“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Oh, Harry! It’s a perfectly wonderful surprise.” She gazed into his soft, brown eyes. “You are wonderful.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Am I?” He took her arm, and they returned to the salon.
After knocking, Mrs. Lawson entered the room. “Would you care to freshen up before tea is served, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.” With a meaningful glance at Harry, Erina followed the housekeeper from the room as a small kernel of hope grew inside her. Harry was a thoughtful man. She couldn’t imagine him ever treating her badly. They would spend many months here, and she loved it already.
“Within the next day or so, I should like to meet the rest of the staff,” Erina told Mrs. Lawson.
“Of course, my lady.”
“You might show me the house, too, if you will, Mrs. Lawson. At a later time, we can go over the accounts.”
Mrs. Lawson turned to her with a seemingly incredulous expression, perhaps surprised that Erina knew about house management. “Of course, my lady.”
In the bedchamber, Erina pulled off her pelisse as she looked around. The walls were papered in an intricate pale-blue, gold, and cream design; the curtains were gold damask. The carved oak four-poster bed was hung with the same damask, the cream-silk cover to match the carpet. It was far grander than any bedchamber in her father’s house. Perching on the high bed, she thought of her faded, floral bedcover as she smoothed her hands over the cover. Would she and Harry share this chamber? Or did he have his own suite? Her mind whirled, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She left the bed, trying to wrestle with her baffling emotions.
Her trunk delivered, she was sorting through it when a knock came at the door, startling her. Heavens. Her heart thumped. Was that Harry?
A young maid with curly, brown hair and the fresh complexion of a country girl entered. She bobbed. “I’m Merry, my lady. Shall I unpack the trunk?”
“Yes, please, Merry. I’d like to wash and change my gown.”
Half an hour later, Erina came downstairs dressed in a favorite muslin gown woven in a sage green-and-blue pattern. Merry had revealed a surprising skill with hair, securing Erina’s in a topknot with a pink ribbon.
Harry rose from the chair as she entered the drawing room. He had also changed his clothes, and his hair looked damp. His gaze swept over her, and he smiled his approval. “I like the pink ribbon.”
“Merry is gifted.”
A servant brought in a tray, and the couple seated themselves to partake of tartlets, almond cakes, and ham and cress sandwiches. Shecould eat little of it, although Harry tucked in with good appetite. It was on the tip of Erina’s tongue to ask what they might do with the last of the daylight hours. But she was afraid she’d flush crimson if she did, so she seized the teapot and poured them both an aromatic cup of tea.
Harry’s eyes twinkled. “We might take a walk in the park before supper,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.
“I’d like that,” Erina said with relief. Heavens, she wasn’t usually this restrained. It was just that she wasn’t sure what Harry expected of her. Was this to be a marriage of convenience? A polite friendship with the occasional visit to her bed to beget a child? She would hate that more than anything. Her hand shook, and she spilled tea into the saucer, where it dripped onto the table. “Bother.”
Harry edged forward from his side of the table and placed a hand over hers where it fluttered uselessly like a bird. “We need a good, long talk after our tea,” he said in his calm manner.
She began mopping the tea up with her napkin. “We can converse while we walk.”
He shook his head. “I think not.”
She raised her eyes to his. “No?”
Harry’s eyes had darkened. “I don’t believe it can wait.”
Chapter Twenty-One
When Lady Caindaleworriedly assured Jack that her husband was still away attending to his cotton mill, Jack headed north to Manchester, where the man in question might be found. On the road again, driving his curricle, Jack gained that sense of freedom he’d missed. It was almost a relief to remove himself from the intense situation that had surrounded the marquess. Especially when he hadn’t done as promised and found the murderer. And there was no sense in thinking of Althea, although he did, constantly, with a sense of frustration and deep yearning. It was for her that he persisted with this, despite his fear that what he might discover about her uncle would devastate her family.
Two days later, he rode into smoky Manchester and made his way to Salford on the River Irwell, where Lord Caindale’s cotton mill was found. Jack had little expectation of finding him there.
At the mill, no smoke rose from the chimneys atop the seven-story brick building. Jack dismounted and entered the huge space. The mill was impressive, with floors for spinning and weaving cloth. Gas lighting had been installed. There should have been a hub of activity, but the spinning mules were unattended, the workers absent. Beyond the open back door, the river flowed past, the dank smell seeping in. Someone had been here. Were they still here? There was no sign of Lord Caindale, but Jack’s neck prickled, and he resisted calling out tohim.
A scuffling noise made him swing around in time to see a man dart out of sight at the far end of the long room. He ran in that direction. A strangled sound came from what must have been the office. Caindale! He bolted through the door and balked at the sight that greeted him. Lord Caindale, strung up from a beam, still alive, his legs kicking uselessly in the air. Jack pulled the knife from his boot and kicked the box there closer. He jumped up onto it and cut the dying man loose from the rope, which was wrapped tightly around his neck.
The baron fell limply into Jack’s arms, barely breathing, his scarlet face suffused with blood.
