“You must be William Reeves,” he said, consulting a folded parchment in his hand. “Former lord of this estate?”
Baron kept his smile pleasant. “Guillaume Reeves, Mr. Huxley.”
“Give us a tour then, William. I’ll need to examine thecondition of the manor house promptly.” Mr. Huxley gestured to his manservant, who unloaded a trunk from the carriage.
Even having expected it, Baron found the blatant disregard irksome. But he’d dealt with irksome all his life.
Calmly, he said, “Mr. Huxley, we are going to be in one another’s close company for a number of years. It’s best we start things on a respectful foundation. I’d be happy to give you a tour of the house, but not until you address me properly. A simple ‘my lord’ will do. I am, after all, still a member of the Reeves household.”
The man sized him up and read correctly whatever he saw. “Lead on, my lord.”
With a nod, Baron opened his home to a court-appointed stranger.
Acquainting Mr. Huxley with the house took the rest of the day. The man was alarmingly thorough, prodding at every portrait and cabinet, kneeling to examine floorboards, pausing to write a greater number of notes than Baron thought necessary. The house was old but in good repair.
In Baron’s bedroom, the man even found the hidden compartment in the floor.
“What’s this for?” he grunted, sweeping one hand through the hollow space, as if more suspicious to find it empty than filled with contraband.
“Whatever I wish to keep secret.”
“Got no secrets?” The man huffed in disbelief.
“Not at the moment, it seems.”
Baron tried not to think of the books that used to reside there—his one inheritance from his birth mother, destroyed by his stepmother.
At long last, the dinner bell rang. Mr. Huxley’s trunk hadbeen moved into a guest suite by his manservant, so he excused himself to ready for supper. Baron took the opportunity to duck into the kitchen. The boys had been briefly introduced to the steward, but he’d made it clear he expected more thorough introductions over dinner.
“Leon, you’ll have to dine with us.”
The blond boy angled his shoulder toward Baron, turning pointedly away as he bent over a pot of lentils.
Baron waited.
“He only needs birdbrain,” Leon said at last.
“Well, your birdbrain twin needs you. Let’s go. Apron off, vest on.”
Leon hissed over his shoulder, showing pointed canines. He snapped his jaw closed, lips moving like he’d run his tongue over his teeth.
“It goes without saying”—Baron smirked to soften the words—“but don’t hiss at dinner.”
The boy grumbled, but he did it as himself, leaving Baron to search out Corvin and give him a few words of encouragement.
Then it was time for dinner.
Despite Baron’s protest, Huxley insisted on taking the seat at the head of the table. The man gave a curt reminder that Baron was no longer head of the estate and holdings, and the sooner he accepted such facts, the better.
It wasn’t that Baron had meant to claim the seat himself.
It was that no one had sat in it for months.
With both twins looking at him, Baron forced his expression to remain impassive as he took his seat, forcing back a rush of memories with his father. He could not afford distraction.
Amelia brought plates first, then drinks.
“No,” said Huxley sharply as the maid moved to pour himwine. He covered his goblet with one hand. “I’ll prepare and serve all my own drinks while I reside here. It’s the only way to be safe.”
