“Sit you down, dearie, and I’ll just go and give Margie the nod. Oh, and I’d best warn Cook. I’m sure you’ll be glad of a meal to warm your insides, dearie, won’t you?”
She set the candelabrum on the mantel and as she came bustling to the door almost walked into Raoul, who had remained just inside the room, amused to be wholly forgotten in the little creature’s excitement at rediscovering the child she had known in Miss Temple.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. Do you sit yourself down, too, if you would. Little Flissie Temple!”
Shaking her head over it, she bustled out and Raoul lifted an eyebrow at Miss Temple. She was still standing by the mantel, looking about in a bemused fashion, as if again searching her mind for past images.
“Has she gone off to kill the fatted calf, do you think?”
The freckles danced as she broke into laughter and warmth spread through Raoul’s chest as he watched the procession of ants across her cheeks.
“I had no recollection of her at all.”
“Is it coming back to you?”
She shifted her shoulders. “Vaguely. I don’t recall this room. I think it is her own parlour. I wonder how well she knew Papa?”
“You will have ample time to ask.” She sat down abruptly, consternation replacing the merriment. It struck him her laughter had held a note of hysteria. “Are you regretting having come so far?”
“No! Yes! I don’t know.” She covered her face with her hands briefly and showed him a countenance redolent with discomfort. “No, I don’t regret it. I’m afraid of raking it all up, of feeling his loss all over again. I had it safely buried, or so I thought.”
Raoul came to the fire and leaned an elbow on the mantel. “It cannot be as painful as it was at this distance in time, even if you do feel a resurgence of grief.”
She dropped her hands into her lap and began to pull off her gloves. “You are right. I am being foolish. This is already luckier than I had hoped for.”
“To be remembered? Perhaps Mrs Dadford can answer your questions.”
“Some of them, perhaps. But she will scarcely know of Papa’s financial arrangements.”
“Nor, I suspect, will your Mrs Kimble.”
“But she may know where we can find this Mr Rusper. Or if not that, at least where Papa went when he sought him out.”
Raoul regarded her in silence for a moment. She was wholly absorbed, her countenance reflecting thoughts chasing one another through her head. Odd he could see it. Or was that a trick of her personality? She had not learned the art of putting up an artificial front to be interesting in the way of young females of theTon. Yes, she had a way of clamping down on her emotions, no doubt a necessary part of her profession. But no pretence. No artifice. Was that what he found so refreshing?
She looked up abruptly. “Yes?”
Thrown, he blinked. “Yes, what?”
“I thought you were waiting for an answer. Didn’t you speak?”
“I did not.” He moved towards the door. “I’ll see to our baggage and send Broome off.”
Again he almost collided with Mrs Dadford as she came hurrying in.
“Oh! I do beg your pardon, sir.”
He fell back to give her room. “I was just off to see about our baggage.”
“My lad’ll see to that, sir.” The little creature hesitated, putting up a hand to her face and glancing from him to Miss Temple. “It wastworooms you were wanting, was it?”
Amused, Raoul glanced across at his now blushing travelling companion. “Yes, precisely. I am merely escorting Miss Temple.”
She spoke up, her voice flurried. “This is Lord Lynchmere, Mrs Dadford. I should have said so at once.”
The landlady’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening. “A lord! Bless me, sir! Oh! I should saymylord.”
“Don’t trouble. I must see my groom, if you will forgive me.”
