She sailed off with stately dignity. Alden watched her for a few seconds, then turned back to us, his face a picture of resignation mingled with frustration.
“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” I said in an attempt to comfort him. “She’s too old to get in your way much. I mean, you have that whole house to fix up.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to leave her rooms until later, but when I get to them, shemustmove to the gatekeeper’s lodge. And I won’t add her board to my expenses, which are strained enough as is. Nor for you lot,” he added, his brows pulling together when his gaze shifted from me to Fenice.
“We wouldn’t dream of imposing on you in that way,” she said with exaggerated courtesy, and, with a cheeky grin at me, grabbed my arm and hauled me in the opposite direction to that of Lady Sybilla, taking me out into the depths of the garden. “Come along, I’ll show you what’s what.”
“Sounds good. I did want to tell you something about the archery—”
“Ugh, don’t mention that. Patrick is going to be furious when he sees me. Speaking of that wastrel, did he say when he was going to be here? He was supposed to fetch the equipment two days ago and be back by noon, and it’s long past that now.”
“He just said sometime in early evening.”
“That rotter. I’ll rip a few strips off of him if he left me to face the irate owner on my own....”
I looked over my shoulder as I followed Fenice.
Alden stood watching us, an oddly puzzled look onhis face, but when my gaze met his, he immediately turned and, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, walked quickly toward the stone verandah.
My spirits dropped at such an obvious rejection. I didn’t even know why I was being so spurned, but I knew I didn’t like it. A little spike of pride had me telling myself that I didn’t care what he thought, that he probably didn’t like women anyway, and that I had more important things to do than be concerned over the opinion of such a misanthropic, annoying man.
“I don’t give a flying fig what he thinks,” I said under my breath as ahead of me, Fenice pointed at the small cluster of outbuildings, and explained what they were being used to store. “Besides, I probably won’t see him again. He’ll be inside, and I’ll be outside, and never the twain shall meet.”
I sighed at that thought, inexplicably depressed.
He reallydidhave nice eyes.
Chapter 4
“Yes, I arrived with the car intact, although just barely. And it cost a fortune to fix the starter, which I can ill afford.” Alden took a deep breath, and opened the door to what he remembered was a formal dining room. He half expected to find ghostly, sheet-covered furniture lurking in the darkness, but the room, like so many others he’d surveyed in the last half hour, was empty.
“So long as you’re safe. Alice wants to know when we can see the place,” Elliott said, the faint clicking of keys reaching Alden’s ears. No doubt Elliott was anxious to get back to work, and had called only to make sure Alden had arrived at last. “Not that we’re pressuring you. I know from hard experience just how long it can take for repairs to be made.”
“Given the amount of work I’m seeing, next year wouldn’t be a bad guess.”
He entered the room, intending on opening the dusty, grime-bedecked olive green velvet curtains, but paused when one end of the mantel over a particularly ugly fireplace suddenly gave up the will to live, and released its hold on the wall, falling to the ground with an appalling wooden screech and a substantial thud. A gentle tinkle of plaster followed.
Alden gave the mantel a warning look, and added, “Maybe 2020 would be a better estimate.”
“What was that noise? It sounded like a banshee screaming.”
“It was the mantel. I believe it just tried to commit suicide.”
Alden grasped the curtain, and gave it a sideways tug.
The curtain came loose in his hand, and slithered to the floor with a dejectedfwooping noise, a small mushroom cloud of dust rising around him, immediately settling on his shoes, and trouser legs.
Alden pursed his lips.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Inanimate objects like mantels don’t get depressed and suicidal.”
“You haven’t seen this place,” Alden countered, squinting out of the flyspecked window. He thought it looked out onto the garden at the side of the house, but it was difficult to see through what must be decades of grime and neglect. “It’s like the whole house has gone emo. If it was a person, I’d expect it to be clothed in black, drinking absinthe, and writing depressing poetry about the futility of life and the existential being of nothingness.”
“Now you’re being dramatic. A house is a house is a house. As you should well know, having grown up here. If any house had the right to mope around and write sad poetry, it would be Ainslie Castle.”
The second curtain, with a little whisper of hopelessness, rippled and fell to the floor next to its partner. Alden coughed and waved away the eruption of dust.
His shoes were now almost gray. “I repeat, you haven’t seen this place. And that’s not the worst of it.”
