She grabbed Byron’s reins and set off down the lane toward Highfield. “A cup of tea,” she murmured, conjuring up pleasant images in her mind. “And a slice of Mrs. Padley’s gingerbread.”
A short while later, she passed beneath Highfield’s old gatehouse and crossed the courtyard to the stables, blinking as she entered the darker interior. The sound of men’s voices drifted out of the shadows, one of them easily recognizable.
“Greetings, Papa, we’re back!” She inhaled the agreeable smell of horses and hay. “It’s simply glorious out there today. Or it was. It looks like the weather is changing for the worse. Is Willis with you? Byron is ready for a rub down. I’ll settle for some tea.”
The voices fell silent, followed by the sound of her father clearing his throat.
“Papa?” She tethered Byron by his stall and wandered farther into the stable.
“I’m here, Louisa,” came the response. A moment later, he stepped out of a nearby stall, his eyes widening a little as he regarded her.
Louisa grinned and attempted to brush an errant curl from her brow. The curl ignored the attempt and returned to its previous location. “There you are! I…oh!” Her voice faltered as a man appeared at her father’s side. A stranger, impressively talland impeccably dressed, his facial features partially obscured by shadow. Louisa’s stomach gave a queer little lurch, as if prodded from within. “I beg your pardon, Papa. I didn’t realize you had a guest. I just assumed you were with Willis.”
Captain Aldous Northcott, Louisa’s father, cleared his throat again. “This is Mr. Harlow, Louisa. He’ll be our guest at Highfield for the night. Mr. Harlow, allow me to introduce my eldest daughter, Miss Louisa Northcott.”
The man inclined his head. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Northcott.”
His voice, rich and deep, had an educated timbre, edged by the provocative hint of a regional accent.Scottish?Louisa’s inherent curiosity flared. Who was he? Why was he here? She willed him to move into the light, so she might see him more clearly.
“Likewise, Mr. Harlow.” She bobbed a slight curtsy, a movement that loosened several other loose curls that had been tucked haphazardly behind her ears. As they tumbled around her face, she was reminded of her less-than-stellar appearance. With a gasp of horror, she glanced down at the spattered hem of her skirts. “Oh, heavens, I’m such a disgrace!” She scraped the curls from her face again and made a futile effort to return them to her ruined chignon. “I gave Byron a good run across the moor and lost it somewhere. My hat, that is.” The rebellious curls sprang free once more. “Then my hair came loose, so—”
“Please, Miss Northcott, think nothing of it.” The mysterious Mr. Harlow stepped into a patch of pale sunlight that had sneaked through one of the windows. Light and shadow now played across the man’s finely hewn features; a strong, clean-shaven jaw, neat sideburns, defined cheek bones, and eyes that slanted upwards ever so slightly. Dark brows and a firm mouth gave the impression of austerity, while his equally dark hair, falling in relaxed curls to just below his ears, hinted at theopposite. He was, in a word, utterly striking, and what remained of Louisa’s wits scattered like a flock of startled birds. Then he arched one of those brows, a movement that made Louisa realize she was staring at him.
Blatantly.
Botheration!
“Go and tidy yourself, my dear,” her father said. “Willis will be back in a few minutes. I’ll make sure he sees to Byron.”
She regarded her sire who, to her further embarrassment, wore a decidedly amused expression. “Um, yes, Papa, of course.” She managed a smile and bobbed another curtsey. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Harlow. Please excuse me.”
And with that, she fled.
*
Could it havebeen any worse?
“Hardly,” Louisa announced, to her much-improved reflection.
Her earlier bedraggled appearance in the mirror had been more disastrous than she’d expected. So bad, in fact, that she’d actually laughed out loud at the sight of it. Had the muddy smear across her nose been there before she’d touched her face in the stable, or after? Before, she suspected. In any case, she looked like she’d been frolicking in a bog. And as for her silly rambling…
Oh, well.
Lamenting the hapless occasion served little purpose. The moment had come and gone, the first impression had been made, and Mr. Harlow—the only man to haveevermade Louisa’s heart beat faster—had seen her at her absolute worst.
Fate was cruel.
Then again, she mused optimistically, one could only improve on theabsolute worst. Which is precisely whatDawkins, her mother’s long-serving lady’s maid, had set about doing.
First, the mud-spattered skirts had been discarded and the same spatter expunged from Louisa’s flesh. Her abundance of rich, brown hair had been brushed till it shone and braided into a soft coil at the nape of her neck, except, of course, for the two perfectly styled ringlets that framed her face. Her dress of lavender taffeta complimented her complexion, although Dawkins had tut-tutted her disapproval of the natural blush on Louisa’s cheeks and promptly tamed it with a touch of powder. A pair of amethyst earrings and matching pendant added a delicate finishing touch. Louisa, seated at her dressing table, now looked ‘quite presentable’ as Grandmama Hutton would say.
“Thank you, Dawkins,” she said. “You’ve worked wonders.”
“My pleasure, Miss Louisa,” the woman replied, smiling at their reflections in the mirror. “I have to say, you’re the absolute image of your mother at the same age. It’s like looking back in time.”
The maid left and Louisa rose to her feet, turning this way and that as she regarded her reflection. It occurred to her that she’d never been quite so critical about her appearance and wondered why it even mattered so much. The answer was immediate. It mattered, of course, because she wanted to impress her father’s guest, although her extraordinary desire to do so had her flummoxed. She knew nothing of the fellow after all, not even his Christian name. He wasMr.Harlow, so no title. Maybe he was related to a peer. And maybe he was affianced or married.
The latter thought caused an unfamiliar flutter in Louisa’s stomach that felt horribly like dismay. “You’re being totally silly,” she muttered, smoothing her scowl away as she dabbed adrop of rosewater behind each ear. “The man might turn out to be a total bore. Or an arrogant—”
