Free Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4) by Grace Burrowes

Lurid secrets? Miss Hennessey, you have a prodigious imagination. If I laid a hand on Pahdi with
    any prurient intent whatsoever, James would slay me where I stood.”
    James was the deaf footman. “James—?”
    Sir Jack examined his reflection in a gilt-framed mirror and ran his hand through his hair.  “James. And Pahdi. They are fast friends, and
    that’s all anybody—or I—need know.”
    He studied Madeline, not directly, but in the mirror. This was another test, but far be it from Madeline to criticize people for their friendships. Life,
    especially life in service, was a challenging proposition.
    “Let’s have a look at the other guest rooms,” she said.
    “You will not collude with Mama in her attempts to inspect my private chambers?”
    “Have Pahdi install a lock on the door, sir, and be sure that he and you are the only people to have keys. Mrs. Abernathy will not dare confront you
    on such a personal matter. If she does, you will have grounds for turning her off.”
    “A lock. First, a dog, now a lock. Miss Hennessey, you are a marvel of common sense. Belmont is doubtless ruing the day he allowed you to stray from
    his household.”
    Sir Jack strode on down the corridor, leaving Madeline to puzzle out why she felt like smiling. He’d complimented her—sincerely and honestly,
    more than once—and he also apparently intended to heed her suggestions.
    To be respected, listened to, and appreciated was…. lovely. That Sir Jack would not begrudge his staff their friendships was lovely too, and yet,
    Madeline’s smile faded.
    In this entire house, Sir Jack considered only a few rooms his own, and he dreaded the arrival of his closest family members, suggesting that he was…
    lonely.
    And loneliness could be a form of captivity, as cold, cramped, and miserable as any prison cell.

 
    Chapter Four
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    “This wretched weather is your fault, Jeremy Fanning. But for your dithering about in London, we’d be safe at Teak House now.”
    Jeremy Fanning considered himself a man of peace, the Fannings having followed the usual arrangement among the better families. When one son went for a
    soldier, another went for the Church, as if the celestial scales balanced on a simple nose count. One son marched to battle, another marched up the church
    aisle each Sunday. All very tidy, though it didn’t leave brothers with much to discuss on the rare occasion when their paths crossed.
    “I do apologize, Mama.” For the fortieth time. “The whims of the bishop are beyond my control. At least the snow is pretty, and
    we’re safe and snug at wonderfully commodious lodgings.”
    The snow had started the previous afternoon, great torrents of white whipped along by stinging wind that created drifts such as could send a coach sliding
    into a ditch all too easily.
    Sometimes prayers were answered, though in Jeremy’s experience, the Almighty’s sense of humor was not to be trusted.
    “You call this commodious?” Mama harrumphed. “I’ve seen broom closets larger than this parlor.”
    Florentia Fanning had last seen a broom closet when she’d hid in one as a child, if then.
    “The innkeeper has been generous with the coal and the tea tray, and for that we should be grateful,” Jeremy replied, letting the window
    curtain fall back into place. The innkeeper had been so generous with the coal that the parlor was beyond cozy and approaching stifling, hence
    Jeremy’s post by the window.
    Mama excelled at the rotating complaint. She’d chided the innkeeper for his drafty parlor, and now she’d chide him for a lack of ventilation.
    When that volley of criticisms palled, she’d call an objectionable odor to his attention, or a draft. The tea would be too weak or too strong, the
    sheets too cold or over-warmed.
    Mama was creative and tireless in her efforts to point out the shortcomings of her situation. Though she lacked a title, she’d married an
    earl’s younger son, and Papa had left her well-fixed. She thus