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“I...thank you, my lord…” She paused, studying his features.
Daniel sighed inwardly. Had the girl not even possessed the forethought to ensure she could recognize her target? “Forgive me. I am Daniel Thynne, lord of this house. And you are, my lady?”
“Catherine Britmoore, my lord.” She flushed and dipped into a curtsy, finally remembering the manners she’d probably thought she’d not need for this encounter.
Britmoore was not a name associated with any of the peerage. He had done his due diligence on that front, so as to avoid giving insult unnecessarily. He dipped his head in a shallow nod, all that was required of him. “Miss Britmoore, it pleases me to introduce you to my friends, the Duke and Duchess of Merriweather.” He waited until she gave each of them a greeting, then pulled out a chair. “I’m afraid your unexpected arrival has caught us at our luncheon, but please, join us and tell us more about what brings you to my door.”Though I daresay I already know.
“Oh...yes, thank you…” She settled awkwardly in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. He stuffed down a bubble of satisfaction and politely passed her the platters from which to fill her plate. She took a few bites from each, though it was clear to all that food was not on her mind. She paid as little attention to the small measure of wine he poured for her.
“You were saying, when you entered, that something had happened?”
“Oh...oh, yes! It really was most distressing. My carriage...a wheel cracked and almost caused a frightful accident.”
“That is unfortunate. But surely a young lady like yourself is not traveling alone?”
“Oh, no, of course not.” Miss Britmoore flushed, fingers tangling about her silverware. “It is only that my escort…well, when we saw your estate, he suggested that I come ahead to plead for your aid, while he returned to see that the horses did not bolt or come to mischief.”
“Of course. Quite sensible.” Hardly that. A proper gentleman would have escorted his lady to the door, and made the request himself, rather than send a maid unaccompanied among strangers. “You did tell my butler, I presume?”
“I-I believe so…”
“Then we have but to wait while my men gather the necessary supplies. It is likely to take some time. So please, do refresh yourself while my servants see to the matter.” He watched her lips assume a soft pouting expression no doubt meant to make him feel obliged to do more.
Jackson was turning a peculiar color in an effort to look appropriately sympathetic, and Patricia kept her gaze lowered, though he could see her lips quivering with the effort to refrain from a most unladylike expression of amusement—or expressing a sentiment that was entirely inappropriate to the supposed situation.
Silence fell, all four of them pretending some occupation with their meals. Daniel counted the minutes in his head, watching the girl from the corner of his eye as he chewed absentmindedly at the remains of the salad on his plate.
The clock was nearing twenty minutes since Miss Britmoore’s arrival, and he was about ready to take some form of action, be it polite or not, when a strident voice shattered the uneasy stillness of the dining hall. Seconds later, the door to the dining room flew open and a young man in riding clothes stormed through. “Lord Salisbury! Fie on you for taking advantage of my sister’s distress and having your way with her. I’ll see you do honorably by her, or have you publicly branded the worst sort of...of…”
The young man stopped, eyes widening comically at the sight of not two, but four people sitting calmly around a table, still set with the dishes of a most excellent meal. “I…”
Daniel rose again. “I am the Marquess of Salisbury.” The young fool was a good two inches shorter than he and almost thin enough to be called a stripling, for all he was old enough to shave. “And who might you be?”
The young man’s answer was interrupted by the soprano tones of Miss Britmoore. “Andrew! I told you to wait for at least half an hour!”
“Now see here…”
“Silence.” Daniel stepped forward. Both parties stopped and looked at him. Andrew, whom he presumed to be properly Mr. Andrew Britmoore, the expected brother, flushed violently. “Am I to gather, then, that this young man is your escort, Miss Britmoore?”
“Y-yes. My brother, Mr. Britmoore.” The young lady at least had the grace to blush and turn her gaze to the polished wooden floor.
“And am I to further presume that you are not the victims of an unfortunate happenstance upon the road?”
“Indeed.”
“I see. And yet, your brother bid fair to come into my home and accuse me of dishonorable dealings...dealings which, if I read them aright, would be impossible in a setting such as this, but which you intended to claim I had initiated. After which you would force me to defend my reputation by taking Miss Britmoore to the altar?”
Both siblings had the good sense to color further and keep silent. Daniel fought to keep his expression suitably stoic. “I think, Miss Britmoore, that you and your brother have quite outstayed your welcome. I would ask you to see yourselves out.”
The response was two hurried nods. Andrew Britmoore turned on his heel and strode down the hall as fast as the battered remnants of his dignity would permit, his sister trailing behind him in morose silence.
Daniel sank back into his chair with a huff. “Of all the…”
“Only half an hour?” Jackson’s amused voice broke him out of the mood that threatened to snatch him up. “My word, what have you done to make them think so little of your prowess, Thynne?”
Daniel snorted, his good cheer returning in the face of Jackson’s cheerfully impudent observation. “If the sheets are to be believed, I am as reclusive as a monk, and most likely chaste as one.”
Danvers chose that moment to return, his gaze sweeping the table. “My lord? Yourguestshave left already?”
