Chapter Five

The Good Daughter

Jaclyn found herself immersed in Halifax’s cerulean gaze, a prominent feature on his boyish, handsome face. Wavy blond locks and an audacious smile complemented it all. Had a Greek God sauntered into the room? Everything about the man reflected the splendor of dress and demeanor. At the time of introduction in front of the modiste’s shop, Jaclyn was too excited to notice. In the confines of the drawing room, he strutted like a peacock. In comparison, Wolferton had fine looks with deep blue eyes and a superior, if somewhat indifferent attitude.

She placed her cards on the table with a triumphant look. “I’m still a novice at this game, Camille, but I believe I’ve won.”

“Humph, Jaclyn, I question how much of a beginner you are since you’ve won the last three times.” She scooped up the cards, placed them into a silver box, and turned to Halifax. “You have a prosperous air about you. Where have you been the last few months? We’ve missed you.”

“My dear Lady Camille, to know you did warms my heart.”

“You found a beating one along the way? But I'm harsh on you. Do sit and join us for tea. You, too, brother. It is a bergamot blend and tastes delicious.”

Jaclyn rolled the cart toward her, conscious of Halifax’s stare, then straightened and returned a stingy smile. “Lord Halifax, are you ill?”

He accepted the cup and saucer given to him by Camille. “No, in fact, I’ve never been better, but I confess I cannot help but think, Miss Moreux, you remind me of someone I used to know. I can’t recollect who at the moment.” He tilted his head in her direction.

She turned her back, strode to the wall, and looked out the garden window at a bluebird on a branch warbling to the others. Her mind wandered to another time when she was a little girl in the country with her father. The birds there were of a different variety, but their melodious songs made her happy. Of course, she held on to his hand, always afraid he would leave for another battle.

No, she mustn’t be sad and give in to melancholia. She sat on the settee.

“Miss Moreux, I’m told you’ve never been to England. How do you find our country?” Halifax held the cup with an uplifted pinky finger.

“Wet. But there’s warmth in this house that speaks to my soul. I’m most fortunate.” It was such a perfunctory answer. She retrieved her embroidery loop and punctured the linen with needle and thread, a process done many times with equal force. Jaclyn must remember she was a guest in a strange house in a strange country with even stranger men.

Halifax turned to Wolferton. “Perhaps we could spend tomorrow morning in a visit to the museum? Afterward, a light fare at Gunter’s Tea House might be enjoyable. Miss Moreux might like to see some of our national treasures. Ladies, allow me to accompany you.” His imperious gaze to his host resulted in rolled eyes and a nod by the duke.

The men arose, and Halifax went to Jaclyn. “I look forward to tomorrow with great expectations.”

The smile he beamed seemed false. For a pound note, she might pummel him. Goodness, where were her manners? She’d been taught better, but…

Jaclyn didn’t think before she answered, “Oh, will there be portraits of self-indulgent Greek gods for us to view?” Oops, somehow, she knew her cheeks were on fire. The man’s face registered surprise.

“If there are Greek gods, I would hope they’d be clothed. I don’t believe Wolferton would approve of nudity to one so young and uninformed.” He appeared to pause for emphasis. “The Greeks and Italians valued the innate quality of the naked torso.”

“You forgot the French and the Turks, also the Renaissance classical painters. They too valued such naked museum pieces.” Then she realized a lack in her deportment in her taunted banter with Halifax, and tilted her head, bestowed a grin, and held her guardian’s gaze a moment too long. “Until tomorrow, if you can spare the time from your other female social responsibilities, my Lord.”

Her inference was crystal clear about his lady, Marguerite. I’m no fool, and I recognize flattery from you is a canard. She turned her back and walked out of the room. Camille followed.

The duke remained with his hands behind his back. “You are not Romeo.”

“Your ward is not Juliet, but I would wager there’s quite a bit of fire in that woman.”

Wolferton stepped forward. “I caution you to remember who she is—my ward, and above reproach.”

He rang the bell pull. “Halbert, show Halifax out before I lose my temper.”