“So, they are eager to roll up their sleeves and work for you? I am surprised. Most would prefer to be in London indulging in all the excesses it has to offer.”
“Well, Andrew, who is the eldest among them and now goes by my former title of Lord Aubrey, fancies himself quite the ladies’ man. Then there’s the middle brother, Nathan, and the youngest, Sebastian, who are more rakes in training than actually successful in the art of seduction. But they are clever fellows and hard workers. They want the responsibility. We Aubreys are not used to being idle.”
“Hmm,” she said, somewhat cryptically.
He leaned against the bed’s footboard and folded his arms across his chest. “What about your family? Any brothers and sisters?”
She nodded. “One brother.”
She seemed reluctant to talk about him, so naturally Trajan decided to probe further. “Older or younger?”
“A few years older.”
“Does this older brother have a name?”
She sighed. “Yes…Matthew Isaac Newton.”
“Isaac? I ought to have made the connection sooner. Any relation totheIsaac Newton?”
“The renowned mathematician, scientist, and astronomer acknowledged to be one of the greatest minds in all of England?” She nodded. “Yes, we are very distantly related. But the name is all he and my sibling share. My brother is… Well, never mind.”
What was she going to say? That her brother was no genius? A disappointment? Perhaps trouble? Was this dangerous Frampton assignment that she stubbornly refused to give up in any way connected to him?
He tucked that question in the back of his mind for now. This was one among many he planned to ask her after supper, but not before her aunt retired to her bedchamber and they could speak without interruption. “I had better wash up myself,” he said, leaving her to instruct the maids on where to place her toiletries and other personal items.
He noticed she had only a tiny jewelry box, no doubt holding a pearl necklace and matching earrings, which it seemed every lady of good breeding had to have. Even last year at the Bromleigh party, he had never seen Florence wear anything other than a single strand of pearls or a simple gold locket, or another discreet adornment. She was not one for glittering diamonds or other precious gemstones. He supposed they would not have suited her.
Florence was not ostentatious, always preferring more subdued articles of jewelry. A cameo brooch or necklace. Jet stone from Whitby or amber from the North Sea coast. Tiny gold hoop earrings or pearl ones for fancier occasions.
She was also quite natural looking, if a young lady could be described that way. She blended in with these countryside surroundings. Even her eyes were a reflection of nature. They were a lovely, darkgreen and flecked with amber. Her hair was a deep, rich brown with some mahogany highlights when the sun shone down upon her head. Even her gowns tended toward the colors of nature, pine-forest greens and earthen browns. He could not imagine her in a frivolous, sunny yellow or pale lavender, although she probably would look beautiful in those colors, too.
Entering his bedchamber, he hastily poured some water into the basin on his bureau and washed up. He could have insisted they all change into appropriate evening clothes, but the hour was already late, they were all hungry, and he did not think Florence’s aunt was going to stay awake much beyond the ritual ofaprès-dinner port.
As it turned out, he was right.
Hermia struggled to keep her eyes open once they finished their simple meal of trout, potatoes, and cucumber salad. For dessert, they were served apricot tarts and finished with a lemon syllabub to clear the palate.
They had port on the terrace while watching the sunset over the water. The sky was a mix of fiery colors tonight, streaks of reds and yellows slashing across the darkening celestial expanse.
Hermia excused herself shortly afterward. “You are betrothed now, Florence. To a good man, indeed. I do not think you need me to watch over you. But loosen up, my dear. Enjoy this handsome fellow’s kisses.”
“I have no intention of misbehaving,” Florence insisted.
Hermia shrugged. “Sweet girl, you are only young once. Do not waste this opportunity.”
Florence’s gaze darted toward him, her eyes wide and her expression bordering on panicked. “I am not that young.”
“Yes, almost seven and twenty,” her aunt said with amusement. “Obviously quite ancient. You shall be considered as old as the fossils found in the Lyme Regis caves by next year’s birthday.”
“Do I detect sarcasm, Aunt Hermia?” Florence muttered with achuckle, taking her aunt’s comment in good nature.
They exchanged kisses on the cheek, and then Hermia walked out.
Trajan offered to escort her to her bedchamber, for his home was large and this was her first night here. But Hermia insisted it was not necessary, so he did not press her on the matter. One of his servants would guide her if she lost her way.
Besides, he was eager to have his talk with Florence.
“We’ll be more private in my library. I can have Timmons bring in coffee or tea for us, or cocoa.”
