Chapter Five
Barnaby shook his head and grinned down at Miss Merryweather. “You are most definitely not a Littlewood.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized they could be misconstrued as an insult. But Miss Merryweather didn’t take them as such. She grinned back at him, dimples springing to life in her cheeks, and retied her bonnet. “Thank you. I have no desire to be a Littlewood.” The dimples vanished and her mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Apparently my grandfather thinks that laughter is vulgar. Mother said she used to be sent to her room for laughing. Sad, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“My father’s philosophy was the exact opposite. He said it was important to laugh every day.”
Laugh every day? There’d been a time when he’d done that. A lifetime ago, now. Barnaby raked a
