“I had to deal with the farmhands after the harvest. I may not have enjoyed much sophisticated society recently, but running the estate meant I saw plenty of real life.”
“I sometimes forget how capable you are.” He went back to his sirloin and potatoes. “You’ve had to take on so much, Jane, and I admire you for doing it with such pluck and efficiency.”
Her blush deepened, which was odd. She usually only blushed when he complimented her looks. Although she looked very pretty this morning, even in that gray rag of a dress.
“Thank you. I didn’t have much choice.”
“You still did a fine job in a difficult situation. I take my hat off to you.”
She set down her cup and began to butter her roll. “I enjoyed restoring the estate to prosperity, although I needed more capital to make a big difference. Papa lost interest in Cavell Court long before he fell sick.”
“It must have been hard work, though, and not what you’d been raised to do.”
“I already knew quite a lot. Because I was the plain sister, Papa saw no harm in it, when I went to the cattle sales with him or helped the steward with the accounts.”
Garson bit back a protest at the word “plain,” even if he’d once been guilty of thinking it. He still marveled that he’d missed her potential. After all, he was accounted a man with an eye for a pretty woman. That day in Dorset, he’d been in such a blue funk about contracting a loveless marriage. He’d been too het up to see that once Jane recovered her spirits, she’d be something special. Until now, he’d always believed Morwenna was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen, but his wife, pink-cheeked and sweet as she was right now, gave his true love a run for her money.
The idea felt vaguely disloyal and made him shift uncomfortably. Not that Morwenna gave a fig for what he thought, he bitterly admitted. “I hope in time you’ll come to think of Beardsley Hall as your home.”
Jane’s shy smile raked across his heart. “Thank you.”
“When was your last visit?” He should remember. But then he’d had no idea Lord Sefton’s quiet, bookish daughter would grow up to become his bride.
“Papa brought the family up for a hunting party when I was twelve.”
“Was I away at university?”
“No, you were there, but you and your friends were far too top lofty to pay attention to annoying little girls.”
He laughed at her mocking tone. “Top lofty at eighteen? I doubt my conceit was justified.”
The twitch of her lips sparked a sudden urge to kiss her. Except if he did, he wouldn’t want to stop. He was well aware that while last night had stretched their bargain almost to breaking, he was still bound to his promise that he’d kiss her only once a day.
“At eighteen, you were considerably more on your dignity than you are now.”
He suspected it was true. “I’m sorry I was a snotty nosed little toad, Jane.”
“You were never little.” The twitch blossomed into a full smile. “Even at that age, you were a young Hercules.”
He stared at her, grappling with his wife having the temerity to call him a toad, if not in so many words. Then he burst out laughing. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“Actually you were very kind.” She touched his hand. “You always have been a kind man, Hugh.”
He caught her before she could withdraw. “So I didn’t break your tender heart?”
“Oh, you did that. You were my hero, and it was pretty clear that I was getting under your feet. But to be fair to you, I was absurdly shy and silly.”
“Never.” He raised her hand and kissed it. Her fingers fluttered in his, but she didn’t try to pull away.
“I’m still shy,” she said softly.
He took the words as a warning—or perhaps an apology. “I know, sweetheart. But never silly.”
The endearment made her gaze fall. “I can be silly.”
“So can I.” It was time to apologize for his drunken blunderings. “I’m sorry I was such a damned lout last night.”
This time, Jane’s smile conveyed secret amusement. “You weren’t so bad.”