“Just like going to school,” Adelina interjected with a glower, making Miss Jones offer a rather forced sounding laugh.
“I suppose it would be very similar,” Miss Jones replied lightly as she allowed her gaze to meet his briefly once again. “And just like you, they cannot wait to get free. And also just like you, the kind Duke Rathnelly is going to free them just as quickly as he can manage.”
Gilbert wasn’t sure what he had read in her eyes when they had briefly held, but he couldn’t help feeling his chest swell with pride when she applied the term kind toward him. He wouldn’t have actually used such a word for himself. Too many things had happened over the last dozen or so years for such a word. But if she wished to cultivate such a picture for his daughter, he would certainly not discourage it.
“And so you see, Adelina, there is no reason for you to be concerned for the sheep. They were not hurt in the giving of their wool.”
Both females turned and looked at him expectantly after those words, as though waiting for him to add more. Gilbert was nonplussed. Adelina helped him out unexpectedly.
“Miss Jones wouldn’t take me to the inn for tea,” she remarked, seemingly apropos of nothing, making Miss Jones stifle a snort and turn away to hide her amusement just as Gilbert responded in exactly the way his daughter expected.
“I’m surprised she would be so churlish,” Gil said with a grin. “Shall I rectify the matter immediately?”
“I would be so grateful, Father,” his daughter answered with a cherubic grin at both of the adults.
Gil turned to Miss Jones. “It’s truly an unobjectionable inn, Miss Jones. There’s no reason you need to avoid it. We shall request a private parlour and be treated quite well.”
The pink colouring her cheeks was becoming but even Gil knew it signalled a level of distress that had nothing to do with whether or not the local inn was an acceptable location for his daughter. It finally dawned on him that she might not have any funds.
“You will, of course, be my guests,” he added, feeling heat fill his own cheeks at the awkward situation. “But if you truly have no wish to visit the inn, you could leave Adelina with me and return home on your own, Miss Jones.”
The young woman’s face was in flames, and Gil hoped it wouldn’t actually blister from the fierce heat that was flooding it. He couldn’t fathom what might be going through her mind at the moment but once again, surprisingly, Adelina saved the moment.
“Oh no, Jonesy, if Father is going to treat us, you truly must come. I want you to see what I was talking about when I told you they had the very best pies around. But you mustn’t tell Cook I said so or she might not make me biscuits ever again.”
The awkward moment was broken as Miss Jones laughed and nodded, taking up her reins and turning her horse back toward the village.
“I will reserve judgment until after I’ve tasted it, though, Adelina, as I’ve had some pretty spectacular pies in my day.”
“What has been your favourite thus far, Jonesy?” Adelina, unaware of the undercurrents flowing between the adults, was focused entirely on the delight before her.
Miss Jones chose to ignore the currents, too, not even glancing at Rathnelly once they commenced their ride back to the inn. “Bumbleberry is my favourite,” he heard her confide to Adelina before she pulled further away.
Gilbert followed behind, wondering how he could address his many questions about their visit to the village. He knew he could easily get Adelina to tell him anything he wanted to know, but he also was well aware that the child was old enough and bright enough to be able to figure out that he was fishing for information if he weren’t very careful. And he didn’t want his daughter wondering about his interest. He had enough to worry about with her curious companion. He resolved to wait and see if Adelina would tell him all he needed to know without prompting.
The inn was as unexceptional as he had promised. He was comfortable seeing it, even through Miss Jones’ watchful gaze. Gil watched as the young woman looked around carefully, as though she had never been anywhere quite like it. He wondered briefly about her history and wanted to ask her any number of questions but didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Besides the fact that he was supposed to be stemming his unfortunate fascination with the young woman, not stoking its fires.
He sat back and watched as Adelina played hostess and ordered for the three of them. Miss Jones praised her quietly. Gil couldn’t help admiring her gentle way with his daughter.
“Just you wait, Jonesy. It will be just as I promised you when I wanted to come earlier. The pie here will wipe out all unpleasantness from your mind, and you won’t even remember hearing those poor sheep’s mourning.”
Miss Jones laughed. “I promise you, they were not mourning.”
Adelina shrugged and grinned. “Sounded like mourning to me.”
“Well, then you’ve never heard mourning.” Miss Jones suddenly sobered and looked away.
Gilbert watched, feeling hopeless, as the young woman quietly pulled herself together while Adelina prattled on about some nonsense. Gil wanted to pay attention to his daughter, in case she revealed some of the information he was seeking, but couldn’t quite tear himself away from watching Felicity.
He was so conflicted in his thoughts about the lovely young woman. He pondered once more how she put him in mind of someone he’d once met. It was silly because she looked almost nothing like the other woman. He had spent very little time with the other young woman, so it was strange that she had stuck so forcefully in his mind. But this young woman reminded him of her from time to time. Certain gestures or the way she tilted her head when issuing a challenge. Perhaps it was just that he had instantly found each so appealing while he didn’t want to feel drawn to any proper young woman.
When the arrival of their treats stemmed the flow of Adelina’s prattle, Gil finally engaged Miss Jones in conversation.
“Your name is an interesting dichotomy,” he commented, prompting a sudden laugh from her.
“You’d expect something more mundane like Anne or Mary with a surname like Jones, wouldn’t you?” she asked, not seeming in the least put out by his somewhat rude remark. “My father fancies himself a Latin scholar. Felicity isn’t such a bad name when you consider what it could have been,” she said with a smile that almost sidetracked Gilbert from his thoughts.
“I’ve only met one other woman named Felicity, and she has much the same history to her name,” he remarked, watching her closely.