He appeared mildly offended. “Of course, my Lady.”
“I have to meet with Mrs Trenchard,” she said to Holly, “but I will join you as soon as I am done. Please pass along my apologies to Mr Blackstone?” She paused. “And Richard?” She fixed him with an imperative stare. “I’d not wish for my daughter to be left alone with that man.”
He nodded, meeting her gaze steadily. “I understand, Ma’am. And I wholeheartedly concur.”
Holly sighed, reached across the table, and ate Rosewood Park.
Chapter Seven
In Which our Heroine is Disconcerted, and our Hero makes Himself Useful
The Forest Grange library was everything one might expect in a house belonging to the Trease family—filled with books that were obviously not just there to impress guests, but actually opened and read, and more than once to judge by the well-worn spines.
It was not massive, nor was it stiff and formal. The furniture scattered around bore evidence of many an afternoon’s reading; the cushions comfortably curved, the arms of the chairs by the fireplace showing signs of wear.
It was welcoming, especially on this snowy day, and a bright fire popped and crackled cheerfully, inviting one and all to find a book worth perusing, and settle in with it for a cosy read.
“I like this. Very much.” Richard sighed the words absently, drawn to a shelf featuring Shakespeare’s works, and then strolling on to more contemporary authors.
“It is a family favourite,” nodded Holly. “I have spent many an hour here, and it served as our schoolroom during our childhood.”
“All excellent and obedient children, I’m sure,” he shot her a quick smile, pleased when she returned it with one of her own.
“Of course.”
They strolled down a shelf-lined wall, Richard stopping occasionally to take out a volume and look at it, then return it.
“We had desks set up in here for studying,” said Holly, “but now we’re able to use the smaller side tables if we need to, and the large desk there to write letters. Mama has her own study, and Papa, of course, has a much larger one for his work.”
“You don’t have a study?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Well…” she hesitated. “I have a sort of study.”
“What is that?”
“A room that isn’t a study, but has all the features of a study.”
Richard blinked, turned, and leaned against a sturdy shelf filled with huge leather-bound tomes. “When is a study not a study?”
“Is that a riddle?”
“No, a question.”
Holly shook her head. “Never mind.” She pointed to the shelf he was leaning against. “If you turn around, you’ll see some of the history of the Trease family. The first Viscount, Hopper Trease, liked keeping books, once he learned to read and write. The habit stuck with his descendants.”
“Good grief.” Richard’s eyebrows rose at the sight of at least a dozen volumes. “These are all estate records?”
She nodded. “They are indeed.”
“A real treasure,” he murmured, part of him itching to take a peek into one or two of them, especially the early ones.”
“And here…” Holly moved around the last bookshelf and arrived at the wall, where a huge map was mounted within an ornate frame. “This is our land, drawn just after Hopper became the Viscount. We think he wanted to show his new wife the extent of his lands, to make sure she realised the importance of her new station.”
He glanced at her. “What was her old station?”
“Milkmaid,” grinned Holly. “We have humble beginnings, you know, since Hopper himself worked on the farm. This whole estate, Forest Grange, became ours because of an unfortunate incident in the old barn which involved a member of the then royal family and…er…milkmaids.”
Richard bit his lip against a laugh. “Really?”
