She refused to return it and instead stared at a loose thread on the cuff of her gown. If the house was filled with friends, she had to be pleased for that. Not only would she enjoy their company, but it would likely give her a barrier between her and this unwanted newcomer. He would be busy with learning the estate, she would be playing hostess at Amelia’s side.
“Why don’t we go into the house, then?” Amelia said. She squeezed Hugh’s arm and slid her hand through the crook of Lizzie’s elbow. Lizzie felt herself guided away, into the house, away from the interloper that came to test her resolve.
But this time it was a test she intended to win.
Morgan couldn’t help but stare as the most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered was drawn inside by her sister-in-law. It was an odd thing to think of Lady Elizabeth as that, since she was so different from the woman who normally caught his eye.
He normally liked flashy women. Ones with confidence and experience like the ones he encountered in the hells. It was easier with them. They understood the boundaries of whatever arrangement he would enter with them. Most of them appreciated those boundaries as much as he did.
But Elizabeth? Well, this was not a woman you played about with. This was alady, and not just because she was a duke’s sister. No, she was fully of her station, that was clear from the way she held herself: a bit distant, standoffish. She had a delicacy to her, like a beautiful little bird who had been happily trapped in a cage all her life. She wouldn’t understand a man like him. She would be shocked by him if she allowed him past the surface. Which she had been trained all her life not to do.
But she was utterly enchanting regardless of the imprudence of his attraction. She had pale blonde hair, done up in a simple fashion that framed her slender face perfectly and brought attention to blue eyes the color of a clear summer’s sky. There was something sad to those eyes, something hollow and even a little pained that he marked and set aside in his mind.
She must have heard something about him before his arrival, because she didn’t like him. He’d felt her disdain the moment he touched her hand, smoothing his thumb over the delicate bones and slender fingers that had fit into his own so perfectly.
But though she didn’t know him, she’d darted her gaze away, lips pursed with displeasure. So it was evident she did not approve of her brother’s choice of man of affairs. It made him wonder how he had been described to her by her brother or by Roseford. He might have to explore that more closely in order to know where he truly stood.
“And so what do you think of it?” Brighthollow asked as he stepped up next to Morgan and the two observed the big manor house together.
Morgan nodded. “It’s a fine seat, Your Grace. Which I’m certain you already know.”
Brighthollow chuckled. “I am biased, I suppose. As my wife said, you’ll be given time to settle in. There will be a long period of transition, for your sake and for my own.”
“Why for yours?” Morgan asked.
Brighthollow shrugged. “I’ve run my own estate for a long time. Letting go will not be easy, though it is necessary. My time is required elsewhere.”
Morgan followed the duke up the stairs and into the foyer. There was a bustle of activity going on around them, but his focus was entirely on the retreating back of Lady Elizabeth as she and the Duchess of Brighthollow entered a parlor just off the foyer.
“Your sister is older than I assumed, based on your description of her during our travels.”
Brighthollow’s brow furrowed slightly. An interesting tell, given that it was clear he adored his sister. But something troubled him about the subject. Morgan wondered what, exactly.
“I suppose that is an old habit. Although Lizzie is twenty, I still sometimes see her as the little girl I raised.” His smile was soft. “But don’t let her know I said it. She wouldn’t want to be seen as a child.”
“Ah, if you raised her, I suppose that makes sense,” Morgan said, filing the information away with all the rest, as was his habit. “And do I answer to Lady Elizabeth, as well as to you and the duchess?”
Brighthollow seemed taken aback by the question, and for a moment he said nothing. Then he responded, “I…suppose. Yes. If Lizzie needed something you could provide, then yes, you would answer to her.”
“Hmmm,” Morgan murmured in what he hoped was a disinterested tone.
Certainly, his new employer wouldn’t care for the thoughts Morgan was having about Lady Elizabeth. An innocent like her was lovely, for sure, but out of his reach for a variety of reasons.
“I doubt she would ask for your help, truth be told,” Brighthollow continued with a deeper frown. “Although…” He seemed to consider something for a moment, then shook his head. “No. My sister is shy. You needn’t trouble yourself with her. If she requires anything, Amelia and I are the ones who will provide it. You can focus on a great many other duties.”
“Of course,” Morgan said.
Brighthollow motioned for him to follow. “Now they have taken your trunks up to your chamber. I’ll find someone to escort you there and allow you a few moments to gather yourself.”
Morgan nodded his thanks, but as Brighthollow called for a servant, his mind kept going back to bright blue eyes. For a man drawn to trouble, he could recognize it when he saw it. And now he’d have to fight his impulses if he didn’t want to create even more of it for himself.
Lizzie paced down the long hallway, hands clenched at her sides and body on high alert. She felt wound too tight and had been this way for hours, since the arrival of Morgan Banfield into her home. No, not arrival.Invasion. That was the right term. He had invaded like a Viking, fitting considering the beard, and then he’d…winkedat her.
She shook her head. Oh, how she hated that one man, one stranger, one foolish little flit of an eyelid she couldn’t get out of her mind, could affect her so. It was too much power for someone else to hold over her. And it was too much like the terrible past.
She huffed out a long breath as she neared the library and tried to find her focus. Here, at least, she would find peace. She always did.
Except as she entered the large room, with its high bookshelves and sweet little nooks and crannies for reading, she came to a sharp halt. The very man who had troubled her thoughts for hours was standing in her ultimate sanctuary, a book perched in his long, lean fingers. He had shed his jacket at some point, leaving him in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and an intricately stitched waistcoat that fit his broad chest far too well.
