“Yes, my lord.” Blue eyes sparkling with merriment, Evie gave the lamb an affectionate pat behind its floppy ear before she set it on the ground and stood up, brushing bits of grass and leaves from her skirts. She started to step out of the thicket but stopped short, biting her bottom lip as she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Do you think Gertie and her brother are waiting for us?”
Weston looked at her mouth. He couldn’t help himself. It was justthere, all plump and tempting and his for the taking, but for the untimely lamb kiss he’d received.
Not to say that a lamb kiss should ever be considered timely.
Jaw clenching, he averted his gaze and deliberately took a step into the open. At this point, he’d almost welcome a bullet. But none was forthcoming, and after ascertaining that the way was safe and clear, he motioned for Evie to follow him out onto the road.
Side by side, the beleaguered earl and the amused American set off once again, with Posy scampering along behind.
Chapter Five
As Lady Brynne’scarriage rolled to a halt in front of Hawkridge Manor, she found herself overwhelmed by a myriad of conflicting emotions.
She’d always preferred the rolling fields and forests of the countryside to the bustling streets of London. The natural light was better, for one. And as an amateur painter with secret dreams of grandeur, light was everything.
She also enjoyed the sheer openness. Comprising more than ten thousand acres, Hawkridge Manor was the largest estate for miles around. She could wander for hours with only her own thoughts for company. In the city, she couldn’t walk out her own front door without being approached by a familiar face or jostled by a stranger.
But then, there was the heaviness. The invisible weight she felt whenever the trees parted and the manor came into view. Sometimes, it was so crushing she could hardly breathe, and other times it sat on her shoulders with such lightness that she could almost, if she tried hard enough, ignore it completely.
Unfortunately, as she departed from the brougham and pulled on her gloves (she’d taken them off during the long ride in order to sketch the passing scenery), the pressure concentrated in the middle of her chest felt anything but light.
If not for the house party and the dozens of guests that were about to descend upon the estate like locusts falling on a virgin field of crops, Brynne might have been tempted to climb right back into her carriage and demand the driver return to London with all haste. But of course she couldn’t do that. For she was nothing if not an obedient daughter, and a dutiful sister, and whatever else it was that everyone required her to be.
Besides, Brynne reminded herself as she climbed the marble steps to the sprawling portico with its towering ivory pillars and menacing stone lions, shedidenjoy having the manor overflowing with life and laughter. Such a stark difference from the chillingly still and silent backdrop it had provided when she was a child fearfully tiptoeing through the vacant halls.
She also liked the various activities that comprised the month-long event, many of which she had a hand in planning as the unofficial hostess. From rousing games of whist with the ladies in the drawing room to a grand stag hunt with hounds on the second to last day, there was nary an hour that went by when there was not something to do. Which was also a problem, as it did not leave an adequate amount of time that she could devote to her painting unless she woke early in the morning or stayed up late into the night.
“Careful,” she cautioned over her shoulder at two footmen as they used a pulley system comprised of ropes to slide her numerous trunks off the roof of the brougham. “Those supplies are more valuable than gold.”
Perhaps she’d overpacked just a bit, Brynne admitted to herself with a wry twist of her lips as one of the footmen staggered beneath the weight of a trunk. But while the chalk she used to mix her paints was readily available in London, it was remarkably more difficult to come by this far outside of the city, and she’d been reluctant to leave so much as a single brush behind.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, stepping out of the way as the servants wrestled their heavy burden up the stairs and into the foyer with its white walls and white ceiling. Even the oak floorboards had been stained with a milky finish and sealed with beeswax. Everything, for as far as the eye could see, was white. And all the colder because of it.
Brynne had never understood why Weston had madethisproperty his main residence when there were so many others to choose from. Her brother was fantastically wealthy, and could have had any unentailed estate from here to Manchester. Any number ofentailedstates, for that matter, as the traditional aristocracy were a dying breed in desperate need of an influx of monetary funds to keep them afloat. But when their great-grandfather had passed, and the line of titles had shifted, Weston had immediately laid claim to their childhood prison.
She refused to call it a home. A home implied happy memories. And there’d been no happiness to be found here after her twin had gone off to Eton, leaving her behind in this mausoleum of marble and morosity.
The only place she despised worse than Hawkridge Manor was Cheltenham Ladies’ College, but she dared not reflect on her time spent there. Not unless she wanted to find herself spiraling down a rabbit hole of misery. And she couldn’t do that, because she had a house party to prepare for.
“Mrs. Grimsby,” she said, greeting the estate’s head housekeeper with an affectionate smile. The eldest daughter of the previous housekeeper, a draconian woman who had incited terror wherever she’d gone, Mrs. Grimsby was a bouncing ball of energy and joy. “You are looking well. How are your boys doing? And your new grandson? Richard, isn’t it?”
Her round face folding into a smile, Mrs. Grimsby’s mob cap bounced up and down as she nodded her head with enthusiasm. “Little Dicky, as we’ve taken to calling him. And he’s as fine as can be, Lady Brynne. Getting bigger by the minute, but then children are wont to grow too fast. Especially when they’re babies.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Brynne. “Have all the rooms been readied? There’s no telling when guests will begin to arrive.”
The house party was slated to begin tomorrow afternoon with a grand reception in the solarium, but the nobility was notoriously fickle when it came to keeping a set schedule. Brynne wouldn’t be surprised if some people arrived in the next few minutes, while others might straggle in closer to the end of the week.
“Every last one,” Mrs. Grimsby confirmed. “And a few extra, just in case.”
“And Miss Thorncroft’s room?” Brynne asked. “I know she was a last minute addition.”
“I readied her chamber myself, and have placed her across the hall from Lord Hawkridge, as you requested.” The housekeeper’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure that is where you wanted to put her? Normally, all of the unmarried ladies are allocated to the East Wing. If I misunderstood–”
“No, no,” Brynne said quickly. “That is where I want her to be. If my brother questions it, as he most likely will, you may tell him that all of the other rooms were already taken and there was nowhere else for Miss Thorncroft to go.”
“All right,” said Mrs. Grimsby in a slow, drawn out tone of someone whodidn’tthink it was all right, but also knew better than to argue. “I’ll see that is where she is sent when she arrives, then.”
Brynne was taken aback. “My brother and Miss Thorncroft haven’t arrived?”
