He turned back to his work, evidently finished with the discussion.
She stared at him for several long minutes.
“Do you always dismiss people when they question you?”
“When they treat me as if I’m their footman, yes.” He glanced over at her. “You’re not angry at me, Sarah. You’re angry at your grandfather.”
What an absurd time to want to cry, she thought.
“I truly am interested,” she said. “Forgive me if I sounded imperious.”
“No doubt it comes from being a duke’s daughter,” he said, not turning his attention from his papers.
“I think it comes from being the Duke of Herridge’s daughter,” she confessed. “You dare not show an ounce of weakness with my father. I think he would have been a great military genius had he been so inclined. I do believe that he sees conversations with people as battles to be fought and confrontations as wars to be won. I think he has a tally in his mind of winners and losers, and he is determined not to lose.”
Her attention was directed to the hills and valleys of the fabric of her skirt, and when she looked up it was to find that he was looking at her.
“How old were you when you realized this?” he asked.
“I think I was nine,” she said.
“Was it a confrontation with your father, or did you witness a battle between him and your mother?”
“My mother was always submissive to him,” she said, again feeling that awful urge to weep. “Once, she said it was keeping peace, that a wife had to acknowledge her husband as the head of the household.”
She looked over at him again. “I have no problem with allowing someone to be the head of the household other than myself,” she said. “But I don’t see why my spirit has to be dulled in doing it.”
“It doesn’t,” he said.
“Other than being a creator of diamonds, what business do you have?”
A knock on the door interrupted Douglas’s answer. When Douglas opened it, two young men entered, carrying her trunks. Florie trailed behind, with a small valise in hand, directing them where to put them, andadding for good measure, “See that you don’t scratch them. That’s fine Florentine leather.”
Where had the frightened girl gone? In the last hour, Florie had gained her composure. Evidently, the continuing storm held no terror for her as long as she was out of the carriage.
Florie looked around the room, took in the bedchamber, and stood in the doorway of the bedroom.
“I’ll be doing your hair now, Lady Sarah,” she said, in a no-nonsense tone Sarah had never heard from her.
She’d come to Scotland, and the world had gone mad.
Alano knocked on the door of the housekeeper’s room. He waited patiently, which was a surprise given that he was not a patient man.
When she finally opened the door, he smiled at her, undeterred when she frowned back.
“You can be very off-putting,” he said. “I imagine that serves you quite well being the housekeeper. However, I am a guest at Chavensworth, and such behavior doesn’t put me off. I could even mention to Lady Sarah that you’ve been brusque with me.”
She looked unimpressed at his threat.
His smile broadened. In addition to being incredibly lovely, she was also intelligent.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. McDonough?” Her look dared him to say something improper.
“I would like some tea,” he said.
“There is a bellpull in your room, sir. If you will but ring it, the maid will serve you anything that you desire.”
“I’m afraid that will not do, Mrs. Williams,” he said. “I am desirous of your company. Besides, you owe me an explanation.”
