Chapter Twenty-Three
“Lord Langdon has arrived, Sir Vernon.” The ancient butler bent his head in deference to his station. Or at least Langdon assumed he was. A hump on his shoulders rounded his back. The man should be enjoying his golden years in front of a warm fire, not in service.
“Thank you,” Langdon said, entering the drawing room. A low fire burned in the grate, the walls bare of pictures that graced most country estates he’d visited.
“Lord Langdon, welcome.” A thin man sat in one of two wingback chairs that flanked the fireplace. Sir Vernon Bach smiled in greeting, but his eyes lacked any genuine friendliness. “I pray you forgive me for not rising.”
Langdon bowed to the man, his gaze darting around the room in search of Elizabeth.
“She isn’t here,” Sir Vernon said, gripping the head of a walking stick. His piercing gaze met Langdon’s.
He would make a note never to underestimate the man. Sir Vernon might be physically incapacitated, but his mind was sharp. “A pity. I was looking forward to renewing our association,” Langdon said.
Sir Vernon indicated he take a seat in the chair. Langdon obliged, more curious than he’d expected to be. The house—while devoid of dust—had a feeling of disuse about it. Although there was a fire, the room was drafty with sparse furnishings and antiquated wallpaper.
“Your association?” Sir Vernon tapped his finger on the head of the cane. Dark hair peppered with grey, his face was thin. His green eyes, however, glittered with calculation. “Were you in her company much?”
“We were often at the same affairs. She has become great friends with my sisters.” Not a complete lie. Both Sophia and Aimee liked her well enough. Whenever the women got together, they were thick as thieves.
“Hm, you’re not married?” By his tone, Sir Vernon knew the answer already.
Langdon was willing to play the game. It wasn’t his first time faced with an ambitious parent. With his title and fortune, he was considered a catch. He had managed to avoid the parson’s mousetrap after his disastrous liaison with Maria. “No, I am not.”
The corner of his mouth curled higher. “Your father bought Sanderson keep. He was French, yet you hold an English title. Very unusual.”
“Yes, very unusual, but fortunate.” Langdon’s history was no great mystery. He would bet a shilling that Sir Vernon was privy to his background, as was the entire village. “England embraced my family in a time of great need. Mrs. Adare tells me you were in the Foreign Service?” Time to turn the tables on the man grilling him. It wasn’t as much as Sir Vernon wished for the information but from his manner, he was trying to gauge his mettle.
“I spent time in France during the revolution. I met your grandfather, the Marquis of Beaumont, right before his unfortunate demise. My condolences.” Sir Vernon adjusted his grip on the cane, the signet ring on his little finger clinking against the polished silver. The unadorned room with its peeling watered green silk paper was in direct contrast to the quality of his blue super fine suit and embossed gold waistcoat.
“Thank you. He was a great man.” He’d died at the guillotine as Langdon’s parents had fled to England for refuge. His death was the reason he’d insisted on joining the army and defeating Napoleon who had made his way through the ranks until he became emperor.
A door creaked behind him and soft footfalls followed. Langdon turned his neck at the sound, anticipation twisting his stomach into knots. Since she’d left London, he’d thought of nothing except Elizabeth. Cheeks flushed a pretty pink, she met his stare. “Langdon.”
“Mrs. Adare.” He stood as was proper, drinking in her lithe body in the drab brown dress. He’d explored what was beneath the fabric and the memory haunted him to this day. “A pleasure to see you once more.”
“I pray you had a pleasant journey.” She fiddled with the sleeve of her brown shawl. The confident woman he’d come to know was absent. “The weather is most pleasant today.”
“Yes, it is. Perhaps you could take me for a tour of your gardens. I would welcome a walk.” He wanted to get her alone and speak without restraint. From the second he walked through the door, he’d been a jumble of nerves, a state he rarely found himself in. It took a lot to rattle him and something was not right at Waverly Park.
“I ordered tea and cakes.” She flashed a glance in her father’s direction, uncertainty marking her brow. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and there was a smudge on her chin that looked suspiciously like dirt.
“I hope you ordered some coffee.” Sir Vernon snapped, his earlier good humor gone.
Elizabeth’s entire being stiffened, and she averted her gaze. “Yes, father. I ordered coffee as well. Do you prefer coffee or tea?” she asked Langdon.
“Both sound appealing.” Not as appealing as Mrs. Adare’s lips, however. Conscious of being in Sir Vernon’s company, he reined in his unwelcome desire. He was supposed to be helping her find a smuggler, not courting her.
He waited until she took a seat on the settee before resuming his own chair. The tension he’d experienced on coming through the door increased.
