Guy could have found the library by himself. He had discussed the house so often with his father he knew his way around as if he had lived here.
The footman scratched at a set of double doors, and a man’s faint voice requested they enter.
Guy walked in to find Fennimore leaning back against the green velvet cushion of his wing chair. His foot on a fringed footstool. Despite the fire glowering in the marble fireplace, the room smelled of damp. The green silk at the windows had holes which emitted the light. The bookshelves were dusty, and the cedar furniture dull with the lack of polish. Long windows looked down over the terraced Tudor rose garden. Through the murky glass panes, he glimpsed woody roses grown out of shape. Mildewed statues wearing a mantle of snow rose like ghosts from the tall grass.
“Bonjour, Eustace.” Guy walked over to shake his relative’s hand. Eustace’s plentiful ginger hair was streaked with white. He had an attractive cast to his face and must have been good looking in his youth, despite a receding chin. His faint smile failed to banish the bleakness in his eyes.
“So, Guy, you have arrived at last.” When he failed to rise, Guy leaned down and shook his limp hand.
“I expect you wondered what had happened to me.”
“I did, my boy. I did.” Eustace nodded toward the window where a watery sun broke through the clouds, turning the snow a luminous white. “I daresay the storm was fierce. You’ll need a good breakfast.”
“Merci.I’m as hungry as a bear.” The man looked as if he suffered from some malaise. Simon might have been right. The logical reason for the estate to be in such a bad way.
As if reading Guy’s mind, Eustace said, “I’m afraid I have a touch of the gout. Forgive me if I remain seated.”
Guy nodded. “A painful disease. I heard the Prince of Wales suffers from it.”
“He does. Prinny offered me a remedy, but I am yet to try it.” Eustace waved a languid hand toward the damask chair opposite him.
Guy wondered what remedy Eustace employed. Then he turned to more pressing matters. “I require a bath and a change of clothes. I trust my trunk has arrived?”
“Yes. A strange horse turned up at the stables during the night. Would that be yours?”
“Oui. I’m glad the animal found shelter.” Guy frowned. “Did they bring in my portmanteau?”
“No. There was nothing on the horse bar the saddle.”
Guy groaned. “Then my portmanteau has fallen off somewhere.”
“Indeed?” Eustace dabbed at his mouth with a monogrammed silk handkerchief. He was far better dressed than the house, wearing an elaborately patterned silk banyan over a fine linen shirt, and pantaloons. “I shall need evidence to prove you are Fortescue.”
Guy gazed at him shocked. He had not expected such a poor welcome. “My papers were in my portmanteau. Lost somewhere out there where the horse and I parted company. I shall have to go and search for it when the weather improves.”
Eustace eyed Guy’s wounded forehead. “You fell from your horse?”
The man’s yawn behind his hand outraged Guy. “I was set upon by bandits. As I outrode them, I collided with a low branch and was knocked out. A man from the village came to my aid.”
Eustace leaned forward in his chair. “Lucky to find anyone on that road. Who was it?”
“Simon Rawlings, a groom in the employ of Colonel Cavendish of Malforth Manor.”
“You were fortunate.” Eustace picked up a bell from the table next to him and rang it. “A servant will show you to your chamber. We have much to talk about. I’ll join you in the breakfast room after you’ve bathed.”
Guy followed the footman to his bedchamber, noticing further evidence of neglect. He had been given one of the lesser suites in the east wing. Apparently, Eustace felt no need to vacate the famous blue suite where royalty had once slept. It had been Guy’s father’s bedchamber and his grandfather’s before him. Perhaps he would now.
The chamber hadn’t been prepared for him. Guy rang for a servant and gazed at the dull paneling and faded yellow brocade.
“Please have the maids clean this room and air the bed.”
“Yes, my lord.”
It appeared that Eustace resented him being there, despite the house remaining at his disposal should he wish to stay. Guy made that clear in his letter, and he was becoming angry at the man’s attitude. Ill or not, it wouldn’t be difficult for Eustace to offer him a hospitable welcome.
Over breakfast, Eustace didn’t see fit to question where Guy had spent the night, so Guy didn’t tell him.
“I plan to leave for London in spring, when the season begins.” Eustace raised a tankard of ale to his lips.
