CHAPTER FOUR
“Men. Keep them wary and they won’t hurt you, understand?”
Mrs Tadlow. Widow, mother and ten-year resident of Ingleford Lodge.
“It’s stopped raining,” Lucas said optimistically with the leaden sky still looking as though it might bring forth another deluge at any moment.
Billy still sulked in the corner of the carriage, not looking particularly comforted by the news, but Lucas felt unusually invigorated, probably just the thought of getting out of the damned thing.
Finally, he was able to poke his head out of the window and see Stonebridge’s pile looming ahead.
It did not look appealing. He was sure that on a summer’s day, it would look delightful: the sandstone would gleam gold in bright sunlight, the many windows would reflect the landscaped vista, and the grandeur would impress. However, on this bleak, overcast Tuesday in November, it seemed joyless, forbidding and downright dispiriting – no wonder Stonebridge was rumoured to be a gruff chap.
“Strike me blind, that’s a fat cull’s crib.” Billy’s face openly admired the palatial mansion.
“Anyone would think you were brought up in the Rookeries,” Lucas said in exasperation. “Besides, don’t you think it’s a tad…square?”
“Nah, it’s all the crack. Must be huge inside. Not like your cramped, old place… No offence intended, Major.”
“None taken,” he lied, wondering when a twelve-bed manor house had become cramped.
Stonebridge Hall was big; he’d give Billy that. Neo-classical in design, with columns either side of its huge portal, it was the furthest style from Lucas’s own inherited Tudor manor that he had ever seen. Helmdon Court always seemed to welcome you in, with its warm wood and climbing roses that clawed their way up the walls; it sat within the landscape – snug and content.
Today, this grand but severe house seemed to sit awkwardly hunched in the foul weather – here I am, and if you don’t like me, go hang.
Eventually the footman opened the door, folded down the steps and Lucas was able to alight from the carriage onto terra firma.
A slim, dark-haired man waited in the entrance and, from Jasper’s description, he recognised the Earl of Stonebridge.
“Helmdon?” the earl enquired. At Lucas’s nod, he continued. “Stonebridge. Butler’s called Cooper. He’ll see you to your room. Take your time. Come to the study when you’re ready.”
With that, the man turned on his heel and disappeared into one of the many rooms.
An earl of few words, as Jasper had promised. Lucas preferred that to the flowery prose that some fellows came out with, half of which was probably lies anyway. The value of direct speech was well respected in the army – forward, charge, shoot. He would’ve loved to see the expressions if he had offered, “Chaps, would you mind awfully lifting that valuable piece of weaponry and aiming it in the general direction of the French?”
“Will your valet be following on, my lord?”
Smiling to himself and disconcerting the butler somewhat, he followed Cooper across the marble hallway and up the grand staircase. Billy had, as yet, not picked his jaw up from the floor and trotted behind, stumbling over his own feet, eyes wide.
“No. Billy here is my valet-in-training.” The butler gave a dismissive sniff, which was not surprising considering Billy was fingering a rather expensive-looking vase. Lucas continued, “He can sleep in the servants’ quarters, if you have room?”
Cooper stared back incredulously but maintained his poise. “Certainly, my lord.” And he opened the door to a rather large sitting room with adjoining bedchamber. “His Lordship’s study is off the main hall, second on the right. I’ll have your portmanteau sent up.”
Lucas felt decidedly out of place as he surveyed the room. The furnishings were particularly dainty.
His own home had books, large chests and sturdy chaises – built for the size of the men of the house. This room had delicate-looking chairs in pale-blue silk; if he sat in one of those, he’d end up on his rump.
An elegant kneehole desk faced the window, the top lined with blue leather; it was absolutely exquisite yet totally impractical – he’d be lucky if he could fit his knees under it.
If the bed was anything like this, he’d be sleeping on the floor.
“Thank you, Cooper. That will be all.”
Lucas marched to the adjoining bedchamber in dread, but his shoulders instantly relaxed.
In front of him was the biggest four-poster he had ever seen. Deep-crimson damask curtains hung invitingly from the huge oak rungs; leaves, hewn from the same wood, curved their way around the bedposts, and the headboard was adorned with a coat of arms carved deep into its surface. It would not have looked out of place in a palace or a bawdy house.
He would sleep like a babe.
