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a huge relief to be back.” He couldn’t resist adding, “ At last , as you so sapiently note.”
    “Indeed, indeed. Such a shambles with your great-aunt and her holdings. But here—sit, sit!”
    Waving Jack to a chair, James went to resume his, then remembered Boadicea. “Ah, thank you, Clarice.” James looked from her to Jack, at whom she was now staring, her expression, to James, impossible to interpret. Jack had no such difficulty. Boadicea was quick. She’d heard James’s reference to his great-aunt…and now wondered.
    When James looked at her, he flashed her a tauntingly superior smile.
    “Ah…I take it you two have met?” James looked from one to the other, sensing undercurrents but unable to read them.
    “Yes.” When Jack raised his brows at her, Clarice transferred her gaze to James. “I was mushrooming, and there was a carriage accident along the road, just past the manor gates.”
    “Good gracious!” James waved Clarice to a chair, waiting for her to sit before sinking into his. “What happened?”
    “I didn’t actually see the accident, but I was the first to the wreck”—Clarice glanced Jack’s way as he sat in the other armchair—“then his lordship rode up.”
    “Was anyone hurt?” James asked.
    “The driver,” Jack replied, “a young gentleman. He’s unconscious. We’ve moved him to the manor and sent for Dr. Willis. Mrs. Connimore’s taking care of him.”
    James nodded. “Good, good.” He looked at Clarice. “Was he anyone from round about?”
    “No.” She frowned.
    Jack recalled she’d done the same, out on the road.
    “But…?” James prompted before Jack could.
    Her lips twisted; she glanced at Jack, then looked at James. “I know I’ve never met him—I don’t recognize him at all—but he looks familiar.”
    “Ah!” James nodded sagely.
    Jack wished he knew why.
    Clarice went on, “He seems too young to be anyone I knew in the past, but I wondered…he could be someone’s younger brother, or son, and I’m picking up the resemblance.”
    Jack wondered which circles she’d inhabited in her “past.”
    As if reading his mind, she shrugged. “All that means is that he’s most likely some scion of some tonnish family, which doesn’t get us far.”
    “Hmm—I must drop by. If he doesn’t regain his wits soon, I will, although if you can’t place him, it’s unlikely I will.” James shifted his gaze to Jack. “And even less likely you’d draw a bead on him. I don’t suppose you’ve been haunting the clubs and hells lately, heh?”
    Aware of Clarice’s saber-edged gaze, Jack humphed. “I barely had time to visit my tailor.”
    A tap on the door heralded Macimber, James’s butler. He beamed at Jack and bowed. “Welcome home, my lord.”
    “Thank you, Macimber.”
    Macimber looked at James. “Mrs. Cleever wishes to know if his lordship will be remaining for luncheon, sir.”
    “Yes, of course!” James looked at Jack. “You’ll stay, won’t you? I daresay Mrs. Connimore would love to have you back at your own table, but I’ve a greater need to hear your voice and learn what you’ve been about.”
    Jack kept his gaze on James while gauging the quality of that other, sharp, dark-eyed gaze trained on his face. “I’d be delighted to stay for luncheon”—turning, he met Boadicea’s eyes—“if it’s no trouble?”
    If she didn’t object . She understood his question perfectly. James, puzzled, glanced back and forth; they ignored him.
    Holding her dark gaze, Jack saw her decision, knew the moment the scales tipped in his favor, when her curiosity got the better of her scorn.
    “I’m sure it will be no trouble….” She paused, then went on, her voice regaining its customary decisive note, “And indeed, with the young man to look after I’m sure Mrs. Connimore has enough on her plate, especially as she wasn’t aware you’d be arriving today.”
    That last was delivered with a predictable bite; Jack bit back a retort to the effect