trick of forgetting him.
It was dark, and they had been travelling through uninterrupted countryside for close on three hours now, as Darlington reckoned it.
‘We’re almost there,’ Miss Sutherland said. She sounded exhausted. He soliloquised briefly on the hardships of travelling while corseted, and how he had found one must particularly rely on one’s feminine fortitude to undertake the longer journeys.
He’d meant to entertain and distract her, but was left with the distinct impression he’d only exhausted her further.
She rapped on the roof, signalling that the driver should turn into the driveway coming up on the right. They turned and the road immediately grew worse.
When they stopped it was still dark, and Darlington assumed they were waiting for the estate gates to be opened, until Miss Sutherland opened her door and alighted without the help of his footman. What trick was she playing on him now? He placed his gloved hand in that of the footman who opened his door and accepted his help down from the carriage.
They were parked in front of the unlit shell of a house. It had perhaps been grand once, though small. Smaller than his Surrey hunting lodge, certainly.
‘We’ll need to carry the luggage around the back,’ Miss Sutherland said, not bothering to look at him. ‘The front hall’s blocked up, and I don’t like to risk using it now. I’ll go and get Tom to help us.’
‘Could we not drive around the back?’
‘It’s dark, my lady , so you probably can’t see the state of the gardens. No, we can’t drive around the back.’
Then she was gone into the dark, an animal returning to the wild.
He had looked at himself in the mirror last night, bound in one of Mme Soulier’s masterpieces, his face shaved twice and made up by Grey to soften his cheekbones and accentuate his eyes and lips. He had been giddy with delight. He’d ordered the Dandies to attend to him all evening, pouting and flirting when they particularly pleased him.
Standing in front of this ruined house, he had to remind himself that in all the world, and with all the resources available to him, he hadn’t found anything better than the sharp edge of this woman’s tongue.
A twig snapped, breaking the silence of the night, and he started. Miss Sutherland emerged, sure-footed, from the dark again, and another figure came after her. Tom – he must be the brother, Mr Thomas Sutherland – was taller than Miss Sutherland, but his steps were more careful. He didn’t look Darlington directly in the face, and it was hard in the dark to see him properly.
‘Lady Rose, my brother, Tom. Tom, Lady Rose.’
Darlington’s laugh tinkled uneasily into the country night and was absorbed by quiet brush and undergrowth. ‘Am I to address your brother by his Christian name? It is rather forward, but then so am I.’
‘Mr Sutherland, then. Tom, you can start unloading the lady’s things. John, you’ll help us?’
John? thought Darlington, peering into the dark at the side of the house. Who’s John?
‘Of course, Miss,’ said Darlington’s footman.
Ah. John.
Darlington stood in grand state to one side of the carriage as they carried his luggage, piece by piece. His footman – John – was too well-trained to swear when he tripped or was scratched or thwacked in the face by a branch, but Darlington could hear his progression through the overgrown darkness that Miss Sutherland navigated almost silently.
He was conscious of feeling . . . foolish. A new and uncomfortable thing. She should have shown him into the house first, of course, rather than leave him waiting. He would have thought she’d done it on purpose except that she seemed entirely uninterested in him.
Another new thing.
People had longed to be out of his company before. His father, for instance. But they had always wanted it passionately. There had always been disgust, or fear, or heartache to propel them from his side.
Never this sufferance of his
It was dark, and they had been travelling through uninterrupted countryside for close on three hours now, as Darlington reckoned it.
‘We’re almost there,’ Miss Sutherland said. She sounded exhausted. He soliloquised briefly on the hardships of travelling while corseted, and how he had found one must particularly rely on one’s feminine fortitude to undertake the longer journeys.
He’d meant to entertain and distract her, but was left with the distinct impression he’d only exhausted her further.
She rapped on the roof, signalling that the driver should turn into the driveway coming up on the right. They turned and the road immediately grew worse.
When they stopped it was still dark, and Darlington assumed they were waiting for the estate gates to be opened, until Miss Sutherland opened her door and alighted without the help of his footman. What trick was she playing on him now? He placed his gloved hand in that of the footman who opened his door and accepted his help down from the carriage.
They were parked in front of the unlit shell of a house. It had perhaps been grand once, though small. Smaller than his Surrey hunting lodge, certainly.
‘We’ll need to carry the luggage around the back,’ Miss Sutherland said, not bothering to look at him. ‘The front hall’s blocked up, and I don’t like to risk using it now. I’ll go and get Tom to help us.’
‘Could we not drive around the back?’
‘It’s dark, my lady , so you probably can’t see the state of the gardens. No, we can’t drive around the back.’
Then she was gone into the dark, an animal returning to the wild.
He had looked at himself in the mirror last night, bound in one of Mme Soulier’s masterpieces, his face shaved twice and made up by Grey to soften his cheekbones and accentuate his eyes and lips. He had been giddy with delight. He’d ordered the Dandies to attend to him all evening, pouting and flirting when they particularly pleased him.
Standing in front of this ruined house, he had to remind himself that in all the world, and with all the resources available to him, he hadn’t found anything better than the sharp edge of this woman’s tongue.
A twig snapped, breaking the silence of the night, and he started. Miss Sutherland emerged, sure-footed, from the dark again, and another figure came after her. Tom – he must be the brother, Mr Thomas Sutherland – was taller than Miss Sutherland, but his steps were more careful. He didn’t look Darlington directly in the face, and it was hard in the dark to see him properly.
‘Lady Rose, my brother, Tom. Tom, Lady Rose.’
Darlington’s laugh tinkled uneasily into the country night and was absorbed by quiet brush and undergrowth. ‘Am I to address your brother by his Christian name? It is rather forward, but then so am I.’
‘Mr Sutherland, then. Tom, you can start unloading the lady’s things. John, you’ll help us?’
John? thought Darlington, peering into the dark at the side of the house. Who’s John?
‘Of course, Miss,’ said Darlington’s footman.
Ah. John.
Darlington stood in grand state to one side of the carriage as they carried his luggage, piece by piece. His footman – John – was too well-trained to swear when he tripped or was scratched or thwacked in the face by a branch, but Darlington could hear his progression through the overgrown darkness that Miss Sutherland navigated almost silently.
He was conscious of feeling . . . foolish. A new and uncomfortable thing. She should have shown him into the house first, of course, rather than leave him waiting. He would have thought she’d done it on purpose except that she seemed entirely uninterested in him.
Another new thing.
People had longed to be out of his company before. His father, for instance. But they had always wanted it passionately. There had always been disgust, or fear, or heartache to propel them from his side.
Never this sufferance of his
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