No, they werenotidentical twins.
The rider was not Bertrand, of course. He hadwalkedinto the village. It was the Earl of Brandon, and now Estelle could not even pretend to be away from home. He had seen her. So had his dog, which took a few menacing steps toward her across the lawn before stopping abruptly at something the man had said. She heard the low rumble of his voice but could not discern the actual words.
How very mortifying and unpleasant. Estelle was terribly aware of her ancient cotton dress, faded from innumerable washes and much despised by her maid, who alwaystold her it was too old even for the ragbag. But it was cool and comfortable and was kept strictly for chores such as this one. Her straw hat must be almost as antique. Its brim was limp and shapeless and wonderfully effective in shading her face and neck from the sun. Her gloves were large and elbow length and bright green and ugly. But they kept her fingers and forearms from being pricked, and they kept the dirt from getting beneath her fingernails and the sap from staining her hands. Her shoes... Well, the less said about her shoes, the better.
She set down her basket, pulled off her gloves, and dropped them on top of the dead blooms and weeds. She could not do anything about the rest of her appearance. Let him think what he would. She did not much care about his good opinion anyway. She made her way toward him, skirting about the flower beds and eyeing the dog warily. It was panting, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. It was looking at her as though it would be happy to make her its afternoon tea if only its master would be obliging enough to ride out of sight for a few moments.
The man looked as morose as ever. Oh, it was wicked, perhaps, to have taken him in such thorough dislike. No, it was not. He had done nothing to make himself likable. Quite the opposite.
“Captain will not hurt you,” he told her.
“Not when you are here to call him off,” she agreed.
“Cap,” he said. “Shake.”
And the dog, still panting, still gazing intently and hungrily at her, sat on its haunches, lifted one of its giant paws, and dangled it toward her.
Oh dear God.
But he had done it deliberately to disconcert her—the man, that was. To make a cringing female out of her, as hehad done by the river. How she wished now that she had left her legs dangling in the water and merely tossed her head—and her hair—in his direction. And raised one haughty eyebrow.
She took a few resolute steps forward, grasped the dog’s paw in a firm clasp, and shook it. It wasgigantic.It could flatten her with one swat. And it had lethal-looking claws. Was that what one called them on a dog? Or were they nails?
“How do you do, Captain?” she said before looking up at the earl. Man and dog suited each other. He was gigantic too. And he had those huge hands, neatly gloved at the moment and holding the reins. “How do you do, Lord Brandon?”
He removed his hat. “I wondered, Lady Estelle,” he said, “if I might have a few words with you and Viscount Watley.”
A few words.He had already had them—more than he had ever spoken in a row before now—and she wished he would go away. All the way away. Back home where he had come from. Maria did not like him even though he was her brother, and that fact merely confirmed Estelle in her own negative reaction to him. Perhaps those rumors about him were all true. Perhaps he was as dangerous and evil as he looked. Perhaps he really was an ex-convict. And perhaps she was overreacting, merely because she had embarrassed herself out by the river and called his dog a doggie and was embarrassing herself today. This dress, she remembered now, had been new when she was still living here with her aunt and uncle, before the move to Redcliffe. They had moved when she wasfifteen.She was twenty-five now, going on twenty-six. How excruciatingly embarrassing. Never mind the ragbag. The dress was too old for a museum.
“Bertrand is not here,” she said. “He ought to be backsoon for tea, but when he gets to discussing classical literature with the vicar, time loses all meaning for both of them. It is altogether possible that eventually they will notice darkness has fallen beyond the windows of the study, though I daresay the vicar’s housekeeper might insist upon feeding him his dinner before then.”
And what on earth was she prattling about now?
“But you may have a word with me if you wish,” she said.
He glanced toward the house. “Perhaps it would not be quite the thing,” he said.
It was what Bertrand would think too. And, of course, Aunt Jane if she were here. Though if she were here, then there would be no problem, would there? And how mortifying that this man had had to point out to her what was proper behavior.
“I will summon my maid,” she said. “Perhaps you would like to take your horse to the stables, Lord Brandon, while I wash my hands.”And change my dress. And my shoes. And comb my hair.“The butler will show you up to the drawing room.”
Please come home, Bert.
She ought simply to have agreed with him that it was not the thing to entertain a gentleman alone. He would have gone away and returned some other time if the word he wished to have with them was important enough. But she could not bear the thought of waiting every day in anticipation of his coming back. Better to hear him out now and be rid of him.
He returned his hat to his head and proceeded on his way to the stables, his dog loping along at his side.
Four
Fifteen minutes later, Estelle entered the drawing room, wearing a sprigged muslin dress she had acquired in London during the spring. Her hair was freshly brushed and twisted into a knot at the back of her head—her maid’s specialty when time was of the essence. He was standing with his back to the fireplace, his legs slightly apart, his hands behind him, his expression stern. Lord of his domain—inherdrawing room. Well, strictly speaking, Bertrand’s drawing room. But certainly not the Earl of Brandon’s. Of Bertrand, of course, there was no sign. Olga, Estelle’s maid, who had come into the room behind her, went to sit in the corner farthest from the window and busied herself with some darning.
“Please have a seat,” Estelle said.
She thought he was going to ignore her invitation, but he was merely waiting, it seemed, for her to seat herself first. The man hadsomemanners, then. He filled the chair he saton, but there was no reason in the world why she should feel intimidated. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“You did not bring Maria with you?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
