AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No, but I can’t imagine why he bothered with me.”
Georgiana gave her an amused look before changing the subject. “I think Aunt Violet noticed your late arrival. You got lost in your work, didn’t you?”
“I was reviewing the notes I made this morning,” Sylvia admitted. “Your aunt was telling me how she met her second husband. The one who knew Manet.”
“Oh, yes.” Georgiana laughed. “The Comte who was actually a civil servant’s son. I love that story.”
“I think he was her favorite of the lot.”
“Well, allhedid was make up an identity to impress her. The other three husbands were far more destructive.”
The late Mr. Crawford, her last––and, she often stressed,finalhusband, had made a number of poor investments before having the decency to die, which had further induced Mrs. Crawford to publish her memoirs.
“Yet another point for eternal spinsterhood,” Sylvia quipped.
Georgiana ignored the remark and subtly gestured to Sylvia’s hands. “You forgot your gloves again.”
Sylvia’s cheeks heated as she rubbed at the ink stain on her finger. “So I did.” It had been ages since she’d had any reason to bother with the conventions of polite society. Back home at Hawthorne Cottage, she had never worn gloves, as they were hardly practical when completing the many household chores that needed to be done. Tomorrow she must bring the blasted things with her.
What does it matter? No one here would mistake you for a lady.
She was nothing more than a glorified secretary. And lucky for that.
“Here comes the grande dame now,” Georgiana muttered. Sylvia quickly put her hands behind her back and turned to greet her employer.
“There you are, Miss Sparrow,” the older woman bellowed as she shuffled toward them. She leaned heavily on her cane, likely weighed down by the massive necklace, earrings, and bracelets she insisted on wearing no matter the occasion, but anyone who thought her enfeebled quickly learned otherwise. “I trust you finished this morning’s notes?”
“Very nearly, Mrs. Crawford. I had to stop in order to come here.”
The woman let out a disappointed huff. “Well, see that you have something for me to review by this evening.”
Sylvia bowed her head. “Of course, madam.”
Mrs. Crawford gave a sniff of approval. “Come along, then,” she ordered, before turning away to accost another guest.
“I think someone wants a little bedtime reading,” Georgiana whispered.
Sylvia stifled a laugh. “Who can blame her? You should have seen the glint in her eyes when she talked about the ‘not-Comte.’ She made a particular point to tell me he had the largesthandsshe had ever seen.”
Georgiana barely had time to smother a most unladylike snort into her handkerchief. “Oh, bless the old dragon. I’m actually starting to be glad I came,” she added under her breath.
Mrs. Crawford had insisted Georgiana accompany them to Scotland, arguing that the viscountess had been spreading herself too thin between her charitable endeavors. Georgiana reluctantly agreed, mostly for Sylvia’s benefit.
Before Sylvia could respond, she was interrupted by the entrance of several maids pushing tea carts. Georgiana nimbly stepped away. “Oh, you must try the jam tarts.”
As they moved to join Mrs. Crawford, a group of men who had been sitting by the massive stone fireplace rose. She barely spared them a glance at first. It would be the same mix of pallid, weak-chinned aristocrats as the day before. Mr. Wardale wasn’t exactly eclectic when it came to the company he kept. But as the group approached the tea carts, Sylvia noticed a man she had privately dubbed “Lord Lecher” after his tendency to openly stare at ladies’ chests conversing with someone and cheerfully slapping him on the back. The recipient had stooped to meet Lord Lecher’s middling height, but now he laughed and fully straightened, displaying every impressive inch of his lean, long-muscled form.
How on earth hadheescaped her notice?
They had been at Castle Blackwood for a number of days, and in that time, Sylvia had not come across any tall, broad-shouldered, and strong-jawed men. But then there had been so much battling for her attentions––settling Mrs. Crawford, repeating everything anyone said to her thrice, and finding the time and space to complete her duties.
It wasn’t until the man gave her a perfectly polite smile and extended his arm to let her pass ahead of him that she realized she had been quite obviously staring. Because not only was he tall, broad-shouldered, and strong-jawed—he was absolutelydevastating.
And well he knew it.
“What is keeping you, child?” Mrs. Crawford bellowed over her shoulder.
To her profound embarrassment, Sylvia had come to a very abrupt and very noticeable stop.
