Holly heard her Papa hurrying up behind her and exchanged a quick smile with him as he brushed past. Still tall and healthy, Lord Hawthorn Trease was a handsome figure of a man, and hisdaughter watched him with warmth and pride as he graciously welcomed the distinguished visitor.
“A pleasure to see you after so long, Sir Duncan,” he said, his voice clear and radiating friendship. “I must say we’re delighted to welcome you to Forest Grange, if a little surprised?”
The elderly man smiled and nodded. “You’ve not changed, Hawthorn, I’ll say that for you. Sadly,” he waved his cane, “age has caught up with me, and not been too kind about it.”
“Then you must sit and warm yourself, sir. And I think a cup of tea is definitely in order.” Lady Hazel moved forward. “There’s always a welcome for you here, you know that full well.”
Chuckling at the gentle scold, he gave her a little bow. “Still as beautiful as ever, my dear Lady. And this must be your sister?” He looked at Holly.
She laughed, as she was meant to, and curtsied gracefully. “I’m Holly Trease, sir. Thank you for the lovely compliment to both my Mama and me, which I shall happily accept.”
“Come along, Sir Duncan. Let’s get you comfortable.” Lord Hawthorn paused as another man entered the foyer.
“I must introduce you to my travelling companion,” Sir Duncan turned slightly. “We are bound for London together on business. This is Mr Samuel Blackstone, who shares some financial interests with the Aylmer estate, and who has been visiting the area.”
“Mr Blackstone,” nodded Lord Trease. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“The honour is mine, my Lord, my Lady.” He bowed formally. “And my thanks for your warm and considerate welcome to a stranger.”
Holly observed the proprieties being exchanged, but then caught Mr Blackstone’s eyes as they roamed around the foyer and landed on her. He was tall, with dark hair and a well-cutblack travelling jacket. Some might have called him handsome, although he did not seem a slave to fashion. His face struck Holly as being hard—cheekbones sharp and eyes that did not look as if they could ever smile.
Dark, dark eyes. For some reason, the lingering glance he gave her was almost like a physical touch, and one she did not care for, in the least.
He offered a barely noticeable nod along with a slight curve of his lips, then followed Sir Duncan and Lord Trease toward the morning room, where Lady Hazel waited with refreshments.
Holly touched Ferguson’s arm and leaned a little closer to him. “Do we know anything about Mr Blackstone?”
“No, Miss Holly. A complete stranger to me, that’s for sure.” His gaze met hers, curiosity in his eyes.
“Hmm.”
Since Ferguson knew everyone and everything, and was usually the repository of more information on guests than her father’s copy of Debrett’s, she had to admit to a certain amount of concern. That look, that uncomfortable feeling meeting his eyes had engendered—she did not like it, or him, at all. In fact, it would be accurate to say he made her skin crawl.
Which—for someone as practical as Miss Holly Trease—was quite out of the ordinary.
*~~*~~*
While the social niceties were being observed at Forest Grange, and more tea poured into elegant china cups, Richard Hawkesbury was having a drink of water out of a chipped mug in Forest Nook.
It might have been a bit of a comedown from what he was used to, but nonetheless, he was very grateful for it, and thefact that he was well sheltered from the wind which had sprung up as the clouds covered the sun. The kitchen had warmed, as promised, but he knew it would not last for too long, not in this weather.
His head ached, and his side was sore, but both those problems would pass. He prided himself on his health, and right now he was glad he’d always been the one man who refused the final drink of an evening with friends.
Of course, he’d also been the one to see them all home safely, but that was the price he paid for friendship, and it didn’t bother him. Getting drunk did, so he didn’t do it. Nor did he explain it, since those who asked were usually too drunk to remember his answer.
This morning, however, he wouldn’t have refused a brandy. And a good meal, since he hadn’t eaten in almost a day.
Standing and stretching, he winced slightly at the pull beneath his arm. It had been a stroke of luck that the blade had only nicked him, then slid toward his armpit. Matters could have been so much worse had it not deflected away from his chest.
Looking around him, he catalogued his surroundings.
The reduced size of the rooms and furniture spoke to Miss Trease’s explanation of a child’s playhouse. But there were also features that accommodated adults, like the sink where he’d washed his wound, and tried to clean any remaining blood off his face and hair.
Being a good guest, he’d rinsed the cloths and cleaned up after himself, putting the wet things near the window where he hoped they’d dry in whatever sunshine might arrive.
All things considered, he had been damned lucky.
The attack, two men in the dark, one with a club, and the other with fists and a dagger, had been completely unexpected, quick, and effective. They knew what they were doing, andRichard placed a hand over his ribcage where a punch had winded him. There was probably a bruise there, but he wasn’t about to remove his jacket and shirt to find out. It was too damn cold.
