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A faint thump from the bedchamber brought him up short. Blowing out the candle, he went still. Barely breathed. And surrendered the field.
For now.
three
The buffet table groaned with platters of eggs, sausages, thick slices of ham, cold tongue, and baskets of rolls and toast. Tea and coffee filled silver urns upon a sideboard. Brendan counted heads. Five other occupants still seated. He should have taken breakfast early when most were still foggy from last night’s wine.
At one end of the table sat Miss Sara Fitzgerald, nose buried in the day’s post. Across from her, Mrs. Pheeney eyed the sausage with heartfelt longing and heavy sighs. Between them, Elisabeth’s great-aunt Charity, a woman Brendan had met once long ago and not on the best of terms. If he remembered correctly, he’d been holding a frog. She’d been screeching.
At the far end of the table, Shaw’s and Elisabeth’s chairs were pulled close together in apparent amity. Brendan’s jaw tightened on a grimace of distaste that he transformed into a smile when Elisabeth spotted him. She wasn’t a
s adept an actress. Her face flamed red, her fingers gripping her butter knife as if she might stab him with it.
And there was the stone, taunting him from amid the folds of her lace fichu. Brendan restrained the impulse to cross the room, rip it from her throat, and run like hell. Unfortunately, he’d not get twenty paces before someone brought him down. More than likely Shaw, who possessed the brawn to snap him in two.
“Mr. Martin, how nice of you to join us this”—Elisabeth made a great show of checking the mantel clock, which read half eleven—“why, it is still morning.”
He pulled his watch from its pocket, snapping it open to confirm the time against the clock. “The same to the very minute.” Shoved it back into his pocket with a smile and a nod toward Miss Sara Fitzgerald, who eyed him speculatively from the far end of the table.
“I’m afraid everyone else came and went ages ago.” Elisabeth’s smile stretched from ear to ear. More manic than cheerful.
“Good. I detest being jostled while I drink my tea.” He drifted to the plates, heaping his high before dropping into a seat across from them, reaching for a clean cup and saucer, asking her to pass the salt. “Fabulous eggs. But then, your cook always had a knack. Do you remember when I visited in aught-three? Coddled to perfection, they were. Never had better.”
Shaw regarded him with curiosity. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Mr.—”
“Martin,” Brendan answered around a mouthful. “John Martin. Second cousin. Or is it third? Can’t keep us all straight. There’s more of us than a dog has fleas. Isn’t that right, Lissa?”
Shaw offered him a placid nod while Elisabeth’s stiff smile faltered around the edges.
“A little bird tells me you’re moving to London soon. Be careful, Mr. Shaw. Elisabeth may bankrupt you once she’s released on the big-city mantua makers and ribbon merchants.”
“I never—” Elisabeth spluttered.
“I trust we won’t need to worry overmuch about expenses,” Shaw replied.
Brendan speared his sausage. “No, silly me. Elisabeth’s rolling in the ready, isn’t she?”
Shaw answered with a jovial laugh as if Brendan had made the funniest of jokes.
“London, Gordon?”
His attention flicked to Elisabeth. “I can’t very well get ahead from the wilds of Ireland, can I?”
“I suppose. I—”
“London is a different place for a married woman than for a young maid making her come-out. Far more to do and see than you can imagine.” He warmed to his subject, his voice rising in volume. “The invitations. Parties, dinners, balls. The ton will be clamoring to meet the newest jewel in their crown.”
She straightened, shooting Brendan a dangerous stare. “Of course. I’d forgotten we’d discussed the move, and you’re quite right.”
Taken over by an imp of mischief, Brendan couldn’t help himself. How much would it take to puncture that pompous self-importance? “I suppose your aunts are excited to move. Didn’t Mrs. Pheeney spend a number of years near Richmond?”
“What?” Shaw and Elisabeth both began talking at once. “Aunt Pheeney and Aunt Fitz? They won’t be—”
Shaw recovered first. “They’re needed to oversee things here until a suitable agent is hired.”
“But Mr. Adams?” Elisabeth’s voice came uncertain.
“Is a frightful pushover. The tenants walk all over him, and he’s so coarse. Not at all the way I imagine the land agent for such a fine estate should carry himself. Besides, I see a whole slew of improvements to the house and grounds, beginning perhaps as soon as the autumn. We’ll need someone we can trust to see them through to completion.”
