Eric had expected the question to come from Langford if anyone. Friends could surprise you at times. “West.”
“West,” Stratton said to Langford.
“I heard. It appears we can tell the ladies that while he is also leaving town, he is going in a completely different direction from Miss MacCallum.”
Eric would have taken satisfaction in a lie well told, except it was obvious neither of them believed him.
Chapter Eleven
Davina rose from the bed. She had arrived in the afternoon and taken a nap, which she almost never did. The journey had been long and tiring, however, even making use of the coach and four Amanda had insisted she have.
That coach had left already, to return to London, after bringing her here to her childhood home in Northumberland. She stood in the center of the chamber, steeling herself for the nostalgia that had almost drowned her when she first walked in the door. It waited for her when she left this bedroom, used by the housekeeper back then.
Leaving London had not been easy. Mr. Hume had expressed displeasure that she abandoned her duties to Nora. She found another woman to take her place for a fortnight, so the child would not be left to her own devices. She explained to Mr. Hume that any evidence would be found in Scotland, not London, so she needed to go find it. He had finally acquiesced and, except for an unfortunate overture at bringing her north himself, had wished her well.
Prior to leaving, she had written to the duke, explaining her plans and demanding he join her in Northumberland so any visits to the baron’s property would be made by them at the same time. If he did not respond at once with his agreement, she had written, she would go on her own and not share whatever she might learn in this place where her grandfather had lived.
She slipped on her shoes and straightened the sheets on the bed. Amanda had sent the mattress in the coach, and the sheets and coverlet, because, she said, after so many years, the house was sure to be in poor repair. Davina, upon entering, was grateful her duchess friend had not always been a duchess and proved to be so practical. Before the coachman left, she had him take the old mattresses and linens out and burn them.
She ventured into the kitchen, found a bucket, and went out for water. Upon returning, she eyed a large brown stain and hole on the ceiling. That was what had sent her to the housekeeper’s chamber rather than upstairs when she decided to nap. The damage indicated water had been entering, probably from the roof. Above this was a chamber her parents had used when her mother was alive. If the roof had gone bad, it would not be habitable. Perhaps none of them up there were.
It took her two hours to wipe down the kitchen so she could use it, and another to wash the dishes and implements. Night was falling by the time she finished. She ate some food she had brought, fetched fresh water, then took her damp cloth to the sitting room and wiped more dust away. Taking a chance the chimney still functioned, she used some coal left in the bin to start a fire.
I will agree to your plan so you are not wandering the countryside unprotected, the duke had replied to her letter.Better if you remained in London.In other words, I will allow you to complicate this more than is reasonable because I have no choice, but you are a nuisance.
He had then written that he would take lodgings in Newcastle and come to Caxledge the afternoon after she said she expected to arrive. Her direction to this house had not been the best. It had been so long since she lived here that she might have gotten some of it wrong. Still, she expected him to arrive as indicated. One of the benefits of being a duke was that you probably could find any place and any person you wanted.
After a final wipe of her little chamber, she put herself to bed. Rain woke her in the middle of the night, but its sound and drips lulled her back to sleep. Happily, sunshine greeted her in the morning.
So did a large puddle in the middle of the kitchen floor. She looked up at that hole. Perhaps her father had paid a caretaker when he was alive. If so, he had neglected to inform her, and she had not seen to it after his death. Blaming only herself for the state of the house, she tied up her dress above her knees, retrieved her bucket and a mop, and got to work.
The duke said he would be arriving in the afternoon. After she finished this, she would walk into the village and do a bit of investigating before he came.
* * *
Eric watched the outskirts of Newcastle give way to countryside and villages. He resented the inconvenience of this coach. He doubted Miss MacCallum had a horse, however, or even rode one much, so this had become a necessary inconvenience, like too much else about this journey.
His coachman had the directions she had provided, but a few words at a coaching inn on the way provided better ones. They pulled up in front of the cottage before noon, which was a few hours earlier than he had told her.
Politeness dictated he not call yet. Expediency said otherwise. He hopped out of the carriage and paused while he examined the house. Not large, it would be handsome if better maintained. Unfortunately, the plaster needed skimming and paint, and birds had made free with the eaves for their nests. The garden showed years of neglect. Nature was busy reclaiming this plot of land. If left alone for a few more years, the cottage would be well on its way to being a ruin.
He tried the door knock to no good purpose. Perhaps she had not arrived yet, or had already left. He strolled around the house, through a gate off its hinges, and sought the back door. The path, long lost to weeds, took him past a well to a flagstone terrace.
The door back here was open, but no sounds came from within. He stuck his head over the threshold, then stepped inside.
Miss MacCallum sat in what was a kitchen. She did not see or hear him. Her chair faced a cold fireplace. She stared at it almost sightlessly. A bucket stood beside her chair, and a mop had been propped against the wall.
Her legs stretched out in front of her. Bare legs. Nicely formed legs. Quite lovely legs, ivory tinted with a blush of pink. She wore no shoes or slippers either, so her pretty feet sat just so on the plank floor.
He noticed her dress had been tied up between her legs at the same moment when she realized she was not alone. She looked over abruptly, the shoulder-length locks of blond hair swinging like a drape disturbed by a breeze. She gazed right at him, then at his coat, then down at his boots.
“Welcome, Duke. I would be more pleased to see you if you were not tracking mud on my clean floor.”
Indeed he was, but the damage was done. “I tried tracking mud on your floor in front instead, but no one answered my knock.”
“I was in a daze, I suppose. Remembering times spent here with my father and mother. Come in and sit down, and I will redo that section before I give up.”
He stepped outside and scraped most of the mud off his boots, using the edge of the threshold stone, before returning. He took long strides to get to the chair at the work table. With nary a comment, and with her loins still girded and her legs very visible, Miss MacCallum grabbed her mop and plunged it in the bucket. Then she bent to wring its long strands.
