Anne tried to memorize faces and names—though she hoped not to be in a position to use them for the next few weeks.
“Ah,” the duchess said, her arm still linked through Anne’s, “and here comes Mr. Butler at last.”
The steward, who was supposed to fall violently in love with her elaborate coiffure and propose marriage to her before the night was out, Anne thought as she turned and looked toward the doorway, feeling the first flickering of amusement she had felt since leaving her room.
For a moment she was again arrested by the extraordinary good looks and manly physique of the man standing there, fully visible this time in the early evening sunshine that streamed through the west-facing windows. And again it was his left profile at which she gazed.
But even as a jolt of recognition half robbed her of breath, he was obscured from sight as Lord Alleyne, tall, dark, and handsome himself, and Lord Rannulf, even taller and fair and ruggedly good-looking, converged on him and slapped him on the back and greeted him heartily.
“Syd, old chap,” she heard Lord Rannulf say, “where the devil have you been hiding? But Wulf put the fear of God in you this morning, did he?”
So he was not a stranger, Anne thought. Shewasfated to meet him again. He was Mr. Butler, the steward at Glandwr.
She felt slightly sick to the stomach. The little appetite she had had as she made her way downstairs to the drawing room fled.
How shewishedshe had not behaved so badly last evening—or that she had been able to find him afterward to apologize.
And this on top of everything else.
If she could have crept back up to her room without his seeing her, she would have done so. But he was standing almost in the doorway. Besides, the duchess still had an arm linked through hers. And besides again, she had behaved cravenly and even cruelly last evening. Now she had a chance—perhaps!—to make amends.
Though she would surely be the very last person he would wish to encounter again today.
Sydnam had walked up to the main house despite the drizzle. He would a million times rather be at home in his cozy cottage, he reflected as he let himself in through the front door, handed his wet cloak and hat to a footman, and climbed the stairs to the drawing room. But Bewcastle had issued the invitation in person this morning, and when Bewcastle invited he was really commanding—especially, Sydnam gathered, when he invoked the name of his wife.
“The duchess was disappointed when you did not come to dine last evening,” he had said while pulling one of the estate books toward him across the desk in the library, where he always did business while at Glandwr. “I have a curious aversion to seeing her grace disappointed, Sydnam, though of course it was unavoidable last evening since you did not receive your invitation until well after the dinner hour. There will not be that problem this evening.”
Bewcastle had recognized a lie when he heard one, of course. Not that it had been an outright lie. Sydnam had not actually read the invitation before going outside to walk, but hehadseen it and guessed what it was and deliberately avoided opening it until it was too late.
“I will apologize in person to her grace this evening,” he had said while Bewcastle turned pages as if he were not even listening.
And so here he was to eat humble pie before dining. He amused himself grimly with the mental picture of all the Bedwyns and their spouses being forced to sit at table with a patch over one eye and their right arms bound behind their backs. But he must not be vicious, even in his thoughts. The invitation was a kind one. And being human, with all the contrariness to which human nature was prone, he supposed that if they were here for a month and never once extended an invitation to him to join them, he would be hurt and offended.
He grinned ruefully at the admission.
He must be somewhat late, he thought as he approached the drawing room doors. Or if he was not late—and he knew he was not—he nevertheless was last to arrive. A grand entrance was all he needed. But even as he stood in the doorway looking about for Bewcastle or the duchess, Rannulf and Alleyne bore down on him, one from either side, and suddenly he felt that the ordeal would not be so bad after all. Many of the people here were old friends of his, and none of the others would bear him any ill will. It was not as if he were a houseguest to be in their sight every moment of every day, after all. And none of the children would be here.
“I have been cowering inside a cave down on the beach,” he said in answer to Rannulf’s question, “as you might have discovered for yourself if you had come down there to look, Ralf. But a little rain kept you indoors, did it? Or is it the steep cliff path that deterred you?”
Alleyne clamped a hand on his right shoulder, a gesture that endeared him to Sydnam since most people avoided his right side whenever they were able.
“How are you, Syd?” he asked. “It is a veritable age since I saw you last. We have brought a stack of messages from home, some from Lauren, a dozen or more from your mother, one or two from Kit, one from your father—but I cannot for the life of me recall a single one of them. Can you, Ralf?”
“Something about wearing warm woolens in the damp weather, at a wager,” Ralf said with a grin. “Of course I do not remember. The ladies will, though. You had better come and meet the people you do not already know, Syd. Ah, here comes Christine. Have you met our formidable duchess?”
“He has,” the duchess said, smiling warmly at him. “I am so glad you were able to come this evening, Mr. Butler.”
She gave him her left hand and he bowed over it.
“I must apologize most humbly, your grace,” he said, “for last evening. I was from home and did not read your invitation until—until it was too late.”
The sudden pause had been occasioned by the glance he had stolen at the lady through whose arm the duchess’s right hand was drawn.
He recognized her instantly.
He had certainly not been mistaken about one thing, he thought. She was quite breathtakingly beautiful, with hair the color of warm honey and blue eyes made smoky by long lashes, and regular, perfect features. And now that she was no longer wearing a cloak, it was obvious that she had a figure to do justice to the face.
So his first guess had been correct, he thought. Shewasone of the Bedwyn wives.
