However, he was curious as to what the man looked like.
The gathered company waited. The announcement had been made. The marquess should walk through the door.
Instead, nothing happened. No one entered the room.
The marchioness was not amused. She looked over to the butler who, almost comically, stood silent, expectant... for a man who did not appear.
It was decidedly odd.
At last, Beck broke down to glance behind him just as a figure appeared in the doorway.Middlebury.
Beck apparently had his father’s height. The man was lean, his body silhouette far less muscular. He was too thin, almost as if he was ill. On the other hand, he and Beck did share a nose. As did Ellisfield, Beck realized, truly grasping for the first time that Ellisfield and his brother and sister were his half siblings.
However, there were more physical contrasts than similarities. Beck was not a younger versionof his sire. His lips were thinner, his jaw more square, his shoulders broader.
Then there was the coloring. All of the Middleburys were fair. Beck’s hair was black. Not as dark as Gwendolyn’s but the color of shadows with more brown tones.
Even more curious, or perhaps not, Beck felt no connection to this man. In fact, if they had met on the street, they would have passed each other as strangers.
He’d had more of a reaction to Lady Middlebury than his father.
The marquess went to his chair at the head of the table. He stood, taking in the room. His gray eyes rested on Beck. He frowned.
The world around Beck stilled. Did Middlebury see the similarities as he did? Did he recognize some element of himself in Beck?
For his part, Beck felt a detached indifference, even as the man studied him.
Lady Middlebury broke her husband’s concentration, saying, “My lord, we are famished.”
His attention turned to her. He smiled, and Beck could almost believe he’d imagined his sire’s scrutiny. Certainly no one else in the room appeared to notice. “So sorry, my dear.” Lord Middlebury raised his voice. “My regrets to all of you. I lose myself in my research. Please, take your places.” The footmen pulled out chairs.
The marquess waited until all the guests were seated and, while he still stood, said, “I wish to welcome you.”
He had a raspy voice. His words were measured as if parceled out.
Lady Middlebury had also not taken her chair. She stood close to her husband. Beck suddenly had the feeling that he had seen them standing together before.
But he couldn’t have. Was his mind again playing tricks?
“Enjoy Colemore,” their host encouraged them. “I shall not be hunting. My sons and son-in-law will happily lead you.” He nodded to Ellisfield and to Lord Martin, his youngest son, and to Lord Grassington, who was married to his daughter, Miranda, Lady Grassington.
“However,” the marquess continued, “I look forward to enjoying your company at dinner every evening. My wife and I takedelight”—he put emphasis ondelightas if he had been rehearsing his speech—“in your presence.”
Beck noticed his hand shook as he gestured, and his fingers were ink-stained. Up until then, he had kept both hands at his sides in tight fists. The man was not well.
“I shan’t stay,” Lord Middlebury informed them. His guests groaned their disappointment. He made a tight smile to express his appreciation of their mild protests. “My research needs me. You understand. Now, if you will excuse me?”
“My lord—” Lady Middlebury started as if to encourage him to stay, but he was already walking toward the door.
Beck frowned. What the devil was wrong with Middlebury? Because something was not right.
He was also not the only one to think that way. Looks around the table were exchanged.Eyebrows raised. Did that mean that this was the first year he had behaved in this manner?
Then, to Beck’s surprise, Lady Middlebury took her husband’s chair. She signaled to the butler, and service began. From the other side of the room, two doors opened, and footmen charged out, carrying tureens of soup as the first course. The footmen lining the walls began pouring wine into glasses. There were more servants than there were guests so that every need could be met.
The conversation picked up its previous tempo. Everyone carried on as if the marquess’s behavior had not been strange. Beck looked over at Lady Orpington and caught her instructing a footman to butter her bread. Apparently she could not be bothered with such a mundane task.
Perhaps, for this group of people, Lord Middleburyhadseemed normal. He marveled at the resilience of the English character.
