“Yes, mis…milady.”
Perhaps she shouldn’t have rushed to help the girl. Laura worried she might have given the maid false hope. It was unlikely she could reach such an exalted position within the household without the ability to read and pen a neat letter. Laura could school her in how to apply a hare’s foot and rouge, create the complicated hairstyles popular today, and also take care of her mistress’s clothing, jewelry, and shoes. While Penny might excel at mending and altering garments, and she could draw the bath and bring her mistress breakfast, but was a country girl like Penny able to read and write? It would be required of a lady’s maid. Laura didn’t like to ask her. After she left Beechley Park, would it leave the little maid unhappy and dissatisfied? Lord Debnam seemed determined never to marry, so there would be no countess.
She wondered again why the earl was so strongly committed to remaining single. She would like to discover the reason. But he would not welcome her prying into his affairs, and she was careful not to incur his wrath. Not because she considered him a violent man, but because he appeared unwilling to open a door to his past. She was curious by nature. What made him a selfish rake who thought he could have whatever he wanted? She still knew little about him, but to call him that no longer seemed to fit. After all, he had rescued Mrs. Royce and Mary with no concern for his own safety and had treated Laura with respect, so far at least.
Laura went downstairs for afternoon tea. Smiling at a footman who opened the door for her, she entered the blue salon. It was almost disturbingly perfect. The Delft-blue-paneled walls of the lofty-ceilinged salon were framed in gold. Vases of perfect delphiniums sat on tables and complemented the walls. How unlike Longworth it was, even when Mama had been alive, where ancient, threadbare damask covered the chairs and sofa, needlework and books perched on tables, and vases of flowers gathered in a bright bunch, adding cheeriness and color. Laura hesitated to sit on the dainty satin sofa and chose instead a wide armchair covered in cream damask with a golden fringe. She brushed down her skirts and carefully sat as the door opened.
Lord Debnam strolled in. He had changed into riding clothes, snug breeches clinging to powerful thighs and narrow hips. His shoulders were impossibly broad in the Carmelite-brown, double-buttoned tailcoat.No need of padding, Laura thought, unsettled but impressed all the same. Fearing he had noticed her appraisal, she quickly raised her eyes to his in a welcoming smile.
He strode across the exquisite carpet of pastel hues. “Do you approve of my home?”
“It’s magnificent. This room…” She waved her arm to encompass the carved marble fireplace, the enormous mirrors and artworks and the festoons of silk at the windows. Fat cherubs danced with ribbons across the painted ceiling. “It simply takes one’s breath away.”
Debnam sprawled in a wing chair beside the fireplace. “I have little fondness for it. I seldom use it.”
She frowned. “Even when you have guests?”
“I don’t care to entertain.”
She knew he was reclusive, but why? Had he always been this way or might it have been something in his past? “It seems a waste when you have such a gracious home. Surely, you are proud of it.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Why should I be? I inherited this estate, Laura. I am uninterested in the shallow indulgences of society. Half the year is spent in London with the company of those who think there’s no more to me than this.” He propped one large, booted foot on his knee, making her even more aware of his size and maleness. “It is my hope you might come to understand me better than that.”
Why care what she thought? Did he really believe they could become close in a matter of weeks, and after such an inauspicious beginning? After which she would leave and probably never see him again. But there was much he hid behind his relaxed pose. Troubled, she traced the pattern on the arm of her chair with a nervous finger. “I see you plan to ride this afternoon.” Would he leave her to her own devices? He puzzled her. The pull of magnetism he seemed to exude without effort made it difficult for her to think. Would she have to guard herself against being hurt again?
“Would you care to join me?” he asked. “We can ride to the river.”
“I should like to, thank you,” she murmured, forgetting her intention to avoid him. The footman carried in the tea tray and set it down on a table before them.
“Shall I pour?” Laura asked.
“Please.” Debnam sat back and crossed his arms.
While she fussed over the hot water and the teapot, she was conscious of being alone with him in this quiet room—his sensual, gray eyes watching her, his large hand making the teacup look small and fragile when he took it from her, his handsome mouth when he raised the cup to his lips. She drank a little and put her cup down before her hand shook. She would feel safer outdoors, although the reason for that eluded her. Perhaps the fresh air would bring clarity to her rampaging thoughts.
An hour later, she emerged from her bedchamber, having changed into her olive-green habit, which she considered quite stylish with gold braid and frog fastenings on the snugly fitted spencer jacket. It had been made especially for riding in Rotten Row during her brief London Season. She had never worn it because Robert had run out of money, and they’d returned to Longworth. And she’d had no reason to wear it since. Tying the strings of her black riding hat with its curving, audacious feather, she picked up her crop and went to join Lord Debnam, who waited for her on the porch.
When he raised his eyebrows and smiled approvingly, Laura couldn’t help feeling pleased.
They walked to the stables through the formal gardens with low hedges bordering the flower beds planted with brightly colored snapdragons and geraniums, the hum of bees hovering around them. The yews were clipped into pyramids and rounded shapes.
The stables proved almost as grand in style as the house. A dozen thoroughbreds thrust their heads over the doors of their stalls to observe them. Laura tucked the crop under her arm and smoothed her leather riding gloves over her fingers. “You stable quite a few horses. Why? You cannot ride them all.”
“Breeding thoroughbreds is a hobby.” He strode over to a small bay. “This mare should suit you.”
“She will. What is her name?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I haven’t named her. They pass through my hands quickly. This one will attract a buyer at Tattersalls auction. At present, her name is Bay Mare.”
Laura had crossed the cobbles to stroke the horse’s nose. She swung around to the earl. “You can’t mean to call her that.”
He looked amused. “I do.”
“But… But.” She pointed to Hunter, who had joyfully accompanied them, but whose interest was caught by something in the grass. “You named your dog.”
“Yes, but my dog lives with me. I don’t intend to sell him.”
She folded her arms. “Well, I shall name her.”
