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“MacIntyre.”
“Put down the trunk and come with me, Mr. MacIntyre.”
“I’m no’—”
“No argument. I don’t know what position you hold in your household, but I’m in charge here.” She put her fists on her ample hips, a stance Etta assumed would intimidate the bravest of souls. “You won’t be any good to these fine ladies if you’re sick.”
Tia’s mouth dropped as MacIntyre set the trunk on the ground and followed Mrs. Willoughby. “She’s magical!”
“More like a witch,” grumbled Johns as he shouldered the abandoned trunk and proceeded up the stairs unassisted.
They followed Dr. Wharren inside.
“A suit of armor,” exclaimed Tia. She touched the helmet and tittered at the silver plate it held. “Helloooo,” she called into the empty helmet.
“You’re a man of your word, I see.” A knight in shining armor, he had said. Etta laughed and inspected the medieval weapons on the wall. “This is quite an entrance.”
“My grandmother was obsessed with King Arthur and loved the dramatic.” He gestured toward the staircase and followed them up to the first landing. “This is the dining room, where I will meet you shortly. The next door on the right is the library, in case you need a good book to make you drowsy.”
She shook her head. “I think we’ll sleep well tonight with so much excitement. It’s been quite a day.”
He led them up to the second floor and opened the door to their rooms. The first was decorated in pale pinks, from the satin counterpane and bed curtains on the fourposter bed to the drapes on the window.
Tia’s eyes grew wide. “Mine.”
“Of course it is.”
Dr. Wharren showed her the other guest room, similar to Tia’s, but ivory with a gold embroidered diamond pattern. “Will this do?”
“It’s lovely. We are so thankful you came by.” Kindness emanated from his green eyes.He was meant to help people,she thought,it’s in his soul.
A young girl rushed into the room with a pitcher, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Warm water, ma’am,” she explained.
Placing it next to the wash bowl, she set out a small and larger towel, then turned down the sheets. “We’ll have a repast ready in the dining room in thirty minutes. Mrs. Willoughby said if that’s not convenient, we’re happy to warm it up again later.”
“Thank you, Sally,” said Dr. Wharren. He turned to Etta. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Poor MacIntyre, I hope he’s not too ill.”
“I’ll check on him straight away.” He paused at the door. “I have a feeling it would take much more than a fever to keep that man down.”
The door clicked shut, and Etta fell back upon the overstuffed ticks. She was stranded, in a stranger’s house, and had no inkling what the future held for them. Yet, for the first time in months, her heart was light and she was… happy. When she closed her eyes, the laughing emerald eyes of Dr. Wharren greeted her, and the butterflies took flight again. She suddenly hoped it would take longer than a day to fix the carriage. Fate had not smiled down on her family in so long.
*
Gus drummed hisfingers on the linen tablecloth while he waited for his guests. MacIntyre had provided limited information. Both parents dead, a distant cousin inheriting the estate, and on their way to Scotland to visit friends.
Alone with no ladies’ maid. Like a badly tallied column of numbers, something didn’t add up.
“Good evening, Dr. Wharren.” In the doorway stood a stunning creature in black bombazine; the high-waisted dress clung to her womanly curves as she moved. The sheer black lace across her chest revealed just a hint of the creamy swells beneath. Her umber waves were freshly combed and pulled up in a simple chignon. Behind her stood an adorable blonde perched on tiptoes to see over her sister’s shoulder.
“Welcome.” His face flushed and that ridiculous grin curved her mouth again. He stepped forward to take Miss Comden’s fingers and bent low, his lips brushing the back of her bare hand. He turned to Miss Horatia, who giggled as he extended the same courtesy.
Gus pulled out their chairs and then took his place at the head of the table. Sally appeared with a delicious soup of leeks and thinly sliced potatoes, and a loaf of bread. The sound of metal against china filled the silence as the three sipped their broth.
“How is MacIntyre?” asked Miss Comden. “I hope we can see him soon.”
“He’s in better hands than mine, I hate to admit. His fever is already subsiding with Mrs. Willoughby’s cold compresses. Though, I would suggest he rest a day or two. I’ll send a man out to have the wheel fixed on your carriage and bring it here. That will take at least all of tomorrow.” He paused at the panic in her eyes. “I would be happy to send word on to your friends. You could write a note—”
