inquire, and I shall tell you that your powers of deduction have proved you correct.”
“May I assist you?”
The man was so incredibly stiff, he oft reminded her of Theodore though he’d never been anything but kind and polite to her.
“Yes, I need a carriage, if you please, to take me to the stage stop?”
One gray brow rose. The stare was silent and made her squirm. She backed up.
He tilted his head. “As you wish, Madam, but may I ask as to your destination? Perhaps a private conveyance would be more suitable. We wouldn’t want a repeat of The Attack.”
No she didn’t want a repeat of—as everyone around here seemed to term it—The Attack. She’d already wrestled that fear earlier this morning, but saw no help from it.
“London.”
Grims turned and walked away silently. He was forever doing that, asking her questions and then just leaving. She had no idea what to make of the austere man.
Tired, she walked over to an ivory settee and perched on the edge of it. If the trip down the stairs and merely packing left her this drained, she hated to think what the trip to London would do, but it didn’t matter. She was going.
As she waited, Emily ran her gaze around the grand entry of the house. The black and white marble floors gleamed, reflecting the sunlight. Marble columns stretching up to the plastered ceiling marched down each side of the entryway. Mirrors adorned the walls, statues were hidden in alcoves. This part of the house was lovely, but she preferred the older wings she’d discovered a few days ago. The ancient stones of the house told of stories forgotten, armor and faded tapestries depicting battles hung from those walls. That part of this giant mansion reminded her of knights of old. This part of the house, new and shiny she just couldn’t really understand.
Minutes later Grims stood to her side. She jumped, her hand flying to her chest and glared before dropping her gaze to the floor.
“I apologize, Madam, for startling you. The carriage will be brought around shortly and will see you safely to London.”
The words surged relief through her. “Thank you, Grims .”
He cleared his throat. “You do understand that his lordship will not be happy about this?”
He couldn’t see her behind her veils so she smiled again. “I’m sure he’ll come to terms with my leaving, Grims . The marquess has more important things to worry about than an imposing houseguest.”
His look said he thoroughly disagreed.
* * * * *
The Marquess of Ravensworth was rarely speechless, but there were exceptions.
How was he to deal with this?
It had taken him almost two days to get to the village in the Cotswalds and when he’d arrived, it had been well after dark. He’d stayed at a nearby inn, The Goose and Gander, to wait until morning.
Now it was morning and here he stood inside Isobelle’s cottage. His heart ached when he saw the vibrant woman sick and pale in bed. Her once lustrous hair was limp and dull. She’d lost so much weight, the once curvaceous woman appeared gaunt to the point of starvation.
The story she’d told him shocked him and he had no idea what to say to her.
Anger came hot and fast, roaring through his veins. But he’d never been one to show his anger, let alone to a woman, and now didn’t seem the time to start with one that was at death’s door.
He took a deep breath through his nose and wondered what he was supposed to say.
“I’m telling—” She broke off in a fit of strangled coughing. The maid hurried to her, but Isobelle waved the woman away. “I’m telling you the truth, Jason.”
He didn’t doubt it. Isobelle had been unfailingly honest above all else. It had been one of the many commonalities between them. “Why? Why wait to tell me this?” He thumped his hand on his thigh, wondering what to do, too many emotions hitting him all at once. Coldly he asked, “Did you think I… Damn it, I had a right to know . Why Isobelle ?”
“I’ve no real
“May I assist you?”
The man was so incredibly stiff, he oft reminded her of Theodore though he’d never been anything but kind and polite to her.
“Yes, I need a carriage, if you please, to take me to the stage stop?”
One gray brow rose. The stare was silent and made her squirm. She backed up.
He tilted his head. “As you wish, Madam, but may I ask as to your destination? Perhaps a private conveyance would be more suitable. We wouldn’t want a repeat of The Attack.”
No she didn’t want a repeat of—as everyone around here seemed to term it—The Attack. She’d already wrestled that fear earlier this morning, but saw no help from it.
“London.”
Grims turned and walked away silently. He was forever doing that, asking her questions and then just leaving. She had no idea what to make of the austere man.
Tired, she walked over to an ivory settee and perched on the edge of it. If the trip down the stairs and merely packing left her this drained, she hated to think what the trip to London would do, but it didn’t matter. She was going.
As she waited, Emily ran her gaze around the grand entry of the house. The black and white marble floors gleamed, reflecting the sunlight. Marble columns stretching up to the plastered ceiling marched down each side of the entryway. Mirrors adorned the walls, statues were hidden in alcoves. This part of the house was lovely, but she preferred the older wings she’d discovered a few days ago. The ancient stones of the house told of stories forgotten, armor and faded tapestries depicting battles hung from those walls. That part of this giant mansion reminded her of knights of old. This part of the house, new and shiny she just couldn’t really understand.
Minutes later Grims stood to her side. She jumped, her hand flying to her chest and glared before dropping her gaze to the floor.
“I apologize, Madam, for startling you. The carriage will be brought around shortly and will see you safely to London.”
The words surged relief through her. “Thank you, Grims .”
He cleared his throat. “You do understand that his lordship will not be happy about this?”
He couldn’t see her behind her veils so she smiled again. “I’m sure he’ll come to terms with my leaving, Grims . The marquess has more important things to worry about than an imposing houseguest.”
His look said he thoroughly disagreed.
* * * * *
The Marquess of Ravensworth was rarely speechless, but there were exceptions.
How was he to deal with this?
It had taken him almost two days to get to the village in the Cotswalds and when he’d arrived, it had been well after dark. He’d stayed at a nearby inn, The Goose and Gander, to wait until morning.
Now it was morning and here he stood inside Isobelle’s cottage. His heart ached when he saw the vibrant woman sick and pale in bed. Her once lustrous hair was limp and dull. She’d lost so much weight, the once curvaceous woman appeared gaunt to the point of starvation.
The story she’d told him shocked him and he had no idea what to say to her.
Anger came hot and fast, roaring through his veins. But he’d never been one to show his anger, let alone to a woman, and now didn’t seem the time to start with one that was at death’s door.
He took a deep breath through his nose and wondered what he was supposed to say.
“I’m telling—” She broke off in a fit of strangled coughing. The maid hurried to her, but Isobelle waved the woman away. “I’m telling you the truth, Jason.”
He didn’t doubt it. Isobelle had been unfailingly honest above all else. It had been one of the many commonalities between them. “Why? Why wait to tell me this?” He thumped his hand on his thigh, wondering what to do, too many emotions hitting him all at once. Coldly he asked, “Did you think I… Damn it, I had a right to know . Why Isobelle ?”
“I’ve no real
Similar Books
