Her smile was so bright he nearly blinked, and suddenly there was the woman he had once known. Millicent Lawrence. A young, carefree girl he’d wanted desperately to be his wife.
“I-I’m not sure why you are helping me, Lord Ellsworth, but that is an offer I would be foolish to refuse.”
How could she believe that some padding and a pair of glasses would stop him from recognizing her?
“I have the room.” He dismissed her words. “It will not inconvenience me. The servants can care for her.”
She nodded, and then returned her eyes to the window, leaving Joseph alone with his thoughts, none of which were pleasing.
The village of Spindle lay thirty minutes from Stonleigh, and to Joseph’s mind was not as pretty. The main road was flanked by shops, and unlike Stonleigh, the entrance was not lined with tall, established trees, and a river did not flow along its edge. The Ellsworth carriage drove through the center and continued on for a further ten minutes.
“Do we have far to go, Lord Ellsworth?”
“We are no more than two minutes at the most.”
“Is the driveway signposted?”
Joseph nodded, wondering where she was going with this.
“Then I would ask you to stop the carriage here, please.” Milly rapped on the roof before he could stop her. “I have no wish to arrive with you and be faced with a barrage of questions I cannot answer.”
“Milly—”
She had the door open before he could stop her, and stepped down with Daisy and her bag before he could utter another word. Joseph then heard her direct his driver to continue on. Looking out the window, he saw her marching along with the ugly little dog at her side. Gnashing his teeth, he vowed not to let her best him again. The woman had certainly changed in the last four years from the gentle creature he had vowed to wed.
Why the hell she thought she could carry off her charade, he could not fathom. She was the least subservient servant he’d ever met. Which was strange, as the woman he had known had been exactly that.
When the carriage stopped minutes later, Joseph was no closer to answering this question, so he put it to one side for now with the others. Opening the door, he stepped down into a courtyard filled with squawking chickens, honking geese, and their excrement. Weeds had forced their way through the cobbles, and were also strangling any plants that had the misfortune to be in the gardens.
The house was large and rambling toward the east and west, in cream stone. Like its owner, it was a hodgepodge of mismatched shapes and heights. He’d been here often. The Spindle hunt started from here, after all, and while he liked Lord Wimplestow, he’d questioned his hygiene on more than one occasion.
“I thought that was your carriage, my lord!”
Joseph watched the rolling form of Baron Cedric Wimplestow lumber toward him from the direction of the stables. The man was large in every way, right down to his personality. He wore baggy breeches that wrinkled at the knees and curved outward midthigh. His jacket was faded green, necktie and shirt a grubby gray, and on his head he wore a woolen cap pulled low. A few of the longer hairs in his eyebrows curled upward into the wool. Had he not known the man’s intelligence, he would think him quite mad.
“I told my Angus just this morn, I would take the horse to you, but it seems you cannot wait.”
No one bred horses like Cedric Wimplestow. Joseph shook the man’s hand and looked around him to check on Milly’s location; as yet she had not made an appearance.
“Indeed, I am looking forward to seeing him.”
“You’ll stay to take our midmorning meal.”
“Ah... midmorning meal?” Joseph said, wondering how the hell he could get out of it. He had only been in one parlor inside the Wimplestow house, and the main dining hall, and the memory remained etched inside his head
Joseph did not believe his standards exacting, but eating with the Wimplestow family was enough to put him off his food—not an easy task, it had to be noted.
“It’s the one before lunch, Lord Ellsworth, and of vital importance. It keeps the body and soul together before we sit down at midday.”
As the man didn’t appear to be joking, Joseph merely nodded, and looked once again to the driveway.
“It seems you are about to have more company, Wimplestow.”
The man’s bushy red brows lowered as he stared at Milly, who had just arrived.
“Good day to you!” he bellowed, making several chickens milling at their feet squawk and scatter.
Milly hurried closer, her large bag bumping against her legs, and Mugwort on her heels. He dug his toes into his boots to stop from going to meet her and taking the bag. She looked small and vulnerable, and he did not like the feeling that created inside him.
