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Five days.That was all she had to convince him to change his mind. With no time to waste, she would have to brave the weather She kissed her aunt’s cheek, tucked a thick woolen blanket around her, and made her a cup of warm tea.
Matilda fetched her cloak from a hook by the door and found her thickest gloves that had the fewest holes in them. She already wore her walking boots in hopes that she’d been able to go to town. That had been before the storm had arrived of course. She hadn’t bothered to change back into her slippers and now she was glad for it since it would save her time.
She tucked a stray wisp of her russet hair beneath the hood of her cloak and headed for the door. It was madness to walk to Castleton house in this weather, but what choice did she have?
“Do be careful, love,” her aunt called out before she opened the front door to face the icy winter.
The walk to the earl’s home was bitterly cold, and her threadbare blue woolen gown was patched from years of frequent wear. She was soaked to the bone and frost coated her lashes long before she reached the woods and the narrow path that led to the grand house.
It was late afternoon by the time she reached Castleton Hall. The snowfall had created a gray dusk that would soon give way to the sweeping darkness of nightfall. Matilda climbed the steps to the large oak front door, her toes and fingers as numb as ice. Warm lights emanated from the windows on the ground floor in contrast to the gloomy, cold world outside. She grasped the brass knocker and rapped it hard three times.
At first she feared no one had heard her, and it was only when she raised her head to try again that the door opened and the elderly butler, Mr. Stodgens, answered. He usually offered her a warm smile, but this time he looked weary and there was no hint of a smile on his face. She knew that losing Bernard Brynnwood had been hard on the butler. He’d had started at Castleton Hall as a young footman, where he had served Bernard for over thirty years. He had been completely devoted to His Lordship.
Mr. Stodgens squinted at her in surprise.
“Good heavens, Miss Matthews. What are you doing out in this weather?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stodgens. I was wondering if His Lordship would grant me a brief audience?” She did her best to hide her chattering teeth, but the butler noticed.
“He won’t like it, but you had better come in. I shall inform His Lordship that you are here.” Stodgens motioned for her to enter. She lifted her skirts above her boots and stepped into the grand entryway.
The house’s interior had fine Italian marble columns and the walls were decorated with lovely tapestries of pastoral scenes depicting flowing meadows and lovelorn maidens of a bygone era gliding in swings or sitting with handsome gentlemen. It was one of the few homes in the region that bore such art, and Matilda had always adored touring the home’s corridors to see its paintings, sculptures, and tapestries.
“Come into the evening room and warm yourself by the fire, Miss Matthews.” The butler led her to a room with green wallpaper and gilded paintings of Castleton ancestors hanging upon the walls. She took a seat in the wingback chair by the fire and extended her hands toward the healthy flames, eager to banish the chill from her limbs.
After several minutes, the butler returned and informed her that she was to be escorted to the earl’s private study. When she reached the study and stepped inside, the sight that greeted her was an unexpected one.
A tall, well-built man stood behind a rosewood desk, his arms crossed over his chest, face fixed firmly in a scowl as Matilda entered his domain. He had a strong jaw and chin, with an aquiline nose and a pair of dark slashes for eyebrows over a pair of smoky gray eyes that sharpened on her in a predatory way.
Lord Arthur Brynnwood was a most striking and handsome man, Matilda decided, with his wild mane of dark hair unsettling arrogance. It was clear her presence at Castleton Hall was not welcome.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm.
She wondered how she must have appeared to him, half drowned in mud, her hair escaping her coiffure as she lowered the hood of her cloak. She had done her best not to drag the wintry muck of the outdoors into his home, but she knew she must have. She was apeasantin front of a prince.
Lord Brynnwood wore black trousers and a silver waistcoat embroidered with green ivy patterns, which accented his broad shoulders and narrow hips. His white lawn shirt billowed out at the sleeves and his cravat was folded crisply to perfection. It had never been clearer to Matilda that the two of them were from different worlds, as different as a bird and a fish. Could creatures from the air and sea find a way to communicate? Matilda desperately hoped so.
“Stodgens said you are Miss Matilda Matthews, resident of Meadow Cross cottage, for the moment.”
She frowned slightly.
“I am, my lord,” she answered, keeping her voice soft despite the slow rising anger at his arrogant treatment.
“Good. Then you received my notice of your eviction five days from now. Unless, of course, you can pay the designated rent?”
It was growing harder and harder to control her temper.
“I did. It was your notice which brought me here. I must ask you to reconsider your decision to evict my aunt and me.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed and his lips twitched in an unpleasant smile.
“Are you asking me not to have you thrown off my property, Miss Matthews?”
“I am,” she admitted. It would be foolish to remind him of the promise his great-uncle had made to her and Aunt Florence. He was not bound by them.
“I suppose you have a list of reasons that you whould like to tell me in hopes that I might find mercy in my black heart to let you remain at Meadow Cross?”
Matilda was astonished at the cool amusement in his tone. Were their lives a game to him? Before she could think better of it, she found herself coming toe to toe with him, angry and unafraid.
