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Baron Moseby bowed to her. The baron, a widower, had been a rather persistent suitor as of late, and Louisa was not at all interested. “Lady Louisa,” he said again. “I would consider it a great honor if you were to dance—”
“Sorry, old chap.” Lord Kerridge materialized next to the two of them. “I believe this dance is mine, is it not, Lady Louisa?”
She cast wide eyes at him, unsure what to say. She didn’t particularly want to dance with the baron, but—
“I must apologize for being tardy to claim my dance. I was caught up in a rather involved conversation. I do hope you will forgive me.” He winged his elbow out to Louisa, and she tentatively took it. “Sorry again, Moseby.”
Baron Moseby bowed as Lord Kerridge led Louisa onto the ballroom floor.
“It seems, like a hero of old, I arrived in the nick of time,” Lord Kerridge murmured as the lines formed for their dance. “I hope you don’t consider what I did too presumptuous, but the very idea of that . . . creature . . . laying a hand on you in any way made my blood curdle.”
“That comes as something of a surprise since you have been preoccupied with others this evening,” Louisa said, flattered by his actions but a bit surprised by his heavy-handedness. Baron Moseby had been polite enough in his attentions to her, in spite of her lack of interest in return. Besides, she didn’t want to appear too young and eager. “You haven’t even said good evening to me yet.”
“I must berate myself for my negligence. Good evening, Lady Louisa.” He took her gloved hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “You look quite heavenly this evening—a veritable angel descending to us from on high. Since I believe this is the supper dance, I hope you will forgive my rashness just now and join me for supper.”
“Very well,” she replied, silently noting that his description of her was a bit cloud-like as well. “I forgive you, and I will gladly join you for supper.”
“I thought you might,” he replied with a knowing smile. He took her hand in his, and the music began.
* * *
The weather improved after William’s first day of travel, and by the time he arrived at Farleigh Manor in Buckinghamshire, the skies were blue and the air pleasantly warm for April. Perhaps this accounted for the small degree of hope he was feeling, he thought as he exited the carriage and watched it drive off toward the stables.
The main door of the house opened, and a bent, elderly man with white hair approached. Devil take it, if it wasn’t old Grimshaw after all!
He gave William a very dignified bow. “Welcome home, your lordship,” he intoned in the low, gravelly voice William remembered from his boyhood.
William chose not to act on ceremony. It was Grimshaw, after all, who’d conspired on more than one occasion to keep William’s boyish antics from getting him in trouble with his father. He grabbed the man’s hand and shook it heartily. “Grimshaw, what a great pleasure it is to see you again and looking so well!”
“Thank you, my lord.” The man gestured for William to precede him inside.
The entire staff was gathered in the main hall, which could only mean that the carriage had been spotted in the village and the staff at the manor had been informed of its approach. They all stood at attention now—all eight of them: Grimshaw; Mrs. Holly; Matthew; Samuel; Mrs. Brill, the cook; her daughter Mary, who was the scullery maid; and a footman and maid William didn’t know. Counting the coachman who had brought William here and was still with the horses, that would make nine servants in all.
It was a small staff for an estate the size of Farleigh Manor, but as William had been anticipating the worst, it was a larger number than he’d expected. He strode over to Mrs. Holly, the housekeeper, who was first in line. She began to curtsy, but he reached for her hand and bowed over it. “Mrs. Holly, it is a delight to see you again and to find you still here at Farleigh Manor.”
“Oh, you dear boy!” Mrs. Holly exclaimed, digging in her pocket and retrieving her handkerchief. “Welcome home!”
“Samuel, Matthew, well met!” They had been more like fathers to him than his own had been. He and Matthew shook hands vigorously.
“It’s a fine day that you’re back with us again at last, your lordship. A fine day.” Matthew gave William some welcoming pats on the back.
“Boy . . .” Samuel spoke the word in a low rumble that grew into a growl and ended in a laugh as he threw his arms around William and hugged him tightly. He slapped his back and ruffled his hair—and entirely ignored the fact that William was the viscount and Samuel a mere stable master. It felt like heaven to William. He’d forgotten.
He accepted another rib-breaking hug—this time from Mrs. Brill—and one from Mary, whom William had known all his life.
“You’re back, Will!” Mary cried, her arms clinging tightly to his waist. Sweet, simpleminded Mary, who had been his best friend during childhood. “I knew you’d come back, and you did.”
“Ah, my little Mary,” William said. He gently extricated himself from her arms and studied her closely, holding her hands at arm’s length. “You’re a lovely young woman now, aren’t you? I missed you the most, you know.”
“Yes,” she said. “Because I love you the most.”
He smiled at her words while the others chuckled.
“Now, Mary, you mustn’t be sayin’ such things,” Mrs. Brill whispered to her daughter. “Beggin’ yer pardon, yer lordship.”
“None needed, Mrs. Brill, I assure you.” He kissed Mary’s hand before letting it go.
He was then introduced to John, the footman, and Sally, the maid of all work. He was already acquainted with the coachman, a red-faced, robust man of middle years named Walter. The entire round of introductions took all of five minutes.
