Redeeming The Reclusive Earl. Virginia Heath

      ‘I need to satisfy myself that you are happy, Max.’

      Happy! It would be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic. ‘You need to stop worrying about me. I am a grown man who does not need mollycoddling.’

      ‘You call it mollycoddling. I call it love. Either way, you are stuck with me until I am satisfied.’ A nicely, typically Eleanor piece of stubborn ambiguity which promised no clear end in sight. She took another sip of her tea and her expression became nonchalant. ‘Miss Nithercott seems nice.’

      ‘I hardly know the woman.’

      ‘But surely you must have noticed she is uncommonly pretty.’

      Of course he had. He wasn’t dead. Unfortunately. ‘Is she? It’s hard to tell with her masculine attire and dirty face.’ He sipped his own tea and held his sister’s curious gaze levelly. Eleanor would take any sign of uncomfortableness as proof he was interested. ‘Apparently, the locals have little time for her and her obsessive passion for antiquity.’ Which struck him as a great shame because she was... Intriguing... Unusual... Ever so slightly hilarious. He had never met another soul quite like her. ‘Surely you noticed she is a little eccentric? She spends her days digging holes in the ground, for goodness sake. That is a trifle odd.’

      ‘I find it fascinating. So many young ladies have little between their ears beyond fluff.’ But not Miss Nithercott. She could calculate the difference between a nautical mile and a standard one, randomly quote Shakespeare and translate both the Angle and the Saxon languages without skipping a beat. Now that really was fascinating. ‘It is refreshing to meet one with a purpose beyond securing a good husband. All power to her, I say.’ Eleanor toasted the bane with her teacup. ‘Especially if she finds big lumps of gold in the mud. It certainly sounds a more exciting way to spend the time than embroidery.’

      Or counting the brass knobs on the sideboard.