“Hunter wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Brendan said as the dog launched himself into Laura’s waiting arms.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Laura said soothingly as she patted him. “What a cruel jest to call you ‘Hunter.’”
Hunter apparently agreed as he licked her face, forcing her to fend him off with a laugh.
“Down, boy!” Brendan demanded.
For once, Hunter obeyed. He left them to chase a bird over the grass without a chance of catching it. Brendan offered Laura his arm, and they climbed the steps.
“My lord.” Redfern bowed, adopting his usual gravitas. He was quite an age now and should consider retirement, but it wasn’t something they discussed.
“Redfern, this is my guest, Miss Peyton.”
The butler bowed again. “Miss Peyton.”
“How do you do, Mr. Redfern.” Laura’s smile was wide and inclusive. “It is a glorious day, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed, Miss Peyton.” Redfern’s face underwent a change. Was that a smile? Brendan hadn’t seen his butler smile since… Well, never. In the great hall, Redfern ordered a maid to show Laura to her suite. “Afternoon tea will be served in the blue salon, Miss Peyton.”
“I hope I don’t get lost,” Laura said with an appealing grin.
“Never fear, Miss Peyton. The footmen are here to attend you, and Penny will show you the way.” Redfern rose on his toes. “Mrs. Brandt, the housekeeper, is at your service. You have only to ring the bell.”
Amused, Brendan thought it remarkably effusive for old Redfern, when a scant few words usually served to get his message across. As he turned to go to the library, Brendan watched Laura ascend the staircase with Penny. She asked the young, redheaded maid a question, which caused her to stifle a giggle behind her hand.
Brendan wondered what she’d said. The household seemed in danger of succumbing to Laura’s charm. Charm she so far withheld from him. He entered the library, where, despite the warm day, a small fire burned in the grate to take the chill off the lofty room. Hunter had been chewing something nasty on the rug. The remains of a large bone. His French chef, Arnaud, had erred again. All the staff indulged the dog, despite his order not to. The dog in question scampered in before Brendan could close the door.
Bending, he ruffled the dog’s fur. “Well, Hunter, what do you think of Miss Peyton?”
Hunter gave an approving bark and returned to finish whatever it was he’d demolished before the fire. Brendan could imagine the housekeeper’s face when she saw the valuable rug, which was treated with great care, slathered in doggy spittle.
He sat at his desk and sifted through his mail. Nothing worthy of his immediate attention. His excellent secretary and his steward handled the most pressing problems. Pushing the letters aside, he turned to view the gardens, hazy beneath the summer sun. Despite the violent memories from his boyhood, he preferred to live here most of the year, although lately, the silence of the empty mansion seemed to draw in upon him, sending him back to London, while leaving his efficient staff to run Beechley Park in his absence. He had plenty to distract him in the city. Politics, Prinny’s latest exploits, a few good friends, and attractive women. But none of it held his interest for long. He feared he would never find a cure for his low spirits.
He might have brought his former mistress to Beechley Park. Or invited half thetonfor a house party where laughter and frivolity would fill the quiet reception rooms and empty corridors. Why had he never done so? It would have surprised them into accepting. He had one or two loyal friends and no interest in making more. Society was curious about him. Why else call him that ridiculous name, “the Phantom Earl”? He supposed he was stuck with it. He wasn’t about to change.
And why, even though this liaison with Laura had not begun well, did he remain hopeful? Brendan wondered why that was important to him. Was it the challenge? He rarely had to think about his relationships with women. They developed naturally and remained until he ended them. He pushed himself away from the desk and left the library to go upstairs and change his clothes. Did Laura ride? On horseback, things might improve between them. They hadn’t broached the subject, but then, they had talked very little. Was she only here because she’d given in to pressure from her brother? He supposed he would find out soon enough.
Chapter Four
Well, she washere and had arrived unscathed. To Laura’s great relief, her fear that Lord Debnam would force himself on her in the carriage had proven wrong. He was so big and had such long legs, it had been impossible to ignore him in that confined space. Toward the end of the journey, dark bristles had painted his jaw. They’d rasped when he’d run a hand over them.
Were they prickly or soft? Laura’s fingers had curled into her palms with the desire to touch them.
Laura followed the maid along the corridors. In such a vast estate, did it really matter who saw her wandering about? The staff would know about her, and she disliked being hemmed in. She loved to walk, and dragging an unwilling maid along would spoil her pleasure.
As they climbed the stairs, she realized the house was built in theEdesign of Elizabethan times, with the wings on either side linked by a long gallery.
The guest bedchamber was the same as the other rooms Laura peeked into, luxuriously appointed and readied for her occupation. While she took off her bonnet, two well-built footmen carried in her trunk.
She turned to survey the bedchamber which would be hers for a month. A retreat, perhaps, if she needed one. A flowery scent filled the air from several vases, the walls papered in a rich gold printed with white flowers and exotic birds. The soft-pink swag of curtains were edged in spring green. Penny, the small, red-haired maid who seemed inclined to chatter, assisted Laura out of her travel clothes and into a fresh, if slightly crumpled muslin.
“It’s my dream to become a lady’s maid one day, Miss Peyton. I’ve been told I’m good at needlework.” She did up the buttons on Laura’s pale-lemon crepe. “This is so pretty. The stitching is very fine, if I may say so.”
It should be.A modiste in London who charged the Earth had made it. Her life had changed considerably since she’d had to part with her lady’s maid, for economy’s sake, after her parents had died. It had hurt her deeply. She and Sarah had formed a friendship over the years. But an excellent position had been found for her in a neighboring house. “If you like, I can teach you a few skills a lady’s maid requires while I’m here.”
Penny’s brown eyes widened, and her freckled face broke into a grin. “I would be ever so grateful, Miss Peyton.”
“Milady.”
