The Iron Storm by CW Browning (classic literature books TXT) 📕

was in the distant past now, and did nothing to help her with her current predicament.

With a sigh, Evelyn turned from the window and looked at the box sitting on her desk. Unfortunately, this puzzle was nothing like learning a Chinese martial art. It was a test of her patience in a way that Wing Chun never had been, and she was very much afraid that it would be the test that she failed.

A soft knock fell on her bedroom door and it opened without waiting for an answer. Rob stuck his head in, peering around the edge of the door.

“Oh you’re up!” he said, stepping into the room. “I’m glad. I didn’t want to wake you if you were sleeping.”

“No. I’ve been playing with that box,” she said, motioning towards the desk. “Dad gave it to me before his last trip.”

“Did he?” Rob walked over to the desk and picked up the box, examining it. “It’s very pretty. You know, I never could figure these things out. Don’t have the patience.”

“I’ll admit this one’s trying mine. I’ve been fiddling with it since Christmas, to absolutely no avail.”

“That’s unusual for you,” Rob said, putting it down and looking at her. “You usually had these open before anyone could blink. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Evelyn laughed and nodded, walking over to drop into the chair at her desk again.

“Yes. I think Dad finally found one that’s a devil to open, that’s all.” She watched as Rob sprawled across the foot of her bed. “How’s the flying?”

“We’re up every day now, flying patrols over the channel and North Sea. Lots of flying, very little action.” He propped himself on his elbow and studied her. “Mum’s right. You look awful.”

“Well thank you very much!”

He grinned. “Not to say that you ever looked especially good.”

Evelyn picked up a pencil and chucked it at him. “Miles doesn’t seem to have any complaints,” she retorted. “And neither does Fred.”

“Fred?” Rob raised his eyebrows in interest. “Is that the Hurricane pilot you’ve been so chummy with?”

“Yes.”

“Do I need to meet him? I rather thought you were fond of Miles.”

“I am fond of Miles, and no, you don’t need to meet him. It’s not that kind of friendship with Fred.” She picked up the box absently, turning it over in her hands. “Not that you need to meet any of my male friends. I’m quite capable of choosing my own mate, thank you very much.”

“I know you are, but you know Mum expects me to play head of household now. That involves keeping an eye on any prospective family members.” Rob tilted his head and, for once, the carefree smile was missing from his face. “It’s rather a heavy load, actually. I can’t fill Dad’s shoes. I’m having a hard enough time keeping this estate running while serving King and Country. Thank the good Lord for Damien, the steward Dad hired two years ago. I’d be lost without him.”

Evelyn looked up in surprise. “I had no idea you were struggling. Everything seems to be running the same as it always had.”

“I’m still finding my way. You wouldn’t believe how complicated everything is.” Rob exhaled and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Miles has been a shocking amount of help, actually. He’s got a real head for estate management, believe it or not. He’s been helping his father for years. Of course, it helps that they’re in the sheep business as well, so Miles has been able to give me some advice. Lord Lacey has nothing to worry about when he leaves his estate to Miles. He’ll be a good Baron, when the time comes.”

“It’s funny, I don’t even think of him as a future Baron,” she said slowly. “I just think of him as...well, as Miles.”

“Not one of the Yorkshire Laceys?” he asked teasingly. “Mum would be very disappointed.”

Evelyn laughed. “I have no reason to go social climbing. Not unless you manage to muck up our estate. So please, do try not to.”

“In all seriousness, Evie, are you very fond of Miles? He seems to be of you, but if you’re not, you’d best halt it now. I don’t want another Marc Fournier on my hands.”

Evelyn dropped her gaze to the glossy box in her hands, still turning it over absently.

“I am fond of him,” she said quietly, “but with the war on, it makes it very difficult. None of us know where we’ll be one moment to the next, so there’s really no point in looking ahead.”

“‘Course there is! If there’s no point in looking ahead, then what the bloody hell are we fighting for?” Rob sat up and shook his head. “Well, that’s all between you and Miles. As long as I don’t end up with him crying in my ear, I’ll leave you to it.”

“You never had Marc Fournier crying in your ear!” she exclaimed. “I never encouraged him even a bit!”

“You didn’t have to! He fell as soon as he clapped eyes on you. Ridiculous thing, that. I suppose it’s because he’s French.”

“We’re half-French,” she pointed out with a grin.

“Yes, and look at you with Miles,” he retorted. “I’ve never seen you take to someone so fast.”

“Well, if it’s the French blood in me, then you’re doomed. Perhaps I’ll start looking for nice young WAAFs to throw your way.”

The smile he gave her was decidedly wolfish. “No need, m’dear. I’m meeting quite enough on my own.”

Evelyn laughed and flipped the box in the air before moving to put it down. As it landed in her hands again, her fingers gripped one of the panels and it slid to the side. Hearing a click, she looked down and gasped as a tiny compartment slid open, revealing a catch.

“I’ve done it!” she cried, jumping up in her excitement. “Look!”

Rob stood up and glanced at the box in her hands. “Well done. What’s inside?”

“I’ve no idea.” She pressed the catch and watched as two more panels slid aside. “There’s still more to do, I