Page 40 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“Surely not,” Sterne scoffed. “You’re a legend, Kes. I’ve seen you juggle three women in one evening. What could this slip of a girl do to you?”
“None of them were like this slip of a girl,” he growled.
“True enough.” But Sterne still looked skeptical.
“It’s complicated.”
“Ah.” Sterne’s expression cleared and nodded in unexpected approval. “Good. I think it’s time you tried complicated.”
“No. No, it’s not time. There never will be a time. That’s the last thing I need—and you know it.” Keswick groaned. “Perhaps I should just go back to Town. I could always hole up in some dive down by the docks.”
“You could avoid the Vernon chit that way, but I know you’ve heard your father is in Town. How long do you think you could hide from him?”
He slumped. “Chester wrote you, too?”
“Whiddon did. Your father cornered him at the club and grilled him about your women, your habits, and why you came to the country.”
Keswick paled and cursed under his breath, long and with feeling.
“You know Whiddon wouldn’t tell him anything.”
“Which will only make him more determined. Hell and damnation, what’s set the old man off, this time?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion—but you are better off here. So, let’s go make nice with Lady Glory. At least we can be of use to her while we are here.”
He’d already done more than he should with regard to Lady Glory, but he looked over Sterne’s shoulder and saw the worry in her face as she watched Lycett and his friends watching her. He stiffened. “Fine. Damn it all.”
She focused on the pair of them as they approached. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Sterne bowed and held up his offering. “We did not wish you to miss the fossil frenzy.”
She smiled her thanks. “Don’t worry about me. I sometimes come out here with Tensford. I can navigate the shore line if I am careful, but I thought it best to steer clear of all of the activity today.” She held up her hands. Her lap was full of long vines and small wildflowers. “But as you can see, Miss Munroe has set me a task, and I am keeping occupied.”
Sterne poured the debris next to her stool. Overturning the bucket, he perched upon it. “I’ll sort it, then.”
Keswick settled on the ground before her. “What are you making?”
“Oh, just a couple of flower garlands. Miss Munroe and I might wear them in our hair tonight. Or I might just send them along to the children in the nursery.”
He imagined the tiny white flowers sprinkled amongst her curls. “You should wear them.”
“We’ll see how they turn out.”
“You seem deft enough at it,” Sterne remarked. He was tossing rocks away, toward the water.
“I should be. I had plenty of practice making garlands last Christmas.”
“Did you spend it here?” Sterne looked up.
“Yes. It was our first, here in Gloucestershire. Hope’s and mine, I mean. It was lovely, too. Even the holidays have been somber at our home in Sussex for the last few years, but it was quite an exuberant celebration here. I swear, I must have woven together miles of greenery. It was all over Greystone.”
She had piqued Sterne’s interest. “Did you learn of any local or unusual traditions? It’s an area of interest for me,” he explained.
She tilted her head to think about it. Her lips pursed and Keswick felt it, a hook and a tug at the base of his spine, pulling him nearer.
“There was the greenery and the Christmas pudding. A yule log. But the wassailing was the thing that was mostly different.”
“In what way?” Sterne asked.
