Free Surrender Becomes Her by Shirlee Busbee Page B

and round, friendly features as a member of Keating’s numerous brood. The other boy was blond-haired, taller, and slimmer, and though his clothes were in as deplorable a state as the other boy’s, the material and workmanship bespoke wealth. Whitley’s gaze sharpened as he studied the newcomer. The resemblance to Hugh Manning was striking. So this was Hugh’s son. How very, very providential.
    Having served his newest patrons, wiping a glass with a small white towel as he stood next to the bar, Keating asked,“And what have you two young hellions been up to today? If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it appears you’ve been wrestling in the mud.” He bent a teasing look on the taller boy. “I’ll wager that when Lord Manning and your mother agreed to let you miss term at Eton after you broke your leg at Christmas, they didn’t expect you to spend the time cavorting with this scamp. What have you been doing to end up in such a state?”
    Both boys burst out laughing and the brown-haired one said, “Farmer Foster’s sow farrowed last night, Pa, and half the piglets ended up in the pen next door. He promised us a penny each if we’d catch them and throw them back where they belong. Coo! It was a dirty job. Squealing piglets everywhere and slippery as the devil in the mud and that old sow…We were half afraid she break through the walls of her pen and eat us up.”
    Keating’s nose twitched. “It smells as if you have brought home half of Foster’s farm with you.” Glancing at the taller boy, he said, “And you, Master Edmund, while I expect Sam to come home looking like a ruffian, I’ll wager your mother will not be pleased when she catches sight of you.”
    Edmund grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. “Mother says that boys are meant to be dirty and that when I grow up I will have a long time in which to be a proper gentleman. All she asks is that I don’t come to the table covered in muck or keep lizards in my room.”
    Whitley cleared his throat and asked, “Did I hear the name Manning? Would that be any relation to Mrs. Hugh Manning?”
    Edmund looked at him and said politely, “Yes, sir. Mrs. Manning is my mother.”
    Whitley smiled charmingly. “What a coincidence! I visited with your mother only this morning. We are old friends; we knew each other in India.”
    Edmund’s very blue eyes lit up. “You knew Mother in India?” Eagerly, he added, “Did you know my father?”
    “Why, yes, I did,” Whitley replied easily. “Your father andI were great friends. I knew him even before he married your mother.”
    “By Jove!” Edmund exclaimed, his face flushed with excitement. “That’s wonderful! Has Mother invited you to stay at Manning Court? I know that Grandfather will be most pleased to meet a friend of my father’s from India.” Shyly, he added, “I hope you do not think me too forward, but my father died so long ago and I know very little of him. Mother and Grandfather have told me all they can about him, but Mother doesn’t like to talk about India, I think it is too painful for her and reminds her of his death. I would be most gratified to learn more about my father from someone who knew him then.”
    Whitley was conscious that Keating was watching him with a considering eye. Previously Whitley had given no hint that he had known Isabel—had stated, in fact, that he was a stranger to the area—and he was now worried that his claiming of a prior relationship with Mrs. Manning might arouse suspicion. Behind his jovial manner, Keating was a knowing one and Whitley doubted that much went on in the neighborhood that the innkeeper, or his wife, wasn’t privy to.
    “Quite a coincidence,” Keating said slowly, his mild blue eyes fixed on Whitley’s face, “you being friends with Mrs. Manning.”
    Whitley looked innocent. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I met her by accident this morning. I pulled my horse aside to allow a lady to pass on the pathway I was riding