“Not that I know of, miss. I ain’t seen any footmen in strange livery.”
“That is too bad. If they left me the coach, they should have left me a footman. Now I shall still be required to request one from Adeline.” A smiled played at the corners of Turley’s lips. “What?”
“It just occurred to me that if you had both a coachman and a footman, you would be able to come and go as you please. I doubt that under the circumstances that would make Littleton or Adeline very comfortable.”
He was probably right about that. Both her friends had been taking their positions as de facto guardians seriously. “I shall have you know that I am not subject to piques of fits that would cause me to go rushing off without consulting them.”
He looked at her as if he could see right through her. “But what if they had disagreed with you?”
“I will have you know that I am very even tempered.” Most of the time. In general, it took a great deal to upset her. Although, Turley seemed successful at it.
“I do not doubt the truth of that, but at times anyone can be pushed beyond their limits.”
She glanced at him. He was much more perceptive than she had given him credit. “Very true. We all have our limits.”
Georgie wondered if she would discover what hers were or, perhaps more importantly, what Turley’s limits were.
Chapter Eleven
Marc Lytton glanced out the window of his coach and was surprised to see Miss Featherton mounted on a gray horse staring at him. She spoke to someone he was unable to see before his coachman had the carriage turned. He turned to his valet. “Where are we?”
“I shall inquire, my lord.” The servant stood, opened the roof-hatch, and spoke with the driver. “We turned onto the wrong road, my lord. Lord Bottomley’s estate is in the direction we are now heading.”
Marc bit back the scathing remarks that sprang to his tongue. “In other words, he has no idea.”
“That is what I gathered, my lord. The person from whom he received directions apparently mentioned so many times not to turn this way that turning down this lane stuck in the coachman’s head.” His valet appeared to consider that for a moment. “I can ask again, my lord.”
“No. We’ll soon be at our destination. I would like you to make inquiries after we arrive.”
“As you wish.” The servant reclaimed his seat on the backward-facing bench.
His coachman’s family had served his family for multiple generations. Unfortunately, the man was good-natured and loyal, but not very quick-witted.
A few minutes later, Marc noticed that the road broadened and soon they passed a gate. His thoughts turned back to Miss Featherton. Then it occurred to him that Turner had said she was visiting Lady Littleton. As the lane was clearly not the main road to Littleton’s estate, it had to be a back entrance. Marc wondered if she often rode in that area. If so, it might behoove him to make a point of discovering if she had a schedule. He could easily borrow a hack from Bottomley and pretend to run into her. Not only that, but she would be at the house party. That was, after all, the main reason Marc had left Town for the week.
His coach drew up in front of a substantial red-brick manor house that had been added onto by virtue of a one-story addition to one side of the house. The addition was well built with many long windows, but it gave the rest of the structure a lopsided appearance.
Large, wooden double doors opened and several footmen clamored down the steps. Standing in front of the door was a tall silver-haired man dressed in a black suit. Obviously, the butler. By the time the coach door was opened and the steps let down, the butler was at the carriage.
Once Marc had reached the ground, the man bowed. “My lord, welcome to Bottomswood. His lordship was afraid he would miss your arrival and bid me to tell you that you will be dining with Lord and Lady Turner this evening. I have arranged for a bath to be set up in your apartment, and a cold collation to be sent up. If there is anything else you require, please advise me.”
“Thank you. I shall send my valet, Ridgeon, if I require anything else.”
The man bowed again. “Allow me to escort you to your rooms.”
Marc inclined his head and followed the servant into the house and up the stairs. He made a point to notice the good repair of the house and furnishings. He’d need to marry well in order to keep his house in such good order. Thus far, his aunt had not selected a wife, but if he did not find one soon he had no doubt the old besom would be happy to involve herself. And that was the last thing he wanted.
From what he’d gathered, the only lady of excellent breeding and a fat dowry attending the house party was Miss Featherton. Marc would simply have to find a way to attach her affections or her attention before the week was over. The idea of a wife being selected for him left a sour feeling in his stomach.
* * *
When Gavin and Georgie reached the stables, he was surprised to discover that she insisted on rubbing down and brushing her horse.
She took the currycomb from a stable boy. “Thank you, Jamie.” Then she turned back to Gavin as he was wondering how she had remembered one stable boy from another. Littleton must have dozens of them. “My old groom—he is our stable master now—told me that I should get in the habit of grooming her myself. By doing so it would make her feel closer to me.”
Picking up another brush, he started to rub down his horse. “That sounds like good advice. Did he teach you to saddle her yourself?”
“Yes,” she said from the other side of her horse. “And, if the horse is already saddled, to look at the girth and make sure it is tight enough but not too tight.”
