Freddy looked thoughtful. Before he could wheedle, the earl went on, "Of course, that assumes your studies are as they should be."
"Yes, sir," Freddy said. He plodded after his brother.
"Charming boys."
Catherine tipped her head. Did he mean that as a compliment? She couldn't tell. "This way, my lord."
When they turned in the narrow hallway, the earl's arm brushed hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her. She prayed he didn't notice and focused on the door to the sunny room her father had appropriated for his studies.
She knocked softly but didn't wait for an answer. The door opened to the south-facing breakfast room, lined with windows, their drapery pulled back for maximum light. It was, she noticed, as cluttered as ever. She leaned over with a sigh and picked up papers that had fallen off the wide worktable in the center of the room.
"Papa, we have a visitor." She looked at the papers in her hand and restored them to the correct pile.
Her father sat hunched over the table, pen in hand. He bobbed his head up. "Visitor? It's Thursday, Catherine."
"The Earl of Chadbourn, Papa. Your Lordship, may I make known to you Lord Arthur Wheatly."
Wheatly? Good Lord!
The old man rose to his feet, cast a cautious eye at Will, and bowed. "Chadbourn. Of course. You were at the funeral."
Manners failed the earl. Who was this man? "Lord Arthur" would make him the younger son of a marquess at least—or a duke. Good Lord! Charles's estate might bear some responsibility for this family, but I'm damned if I know what it is.
"I—" The earl couldn't articulate a single question from the dozen in his head. He turned to Catherine.
"And you are?"
"She's m'daughter," Wheatly snapped. Of course she is.
"Miss Wheatly," the earl said, bowing, "We met before, but I missed your surname during our encounter with the pigs."
"Pigs, Catherine?" Wheatly sputtered. "What nonsense is that?"
Catherine colored deeply. Will followed the rosy glow from her cheek down her neck with his eyes, and imagined how far down that blush might go. He forced that unproductive line of thought from his mind. There was a mystery here, and he meant to solve it.
"The funeral, Wheatly? What do you mean?"
"Emery's, o'course. I saw you there with the boy and his mother."
"You went to the duke's funeral, Father?" Catherine looked astonished.
"Slipped in the back when everyone's attention was up front. Hadn't spoken to the bast—uh, the duke, in twenty years, but it seemed right."
Will's head spun. He called the duke by his given name. "I can't help but notice the family name. May I ask your relationship to the duke?"
"None I want to claim, and none you need to know," the old man growled. "Is there a purpose to this call?" The set of his jaw made it clear the subject was closed.
"The earl admired our fences, Father. I believe he came to pay his respects." Catherine's voice took on a soothing tone, while Will tried to recall his excuse for calling.
"Fences?" Lord Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "MacLeish takes care of that. Far too busy with my studies to be bothered by such nonsense."
"MacLeish?" Will asked.
"Our man-of-all-work," Catherine explained. She looked jittery. "Why don't you show your work to the earl, Father." She looked desperate to change the subject.
Wheatly launched easily into his obsession.
"Birds, Chadbourn. England is blessed with 'em." He held up a stack of drawings. The subject had been neatly changed, and good manners prevented Will from probing. "I'm finishing the text for my next work. Birds of the English Farm and Fields this time."
