Free The Summer of You by Kate Noble Page A

of the oddest conversations she had ever taken part in. “I came to thank you for your kindness to my brother.”
    “It was nothing, my lady. Your brother is an idiot; I’m sure it happens all the time.”
    Jane had no response for that.
    Byrne, for his part, obviously felt the awkwardness of his last comment as well, because he looked about him for a moment, hoping his eyes would fall on something that could remedy the situation, before turning abruptly to the far back of the house, to the kitchens, basket in one had, cane in the other.
    “Er . . .” Jane fought to fill the void. “What happened to the stone fish?”
    He shot a look back at her. “What stone fish?” he called out, using his cane to bang something—a tin—down from a high shelf.
    “The one that used to sit on the sideboard. And the lace runners on the table? And the shepherd figurines?” She still stayed outside the door to the house, very careful to keep nonchalance in her voice.
    Byrne frowned very slightly as he pried open the tin. “Ah. Those are gone.”
    “Why? They were willed to someone else, I suppose?” Jane asked idly. Her eyes fell on the far table and smiled slightly. “But you still have the enamel flower candlesticks.” Before he could answer, though, a hot breeze rustled through the open window of the kitchen and pushed its way through the small rooms to the door. “Is that—” Jane took a deep breath, “is that the jasmine tea?”
    “Yes,” Byrne replied, surprised. “Part of the inheritance. Aunt Lowe has a surprising collection of—”
    “Oh, I know! She collected teas. From far and away, and she would dole them out on special occasions. She used to allow me the jasmine on my birthday. No one in the county has teas like hers.”
    “Well, in that case, would you join me for a cup?” Byrne asked.
    Jane’s eyes flew to his face. “Join you?”
    “I’m trying to drink it all before it goes bad. The Darjeeling was past use, I’m afraid, but the gunpowder tea and the jasmine have survived thus far.” He shrugged, and answering her unasked question, “And yes, I can prepare a pot of tea. Come inside.” He swung the kettle out over the fire. “I promise I won’t charge you with trespassing.”
    She really shouldn’t. No matter how much time she had passed in this little house in its former life, it was now the dwelling of a gentleman. A dripping, coatless bachelor gentleman.
    But . . .
    But this was the first conversation she’d had since arriving at Merrymere that didn’t include either her issuing a death sentence for her brother or the time when she was five and chased that dog naked through the village square. It may be strange, speaking more than plainly with a half-naked and wet man, but it was also strangely comforting. Someone who didn’t know her as a child, only the person she was now.
    Oh, she should say no. She should excuse herself, thank him for assisting Jason again, and be on her way. Run into him in Reston and smile and chat politely. Hold herself aloft—encouraging his friendship would surely set tongues wagging, and the last thing she wanted was to invite speculation onto her house. No matter how much he seemed to make an effort for that friendship.
    But . . .
    But the old Jane would have done it. The Jane before the Duchess’s death and the Duke’s illness would have been happy to flirt her way into a gentleman’s front parlor. She would have laughed and smiled, and hang anyone who spoke against her. And as much as Jane now looked back and saw that version of herself as foolish, there was a part of her that wished she could be that careless and happy again.
    She would say no. It was decided. She had the politely refusing smile set on her face, the posture of the repentant. But then . . .
    The breeze came again, a hint of jasmine tea leaves floating in the air. And suddenly, Jane was homesick for something she had forgotten. For a time before she knew how to flirt and before her face