Page 69 of The Favourite

“Is that what you were imagining?” He gave a low laugh.

Why was he always so entertained every time she lost her temper? Honestly, she could stamp her foot by this point, she felt so thwarted. “What else?”

“Taking it back from me,” he suggested. “You could just slip your fingers inside the placket …” Jane’s eyes widened. “The placket on my tunic, of course,” he clarified at Jane’s panicked look.

Refusing to acknowledge this indirect reference to the placket on his breeches, Jane directed her gaze instead to the lacings at his throat. She shook her head. “You—you wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised at some of the things I would permit you, Jane.” His voice was warm again and … husky.

He was so confusing. She took a steadying breath and sat back down. “Well, now at least I know you did not make good on your threat to investigate my childhood. Or else you would surely know that none of my aunts were ever married.”

He smirked. “Oh, your five maiden aunts, you mean?” he asked. “The ones that all reside with your mother at Mertford Manor?” He tipped his head to one side.

“You—you did make enquiries?” she asked, aghast.

“Of course. I was merely pretending ignorance. I know all about it.”

“All about it?” Jane spluttered.

“Oh yes. I had accounts from several local characters.” His eyes rolled upwards as though in an effort to recall. “A disgruntled servant had plenty to say about your Aunt Gregoria, if memory serves. And there were several accounts of much wrangling over the years concerning a contentious footpath.”

“With Squire Blewitt,” Jane agreed hollowly. “How is it that—?”

“I have my sources. Did you know that your Aunt Maud is a secret drinker?” he asked casually, “and that your Aunt Thomasina is in fact married. She ran off with an under-groom of her father’s when she was but seventeen years old?”

Jane’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“It’s quite true. He abandoned her mid-elopement, so she simply returned home and told no one.”

“If she told no one,” Jane said slowly, “then how can you have discovered it?”

“It is very rare that an indiscretion leaves no trace at all,” he replied with a shrug. “As a matter of fact, your aunt has been blackmailed about it for years by her old maid.”

Jane sat back in her seat, quite flabbergasted. Maybe that was why her aunt was always in need of funds?

“But that was not what interested me the most,” he admitted, leaning forward onto the table.

Jane’s lips trembled to ask what did, but she managed to stop herself. His eyes glinted as though he guessed her struggle. “I fail to believe you found anything more scandalous than a secret elopement,” she said instead.

“It was the fascinating story of a young girl not permitted to sit with her elders at table until she issued an apology to her uncle,” he said. Jane pressed her lips together when his eyes remained steady and questioning on her. “Did she apologize eventually?” he asked. “My informant thought not, but perhaps he was mistaken in this?”

Jane cast him a skeptical look. “Such a trivial story captured your interest? For my part, I am still reeling about my aunt’s clandestine marriage.”

“I prefer this story,” he said. “To refuse to issue an apology, at such a tender age, speaks of great resolve.”

“It spoke of great stubbornness according to my mother. And besides, perhaps the young girl did not deem it such a punishment to take her supper alone. Not when there was such company at table.”

He did not smile at this as she thought he would. “And did she? Ever apologize, I mean,” he asked.

She paused, letting her eyes drop to the discarded letters on the table. Jane shook her head. “She never did,” she admitted quietly, some color stealing into her cheeks at her confession. “And fortunately, six months later, she moved away from Mertford forever.”

“Six months?” he repeated quietly. “So long, Jane, to remain steadfast. To a child of thirteen, it must have seemed an eternity.”

“You see,” she said glancing up, “I really disliked my uncle Humphrey.”

He did smile at that, his hand stealing across the table to capture her own. “I think after all,” he said, turning her hand over, “that little Alisander would have liked little Jane.”

Jane caught her breath as he stroked his thumb across her palm. “I thought you said little Alisander was not a nice boy.”