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he front of Eldonstone House.
He had fought in battles in the heat of the Indian sun, he had dealt with palace plots, he had foiled an assassination attempt on his great-uncle and he could outwit a French diplomat. What was there to set his nerves on edge here other than a house that held no memories for him and a straightforward duty to be undertaken?
Lucifer gave a harsh caw and flew down to his shoulder as though seeking reassurance and then the house came into view.
It was an imposing, alien-looking pile of grey stone and red brick, begun, he had learned from his shipboard studies, under Charles II, but owing most of its character from the reign of the first George. Used to small windows, carved grilles and screens and all the details of inward-looking palaces, the expanses of unshielded glass in numerous windows made the house seem almost indecently exposed. Almost as exposed as the English ladies in a ballroom with their revealing gowns, he thought.
The front doors opened as he approached and liveried servants emerged with Perrott in their midst, his red head a familiar sight. ‘My lord! Welcome to Eldonstone.’
Grooms ran to take his horse, the staff lined up to be introduced by Stanbridge the butler and Ashe found himself inside his ancestral home.
He turned a full circle in the hallway, swearing softly under his breath in Persian as he took in the smoke-stained hangings on the walls, the lack of ornament or signs of care, the stack of packing cases pushed partly under the arc of the handsome flight of stairs.
Stanbridge cleared his throat. ‘His late lordship professed himself uncaring about the state of the house, my lord. He refused to waste money, as he put it, on upkeep or even thorough cleaning and, with a skeleton staff, I regret…’
‘I understand. But he lived here?’
‘Most of the time, my lord. This is where he mainly, er, entertained.’ The butler’s face was so expressionless that he might as well have shouted his disapproval.
‘Entertained? In this?’ Ashe opened a door into what must once have been an elegant salon.
‘His lordship’s company was more concerned with drinking, hunting and the young female persons who were hired than with the amenities of the house, my lord.’
‘So I see. Well, there is no way that my mother and sister are going to come and live in this.’ The picture over the mantel was enough to make even Ashe, inured to erotic carving, raise his eyebrows.
‘Quite so, my lord,’ Perrott agreed. ‘However, even the more objectionable items appear to be of some value and I could not undertake to dispose of them on my own initiative. I understand you have brought an expert to assess things?’
‘Miss Hurst, who is coming on from the Dower House with Lady Charlotte. We will start work in the morning. Have bedchambers prepared for the ladies, Stanbridge.’
‘Certainly, my lord. One of the footmen will attend you in the Garden Suite, the traditional rooms for the heir.’ He regarded Lucifer through narrowed lids. ‘I will have a large bird cage sent up, my lord. Dinner will be ready in an hour, if that is acceptable?’
Ashe climbed to the first floor, wondering if the best thing would be to set a match to the entire edifice. And yet… He paused on the landing and looked down the sweep of stairs, the proportions of the hallway. This was an elegant, well-made house that had been ravished and neglected. It could be saved, it could become a home if the ghosts that haunted it could be exorcised.
‘I am glad I came and not my father,’ Ashe said as Phyllida stood beside him in the hall the next morning and stared about her. ‘He will have some concept of it as it should be.’
‘It needs a platoon of scrubbing women, a good clear-out and a family living in it again and then it will be a lovely house,’ she said stoutly, trying not to feel daunted by the gloom, the neglect and the clutter. ‘Where shall we start?’
‘Here and the drawing room, I thought—then it will at least appear more welcoming. Then the master suite and rooms for my sister. I should warn you, some of the artwork is of an indecent nature.’
‘I will avert my gaze,’ Phyllida said and Ashe smiled for the first time that morning. ‘You will trust my judgement?’ Three days to start to bring some order to this was a significant challenge. ‘May I direct the staff to clean and move things?’
‘I leave it entirely to you,’ he assured her. ‘Stanbridge, place everyone at Miss Hurst’s disposal and hire additional cleaning women as she directs. She will doubtless need footmen to help her move things. I will go and inspect the stables.’
Three hours after breakfast the next morning Phyllida felt she was beginning to make progress. She had commandeered a long chamber as a sorting room, had directed the footmen to set up trestle tables and was dividing up items from the hall and drawing room into things which just required cleaning and which could then go back, things that seemed beyond repair, items of poor quality and, forming a dauntingly large section, items of some value, but in dubious taste or of an indecent nature.
The tapestries in the hall were fine Flemish work and were being lowered and rolled to go off for cleaning, maids were scouring the marble floors and washing down the walls and she had found some unexceptional pictures to hang.
Phyllida pushed up the sleeves of her cambric morning gown and rummaged in one of the chests brought in from the hallway. It was a good thing, she decided, swiping dust from her nose with the back of one hand, that she had not come here hoping to seduce Ashe Herriard. Not only had she hardly seen him since yesterday, but she must look a complete fright with her hair wrapped up in a linen towel, a copious apron borrowed from Cook and dust everywhere.
A wrapped object proved to be a charming porcelain figure of a lady, caught in the middle of executing a dance step, her hand raised as though to take her partner’s hand. ‘And where are you, young man?’ Phyllida muttered, delving again. ‘There you are!’ She emerged triumphant and unwrapped the male dancer, tipped him up and studied the base. ‘Meissen. Lovely.’
She set them carefully on the table of items to keep and caught her own skirts up with one hand as she raised her other arm in imitation of the lady. ‘Exquisite.’
‘Indeed.’ Fingers interlaced with hers and she found herself turned to face Ashe. ‘Shall we dance?’
He was teasing her, of course. There was no need for her heart to pound or her cheeks to colour and no excuse at all for letting her fingers curl into his as he kept their hands raised in the graceful hold. ‘A minuet? Sadly dated, I fear, my lord.’
‘You forget, I am lamentably behind the times, Miss Hurst. It might be just the dance for me. Shall we try?’ He turned her under his arm and she found herself toe to toe with him. A little panicky tug and her hand was free, only to find that allowed him to put both arms around her, drawing her close. ‘There are other dances we could enjoy together,’ Ashe suggested, his voice husky.
