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“Of course not, my lord.”
He rather wished he was as cold-hearted as many saw him. Then he would not feel this deep, heavy weight upon his heart about Julian’s death. He knew what people thought—he was a recluse, an eccentric, an unfeeling man with no friends or family. The people who thought that mattered little to him, however. Ask any of his tenants what they thought of him, or Lane or even Mrs. Cooke. He would rather listen to their word than the word of a member of the ton.
“So shall I delay any packing, my lord?”
“Yes,” Valentine snapped. “Did I not just say that?”
“Yes, my lord.”
With a grunt, Valentine ducked out of the room. He did not need Lane questioning him, especially with that vaguely amused look. Did Lane think it was to do with the appointment of Mrs. Whitaker as a maid?
No doubt her attractive looks had drawn the attention of many of the servants and they would suspect he had hired her because of said looks but they knew him better than that surely? He had not had a proper lover in decades, preferring the briefest of discrete moments and even then it had been years.
He paused by one of the bedrooms when he heard a pretty tune being hummed. He knew before he saw her who the sound belonged to and yet could not stop himself from peering in. Mrs. Whitaker had her back to him while she cleaned the inside of the windows, her hand making brisk sweeping movements.
His throat tightened. The uniform was designed to be basic and practical but now he wished he had put them all in shapeless sacks. There was no disguising her womanly figure and it made his blood heat.
Gripping the edge of the doorway, he dug his fingers into the wood until they hurt. The temptation to step forward beat a heavy pulse all the way down to his boots. He almost moved until he heard a cough behind him.
He spun on a heel. “Lane, what the bloody hell?”
“Just wanted to see if you needed anything else from me, my lord?”
“Of course not.”
Lane smiled briefly and far too smugly for his liking, then dipped his head and headed down the corridor. Valentine glanced briefly at the open door; grateful Mrs. Whitaker had not heard either of them. Grateful to Lane too really, despite his annoyance. His valet saved him from making an utter fool of himself.
