She entered through the terrace door, disappearing from his view, and he followed a few moments later. It was a sad ending to their otherwise enjoyable escapade.
Glancing at her Wellies, which looked as though they’d been hurled toward the mudroom, he removed his own before tucking all of them tidily out of the way, and then hanging up his sodden jacket.
Some dry clothing and hot tea were in order. Maybe he could even coax her to have the latter with him. Heading along the passageway to the main stairs, Gray was halted by the ever-present Mr. Stanley.
“Mr. O’Connor, a missive from the Earl of Cambrey arrived while you were out.”
Gray hoped nothing had befallen Maggie. Taking the note off the silver tray, he read it.
Dammit!He was needed back at once. He supposed it was about time he took back the mantle of being an estate manager. Two of the workhorses were displaying symptoms of colic, and their stablemaster wanted to consult with him. A blight in one section of the orchard was confounding the head gardener, who had some ideas to run past him. A strange crack had appeared in the drawing room ceiling, and the butler thought Mr. O’Connor might know of the best plasterer in the area. As a matter of fact, he did.
It was time to get home. They could leave after lunch if one of the Angsley maids could get Eleanor’s trunks packed. At least in the privacy of the carriage on the short trip to Turvey House, he could try to soothe her insulted womanhood.
When she didn’t come downstairs in a timely fashion, and he’d cooled his heels drinking a pot of tea and idly chatting with whichever Angsley happened by, he sent a maid up to tell Eleanor she must pack. Then Gray headed back outside. The rain had stopped entirely, as the breeze had blown the thick, dark clouds far to the west. He would tell his mother of his imminent departure and assure her he would see her as soon as possible.
To his surprise, her door was locked again. He rapped at the cheerfully painted door, recalling when Lady Angsley declared each should be done in a rich blue to let the retired servants know they were cared about. Her ladyship had told him and Cam about it at dinner a couple years earlier, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of those servants was his mother.
There, but for the grace of God, a thorough education, and having made a goodly amount in the stock market, went he.The blue door wouldneverbe his lot in life.
He jiggled the handle again. There was a brief delay as before, and then to his surprise, Eleanor answered.
“I don’t know how that got locked,” she muttered, looking at his feet and not his face. “I suppose I must have inadvertently done it.”
Then she stood back so he could see his mother seated at the table, the same lacework laid before her. To his eyes, they had made little progress, but then he knew nothing of the intricacy of such work.
“I had no idea you’d left the main house,” he said to Eleanor before greeting his mother.
“Tea, dear?” she asked him.
“No, thank you. I just had some. I was waiting for you to come down,” he said, turning to Eleanor, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.
She shrugged, looking sullen.
When he considered the passionate creature who had been lying beneath him an hour earlier—the one who had wanted to undress him!—he wished he could magically bring her back. Doubtless, he could do so when he had a private moment to explain himself.
But not in front of his mother, who was watching them carefully.
“I came to tell you we have to leave.”
Eleanor’s glance flew to meet his, her face already looking mutinous.
“I thought we agreed with Maggie not truly being ill, there was no rush.”
“No rush for you,” he said, “but I have work to do. They need me back on the estate. Things are starting to go awry.”
“Then you may go,” Eleanor said, sounding positively like a royal highness dismissing her knight.
“You must come with me,” he said.
“Why must I?”
Her hands on her hips was not a good sign. Moreover, he realized his mother’s head was going back and forth as if watching lawn tennis.
“Because Turvey House was your destination,” he pointed out.
She hesitated, shooting his mother a glance.
“I am not ready to leave.”
