Page 16 of Nothing But a Rakehell
* * *
Glory tookpart in her dancing lesson as usual, but only because she knew Lord Keswick was not in the house or anywhere near to it. He was at the Crown and Cock again—all of the servants were abuzz with the news. He’d spent yesterday there, as well, samplingallof the wares available. She’d heard two of the housemaids whispering about it in the corridor, scandalized and delighted.
Their snickers filled Glory with curiosity and more than a little envy. She was so heartily sick of her room that even the Crown and Cock sounded interesting. And was Keswick truly sampling the barmaid’s charms, as well as the mead? Was he kissing her with honeyed lips? Her imagination went wild, thinking what it might be like to be kissed by him. To kiss him back. Her fingers could trail along the sharp edge of his jaw, but surely his lips would be soft . . .
Were a man’s lips soft? Hope was the only creature she could remember kissing her, since she was small, and those were mere pecks on the cheek. A man’s lips couldn’t be so different. Could they? She suddenly blazed with indignation that Betsy likely knew how Keswick’s lips felt when Glory herself would likely never know a man’s kiss.
Men were such irritating creatures. And so were barmaids. And so was she, for that matter, for caring what they got up to.
At least his absence gave her some freedom in the house. She lingered to speak with Hope and Miss Munroe after the lesson, but declined to accompany them upstairs to Hope’s stillroom. The squire’s daughter wished to select a few of the lavender sachets Hope had been teaching some of the tenant wives to fashion. Having been present for the birth of the idea and the experimentation and design of the things, Glory was already heartily sick of lavender sachets.
“Will you come down to dinner tonight?” her sister asked softly as Miss Munroe headed for the stairs.
Glory shook her head.
Hope sighed. “You’ll have to see him out of the saddle at some time,” she said before she followed her guest.
She still didn’t want to. But she knew Hope was right. It was just sheer stubbornness at this point. She’d restricted herself to quick rides, very early in the morning, and had been spending most of her days upstairs, trying not to go mad. Despite the damage to her leg, she was not used to so much inactivity and confinement. She had endured it, however, because she obstinately refused to risk heavier damage to her pride.
A walk around the ground floor rooms felt better, though, and she ended up in Hope’s favorite parlor, where the afternoon sun came in. She stared longingly out into the garden. Could she risk a quick turn through the blossoms, in the fresh air? Pressing her lips together, she decided she shouldn’t. In fact, she should go back up—
She paused, listening. What was that?
A faint, soft noise. Again. There, over by the settee. She crossed the room carefully, making sure her steps were quiet and slow. She thought she might know . . .
Another soft mew and yes, her suspicions were confirmed. Holding on to the back and bracing herself on her good knee, she peered behind the settee.
“Oh, Grumpet!” she sighed. “Look at what you’ve done, you darling girl.” The barn cat had obviously snuck into the house. She’d dragged a lap robe into the corner and now reclined upon it like royalty, with four lovely little kittens mewling around her.
“Oh, but why in Hope’s parlor?” There was a bit of a mess back there. “I saw the fine bed they set up for you in the stables.” But the grooms had warned her that Grumpet liked to sneak off when her time came upon her.
Glory carefully moved the settee just enough so that she could sit and reach down to lift up one of the sweet babies. “And a good day to you, pretty thing.” This one was grey and striped and not afraid at all. “Well, I’ll send word to the stables and we’ll have you and your mama and your siblings settled in a trice.” She set the darling down next to his mother. “The dairy has been waiting word of the blessed event, too, Grumpet. They’ll send down some lovely cream for you.”
They would need a basket large enough for all of the animals and some soft toweling. She added to the list as she stood and set off to find the housekeeper.
“Well, good afternoon.” Lord Keswick stood in the doorway. He bowed and grinned. “Here you are at last.”
Caught utterly by surprise, Glory froze.
“You are not talking to yourself, Lady Glory, are you? I seem to recall you giving me some grief over the idea when we first met.” He peered around inside the room, his dark hair strangely disheveled, but shining where the sun struck it. “You haven’t been helping yourself to Tensford’s brandy, have you?”
She raised her chin as her heart raced and her mind cast about for a way to escape. “I have not. Nor am I talking to myself.”
“Oh?” He looked around again. “To whom are you speaking, then?”
“Grumpet, if you must know.” Yes. If she could lure him over to look, then perhaps she could escape without him seeing . . .
“Who, or what, is a Grumpet?”
She gestured back toward the shifted furniture. “The barn cat. She sneaked in here to have her litter. The kittens are darling. Would you care to see?”
“Yes.” He straightened, interest flaring. “I have a soft spot for cats. They are so independent. And occasionally disdainful and downright snobbish.”
“Just behind the settee,” she said, making a careful turn.
He strode by her and she began to walk toward the door, as swiftly as she could. Almost there. She’d done it. She’d made her escape—
“What have you done to your leg?” he asked casually.
