Julian returned the nod. “Goodnight to you too, sir.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Harlow,” Louisa said, managing a smile. “I hope you rest well. The gong will sound when breakfast is ready.”
Gritting her teeth, Louisa waited till Maxwell Harlow had disappeared once more before turning on her brother. “What the bloody hell was all that about, Julian?” she demanded. “Youembarrassed both him and me with your questions. We were simply having a conversation.”
“Mind your language, Louisa, and yes, you were indeed having a conversation.” Julian raised his chin and folded his arms. “Just you and Harlow, late at night, in near darkness, and you barefoot in your dressing gown. For God’s sake, you should know better.Heshould know better.”
She scoffed. “You’re being quite ridiculous. We did nothing wrong.”
Julian grunted. “It was thepotentialof wrong doing that bothered me. Papa would have been equally disapproving had he happened along. You know he would.”
“Potential?” Louisa regarded her brother with undisguised shock. “You’re suggesting what, exactly? Don’t bother answering. I can guess. And I doubt Papa would harbor such a low opinion of me.”
Julian’s expression softened. “I’m not really suggesting anything like that, Lou. It’s just that you seem quite taken with the fellow and, frankly, that bothers me. Harlow’s not for you, you must know that, and I don’t want to see you compromised. It would be disastrous.”
“I’m nottakenwith him at all,” she said, somewhat feebly. “And I think you’re judging him unfairly. Being middle-class doesn’t mean he lacks propriety. He’s been nothing but gentlemanly since he got here.”
Julian scratched his head. “Class has nothing to do with it, dear sister. It is simply that Maxwell Harlow is a man, and you’re a reasonably pretty girl.”
Louisa gasped, her eyes widening. “Reasonably pretty?”
His stern expression melted into a brotherly grin, one that indicated an end to their tiff. “You’re not beyond catching a fellow’s eye, Lou,” he said. “Just make sure the eye belongs to an appropriate fellow, that’s all. Right, I’m off to bed. Night-night.”
Louisa couldn’t help but return his smile. “You’re so bloody infuriating at times, Jules,” she said. “Will you be going to the manor with Papa and Mr. Harlow tomorrow?”
“You’re so bloody impetuous at times, Lou,” he replied. “And yes, I believe I will. Will you?”
She laughed and nodded. “Yes, I believe I will.”
“See you at breakfast, then. Now, go and wash your mouth out with soap and get to bed.” He tugged on her braid and headed off toward his bedroom. Louisa remained where she was for a moment, debating whether or not to go downstairs to the library and return the book. It could wait, she decided, and wandered back to her bedroom, where she placed the hat atop her dresser.
The itinerant headpiece had now acquired a certain esteem. Since it had, against the odds, found its way back to her, and despite its worn edges and slightly ruffled feathers, Louisa resolved to keep it. If nothing else, it would serve as a souvenir of a breathtaking day on the moor.
If nothing else.
Chapter Three
One might, Maxwellthought, as he toured Northcott Manor the next morning, be forgiven for imagining the place sheltered a resident ghost or two. With its shuttered windows, dark corridors, rooms filled with mysterious objects hidden beneath white dustcovers, the silent house had a haunted feel.
But Maxwell didn’t believe in ghosts. He also knew the shutters could easily be flung open, sunlight would quickly chase the darkness from the corridors, and the dustcovers could be removed to expose the mysteries beneath. The silence, too, could easily be exorcised. That’s if he took tenancy of the place, and so far, he liked what he’d seen.
The three-story house was a decent size without being rambling. In addition to a handsome main suite, it boasted seven additional bedrooms, a dining room with access to an outside terrace, two large parlors, a smaller, private sitting-room, a study, a library, and a games room. The servants’ rooms occupied much of the third floor, while below-stairs the various utility rooms, including the kitchen, had been kept in spotless condition.
The outbuildings included a stable, a carriage house, a barn, and a row of three small cottages.
“The gardens are a little bare right now,” Aldous said, as he, Julian, and Maxwell left the stable yard and walked around to the front of the house. “But they’ll soon be filling in. There’s aresident gardener who looks after them, with help from a couple of villagers. He lives in one of the little cottages.”
“Reuben Thornthwaite,” Julian added. “A grand old chap. Been here for years.”
Maxwell looked across the gardens, admiring the symmetry of lawns and ornamental hedges that encircled a central pond and fountain. Then he squinted up at the manor’s impressive Georgian façade. There was no denying that the house met all his requirements, but what of Sybella? So far, she’d shown little enthusiasm for living anywhere north of Cambridge, though she admitted to once visiting a cousin in Cumberland and had apparently found it ‘quite pleasant’.
Still, as his wife, she’d have little choice but to live wherever he decided. And, since the majority of his business interests lay in the northern parts of the country, including Scotland, their marital home would absolutely be somewhere north of Cambridge. Well north.
“Do you think the future Mrs. Harlow would approve?” Aldous asked, as if he’d just read Maxwell’s thoughts.
“Of the house? Aye, Captain, I’m sure she would,” Maxwell replied. “It’s the location that is something of a stumbling block for her. But it’s hard to imagine anyone not liking the place. It’s splendid.”
“It is, indeed.” Aldous gave a solemn smile. “The house holds lots of fond memories for me, and I don’t like to see it standing empty. It needs someone to bring it back to life. And you must agree that the lease price is more than fair.”
