Author: Sara Bennett
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/39978_10
“I never forget and rarely forgive,” he answered swiftly.
She gave him a doubtful glance.
“Jack has shown himself an incredible horse handler,” he went on.
Of course, he was talking about Jack! she realized, disappointed.
“I would be happy to offer him work here at Somerton when he is of age. What plans does your father have for his schooling? I understand he has lessons with the local parson?”
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He made it sound far direr than it was, and Eugenie sprang to the defense of her family. “Reverend Kearnen is an Oxford man. He taught Terry and will be taking on the twins soon.”
Did Sinclair give a shudder?
How extremely rude of him! Even if his attitude was understandable, having met them on one of their worst possible days, she would have expected better manners from him. Sinclair may be the most eligible man in England but he was certainly not the most perfect.
“Do you think your father would be amenable to Jack coming to Somerton?”
Eugenie knew what Jack would wish to do, and she suspected her father would be more than happy to grant him that wish. If the price was tempting enough.
“You must ask him about that,” she said uncomfortably.
His smile was enigmatic, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
The silence drew on.
“Your Grace, I want to apologize for my father’s behavior regarding Erik. Asking for—for money from you, when you had been so generous. It was inexcusable. I hope you did not think I knew anything of the matter, for I assure you that I did not. I have told my father he should return your ten guineas immediately.”
He looked down into her eyes, so green and fierce it was difficult for him to look away. “Never mind that,” he said gruffly, when only a moment before he’d been seething over the very same matter. “I was glad to take care of Erik, despite his propensity to send my gardeners flying.” His lips curled, but this time it was into a smile. “Did you know he broke out of his yard and made a foray into the vegetable garden? We were worried he’d overeaten but he came through. He seems to have a taste for turnips and they don’t like him. Or so I’m told.”
Eugenie was trying not to laugh. “Oh dear,” she said shakily, putting a hand to her mouth. “I am sorry. We should have p-paid you to keep him, not the other way around.”
“Yes.”
She gave him a sharp look and he wondered whether he’d overstepped the mark. He had a habit of putting peoples’ backs up—not that it worried him particularly. Well, not normally. But in this case he found himself wishing to be thought well of by Miss Belmont. He much preferred her smiles to her frowns. And he felt an uncharacteristic urge to flirt with her and tightened the reins on it. The Duke of Somerton did not flirt, especially not with girls like Miss Eugenie Belmont.
“Would you like a tour of the house? The gardens are sometimes open to the public, but my mother refuses to have the masses tramping their muddy boots through the house.” He spoke the words before he remembered she was one of “the masses.”
She was looking at him with her deep green eyes, as if she could read his very heart, and he held his breath. But all she said was, “We’d love a tour of your house, thank you, Your Grace.”
We. He’d forgotten about the brother.
Despite what he’d said earlier Sinclair thought his butler might have the makings of Moroccan punch hidden away somewhere in his pantry, for the odd occasion when it was needed. Perhaps he should offer it to the boy and get him completely sloshed. Teach him a lesson.
But maybe not, he decided, glancing at Eugenie. If he wanted to keep in her good books then he’d best be nice to her brother. Brothers, he corrected himself. All of them.
It didn’t occur to him to wonder why it was he felt he needed to stay in her good books.
Somerton was just as imposing inside as it was out. Eugenie gazed about, her awe mixed with terror. Could she ever be mistress of this place? Could she become used to ordering the servants and discussing menus and saying things like, “Yes, let’s have a ball for the whole county and invite the queen!” as if the words came perfectly naturally to her.
Of course she was being wildly optimistic. But the thing was, whenever she looked into his eyes, she felt wildly optimistic.
And surely there was nothing wrong in placing a bet with long odds? Her father did it all the time, and sometimes, very occasionally, he won.
She glanced sideways at Sinclair, who had shortened his long strides to match hers, and tried to pay attention. He was lecturing her on the history of his family, and she could hear the pride in his voice, the arrogance. But surely arrogance was acceptable when one came from such an illustrious family? Although, come to think of it, she had heard exactly the same pride in her father’s voice when he boasted about having fleeced someone too foolish to know he was being fleeced. But Sinclair’s pride was different, surely? He would never do anything that was not respectable or proper, certainly nothing as underhand as selling a horse long past its galloping days as a prime racer.
He had stopped speaking and was looking down at her. He seemed to be waiting for her reply to some point he had made or perhaps he’d just noticed her attention drifting. Eugenie cast around for something intelligent to say.
“I suppose your lofty position comes with a great many responsibilities, Your Grace?”