Four

The dress made up Darius’s mind, a shapeless, no doubt warm atrocity in a color that put him in mind of calf scours.

“Good morning, Mr. Lindsey.” Vivian smiled at him shyly when Darius seated her at the breakfast table.

“Good morning.” He let himself lean in for a little whiff of her, catching the scent of daffodils. Lemon verbena might have been more retiring, but only just. “I trust you and Lord Byron slept well?”

Her smile widened. “I wouldn’t presume to speak for him. I slept like the proverbial baby.”

“I’ve wondered where that phrase came from.” Darius poured her tea. “My experience with babies suggests they are better at waking entire households than sleeping. May I fix you a plate?”

“Thank you.” She accepted the tea. “You’ve had the raising of your… relation since infancy?”

“I’ve had exclusive responsibility for him since shortly after his birth.”

“How old is he now?”

“He’ll join us shortly.” Darius focused on sorting through the ham slices to find one he deemed thick enough for her. “You can ask him yourself, but be warned, he can talk nonstop for days.”

“Not a typical male.” Vivian frowned at the plate he set before her. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.”

“Especially”—Darius took a slice of bacon off her plate—“if you stare at it until it gets cold. You start, and when you’ve had your fill, you stop.”

“But that’s waste…” He stuffed a bite of bacon into her mouth between syllables, and finished the strip himself.

“I like it crisp like this,” she said. “William likes his thicker than I do, and oh, you’ve had cheese cooked in the eggs, you shameless man.”

Darius nodded complacently and sipped his tea. “That would be me.” Did Longstreet even realize what a treasure he shared breakfast with each morning? Did he see her or merely disappear behind The Times and consume his soggy bacon?

“Is this the lady?” a small voice piped.

“Good morning, John.” Darius smiled at the lad who hovered in the doorway. “Make your bow.”

“Good morning, my lady. John Cowperthwaite Lindsey, at your service.” He bowed dramatically and came up grinning. “You’re our guest, so I’m on pro… I have to behave.”

“Probation.” Darius hoisted the child onto his lap. “If you’re on your best behavior, you can have breakfast with us, and perhaps we’ll go riding while Lady Vivian is here.”

Lady Vivian, not Lady Longstreet, because Darius intended to exercise as much discretion about her visit as he could.

“Do you like horses?” The look John aimed at Vivian suggested this was the pressing question of the day.

“Very much. Do you like bacon?” She held up a crispy slice.

“Darius?”

“You may.”

“Thank you!” John took the slice of bacon and was away from the verbal starting line at a gallop, waving his bacon around minus one bite as he spoke. “I have a pony. He’s old but sturdy, and his name is Hammond. He doesn’t like Waggles, because Waggles is sneaky and hard to see in the dark, which is good for hunting mice, though there aren’t any in my bedroom ’cause Wags sleeps with me. May I please have another piece of bacon?”

“I’ll fetch you a plate.” Darius rose and sat the child in his own seat as John went on about how cold weather made his pony harder to groom, but friskier, which was good.

“Would you like to go riding?” John raised brown eyes to Vivian, and Darius swore the boy was batting his lashes at her.

“It’s too cold for riding today,” Darius warned. “We can introduce Lady Vivian to Hammond, if she’s amenable.”

“What’s amendable?”

“Amenable,” Vivian corrected him. “Willing, which I am.” As he put a plate before the child, Darius shot her a naughty smile—the opportunity was too good to let pass. “Willing to meet your pony, that is.”

“Capital!” John started on his eggs. “I visit him every day before my lessons. Darius says the company of a horse starts a gentleman’s day off right, and I take care of him all by myself, except sometimes Dare helps. What’s your horse’s name?”

“I don’t have just one,” Vivian said. “When I want to ride, the lads tack up a mare and off I go.”

John frowned as Darius gestured to the child to put his serviette on his lap. “But what’s her name? You have to know your horse’s name, so you can say, ‘Whoa, Hammond,’ or ‘Good boy, Ham.’ You know, her name?”

“One of them is named Pansy, or I’ve heard the lads calling her that, so it’s probably her nickname.”

John devoured his breakfast, peppering Vivian with questions as his eggs, toast, and most of Vivian’s bacon disappeared, while Darius sat back and watched.

