“More than I’d like,” said Weston curtly. “The housekeeper, Mrs. Grimsby, will know what room you’re staying in if my sister is not readily available. Should you require anything during your stay, you may defer to her.
“If the town coach has preceded us here, your trunks should have already been brought upstairs. If not, I’ll see that they are delivered with all haste once they arrive. Meals are generally served in the solarium or out in the tents, the exception being the official receiving dinner which will be held tomorrow night in the formal dining room after all of the guests have arrived. If you are so inclined, you may also have platters brought directly to your chamber. Do you have any questions, Miss Thorncroft?”
“Yes,” she said, as annoyed with the rigid formality of his welcome address–one he’d doubtless delivered a hundred times before–as she’d been with his barbed cruelty at the tavern.
How can you be a wordsmith one minute and an emotionless cad the next?
How can you kiss me senseless and still look at me as if I were a stranger?
“Miss Thorncroft?” Weston prompted.
“Never mind.” Making use of the stepping crate the driver had thoughtfully placed beneath the door, Evie descended from the carriage with all the graceful aplomb of a young queen. She may have worn the attire of a common scullery maid, but that did not mean she had to perform the part. Similarly, she may have been losing her heart to the earl, but that did not mean she had any obligation to act on her feelings. Not until she’d managed to regain some of her balance, at least.
A bath, a nap, and a change of clothes, she decided. That would help return her to her old self and steer her away from this bewildering, doe-eyed debutante who suddenly fancied herself inlovejust because Weston had said her irises reminded him of velvet midnight and honeysuckle.
“I shall see you at the receiving dinner, my lord.” Chin held high, she reached into the carriage, picked up Posy, and sailed off towards the house in search of Mrs. Grimsby.
Weston waited untilEvie was out of sight before he dismounted from the growler and flagged down a passing footman dressed in navy blue livery.
“See that this man is paid,” he said, nodding at the driver. “Include an excess of eight pounds to close an account I’ve opened at the Penn Street Tavern, and see that any personal belongings I have there are returned to me.”
“Right away, my lord.” The footman hurried away to find the butler, Mr. Stevens, who was the only other individual on the estate aside from Weston who had access to the coffers. While the vast majority of Weston’s wealth was tied up in land and investments, with nearly all of his liquid assets held in London at the Bank of England, he kept several thousand pounds readily available. Whereas his peers relied on notes to extend their credit, often far exceeding the balances in their accounts, he preferred to pay for things outright. Debt–of any sort–had never set well with Weston.
That task accomplished, he set out to complete the next item on his list.
Confronting Brynne.
He found his twin where he’d expected she would be: in a gazebo behind the solarium, partially obscured behind a wall of evergreens. She was painting, her arm moving in fluid strokes across a canvas considerably larger than the one she’d been working on in London.
“Something new?” Weston asked, resting his foot on the bottom step of the gazebo.
With a gasp, Brynne dropped her brush and clasped both hands to the middle of her chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” she accused, leaning in her chair to glare at him around the edge of the painting. “You nearly frightened me half to death.”
“And you shouldn’t be so free to spread family business,” he said mildly.
She picked up her paintbrush and dipped the bristles in a clear glass half-filled with water, releasing a cloud of red pigment. “What are you talking about? And where have youbeen?I’ve already dispatched two outriders and was going to send a third if I hadn’t heard from you by dinner. Is Miss Thorncroft all right?”
He lifted a brow. “I’mwell, thank you for asking.”
“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be standing here.”
When had it become his lot in life, Weston wondered, to be surrounded by belligerent females?
“Miss Thorncroft is fine. We were delayed due to a broken axle. And a sheep,” he added belatedly.
“Oh, did you hit one crossing the road?” Brynne said in dismay. “They’re not the brightest, are they? The poor thing. I do hope it didn’t suffer.”
He crossed his arms. “You do realize you’ve just displayed more concern for a stranger and asheepthan your own brother.”
“Miss Thorncroft is not a stranger. And sheep are very sweet. UnlikesomeoneI know.”
The caustic note in Brynne’s voice had Weston lifting his other brow. While his sister was never afraid to speak her mind, she generally tempered her opinion with a more mild tone.
“Have I done something to offend you?” he queried.
“Yes,” she said. Then she buried her face in her hands. “No.No.You haven’t done anything. It’s…it’s this place. Being back here. You know it puts me on edge.” She lowered her arms. “I still fail to understand why you would have ever wanted it.”
“Because it’s mine. Would you prefer it had gone to ruin?”
