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complete it if it takes until dawn.”  Crestfallen, Alex sighed.  “And I did so wish to please you.”
    “You think me vexed?”  For a scarce second, Jason pondered his next move, as he knew from past experience he could not be too careful with the delectable Lady Seymour.  With that in mind, he settled on a half-hug and then sought shelter at the washstand.  “I am proud of your effort, love.  Now dish our meal, as you should replenish your strength, if you intend to sew all night.”
    “You are horrible to make sport of my mishap.”  Alex stomped to the stove.
    “Something smells delicious.”  Jason peered over his shoulder and winked.  “Did you prepare the food?”
    “No,” she replied, with a precious pout, and he longed to bite her lip.  “Molly cooked before she departed, but she pledged to teach me a few of her best recipes, later this week.”
    “Lord, save us.”  Jason rolled his eyes, as he could only conjure the potential for disaster.  “Just try not to burn down the house.”
    “Blackguard, you take that back.”  Wielding a wooden spoon as a weapon, Alex bared her teeth.  “I can do anything, if I am so inclined, and I am most definitely inclined, sir.  Now not another word, or you will wear the contents of this pot.”
    Jason clamped his mouth shut and splayed his palms in mock surrender.  And then they sat and ate in silence.  How disarming Alex was as she glanced at the mending pile and furrowed her brow.  And how it touched him that she cared so much for his good opinion.  Perhaps there was hope for them.  “Stop worrying about it.”
    “I can’t.”  She drew her napkin from her lap, stood, and gathered the dirty dishes.  “Once I have cleaned the kitchen, I shall redo the repairs.”
    “Alex, do not overtire yourself.”  He caught her by the wrist.  “I will not have you waning, and it is enough that you tried.”
    “This was your idea.”  She snatched his plate.  “And I will do it right, or I shall cede the fight.”
    And so Jason adjourned to his comfortable chair, lit a cigar, sipped his favorite brandy, and pretended to read the latest edition of The Mariner’s Mirror .  But Alex captured his attention to the detriment of all else.
    Humming a flirty little ditty as she tarried, his not-so-pampered princess washed, rinsed, dried, and stowed the dishes and utensils.  And as she toiled, she attacked, albeit unknowingly, every reason he had composed for delaying their betrothal—and of that there were many.
    Never had Jason shared his concerns regarding marriage and war, as he believed the two inextricably intertwined, given his father’s occupation, subsequent demise in battle, and Jason’s mother’s related heartbreak and death, soon after.
    At the ripe old age of twelve, Jason had been orphaned.  An elderly uncle had liquidated the humble estate and purchased a midshipman’s commission in the navy, aboard the HMS Perseus , and Jason had gone to sea and never looked back.
    But Lady Alexandra Seymour had changed everything from the moment he spied her in the Richmond’s ballroom, bedecked in red velvet, as an enchanting seraph.  Never had he seen anything so lovely, in his life, and the incomparable Lady Seymour had struck a blow from which he might never recover.
    “What is it about dishwater that makes my skin so dry?”  With a grimace, she rubbed her hands.  “And my nails may never be the same.”
    “Complaining already?”  Jason chuckled, as he could not resist baiting her.  “You may quit your campaign and return to London, at any time.”
    “I make an observation, you horrible man.  Am I not allowed a measure of protest, given the circumstances?  And I would remind you that Seymour’s are made of sterner stuff.”  Alex sorted the clothing, assessing her various mishaps, and groaned with each new unfortunate discovery.  “How could I have made so many mistakes?  It will take all night to set it right.”
    “Shall