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‘Oh, come now. I was not born yesterday.’ Marcus handed the reins to a waiting groom. ‘Thank you, Havers.’ He stood frowning after the horse as it was led away. ‘No intelligent person carries a weapon when they do not know if it is loaded or not. They most certainly do not point it at someone.’ He brought his attention back from the horse to fix on her face. ‘And, whatever else you may or may not be, Nell, you are intelligent.’
‘I pulled the trigger when I found it—pointed out of the window, of course—and nothing happened. The trigger must have been jammed and came unstuck when I was trying to get my keys out.’
He looked unconvinced as they turned to walk into the house.
‘I suppose you’ve been sitting on that horse for miles in the cold with your shoulder hurting more and more, too pig-headed to give up and ride inside and it has put you thoroughly out of temper,’ she observed. ‘I can see you find my carrying a weapon suspicious and think that I should have waited in a ladylike manner to be attacked and then screamed in the hope of some gallant rescuer rushing to my aid.
‘Well, in my world, my lord, knights on white chargers are somewhat thin on the ground and defenceless females have to fend for themselves. Good afternoon,’ she added punctiliously to a startled-looking butler who was standing just inside the door.
‘Watson, the Blue Guest Suite for Miss Latham and find a girl to wait on her.’
‘Certainly, my lord. Lord Narborough has retired to his rooms. Her ladyship has sent for the doctor. However,’ he added as Marcus swore under his breath and turned towards the stairs, ‘I collect it is more in the nature of a precaution, my lord. His lordship was in, er, good voice a few moments ago.’
‘The country suits Lord Narborough?’ Nell ventured, more concerned about the earl’s welfare than prolonging her quarrel with his son.
‘Mama is happier when he is in town because she sets much store in Dr Rowlands. My father is happier in the country. My sisters are unhappy to be torn, as they see it, from their preparations for the Season. Miss Price, no doubt, is less than delighted to have to deal with their moods.’ He looked at her from under levelled brows. The butler, who appeared to sense atmosphere with considerable accuracy, melted away towards the rear of the vast beamed hall.
‘And you?’ Nell asked, smarting under the double lash of his bad temper and her own nagging conscience about the pistol. ‘Are you unhappy, my lord?’
There was a long silence while his lordship appeared to be counting. ‘I, Miss Latham? I have been forced to leave town at the start of what I was anticipating to be an enjoyable negotiation with my next—what was
your delightful word? Ah yes, convenient. And do not attempt to look scandalized at my mentioning her. You raised the subject in the first place. I have a furrow through my shoulder that hurts like the very devil.’ She opened her mouth and shut it with a snap as he added, ‘And do not tell me again I should not have ridden today or we will fall out most grievously. I have sulking sisters, an anxious mother and a secretive, lying milliner on my hands. Yes, Nell. I could be described as less than happy.’
‘Then I suggest you count your numerous blessings, my lord. I am endeavouring to find some to count myself,’ she retorted. ‘If I could be shown to my room; I have no doubt I will see you at dinner.’
‘Or just as soon as you choose to tell me all the truth,’ he flung back.
Watching Nell sweep off across the stone flags with as much outraged dignity as a duchess in a temper, Marcus bit back an oath and found himself admiring the delectable rear view of his reluctant houseguest. Her gown might be old and shabby, but her deportment was that of a lady and the sway of her hips, downright alluring.
He unclenched his teeth and snapped his fingers at a footman. ‘Help me out of this coat.’ Damn it, she was right, he should not have ridden, he thought, wincing as the man eased off the heavy garment. He was behaving in a way that he criticized in his own brother, recalling sending Hal frequent lectures about failing to allow wounds time to heal.
It was time to remind himself that he was, perforce, the sensible brother, the one with the responsibilities, the one who held the family together. He was not the brother who made love to young women in carriages, got himself shot—or lost his temper, come to that. That was Hal, who managed with Janus-like dexterity to be an exemplary officer on one hand and a hellion on the other.
‘Send my valet to me,’ he said curtly, making for the stairs. A bath, a fresh bandage, a change of linen and some reflection in tranquillity were called for. ‘And Andrewes,’ he added as a further thought struck him. ‘We must look after Miss Latham while she is with us. Ask Wilkins and Trevor to ensure she does not get…lost. If she goes anywhere, they are to keep an eye on her. This is an easy house to lose one’s way in,’ he added blandly as the footman struggled to keep the speculation off his face.
He opened his chamber door to find his mother sitting beside the fire. ‘Mama?’
‘Your father is resting with a book.’ She fiddled with the pleats of her skirt. ‘The journey gave me time to think. Why, exactly, have you brought Miss Latham with us?’
‘Because I have concerns for her welfare.’ Marcus kept his voice even as he strolled to the fire and held out a hand to the warmth. His mother watched him, her face troubled. Oh, to hell with it! He was not beating around the bush. ‘Are you concerned that I have installed my mistress under your roof?’ he asked bluntly.
‘I, well… Of course not, you would never do such a thing. Only it is more than a little odd, my dear. She appears to be a very well-mannered, well-spoken young woman, but she is, after all, a milliner.’
‘Who may be in danger from a violent man in her locality. Mama, this is not a subject I would normally speak of to you, but as you allude to it, I am discussing terms with a certain Mrs Jensen.’
‘Excellent.’ The countess stood up, colour bright in her cheeks as she brushed her skirts into order with some emphasis. ‘Forgive me, my dear. I should remember before speaking that you are my level-headed son!’
‘Indeed, Mama.’ Usually undemonstrative, he surprised both of them by leaning over and kissing her cheek. ‘Be kind to Miss Latham for me. I would wish her to feel at ease. Perhaps the girls could lend her a gown or two?’
A relaxed Nell would be easier to break down, he thought as his valet slipped back into the room. He was aware that his grim expression had Allsop tiptoeing around, but was disinclined to put on a false front for the man. Let Nell relax, enjoy a little luxury. He would be, if not charming, at least civil, and in time her guard would slip. And then he would strike.
Nell perched on the edge of the big damask-hung bed and tried not to appear impossibly gauche as she stared round the room. Miriam, the maid who had been sent to her, was unpacking her meagre possessions and conferring with another woman who bobbed a curtsy and left. Doubtless to inform the rest of the servants’ hall just how humble the new guest was, Nell thought with a sigh.
The rich draperies that hung at the windows set off a dusk-darkened view of sweeping parkland, gilded frames surrounded landscapes and portraits. The furniture was frivolous, French and entirely feminine, and Miriam’s footsteps were swallowed up in the deep pile of the carpet.
There was a dressing room with its own closet and a tub and room for a hundred more gowns than she possessed and it all seemed achingly familiar. Once she had known a room like this, when she had been very, very small. Mama had been there, young and pretty and laughing with a man she knew must be Papa, and she and Nathan and Rosalind had come in to say goodnight and Nell knew, with a deep certainty, that it was always like that when Papa had been with them. Warmth and luxury and laughter.
The scent had been the same too. Potpourri, sandalwood drawer linings, the aroma of burning apple wood; familiar and long-lost, just as the library smell had been. Which meant that once they really had been wealthy. Not just comfortably off—she could remember those days clearly: the little house in Rye, the modest respectability that had proved so fragile—but wealthy like this. And looking back she realized that Mama’s style of manner and her insistence on deportment reflected the needs of a life quite different from the one they had been living.
