Page 18 of An Enchanting Dare

“You being civil is enough to make me want to break things. Preferably over your head,” she said cheerfully.

“And this makes you happy,” he pointed out with a smile, delighted to see her brighten up. Even if it was at the idea of doing violence against his person. “Look at how pleased you are at the thought of smashing things over my head. Perhaps we ought to give it a go? I’ll risk it if you will. I have a remarkably hard head.”

“Thick is the word you are looking for, but I think not. Now, I shall leave you to settle in before I really do have a headache. Enjoy a pleasant stay at Trevick, Mr Cootes. There is a deal of history and much to discover, but I don’t expect I shall see you again.”

She left, closing the door firmly behind her.

Sylvester stood staring at it for a long moment after she’d gone, quite unable to remove the stupid smile from his face. He had absolutely no intention of having a headache tomorrow evening, and he could not wait to see what she would do about it.

Chapter 7

Lady Elizabeth,

I should be most interested in taking an active interest in the new school. I fear I have spent too much of my life in idle and decadent pursuits and it would do me good to have a focus outside of my own shallow affairs.

I do not wish the school to bear my name, however, nor for anyone to know of my involvement if possible. I am certain we can think of a worthier candidate to give such an honour and get things off to a good start. Like naming a child, such a choice might influence character. We had best weight the possibilities with care.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lord Maxwell Drake, Earl of Vane, to Lady Elizabeth Demarteau (daughter of their graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin).

26th June 1841, Trevick Castle, Warwickshire.

Aisling had been as good as her word and had not shown her face at dinner. Nor had he had any luck in tracking her down all day. She’d been right about the castle, however. Close to a thousand years old in parts, it was a fascinating place, and he could not pretend he’d been bored. She was never far from his thoughts, though, and he wished she had given him a tour of the place herself. It would have been far more entertaining to listen to her while they exchanged prickly comments and he could have admired the way her eyes glittered when she was vexed with him.

He could admire those pretty eyes now, however, for he had turned up at dinner instead of pleading a headache and she was not pleased. She was even less pleased to discover he was sitting beside her.

The meal was excellent, but not the lavish affair he might have expected of such a family or such a place. Indeed, the whole evening was as relaxed and convivial as the night before had been, with Aisling the only one not joining in the lively conversation.

“Marcross sounds a wonderful place, and it is always such a joy to see an old house come back to life,” the countess said, her dark eyes shining.

The resemblance between her and her eldest daughter was marked. At least, they were alike in looks, but she was far more gregarious and outspoken than Aisling. Sylvester thought her lovely and had taken to her immediately, for she had a lively sense of humour.

“Do you remember when we restored the property in Ireland, Luke? My, but life was simple then, and so happy,” she said, smiling at her husband wistfully.

The earl’s expression was no less warm as he regarded his countess. “As if I could ever forget.”

“It is something to take pride in,” Sylvester agreed, meaning it, even though he was too aware of the fact that he worked for his brother. “And it feels good to return our childhood home to a place my where brother’s family can be happy.”

But it wasn’t his. Not that he resented the fact. He was proud to work for his brother, and relieved to know Raphe was happy and settled. Yet, he wanted a place to call his own, too. Sadly, it would be some time before he could afford such a thing. Let alone a wife to live in it with him. Not that he was in any hurry for that, he reminded himself. The bachelor's life suited him very well, but the words rang hollow tonight and he emptied his wine glass, unsettled.

“Where do you live then, Mr Cootes? If Marcross is your brother’s estate? Do you have a property nearby?”

Somewhat surprisingly, Aisling had asked, for she had barely spoken a word all evening. She watched him intently as she awaited his answer.

To his discomfort, Sylvester felt heat creep up the back of his neck. “My brother has generously given me a small cottage on the estate,” he said, wishing the admission did not make him feel so hopeless. How could it not, though, when surrounded by a property of such grandeur, such wealth and power? Likely Aisling had said it to put him in his place, to remind him he worked for a living and had nothing to offer her, an earl’s daughter. Well, it worked. His pleasure in the evening dissipated swiftly from that moment, and he excused himself early and retired to bed.

Sylvester was marching along the corridor that led to his room when Aisling stopped him.

“Mr Cootes.”

He turned to see she had followed him.

“My lady,” he said, for once wishing she’d left him alone.

He did not want to look at her now. She was exquisite in the candlelight, her dark hair framing her face, and the lovely gown she wore highlighted the curves of her figure. No doubt that one dress cost more than he earned in a month. Bitterness was a sour taste in his mouth, and he felt unaccountably angry.

“I wish to beg your pardon, for I believe I have caused you offense. It was not my intention.”

“Wasn’t it?” he said, unable to disguise his resentment.