“Of course, and please excuse the intrusion,” Lord Middleby said as he rose and sketched a small bow. “Good day, Lady Inverhall. Your Grace.”
“Indeed,” Hugo uttered, leaning back in his seat and sipping his tea. “Good day, Middleby.”
Lord Middleby passed Mrs. Whipple and promptly left.
Elspeth placed a hand on Mrs. Whipple’s shoulder, a knowing look on her face.
“How bad is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We have our work cut out for us, My Lady. But they are a good lot. We could do much worse, and I say, there is something about their energy that brings life to this place.”
“It is most wonderful to hear ye say that,” Elspeth said with a smile, still reeling from Lord Middleby’s visit. “I feel the same way. Let us be off, then!”
Hugo stared into the swirling dregs of his brandy as he sat at the desk in his study.
The door had closed on Middleby’s retreating back over an hour ago, and still, the faint, cloying scent of the man’s cologne lingered in the townhouse like a wet dog.
Hugo got up and opened the curtains, letting in the fresh summer breeze into his study.
“Bouncing off the walls?” he muttered to himself, setting the snifter down with a sharp clink. “What have I let this Highlander bring into my stately home? What has become of the Duke of Arrowfell?”
The absurdity of it was almost comical, and much as he did not wish to admit it, he liked the boys.
He knew Mrs. Whipple well enough to understand her theatrical bent. The boys were likely in a state of chaos, as children often were, but the image of them suspended from the rafters was a fabrication designed to give Elspeth a graceful exit. And it had worked.
Mrs. Whipple always had an innate sense of what was needed and how to make it happen.
A grunt of frustration escaped Hugo as he pushed the ledgers that were strewn across his desk aside.
He had no mind for work, and it would be a problem for another day. All he could think about was Middleby. He had handled the entire interaction abominably. His plan had been simple.
I only wanted to make it clear, with gentlemanly decorum, that Lord Middleby was an unwelcome pest.
Instead, he had sounded like a territorial, jealous fool. One minute, he was foisting Elspeth on every passing suitor; the next, he could not imagine…
Where is my focus?
The snide comments about Middleby’s lack of manly pursuits, the condescending remarks about his estate.
Rising from the desk, Hugo strode to the side table. There were even more papers and ledgers scattered across the mahogany surface.
How was a man to focus on the particulars of tenant leases and livestock inventory when the very air in his home still felt so charged with a recent confrontation?
He picked up a quill, then put it down. He couldn’t concentrate.
He walked to the large window overlooking the gardens, his hands clasped behind his back.
The late evening sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the manicured lawn.
He had a duty to Elspeth, to ensure her well-being, to manage her affairs, and yes, to find her a suitable match. A man like Middleby would be perfectly fine on paper. Wealthy. Titled. Young. But the thought of him, with his smooth words and insipid smile, being a part of Elspeth’s life made Hugo’s blood run cold.
It is not jealousy.It is a matter of principle. Middleby is weak.
The Earl was a man who preferred ‘scholarly pursuits’ over fencing, who had admitted that his estate manager ran his estate. He was an inadequate suitor.
He would never understand Elspeth, not the wild, untamed part of her that hid just beneath her elegant gowns. The part that took charge of an orphanage and was not afraid to get her hands dirty with flour or mud. The part that could bring life and chaos into his quiet, orderly home and somehow make it better.
A muffled peal of laughter echoed down the hall, followed by the clatter of a pan.
