Page 22 of Impetuous

“Why don’t you just move over a few trunks and start investigating further back in time?” Neville suggested.

“Mmm. We tried that. Unfortunately, they are not in perfect order. Sometimes you will find a box from a much earlier era in with the others—and sometimes items are even within the same trunk or box.”

“Besides,” Olivia added, coming up to join them, her eyes glinting with amusement, “it would not suit Cassandra’s sense of order.”

Cassandra lifted her chin and gave her a lofty look. “I merely try to bring some degree of order to all this chaos. If I left it up to you, in two days the contents of the trunks would be scattered all over the attic floor.”

“Yes, but we would have found the letters.”

“If you hadn’t overlooked them among the rubble.”

Crispin, long used to Cassandra’s and Olivia’s running argument over Cassandra’s tidiness and Olivia’s lack of it, ignored his sisters and spoke to Sir Philip. “I say, sir, are you planning to help us look for the Spanish dowry now?”

Neville looked at the young boy’s lit-up eyes and found that he could not bring himself to deflate his hopes. “Yes, if we are able to find the letters.”

“Capital!” Crispin beamed. “I was hoping that you would turn out to be a right ’un, sir, even if Cassandra said you were not.”

Philip looked at Cassandra, his eyes lit sardonically. “Is that what she said about me?”

“Crispin!” Olivia admonished, frowning at him. “Of course she didn’t say that.”

“She said you lacked imagination,” revealed Hart, who was blessed with an infuriatingly accurate memory. “But you couldn’t help it, ’cause you were a Neville.”

“Miss Verrere, you wound me.” Laughter shimmered in Philip’s voice.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Don’t be nonsensical. I told you that to your face, if you will remember.” She bent a stern gaze on her younger brothers. “However, I think we’ve had about enough out of you two on the subject. It isn’t always polite to quote one’s elders.”

“Especially if they’ve been maligning others,” Crispin added, his eyes dancing.

“Oh, you!” Cassandra reached out to playfully swat at her brother, but he hastily jumped back out of her reach.

She returned the stack of letters to the pile of discards, saying, “Now, I suggest that you three get back to work—unless, of course, you prefer to join Joanna downstairs.”

Hart made a choking noise at this suggestion, and the three children drifted back to their respective areas. Cassandra and Philip returned to their work, as well, and for the next two hours they worked steadily through the paraphernalia in the attic. They were interrupted twice by Joanna’s groom, coming up to relay Joanna’s desire to leave, but they did not stop until the light slanting in through the small attic windows became too difficult to see by.

Then they rose and went down the narrow attic stairs, brushing—to little avail—at the dust that had settled on them. They found Joanna in the kitchen, where she sat at the huge, scarred oak table, the only piece of furniture in the house left unshrouded. She was drumming her fingers on the table impatiently, her face a study in discontent, and she jumped up when she saw them, her brows rushing together.

“There you are at last!” she snapped at her cousin. “Really, Cassandra, you have no consideration for anyone but yourself.”

“I was not keeping you here,” Cassandra stated reasonably. “You could have gone home any time you wished.”

Joanna’s eyes narrowed, and Cassandra thought that she was about to let fly with one of her temper tantrums, but at that point Joanna apparently realized the unattractiveness of her features in that expression and, with obvious effort, she smoothed her face out and forced a small approximation of a smile. “It would have been rude to have left our guest here.” She directed a look of great sympathy in Sir Philip’s direction. “I am so sorry that you have been subjected to such an afternoon, Sir Philip.”

“Think nothing of it. I had a most…diverting time.”

“You are too kind, Sir Philip.” Joanna went to him, reaching out to tuck her hand companionably into his arm, but stopped, hand in midair, as she looked at the the state of his coat.

“Pray, Miss Moulton, you must not get too near me. I am afraid that I am something of a mess.” Neville sketched a bow in her direction and started toward the door, taking Cassandra’s arm.

Outside, the groom hurried toward them, leading Joanna’s and Sir Philip’s horses. Joanna mounted with the groom’s help, but Sir Philip said cheerfully that he would walk and lead his horse, since the Verrere party were all on foot. Grinding her teeth, Joanna watched as Neville strolled along chatting with Cassandra and her sister, leading his bay gelding. Joanna, who had planned to cut Sir Philip from the group by riding with him while the others walked, instead found herself isolated by being the only one on horseback. Even though Cassandra and Neville politely addressed a few remarks to her, she still could not join in, for the two of them were discussing some boring book that Joanna had never heard of, let alone read. She would have been thoroughly disgruntled had she not been able to comfort herself with the reminder that gentlemen did not like ladies who were intellectual.

When they reached the Moulton house, they “happened” to meet Aunt Ardis, emerging from the door. She started toward them, smiling hugely, her hands extended toward Sir Philip, then stopped in some dismay as she saw his appearance.

“My goodness! Well, uh, won’t you come in?” she continued gamely, trying not to think of the state of her silk damask chairs in the drawing room if Sir Philip sat upon one of them.

“No, no,” Sir Philip said hastily. “I must return to the inn and change. I am not fit for company, I’m afraid.”

“Then you will not be staying with us?” Aunt Ardis’s face fell. “I thought you would be honoring us with a visit. Do not tell me you have come so far out of your way for only a day.”