Rose waited to see if Pippin would deem Glendower worthy of her words.
After eyeing him for several seconds, during which Glendower simply waited, unperturbed by her scrutiny, Pippin made her decision and beamed and piped, “I’m Pippin—like the apples.”
Glendower’s smile deepened. Gravely, he inclined his head. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Pippin. And please, call me Thomas.”
“I will,” Pippin assured him.
Glendower’s gaze moved on to Rose; before it reached her, she made a show of studying what he had brought in on his tray. “Do you have everything you need there?” Raising her gaze, she met his hazel eyes.
His easy expression in place, Thomas held her gaze for a long moment, but she gave no sign of wavering. No first names between them, it seemed. Glancing down at the tray, he nodded. “Yes, I believe so.” It wasn’t in his best interests to annoy or irritate her. He started to lift the various platters and plates from the tray, setting his plate before him and spreading the platters along the table, clearly inviting Homer, Pippin, and the curiously haughty and reserved Mrs. Sheridan to partake of the dishes.
Everyone returned their attention to their plates.
Thomas waited. The little girl, Pippin—six or seven years old?—had the same color and fine texture of hair as her mother, and similar eyes, too. The girl’s features were younger echoes; between the two females, the resemblance was strong. The boy had darker hair, more sable than walnut, and dark blue eyes, somewhat differently set in a broader face, but while his features in general were stronger, the resemblance to his mother was there.
Thomas had had very little to do with children, yet he did remember what being a boy was like. His money was on Homer, and the boy didn’t disappoint.
“Did you really live in a monastery for five years?” Homer’s big blue eyes overflowed with curiosity.
Mrs. Sheridan opened her mouth—no doubt to quell the imminent inquisition.
Thomas spoke before she could. “Yes. It was up by the Bristol Channel.” He’d long ago learned that the best way to invite confidences from others was to offer information first.
“Was it old and ruined, and were there ghosts?” Pippin asked.
Thomas smiled encouragingly. “No—it was only built about thirty years ago. The monks came over from France during the . . .” Terror. “ . . . upheavals there, about fifty years ago now.”
Now the gate had been opened, both children came barreling through, posing question after question about life in the monastery; both possessed what Thomas considered healthy curiosities, and he was entirely willing to indulge them.
Still alert, still wary, Rose watched her employer charm the children, but there was nothing in his manner that struck her as worrisome; indeed, time and again, he stopped and thought before he answered. She’d already noticed that about him; his responses were, more often than not, considered.
As for the children, as he’d all but invited their questions, she was content to let them pose them—so she, too, could learn the answers.
She was as curious, if not more so, than they.
When she’d first opened the door to him, she’d instinctively catalogued his clothes, his hairstyle, his deportment, his manners, his diction, and all the rest—all the telltale signs of class—and had pegged him as upper-range gentry, perhaps with a knighthood or a baronetcy in the family. That also fitted what she’d gathered about Thomas Glendower. Now, however, as the conversation between him and the children continued, steady and unforced, and she had time to study the clothes he’d donned for the evening and his more polished appearance, had time to note his precise diction delivered in that faintly raspy voice, and the manners and assurance that seemed an intrinsic part of him, she had to wonder if his origins weren’t a rung or two higher.
Somewhat to her surprise, the meal passed in unexpectedly and uniformly pleasant fashion.
And at the end of it, he set the seal on her approval by offering, and then insisting, albeit with consummate grace, on helping her and the children to clear the table, and to wash the dishes and put them away.
“It’s only fair if I’m to share your meals.” He made the comment to the children, but then looked up, questioningly, at her.
When she didn’t look convinced, he added, with a suggestion of a grin, as if he understood her position perfectly, “Put it down to my years in the priory—there, everyone helps with the chores.”
With the children looking on, it was impossible to refuse him, so the four of them worked together to clear, clean, and tidy the kitchen.
When all was done, the children went up to their rooms to read. She fetched her sewing basket and set it down beside her chair. When she looked up, Glendower was watching her. In response to her questioning look, he inclined his head.
“I’ll be in the library should you need me.”
She nodded, then asked, “Would you like me to bring you some tea?”
“Later.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Perhaps sometime after nine?”
She nodded again. “I’ll bring it in to you.”
He turned away and, using his cane, gimped toward the archway, but then he paused and glanced back at her. “I daresay it will take a little time for me to adjust to life outside the priory. I would appreciate it if you could see your way to humoring what might occasionally seem my rather eccentric ways.”
She met his gaze, held it, and equally directly replied, “As long as those ways hold no harm for the children or myself, I see no reason we won’t be able to reach an accommodation.”
His lips curved in that peculiarly engaging smile he had. Inclining his head, he turned and left her.
Unwillingly intrigued, Rose watched him go and wondered at the conundrum that was Mr. Thomas Glendower.
About the Author
#1 New York Times bestselling author STEPHANIE LAURENS began writing as an escape from the dry world of professional science, a hobby that quickly became a career. Her novels set in Regency England have captivated readers around the globe, making her one of the romance world’s most beloved and popular authors. The Masterful Mr. Montague is her fifty-third work. All of her previous works remain in print and readily available.
Readers can contact Stephanie via e-mail at
[email protected]. For information on all of Stephanie’s books, including updates on novels yet to come, visit Stephanie’s website at www.stephanielaurens.com. For e-mail alerts as books go on sale, exclusive sneak peeks into upcoming works, exclusive sweepstakes, and more, join Stephanie’s Private E-mail Newsletter List at http://eepurl.com/gLgPj.
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By Stephanie Laurens
The Cynster Novels
Devil’s Bride
A Rake’s Vow
Scandal’s Bride
A Rogue’s Proposal
A Secret Love
All About Love
All About Passion
The Promise in a Kiss
On a Wild Night
On a Wicked Dawn
The Perfect Lover
The Ideal Bride
The Truth About Love
What Price Love?
The Taste of Innocence
Temptation and Surrender
The Cynster Sisters Trilogy
Viscount Breckenridge to the Rescue
In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster
The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae
The Cynster Sisters Duo
And Then She Fell
The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh
The Bastion Club Novels
Captain Jack’s Woman (prequel)
The Lady Chosen
A Gentleman’s Honor
A Lady of His Own
A Fine Passion
To Distraction
Beyond Seduction
The Edge of Desire
Mastered By Love
The Black Cobra Quartet
br /> The Untamed Bride
The Elusive Bride
The Brazen Bride
The Reckless Bride
Other Novels
The Lady Risks All
The Casebook of Barnaby Adair
Where the Heart Leads
The Masterful Mr. Montague
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Loving Rose copyright © 2014 by Savdek Management Proprietary Ltd.
THE MASTERFUL MR. MONTAGUE. Copyright © 2014 by Savdek Management Proprietary Ltd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition MAY 2014 ISBN: 9780062066299
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062068668
FIRST EDITION
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Stephanie Laurens, The Masterful Mr. Montague
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