Page 25 of Miss Determined
Papa, no.One of those charities would doubtless be the Foundation for the Improved Circumstances of a Certain Undeserving Solicitor.
“I can discuss charities with his lordship if you like, sir, though I’m sure he’d rather start with the organizations supported by his Dorning connections.”
“Come in, boy!” Papa bellowed. “Nothing is less appealing than stale pastry.”
Pennypacker set the parcel on Papa’s desk and withdrew. The scent of cinnamon reminded Young Purvis that breakfast had been three long, busy, worrisome hours ago.
“Get the new roof on St. Nebo’s,” Papa said, “and go back through the correspondence. See to the tenant repairs and so forth. Miss Brompton will doubtless concern herself with those.”
“We keep tenant properties fairly spruce, sir, but the rentals… Twidboro Hall, for example, is overdue for reglazing, the chimneys need attention, and the brickwork of the terrace and the walkways has been neglected.”
Papa extracted an apple tart sticky with glaze and redolent of every boy’s fondest holiday memories.
“I’ll want coffee to wash this down. No repairs to Twidboro for the nonce. The DeWitts might well vacate if they can get Miss DeWitt fired off, though one doesn’t hold out much hope of success in that regard. Amaryllis DeWitt has been an object of talk, and no fortune, however large, can salvage a woman’s reputation when that happens.”
What heiress only two generations removed from the shop wouldn’t be an object of talk? Heiresses with blood bluer than the Aegean Sea in summer were the objects of talk.
“The glazing at Twidboro Hall is becoming urgent, sir.”
Papa took a bite of his tart and made happy shoat noises. “Do the glazing, then,” he said around a mouthful of tart. “I’m sure there’s some case law somewhere to support the necessity of periodic glazing. Water at large is the common enemy and so forth.”
Delightful. Papa had taken up inventing case law. “I’ll send Pennypacker in with your coffee.”
“Do, and let me know well in advance when the Brompton antidote is coming by. I shall prepare most thoroughly.”
Meaning Young Purvis, who withdrew on a bow, should prepare most thoroughly, but then, he took a personal interest in safeguarding Miss Brompton’s legal wellbeing.
“Coffee,” Young Purvis said to Pennypacker. “He’s in a decent mood, thanks to the tarts.” And thanks to the prospect of wrecking Miss Brompton’s life while shifting her fortune closer to Papa’s paws and continuing to fleece the marquess.
Pennypacker scurried off—heaven help the clerk who served a tepid cup of coffee—and Jones sidled nearer.
“Well?” Jones asked quietly.
“St. Nebo’s acquires a new roof the better to impress Miss Brompton when Tavistock gets around to courting her.”
“Clever of you, but Old Purvis is getting worse, or my name’s not John Jones.”
“He also approved glazing for Twidboro Hall, and for reasons unknown to a mere solicitor, that glazing will involve repairing walkways and chimneys. I’d forgotten your given name is John.”
“Biblical, easy to recall, and nobody else in the family has it. Why should my given name be of any significance to you?”
“No reason. You are right that he’s getting worse. I meant to tell him that Tavistock is inspecting Twidboro as we speak, but the moment never arose.”
Jones watched Pennypacker weave between desks, a full cup of steaming coffee in his ink-stained hands. “Lord Tavistock is not the same sort of marquess his father was, sir. Old Purvis has too many schemes of the wrong sort afoot, and this cannot end well.”
“Please warn me if you intend to give notice, Jones.”
“Likewise, sir.”
Pennypacker’s foot caught on the worn edge of the carpet, and the boy went tumbling, spilling coffee all over himself, the rug, and the document Northam had spent the last half hour copying.
“I don’t have to remain seated in Mr. Dorning’s company, the better to allow him to loom over me.” Lissa hadn’t realized she liked that about Trevor Dorning until the time had come to escort him from the house after tea yesterday.
She’d popped to her feet without a second thought, a small but telling freedom.
“You get loomed over?” Phillip Heyward asked as he and Lissa ambled along the fence of the mare’s pasture. “Am I guilty of this offense?”
“You are sufficiently tall that I need not try to be diminutive with you. Loom all you like, or try to. With too many of the Mayfair Honorables and eligibles, I must stoop, wear flat slippers instead of the heeled variety, and remain seated. Diana won’t have that problem.”
