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“—and since you don’t want the trees cut,” Frances continued serenely, “of course they shan’t be cut. Now, Marcus, if that is all, I have other matters to attend to.”
Marcus hadn’t uttered a word. He wasn’t blind. His lordship was in a royal snit. He wished he could escape with Lady Frances. He watched her walk past her husband, toss him a sweet, totally false smile, and leave the estate room. Leave him alone. He tugged at his collar, adjusted some papers on the desk, and endeavored to look industrious.
To his utter relief, his lordship said curtly, “Carry on,” and was gone. He stiffened again in some alarm when he heard the earl’s voice outside, roaring, “Frances!”
He wiped the perspiration from his brow, wondering as he did so if his father, a very calm, utterly serene gentleman, was ever in a snit with his mother. He felt himself in the middle of a maelstrom and wondered if he could ask for several weeks away from Desborough to visit his parents.
Frances wasn’t to be found. Hawk discovered Otis in the nether regions of the kitchen, his presence causing some consternation among the kitchen staff.
“My lord,” Otis said, bowing formally. The kitchen staff came to immediate, wary attention.
“I noticed the footmen’s new livery,” said Hawk. “I should like to know when and why this was done.”
“If I could explain, my lord,” Otis said very kindly, as if Hawk were still a boy at Eton. He moved away from the staring staff. “Her ladyship believed the staffs appearance could be improved upon. Her ladyship and I ventured into York and disposed of the matter. Satisfactorily, I trust, my lord?”
Hawk grunted.
“The females were also improved upon,” Otis added. “Mrs. Jerkins accompanied her ladyship into York for that matter.”
“Anything else her ladyship wanted improved upon?”
“You will have to speak with Mrs. Jerkins to determine the extent of the improvements,” Otis said, his voice as bland as his visage.
“Curse you!” Hawk said, and took himself off.
“... and, of course, my lord, new cutlery and crockery and new linens, for the old ones were in a most deplorable condition, and—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jerkins,” Hawk interrupted, his jaw set.
But Mrs. Jerkins, who had known Lord Philip since he was in short coats, continued undaunted, “Her ladyship is a most proper and efficient young lady, my lord. She has taken a great interest in Desborough Hall ...” Her tone implied that it was about time someone did.
“... and she is most kind and pleasant to the staff, my lord, but she doesn’t allow laxity, of course, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”
Hawk let her run her course. When she reached a pause that lasted more than a second or two, h
e said, more mildly now, but it was a distinct effort, “Thank you, Mrs. Jerkins. I’m certain her ladyship has been most ... thorough.”
Mrs. Jerkins beamed at him, his attempt at sarcasm floating blissfully over her gray head.
Hawk ran his fingers through his hair, and stared about the drawing room.
“Will there be anything more, my lord?” she inquired, watching him closely.
“No, no,” he said absently. “Oh, yes, can you tell me where her ladyship is?”
“At the stables, I should imagine. She always is there this time of morning. Works too hard, she does, but what with getting the stud back into operation and working with Mr. Belvis to determine the racing horses and their training—” She broke off at the sudden, quite unexpected exclamation from the earl.
“She is what?”
“At the stable, my lord,” Mrs. Jerkins repeated patiently, “with Mr. Belvis. She spends every morning there, sometimes into the afternoon. As I said, my lord—”
“The devil!” he said, but under his breath. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to have Frances’ very pretty neck between his hands. What had she done now?
He strode from the room, leaving Mrs. Jerkins to gawk after him. He galloped down the front steps of the hall and headed for the stable offices. It was beginning to rain, and he thought, very stupidly, that Frances should take a care. She might become ill.
Silly fool. You’re the one who should take care.
“Frances!”
