'This is a delightful room, well-appointed and I shall be happy here.'
She removed her bonnet, handed it to Mary who was standing behind her, and then washed her face and hands at the washstand.
Elsie had said that it was customary to also remove one's pelisse when indoors, so she did that too. She stood for a moment in front of the long glass – a luxury indeed as she and her sisters hadn't had access to one at home.
'You look a picture, miss, that colour suits you,' Mary said and then turned scarlet terrified she'd offended her new mistress.
'Thank you, Mary, I'm reassured by your compliment. Please conduct me to the parlour where Mrs Sinclair's waiting for me.'
They were about to leave the chamber when she thought Mary was indiscreet enough to answer questions about the family.
'Before I go down, Mary, can you tell me a little about the Sinclairs? Is Miss Sinclair perhaps a difficult young lady?'
This was a tactful way of inferring that the girl was possibly unbalanced, mentally unstable in some way.
'The mistress is nice enough, I reckon you'll have more trouble from Mrs Bentley and Mr Black – he's the butler here – then you'll have from her. Miss Sinclair's wild, she's got into all sorts of scrapes, then last month was sent home in disgrace from her finishing school. I don't know what she did, but Mr Sinclair beat her, and she's been kept in her room for weeks.'
'I see, will my arrival herald her release from confinement?'
Mary nodded. 'It will, miss, I don't think you'll have any bother. The poor girl's scared witless that her father will take his riding crop to her a second time if she puts a foot out of place.'
*
Avon Court, St Catherine's, near Bath.
Lord James Brotherton, sixth Earl of Avon, might be considered by some that knew him, not well of course, as arrogant, autocratic, irascible, and unpredictable – certainly not a gentleman with an amiable disposition. And quite definitely not a gentleman one would wish to cross. However, to his small circle of friends this description would not fit the man that they were familiar with.
James, to them, was witty, intelligent, loyal, and kind. He was a gentleman who liked to have his own way and if one did nothing to annoy him then he was a pleasure to be with.
That morning James was sitting at his desk in his booklined study perusing his morning mail. As always, he tossed the correspondence that could be dealt with by his efficient secretary to his right and anything he needed to deal with personally he dropped in front of him.
He broke the seal on the last letter. He scanned the contents with growing disbelief and horror. The missive was from his lawyers in London – avaricious sycophantic bunch of black-garbed scarecrows in his opinion – and this information was three weeks old.
'God damn it to hell! This is an absolute disaster – God knows where the wretched girls are now having been left to their own devices for weeks.'
He snatched up the nearest object, which happened to be a handsome marble ink stand and hurled it at the portrait of his long deceased father on the other side of the room. Having done this many times before his aim was accurate and true. The ink splattered satisfactorily on the face of the man he still detested. The portrait only remained in place for James to throw things at when he was enraged.
'Smithers, where the devil are you?'
His secretary appeared immediately unbothered by his employer's rage – he was used to dealing with such things almost on a daily basis.
'Yes, my lord, how can I be of assistance?'
James waved the paper at him. 'Over three weeks ago my cousin, Jonathan Brotherton, died leaving his three daughters in my care. I don't want to be guardian to them, the last thing I need here is a trio of silly young ladies giggling and simpering all day.'
'Forgive me for pointing this out, my lord, but this house is big enough for a small army of young ladies to live without you being obliged to see them at all.'
James recovered his temper and smiled. 'How true, if I wasn't obliged to live here, if this mausoleum of a house hadn't been in the family for centuries, I'd raze it to the ground and build something modern and more comfortable.'
He stopped and gestured to the chair opposite him and young Smithers obediently sat.
'The fact that I prefer to live alone is of no matter. I am both legally and morally obliged to provide for these girls.' He read the letter again and almost picked up another object and threw it. Smithers ducked knowing what was coming and James laughed.
'Relax, you're in no danger from a flying ink well, young friend. It doesn't say in this letter exactly how old these girls are and as I've never met my distant cousin or his progeny, I've no idea. The oldest is called Sofia, the next is Colette and the third Lucille.'
'There's nothing I detest more than travelling to London in June when it will be at its most rank, but I suppose I've no choice but to go in person.'
'Indeed, my lord, I'll write at once and let them know you're coming. Do you know where these young ladies reside?'
