Joshua wagged his head up and down. “Everyone knew that. Worked on it constantly, he did.”
Jackson nodded, tapped two fingers on the desktop in a slow rhythm. “You see, the problem is that we cannot locate the book. It has been six years, of course, but we’d hoped it would be snug in a desk drawer somewhere. I know it is not likely, but I am hopeful that you or someone else, may have information about the manuscript that will help us find it.”
Joshua’s hand, rising to his mouth, biscuit in tow for another bite, faltered, lowered as his gaze went deep and distant. “Hm. I remember he had a… portfolio sort of thing. Leather. Brown. Just for carrying his pages.”
Gwendolyn jotted it down—brown leather portfolio. An excellent discovery, that. She’d been looking for pages, paper and ink. But now she knew better.
“Anything else you can remember?” Jackson asked.
The footman shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Not at all, Joshua. You’ve given us more than we had before. Thank you. Can you send in the next person?”
Joshua stood to leave, a second biscuit in hand, a smile on his face.
“Oh, and…” Jackson stretched a hand toward the other man.
“Yes, sir?”
“Excellent work here during my long absences. You and the others run the manor with more efficiency than I could ever achieve.”
Joshua grew taller, raised himself up to his full height, and snapped his jacket straight. “Thank you, sir. But we’ll be right glad to have you back in a more permanent capacity.”
Jackson’s grin faltered, and he opened his mouth then closed it. He looked down at the desk for a breath then finally faced the footman once more. “Quite.” He leaned back in his chair, a movement that seemed casual and friendly, but which also signaled the footman’s dismissal.
Joshua bowed and strode from the room.
Gwendolyn added a few more ideas to her notes, questions to ask others. Then she asked without looking up, “Why did Joshua’s comment bother you?” She shouldn’t pry because she wouldn’t want him to. But he was so rarely ruffled. This place seemed to make him uncertain, and she wanted to know and understand flustered Jackson as well as she understood the confident Mr. Cavendish.
Jackson resituated to face her but did not meet her gaze. “I was flirting with you earlier. About my dreams. The library.”
“I’m aware.”
“Apologies. I told you I would not.”
She shrugged, smiled, unable to stop it. “You cannot help yourself.”
“Minx. But you’re correct. I find it hard to stop. I’ll try harder.”
She wished he wouldn’t. Rogue thought. She smooshed it.
“I think I flirted to ease the uneasiness in me. I’ve never dreamed of home so much as I did last night. Restless dreams. And not restless to be gone, but to return.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And Joshua’s wish for me to make my residence more permanent startled me after all that dreaming. Because since I woke up this morning, I’ve not been able to shake the notion that it might be… nice to stay still for a while.”
She looked at her hands, the pen idle in them. She’d dreamed similar dreams but would not let herself explore them in the waking hours. Her new work and new life with Marianne would be home enough. Solitude and friendship and obscurity—good soil to settle her own weary roots in.
He sighed. “Disconcerting, all of it. An anomaly, I’m sure. I’ll feel more myself once we’re bound for the Continent again.”
She gave him a smile, reassurance, but it settled shaky on her lips. “Then you will not want the gift I’ve made for you.”
His eyebrows rose high. “A gift? My, Gweny, but you do love sending mixed messages. ‘Stay away, Jackson. Here’s a gift, Jackson.’”
“It is a gift of thanks foryourgifts, Mr. Cavendish,” she snapped. “And I shan’t give it to you now.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Please.”
