“No on both counts. I haven’t had time to take a gun out. And apart from my new acquisition, the two other horses aren’t worthy of you, I’m afraid.”
“No time? How do you spend your days?”
“I’m improving the estate, making it more productive. It is prime land, George, but there is much neglect to overcome.”
George raised his eyebrows. “Is this my cousin speaking? The one who declared he would spend the rest of his life taking his pleasure where he found it? There are many ladies asking after you in London. Women seem not to forget you.” He laughed. “Can’t imagine why.”
Dominic forced a smile, reminded of the rake’s tag imposed on him. “I doubt it. No more of your insincere flattery, George.” He swirled the flavorsome cognac around his mouth. It slipped down his throat, warming as it went. He’d spent only a short time here, and yet it seemed months since he’d left London.
“Not at all,” George continued, unfazed. “Lady Anne seems rather put out by your absence.”
“I had planned to hold a house party and invite her, but I’ve had to delay it. The house isn’t ready for guests.”
“I’ll say it’s not. Lady Anne here? Can’t see it, myself.” George laughed. “If you wish to secure her interest, you’d best hot-foot it back to London.”
“Not for a while yet.” Even the lovely Lady Anne Cranston failed to instill an urge to return to the city. He was glad he had not weakened and written to invite her. “How long can you stay, George?” he asked, changing the subject. “The news from the city can wait. Tell me what has happened to you in my absence.”
George looked away. “This last Season wasn’t lucky for me. As you know, I rely on my skill at dice. It takes a good deal of money to live the way I’ve grown accustomed. Clothes and rent, etcetera. But one must keep up appearances.”
Dominic eyed George’s apparel: the cut of his coat pointed to Schweitzer & Davison, his tighter styled boots designed by Hoby, his beaver from Lock & Co. When George finished his drink, Dominic stood. “Come to the stables. I want you to meet my new stallion.”
“A stallion, eh? I’d like to see him. You must find me a mount, even a donkey. I intend to see the estate before I leave.”
“No donkey, but I’ve yet to stock the stables. Hopefully, one of the carriage horses will give you a half-decent ride.” George was a fine rider and a natural athlete, although he seldom did much to maintain it. Dominic thought of his carriage horses. Both objected to a rider on their backs, but he was confident George would handle it. “How did you come here?”
George finished his cognac and put down the glass. “Mail coach.”
Dominic eyed him sympathetically. “That can’t have been very agreeable.”
“It wasn’t.”
They walked outside. For comfort-loving George to travel all the way from London on the mail coach, he must have a good reason. Dominic had his suspicions but would wait until George felt able to share. He would learn it soon enough.
*
While the visitorclaimed Redcliffe’s time, Olivia slipped into the steward’s room to search it. She’d enjoyed spending the previous afternoon with him far too much. During the restless night, she admitted her attraction to him grew stronger each day. If a rake, he was a charming one, but weren’t all rakes so? When he’d taken hold of her arm, a thrill skittered through her, and his green eyes told her he felt the same. Dear heaven, she was out of her depth. She feared something would happen between them if they spent too much time alone together.
Rakes, she’d heard, took what they wanted and damn the consequences. So far, at least, Redcliffe had not. But…should he step beyond the bounds of propriety, she would never stoop so low as to become his mistress. Not merely because of her sense of morality, such a life wouldn’t suit her.
Those women became dependent on the whims of a gentleman, and some of the most notorious of them had starved in old age. Olivia doubted many would have married and had children. And she had not given up the hope of married life and a family, despite it becoming less likely with the passing years and too few eligible men to choose from.
If something scandalous occurred between her and Redcliffe, she would have to leave the village. Already, people questioned her life at Redcliffe Hall, and some who cared about her asked if the earl treated her well, while others gazed at her with suspicion. It wouldn’t surprise her to hear Lady Lowry had spread scandalous lies about her. Especially as Redcliffe declined her former employer’s recent dinner invitation.
Should Mr. Yardley persuade Redcliffe to go to London with him, it would give her some breathing space. But she doubted he’d leave now. Not with the possibility of another burglary. He seemed determined to search every room in the house. Must she accompany him while he pursued this unrealistic goal? The reckless, wanton part of her she’d fought to suppress urged her to, while the sensible part of her brain sounded a warning in her ear not to be alone with Redcliffe too often.
She took the steward’s ledgers down from the shelves, sat at the desk, and opened the first one. Then her mind drifted. If she confessed to Redcliffe why she’d come here, and told him what she wished to find, would he be angry at her deception and dismiss her? Or would he understand and offer to help? She believed the latter, considering him a fair man. But he might fob her off while he dealt with his own concerns.
The days, weeks, and months would go on with no answer to the questions she sought. And before she knew it, Redcliffe would return to London, and she’d no longer have a position here. Another thought occurred to her. He might offer her the money without the proof her father never received payment for it. She would hate that even more.
Olivia leaned an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. The writing on the page blurred. Her stomach tightened at the fear of being cut adrift again, as she had been when Papa died. She considered herself a practical woman and had always known that her time at Redcliffe Hall would end. Wiping a tear from her cheek with a finger, she sighed. “Enough of this.” Moving a finger down the items listed, she focused on the task.
An hour later, she came away with the impression something wasn’t right about the accounts, despite how ordered and precise they appeared. She didn’t know the man and had no evidence of his dishonesty. Nor had she heard anyone accuse him of it. So it would be wrong to judge him. To date, she’d found nothing listed in the ledgers concerning the transaction. And as her father hadn’t mentioned dealing with Pike, the steward might have left the earl’s employ before the sale took place. She really needed to ask Pike, which she didn’t like to do, behind Redcliffe’s back. Olivia felt discouraged. She’d been so sure she’d find the evidence she sought.
On her way to oversee the housemaid’s work and to continue her exploration of the guest wing bedchambers, she wandered the long gallery and paused before the large oil paintings of Redcliffe’s ancestors, some of whom lived hundreds of years ago. She found Lady Elizabeth’s portrait. Her name was on a plaque in gold lettering, but she would have known it was her by the fashions of the time. She was indeed a lovely woman, a feathery hat perched at a dashing angle on her piled-up fair hair.
A deep frill of lace dressed the neckline of her blue silk gown, a large bow beneath her full bosom. Even with an artist’s license, her waist must have been tiny. Studying it, Olivia decided the countess looked unhappy. The artist had caught a suggestion of dissatisfaction around her mouth. It tallied with what Redcliffe had told her and made Olivia want to learn more about Elizabeth as she hurried away.
Chapter Twelve
