Hand holding his riding crop, Benedict craned his neck as the ladies’ voices faded. “Were you spying on your guests?”
“I was passing by and stopped under the tree.” Christopher adjusted his cravat. “That’s all. No need to be so shocked.”
“Shocked? I’m pleased.” Benedict’s hand grasped his arm. “You’re showing interest in the ladies. Good.”
“Bugger off.” He shrugged free from his friend’s grip and headed towards the rear entrance. “Shouldn’t you welcome our guests?”
“I was about to. I rode with Cowasj and Dorian this morning. Dorian is bloody fast. He doesn’t ride. He charged into battle. Just like you.” A frown marred Benedict’s brow. “Cowasj told me about the reason of his visit here,” he added more quietly.
Christopher paused. “I’ll do what I can to help him, but recovering the money he and his partners lost seems an impossible task.”
The Blackmoore-Smith investment had started like the best financial affair of the last decade, only to turn into the biggest fraud of the century. It’d ruined families, and half a dozen people had taken their lives when they’d learned their finances were gone. The only person, the very fraudster Elias Blackmoore-Smith who knew how to recover the money, had vanished.
“You didn’t invest in that scam, did you?” Benedict asked.
“I didn’t trust Blackmoore-Smith. His financial plan sounded too good to be true.” And it’d turned out that it was. “But some good soldiers of my unit have lost everything. They returned from war, missing a limb and their money. Not fair. If I catch the bastard, I’ll make him give back all the money he stole.”
Anger and pain were never a good mix. Amazing how thinking about Blackmoore-Smith could change Christopher’s mood for the worst.
“Let me know if I can help.” For once, Benedict wasn’t smirking.
“Thank you.”
The smirk came back. “Now let’s get change and greet our lovely guests.”
“I don’t need to change.” Christopher tugged at his brow jacket.
“You aren’t going to meet Miss Amelia wearing what looks like a dead rat on your shoulders. At least change your jacket for heaven’s sake, and comb your hair, you can’t go around like a savage that—”
“All right. Just shut up.” Christopher shoved the back door open and stepped into the wide corridor of the servants’ quarter. He gave a curt nod at the maid, who curtsied as he climbed the stairs to his room.
Feminine voices drifted from the other side of the corridor. He paused. It’d been a long time since a woman who wasn’t a member of the household had been here.
Amelia’s laugh echoed in the domed ceiling, and something twitched inside him at the thought of seeing her soon. But he didn’t want to know what that ‘something’ was.
~ * ~
HAD PEARL THOUGHT that spending a few days with Christopher would be dreadful? She’d been so wrong. The real challenge was enduring Mrs Armstrong’s endless complaints about her behaviour.
A lady shouldn’t wear lacy gloves.
Your skirt is an inch too short of what is appropriate.
Don’t stare at the gentlemen in the eyes. It’s too bold.
Lord, the woman had a rule for everything.
After having paced in the bedroom to vent her frustration, Pearl sat on the large double bed that took up half of the bedroom. The cast-iron stove spread nice warmth in the room. Despite being June, a chilly air lingered, and the faint smell of mould permeated the walls. She rubbed her cold hands and peeked out of the window. The garden was just like Christopher, with its wild bushes and contorted trees—inhospitable and foreboding.
No, it wasn’t true. He’d invited her here after all and given her a room big enough to accommodate four people. The oriental carpet was so soft she could sleep on it, and the wardrobe could pass for a single-bedroom apartment. The only thing the room lacked was books.
Plucking off her gloves, or rather Amelia’s gloves, she roamed the bedroom. French furniture old but in decent conditions were scattered around. Not Christopher’s taste though, if she could say to know him a little. Her guess was that his mother had decorated the house. A long time ago.
Surely, a mansion this big must have a library. Wandering for a few minutes alone without the constant reproaches of Mrs Armstrong would lift her mood. Besides, she’d meet Christopher in half an hour, after the ladies had the time to refresh themselves from the journey.
Feeling like a child again, playing hide and seek with her father, Pearl checked that Mrs Armstrong wasn’t in the corridor and sneaked out of the room.
The hallway was so wide that five people could walk abreast comfortably. The mansion was more like a castle than a manor. Velvet drapes added a touch of colour, but created an oppressing atmosphere, and the sturdy double doors lining the walls enhanced the sense of mourning of the mansion. Behind one of these doors, there should be Christopher’s bedroom. Not that she cared. In fact, she wondered where it was, so she could avoid it.
