Read Online What You Deserve (Anything for Love, Book 3) by Adele Clee - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Adele Clee
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room. “I certainly hope not as I am in need of more than one glass.”
Four heads turned to the door. Their shocked expressions were quickly replaced with a look of horror. For a few seconds no one moved; no one spoke.
“Lady Fernall,” Mrs. Birch finally gasped. The chairs scraped along the floor as the servants shot to their feet. “We were not expecting you home.”
“I can see that,” Isabella replied with just a hint of irritation. In truth, she was too tired and too wet to care.
Sedgewick inclined his head. “I am afraid I have been led astray, my lady.”
Mrs. Birch elbowed the butler. “Let me explain, my lady—”
“You may save your explanations until later.” Isabella held out her arms. “As you can see, we were caught in the storm and are soaked to the skin.”
Mrs. Birch craned her neck to peer over Isabella’s shoulder. “We, my lady?”
“Lord Morford has come to stay for a few days. Let us pray Jacob is in the stables waiting to attend to him and not gallivanting around the countryside jumping fences on my horse.”
The housekeeper opened her mouth, snapped it shut, but then said, “Forgive me, my lady, but isn’t Lord Morford … d-dead?”
It suddenly occurred to her that the woman was referring to Andrew. Good heavens, fear might have addled her senses, but she had not lost her faculties.
“It is the gentleman’s younger brother who has come to stay. When he returns from the stable he will require a warm bath and his clothes will need airing. A hot meal and a tonic will help to prevent him catching a chill.”
They all raised their chins in acknowledgement.
Mrs. Birch turned to Molly. “The longer he remains in damp clothes the worse it will be.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Isabella sucked in her cheeks and raised a brow to convey her impatience. “Will someone go and heat the water.”
Molly gasped. After offering a curtsy, she scurried out into the hall.
“Lord Morford will take Lord Fernall’s old chamber,” Isabella continued aware of the curious look that passed between her servants. Should Tristan object, she would offer him the choice of another room. But she had her own agenda for making the request. Tristan needed to remain close if he was to bear witness to the strange phenomena. “Light the fire in his chamber and have a bath drawn for him as soon as possible.”
They all nodded and hurried from the room. Mrs. Birch hovered at the door. “Won’t you need some help to change out of your wet clothes?”
Isabella shook her head. “I shall manage. I would rather you all attend to Lord Morford.” If she caught a chill, no one would care. If anything were to happen to Tristan—
Mrs. Birch gave a weak smile. “If you’re sure, my lady.”
Her housekeeper knew not to pester her. Whilst Isabella had use of the house until she remarried or met her demise, it was Henry Fernall who paid their wages. Henry Fernall was responsible for the running of the estate. Henry Fernall controlled everything.
Samuel knew how to torment her even from the grave.
Highley Grange embodied the romantic aspects of any medieval-inspired building. It was not difficult to imagine a row of archers hiding behind the parapets, or a damsel waving her pristine handkerchief from her room in the ivy-covered tower. Nor was it hard to believe one might see the hazy white figure of a ghost appear in one of the arched windows.
Tristan snorted. He would wager there was a full suit of armour standing guard in the hall, and a pair of crossed swords displayed on the wall in case one was suddenly called upon for battle. The environment lent itself perfectly to a haunting.
The stables appeared to be deserted. Tristan searched the stalls to discover the groom asleep on a mound of hay.
“Does your mistress pay you to lie about idle?” he said nudging the man with the tip of his wet boot. When that failed to rouse him, Tristan tickled the lazy rogue’s ear with a piece of
Four heads turned to the door. Their shocked expressions were quickly replaced with a look of horror. For a few seconds no one moved; no one spoke.
“Lady Fernall,” Mrs. Birch finally gasped. The chairs scraped along the floor as the servants shot to their feet. “We were not expecting you home.”
“I can see that,” Isabella replied with just a hint of irritation. In truth, she was too tired and too wet to care.
Sedgewick inclined his head. “I am afraid I have been led astray, my lady.”
Mrs. Birch elbowed the butler. “Let me explain, my lady—”
“You may save your explanations until later.” Isabella held out her arms. “As you can see, we were caught in the storm and are soaked to the skin.”
Mrs. Birch craned her neck to peer over Isabella’s shoulder. “We, my lady?”
“Lord Morford has come to stay for a few days. Let us pray Jacob is in the stables waiting to attend to him and not gallivanting around the countryside jumping fences on my horse.”
The housekeeper opened her mouth, snapped it shut, but then said, “Forgive me, my lady, but isn’t Lord Morford … d-dead?”
It suddenly occurred to her that the woman was referring to Andrew. Good heavens, fear might have addled her senses, but she had not lost her faculties.
“It is the gentleman’s younger brother who has come to stay. When he returns from the stable he will require a warm bath and his clothes will need airing. A hot meal and a tonic will help to prevent him catching a chill.”
They all raised their chins in acknowledgement.
Mrs. Birch turned to Molly. “The longer he remains in damp clothes the worse it will be.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Isabella sucked in her cheeks and raised a brow to convey her impatience. “Will someone go and heat the water.”
Molly gasped. After offering a curtsy, she scurried out into the hall.
“Lord Morford will take Lord Fernall’s old chamber,” Isabella continued aware of the curious look that passed between her servants. Should Tristan object, she would offer him the choice of another room. But she had her own agenda for making the request. Tristan needed to remain close if he was to bear witness to the strange phenomena. “Light the fire in his chamber and have a bath drawn for him as soon as possible.”
They all nodded and hurried from the room. Mrs. Birch hovered at the door. “Won’t you need some help to change out of your wet clothes?”
Isabella shook her head. “I shall manage. I would rather you all attend to Lord Morford.” If she caught a chill, no one would care. If anything were to happen to Tristan—
Mrs. Birch gave a weak smile. “If you’re sure, my lady.”
Her housekeeper knew not to pester her. Whilst Isabella had use of the house until she remarried or met her demise, it was Henry Fernall who paid their wages. Henry Fernall was responsible for the running of the estate. Henry Fernall controlled everything.
Samuel knew how to torment her even from the grave.
Highley Grange embodied the romantic aspects of any medieval-inspired building. It was not difficult to imagine a row of archers hiding behind the parapets, or a damsel waving her pristine handkerchief from her room in the ivy-covered tower. Nor was it hard to believe one might see the hazy white figure of a ghost appear in one of the arched windows.
Tristan snorted. He would wager there was a full suit of armour standing guard in the hall, and a pair of crossed swords displayed on the wall in case one was suddenly called upon for battle. The environment lent itself perfectly to a haunting.
The stables appeared to be deserted. Tristan searched the stalls to discover the groom asleep on a mound of hay.
“Does your mistress pay you to lie about idle?” he said nudging the man with the tip of his wet boot. When that failed to rouse him, Tristan tickled the lazy rogue’s ear with a piece of
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