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“Yes, I wish I could go to sleep as well and put off this meeting.”
She stood and began to pace. Her spectacles had slipped to their customary perch on the tip of her nose, but she ignored them. She only needed to push them up when she was around the new Marquess of Lowenbrock after all.
Lowenbrock. The man who’d saved her from ruin at the tavern. The man after whom she’d decided to model the hero of her current novel. Well, this had the potential of being awkward.
He must never know about her writing. If he read any of it, he’d realize who she was. And then he might kick her out into the cold. Mr. Markham would take her in, of course, but she couldn’t impose on him forever. He lived in bachelor’s quarters, and they were constantly in one another’s pockets when he returned home from his office.
She glanced at the small clock on her bedside table. Only ten minutes had passed since the carriage pulled up in front of the estate. What would be happening downstairs? She knew the staff would have gathered in the front hall to greet the new marquess.
The house had been a flurry of activity since her return, when she’d informed them of his impending arrival. Not that the house wasn’t normally well kept, but there had been bedrooms that hadn’t been dusted for some time. Mrs. Hastings and her husband, the head housekeeper and butler, had marshaled the staff, even calling in extra help from the village, to clean the house from top to bottom. Amelia had stayed in her room for most of that time, not wanting to interrupt the many people wandering through the house.
Everything had been declared ready the night before, and the staff had been on high alert, as had she, for the arrival.
She smoothed her hand over the light yellow muslin dress she wore. It was of simple design with tiny sprigs of white flowers dotted throughout and had a modest neckline. It was a far call from the tight, low-cut dress she’d borrowed during her research stint at the tavern. That dress had been made for a much smaller woman and had clung to her curves indecently. Below the swell of her bosom, the fabric of her dress fell in a smooth, straight line that concealed her generous hips. This time when the blond stranger looked at her, he’d see nothing but the very respectable Amelia Weston, niece and ward of the former Marquess of Lowenbrock. With any luck, the new marquess would have already forgotten the barmaid he’d met a few nights ago.
She wondered how long she’d have to wait before being called downstairs. Would Hastings take the marquess on a tour of the house, or would Mr. Markham suggest they call her down first? She could wander downstairs on her own. This was her home, after all, and it would be customary for her to greet him.
She gave her head a small shake. Mr. Markham had definite plans about how their introduction would go, and she would follow his lead in this matter.
Chapter 6
After suffering throughthe uncomfortable task of being presented to the staff, John wanted nothing more than to escape. He’d thought himself prepared, but being presented to Hastings, the butler, and the rest of the staff hadn’t seemed real.
It seemed that Markham referring to him by his title and his friends subjecting him to many warnings about the changes in store for him now that he was part of the aristocracy hadn’t been enough to prepare him for that moment. To his sisters, he’d still been their brother John, and that was how he still thought of himself. He was older and he’d seen much death in the years since leaving England, but he still thought of himself as the same person he’d always been. His brothers-in-law had tried to call him Lowenbrock, but John had insisted they use his given name. They’d complied because they were family.
But to the alarmingly large number of servants arrayed neatly in two long rows in the spacious entrance to his new manor, he would only be known as the Marquess of Lowenbrock and addressed as “my lord.”
All those eyes on him, deferential yet curious, served to underscore just how different his life was from the genteel poverty of his youth. Life as the son of an impoverished, untitled gentleman was no preparation for the future he now faced, the lives of the tenants for whom he was responsible.
And he still had to get through the documents Markham had kept him from studying during their two days of travel together. Then he’d have to meet with the estate’s steward.
With the ruthless efficiency born of many years at war, he forced his thoughts away from everything he needed to do and concentrated, instead, on trying to remember as many names as possible. He noticed that the head housekeeper was Mrs. Hastings, leading him to the assumption she and the butler were married.
He’d never been comfortable speaking before large groups, so when the introductions were over and it became apparent they were all waiting for him to say something, he shot an exasperated look at his solicitor. After spending the past two days talking off John’s ear, surely the man could have warned him. He managed a few words, thankful when Markham gave him an approving nod when he was finished.
He jumped at Markham’s suggestion they partake of some refreshments before being taken on a tour of the house and followed the man into the drawing room.
John collapsed into a blue wing chair that was clearly meant more for entertaining than for comfort. For a moment after dropping into it, he feared it would collapse. But the piece was sturdier than he’d expected and held his weight.
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, not caring that he could feel the solicitor’s eyes on him.
“You can just command everyone to leave you alone for the rest of the day. Even me.”
John opened one eye before closing it again. “I didn’t think anything could get you to stop talking.”
Markham gave an amused harrumph. “I suppose I deserve that.”
John opened his eyes and watched the old man settle into the chair opposite. A fire had been lit, and the warm tendrils of air reached out to comfort him. “I know I’ll adapt in time, but deuced if this isn’t uncomfortable for me. It feels like my first days after enlisting all over again. I fast learned just how soft and sheltered I’d been up to then.”
“One step at a time, my lord. This estate has been running without your guidance for several years now. It will continue to do so while you become acquainted with your position.”
John let out a breath of air. “I suppose there’s some comfort in that. But for now I plan to enjoy a proper cup of tea and whatever small sandwiches the cook has prepared. I only hope she made a fair amount, because I’m famished.”
Markham examined him intently for a moment, leaving him to wonder what he’d said that would elicit such scrutiny.
Finally the man gave his head a small shake. “You can just ask for more if there isn’t enough. The staff is unfamiliar with you, but they will adapt if you let them know what you like.”
John tried to ignore the small twinge of awkwardness at the reminder that everyone under the manor roof existed to serve him. How long would it take for him to stop feeling like a guest in his own home?
