoff both remained by the door, staring straight ahead. Jane would ask Quinn to raise their wages, if she ever spoke to Quinn again.
“I am on my way out,” Jane said. “Now is not a good time to entertain you.”
“You don’t have time for your old papa? My, how haughty you’ve become. Pride goeth before a fall, Jane Hester.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jane said. “If you’re quoting Proverbs, then the passage says that pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.”
Papa ran a finger down the length of the mantel, scowling at the lack of dust on his fingertip. “You presume to instruct me regarding scripture, young lady, when I’ll have the rearing and education of your firstborn child?”
Jane was half tempted to placate her father, to cajole and appease, to stuff him with sweets as if he were a spoiled toddler.
But no. She’d done exactly that on too many occasions, which was why Papa could make such a nuisance of himself now, when she had pressing matters to see to.
“Stop talking nonsense, Reverend. You haven’t the independent means to support yourself, much less a child. You can wave all the documents and sermons at me you please, but the truth is, you’d rather extort money from my husband than minister to a legitimate congregation. You should have apologized to your bishop months ago, but you’re too stubborn, proud, and—”
One of the footmen had growled, but they were standing immediately behind Jane, so she didn’t know which one.
Papa had raised his hand. Raised his hand as if he’d deliver a slap to Jane’s face, a form of discipline he hadn’t attempted since Jane had put up her hair.
He reached behind himself, smoothing a hand over the back of his head, as if violence hadn’t been his intention a moment before.
“You are overset,” he said, retreating to the window. “Your condition has made you prone to fits of temper, and you are doubtless regretting the hasty union that has separated you from your only family.”
“Get out,” Jane snarled, and that felt good. “Get out of my house, and don’t come back until you can support yourself in the profession to which you claim the Almighty Himself has called you.”
Papa drew in a long breath, clearly filling his sails for some discourse on Jane’s many shortcomings. “Jane Hester, surely—”
