under their indolence,’ he observed sardonically, as if he had no idea why she was frowning down at her faded morning gown as if she had never seen it before.
If he dared to mock her preoccupation with his suggestion she was too thin she would turn on her heel and walk away, Mrs Burgess or no Mrs Burgess. Anyway, the Burgesses were Sir Adam’s tenants, and not Henry’s, so why she was here in the first place was beyond her. Tradition, the Dowager had claimed, since Burgess’s mother had been head housemaid up at the Hall, and at Windham tradition was everything.
‘It would do them both good to be more active,’ he went on, either oblivious to her frown or indifferent to it. ‘Then you could find a better use for your time.’
‘I’m happy as I am,’ she told him, dangerous ground shifting under her feet as a possible alternative presented itself.
‘No, you’re not unhappy,’ he insisted. ‘Which is a vastly different state from being truly happy. You spend your life waiting for the party to start.’
‘I have no liking for parties,’ she told him crossly.
Was he about to make her a very improper suggestion that she should spend lots of time lying about on the furniture with him, somewhere louche and forbidden? Or an honourable offer of marriage? Not to be thought of, she decided, impatient with herself for even momentarily lingering on the image of herself as a sinful houri, much too available for a gentleman’s pleasure, or an active and much appreciated wife. According to George she’d had no talent for either position and, considering how mistaken she had been about their marriage, she would be twenty times a fool to contemplate another—even if Sir Adam were ever so willing to put his head in the parson’s mousetrap, which she very much doubted from the slightly feral gleam in his eyes just at the moment.
‘Only because you lack the nerve to enjoy them,’ he told her inexcusably. ‘I’ve watched you sitting with the chaperones nobody else has the time or inclination to bother with, and playing the piano for the so-called “young people” to dance to. What happened to the eager young girl you used to be? The one I recall whispering mischief with my sister when you were schoolgirls together, and refusing to be awed by any threat or stratagem I could think up to keep you in line before you landed yourself and Rachel in Newgate? You do your best to fade into the furniture, and people have the devil of a job recalling if you were even at the few social engagements you attend. When you made your debuts my sister used to write about your mutual misdeeds so joyfully that I could tell you were doing her a great deal of good. Where did the headlong miss who danced every dance on her card and still found the energy to drive herself about the town in her own curricle and pair the next day and set the tabbies by the ears get off to, my lady?’
‘None of your business,’ she told him shortly, and glared at him as she wrestled for possession of her hand in a most unladylike fashion, winning at last only because she knew he would never knowingly hurt her.
‘Rachel’s letters used to come alive with the misdeeds the two of you perpetrated,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘Despite her terrible grief when poor Tom Hollard died, I thought such a lively neighbour would cheer her in time. Instead my sister is intent on becoming an antidote, and if the pair of you went to town for the season, I dare say you’d only attend Blue Stocking soirees and church.’
‘That we shouldn’t. We’d dance ’til dawn to prove you wrong, Sir Adam, even if we wore our poor feet raw,’ she snapped. ‘You should thank your stars we’re so conventional nowadays.’
‘Never!’ he vowed, and there was no mistaking the resolution in his steadfast gaze now, even if it did seem very different from the one she’d thought. ‘You might be happy to watch Rachel dwindle into a reclusive old maid who’ll soon start breeding lapdogs, but I’m not. I want the eager young woman Rachel was before Tom died back, and you’re going to help me.’
‘Even though you just pointed out how staid I am?’ she asked coldly.
‘You think this good enough for my sister? This not unhappy state you have fallen into as if you were both four and sixty instead of four and twenty? Well, I think it only half a life. Yes, Rachel suffered a terrible tragedy, and you endured an unhappy marriage, but life didn’t stop because of it.’
‘My marriage is none of your business,’ she informed him very stiffly, as she did her best to retrieve her hand once more from the firm, warm clasp he had taken it in while she was preoccupied with his incendiary words.
He obviously despised her for losing the reckless spirit she had faced life with once upon a time. Just as well she didn’t need his approval nor want it. No longer being the thoughtless creature he had contrarily admired, she checked her temper, unclenched her teeth and forced herself to consider his words. Was this life enough? Not for her—she had taken her gamble on life and lost—but for Rachel?
‘You know Rachel loved Lieutenant Hollard very deeply,’ she said carefully, despising herself for the hesitant words issuing from her own lips.
‘You mean to warn me that my sister’s feelings run deep, my lady?’ he asked more gently.
She marvelled that he could go so quickly from stern commander to gentleman, whose reassuring presence invited confidence. And why was it that when he called her ‘my lady’ like that it suddenly seemed more like a promise than a rather archaic form of address? For a moment it seemed the most natural thing in the world to unburden herself, but then she decided it was a useful trick developed after years commanding troops.
‘Rachel may have put a brave face on her grief in her letters to you, but she was devastated when Lieutenant Hollard was killed.’
‘I read between the lines. But she was nineteen when Tom Hollard went down with his ship, and he would not have wanted her to wear the willow.’
‘Rachel could never cast his memory aside,’ Serena said with a frown. Yet at least Rachel had the lodestone of true love to measure her feelings against. So, yes, perhaps she could be happy with another man.
‘Tom wouldn’t want this state of not quite content for her,’ he said, with a flash of something in his golden-brown eyes that she couldn’t read. ‘It’s time my sister had another chance, Lady Summerton. Are you friend enough to help her take it?’
‘She’ll have my unflagging support once I’m convinced it’s for the best,’ she said, ‘but Rachel didn’t enjoy her debut very much.’
‘No, and she’s a stubborn minx,’ Sir Adam agreed philosophically. ‘But although she can’t be pushed she can be led—if one goes about it the right way.’
‘Which is?’ she asked, offended by the idea of his manipulating her friend, even with the best of intentions.
‘You sound every inch a countess when you put on that cut-glass voice and look down your inadequate nose at me, my dear.’
‘I’m not your dear, and it’s a perfectly good nose,’ she exclaimed, then frowned at him for provoking such childishness.
‘It is a perfect little nose—just not very well suited to looking down,’ he replied outrageously.
Serena wondered how Rachel had resisted the urge to murder him when they were in their nursery, for he must have been the most exasperating of brothers then, however considerate he was now. ‘My nose is irrelevant, Sir Adam, and if you’re so worried, why don’t you do something about it?’
‘What? Your nose? I like it very well as it is,’ he replied with an infuriating grin.
‘How flattering. But unfortunately your opinion of myself and my features is a matter of indifference to me. Confine yourself to your sister’s affairs,’ she informed him with frigid dignity.
‘She doesn’t have any,’ he informed her unrepentantly.
‘Something most brothers would be profoundly grateful for.’
‘I knew you hadn’t really become missish in your old age, Lady Summerton,’ he said, with