An Improper Arrangement. Кейси Майклс

      Thea nodded. “Clarice does little by half measures. It didn’t stop snowing for three days and nights. There were drifts nearly to the rooftops, and where there weren’t, the snow rose up above my knees. Since then, one of Clarice’s main sources of pocket money is charging the local farmers and such to tell them when it’s safe to sow their crops and when it’s necessary to harvest them in order to beat the rain, you understand. And, of course, no mama plans a wedding before consulting with her, just to be assured her daughter will be one of those lucky brides the sun shines on all day. For that service she charges double, and everyone willingly pays.”

      “Not only gifted but resourceful, this maid of yours,” Gabe commented, beginning to think he’d like to meet the woman. “Didn’t you also tell me she has ways of finding out information? Is it possible you brought a witch with you to England, Miss Neville?”

      “Clarice—a witch? You mean one of those hideous crones we see drawings of in children’s books? Old hags dressed all in black, with noses like beaks, often with a large wart at its tip?” Thea laughed. “Oh, and with a horrible cackle?”

      “I’m to be sadly disappointed, I take it.”

      “Oh, yes, very much so.” This time her answer was followed by a near giggle.

      She had a wonderful laugh, unaffected, full of joy. He would have to remember to make her laugh often.

      He could stand there all morning, just enjoying her company, except that something told him sooner or later—probably sooner—he’d say or do something that would set up her back or lead her to asking one of her pointed questions for which he had no solid answers, and then he’d wish himself back upstairs in his bed, a watchful Horton guarding the door with his blunderbuss at the ready.

      “If you’ll just give me a moment to check on Caspar, I believe I hear the horses being brought up outside.”

      “I’ve already checked on him. He was still sleeping, his head rather tucked up beneath one of his wings.”

      “He had a busy night.” Gabriel glanced toward the corridor lined with two rows of decorative cages, a pair of footmen busily scooping out seed into clever feeding trays hinged to each one. Other birds were already awake and eager to eat. After which, as Mother Nature had programmed, they’d— “Shall we go? We don’t want to be late for luncheon.”

      The curricle was again waiting outside, but this time Gabriel, once Thea was seated, said, “Jimmy, congratulations, you lucky devil. You have the morning off.”

      “Yes, sir, Mr. Sinclair!”

      “That was very nice of you,” Thea said as the tiger stepped back and Gabriel set the bays off down the drive. “Wasn’t it?”

      Gabriel laughed. “Clearly we two are building a relationship based on mistrust. You’re perfectly safe with me this morning. It’s only after dark my baser instincts come to the fore.”