“John, you need to put on your boots and collect a carrot or two for your steed,” Darius said when the child’s plate was clean. “Lady Vivian needs another cup of tea, and then we’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir.” John scooted off his seat then paused abruptly. “Sorry, I forgot. I am still on proba… Whatever that word was?”

“Probation,” Darius supplied. “You caught yourself, and having such a pretty lady at table is distracting, but let’s do it right, shall we?”

John resumed his seat and met Darius’s eye. “Sir, the meal has been very good, but I’d like to visit my pony now. May I please be excused?”

Darius smiled. “Well done. You may.”

“Thanks for the bacon!” John dashed off, leaving the door to the breakfast parlor banging in his wake.

“What a delightful little boy,” Vivian said in the ensuing silence. “You must be very proud of him.”

“I am, and I’ll be just as proud of you if you finish your toast.”

“I told you I couldn’t possibly…”

He passed her a half slice, slathered with butter and jam. “It’s cold out, and you’ll need your sustenance.” He held it to her mouth, and her hand came up to cover his. She took a bite and sat back.

“Raspberry.” She munched away. “My favorite.”

“Let me guess.” Darius put the rest of the slice on her plate. “William prefers some bitter old marmalade, and you haven’t had raspberry jam since you married him.”

“Of course I’ve had it.” She picked up her toast. “At my sister’s I have it all the time. My brother-in-law knows I like it, so he keeps it on hand.”

“Your brother-in-law knows your favorite type of jam, but your husband does not,” Darius observed, pouring her another cup of tea. “Why aren’t I surprised?”

“What’s your favorite kind of jam?” Lady that she was, Vivian wasn’t going to argue with him, but Darius found it heartening she didn’t try to defend dear Lord Longstreet.

Darius added cream and sugar to her tea. “As of this moment, it’s raspberry.”

He switched their plates, finishing the last of her eggs without her permission as she enjoyed her toast and tea. When they’d made their way to the kitchen, Darius insisted on tying the fastenings of her cloak and winding a scarf around her neck.

“Bonnets might be fetching, but they aren’t warm, and they obscure a lady’s lovely face.”

“But this is your scarf,” Vivian protested as he led her across the back gardens.

“How can you tell?”

“It has your scent,” she said, then apparently realized what she’d admitted. “And what is your scent, by the way?”

“It’s Eastern and mixed to my order and used to scent my soaps, lotions, and linens, and that is one of the first things we’re going to address, Lady Vivian.”

She slipped her arm free of his. “Address?”

“You have been languishing in your husband’s care.” Darius opened the barn door for her. “It’s time you took yourself in hand.”

“I do not follow your meaning, Mr. Lindsey.”

“Take your dress.” Darius paused to remind John, gamboling ahead of them, not to run in the barn. “Who in his right mind made a dress out of that fabric?”

“It’s very practical.” Vivian glanced down at her skirts, expression puzzled. “I got a superior bargain on the entire bolt.”

“Because it’s the exact color of the results of a young bovine having intestinal distress,” Darius countered. “You should not be allowed in public in such a color, Vivian. Trust me on this.”

Her perfectly arched brows knitted. “Why should I trust you? You’re a man.”

“Who appreciates women with particular intensity. That dress is going to the maids, and you are going into the village with me, where we have a passable seamstress who no doubt is lacking for work this time of year.”

“You’re dressing me?” Vivian stopped, clearly bewildered at such a notion.

“And we’re going to find you a scent, play with your hair, experiment with cosmetics,” he went on. “And for God’s sake, why don’t you have a personal mount?”

“What are you going on about? I have as many horses to ride as I wish.”

Darius crossed the barn aisle to a loose box. “This is my personal mount. His name is Skunk, and he’s a good fellow.”

“Peculiar coloring.” Vivian held out a gloved hand to the horse whose black and white coat was reminiscent of a milch cow. The gelding left off eating his hay long enough to sniff delicately at her fingers.

“His plebeian coat pattern is why his steady disposition, perfect conformation, and good bone were overlooked,” Darius said. “He suits me and we get along and he’s my horse. Nobody else rides him, and he’s always available for me. You need a personal mount, a fetching steed who takes your welfare seriously and isn’t just anybody’s hack.”

He wasn’t merely talking about horses, and Vivian was astute enough to know it.

She held out her hand to John. “Introduce me to Hammond. And is that a cat I see?”