"Do you think so?" She sounded relieved, as if she had feared otherwise.
"High spirited, as boys ought to be, but respectful and disciplined. They are fine youngsters. I am hoping you will allow them to visit Charles."
"The duke? At Eversham Hall?" She said the words as if speaking the name of Hell itself.
"Why not?"
"We're not welcome there."
"My dear Miss Wheatly, the old regime is gone. The less said about the former steward the better, and my brother-in-law… He let his words trail off. Had she been afraid of Emery? The thought that the late duke may have forced himself on this woman brought bile to his throat.
"Surely you are aware by now that even the servants know to turn us off. Mrs. Cotter, the cook, even refused to buy my eggs when I approached her in the village. Everyone in the county buys my eggs, unless they have sufficient hens of their own."
He had no answer. Several steps later, she spoke again. "Besides, Papa wouldn't allow it. He calls it 'that vile place.'"
"Miss Wheatly, what?—"
"I'm sorry, my lord. We don't talk about it." Her words were polite, but her tone squelched his questions.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Wheatly. Perhaps I'll see you again soon," he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. Her blush when she pulled away warmed his heart. With a proper nod of his head, and a less proper grin, he mounted Mercury and left.
Damn and blast the man.
She was certain the earl saw them as a ramshackle household. He had caught her looking like a scullery maid, with Mrs. MacLeish gone to town and unable to answer the door. They had provided no tea, nor even offered him a chair.
Where were your manners, Catherine? Allowing his hands on her person didn't help either.
She knew full well where her manners went. As soon as he pushed her papa about their relationship to the duke, all other thoughts fled. She didn't know him well, but she knew he didn't miss much and didn't let go once an idea took hold.
He's curious, and he's going to stir up a hornet's nest and make Papa miserable. Damn, damn, and damn.
Chapter Four
Will leapt up the steps to Eversham Hall and walked with purpose to the butler's pantry. Stowe jumped up from the desk, where he had been enjoying a surreptitious nip, probably of His Grace's brandy. He ought to look guilty. Instead, his pursed lips all too eloquently showed his opinion of an earl who stormed into his refuge dirty from road and horse.
The old man quickly shifted his gaze past the earl's left shoulder. "May I assist you, my lord?" he oozed.
"You have been butler at Eversham many years, have you not, Stowe?"
"I had the honor of serving His Grace's grandfather, the seventh duke," Stowe told him.
Will considered Stowe's likely loyalty to Emery, his ingrained belief in Eversham's routines, even the ones Will abhorred, and knew a moment of doubt. Impulse drove him anyway.
"Can you tell me what lies between Eversham and its neighbors at Songbird Cottage?"
"Lies between, my lord?"
"Why, for example, does the kitchen of this house not obtain its eggs from Songbird?" That should be a safe enough start.
"His Grace so ordered it, my lord." Stowe clamped his lips closed.
"But why?"
"It isn't my place, my lord, but…" he hesitated.
Will nodded. "Go on, go on."
"The seventh duke knew the vicar's daughter was no better than she ought to be. He went so far as to step aside when he saw her in the village."
