The dog decided sniffing was sufficient, and somehow James passed muster. The giant hound sat directly in front of him, tipping his head up as if waiting for James to make the next move.
“Good dog,” he told the beast warily, patting its dark gray head.
“Hercules, ye’re a disappointment as a guard,” the old man grumbled.
The peacock-blue walls in the hallway were crowded with colorful paintings, and a few full-size statues dotted the foyer. In a doorway midway down the hall, James spotted a couple of other servants lingering.
He sidestepped Hercules and made his way down the hall. Every room he passed was cluttered with bric-a-brac, overstuffed furnishings, and art. Not a single wall stood bare.
James couldn’t imagine the furnishing style hadanything to do with his uncle. Most of this had to be hers. Lady Cassandra Munro’s belongings. Her house in all but deed.
Behind him the servants had clustered together and spoke in panicked, hushed tones.
“Do ye intend to lodge here?” a young man, likely a footman, asked rather cheekily.
“I am the owner of Invermere, so it seemed a waste of funds to secure a hotel room. I’d like to begin inspecting the manor at first morning light.”
“Without her ladyship at home?” a young redheaded girl in a mob cap said in a voice of utter disdain.
“I’m afraid I cannot wait on her return. But she will be back soon?” James preferred to do this as civilly and respectfully as he could.
“We expect her tomorrow unless she’s delayed another day.”
“Very good. I look forward to meeting her.”
The footman let out a disgruntled scoff. “Aye, say that now, ye do.”
Mrs. Fox and Drummond convened near the doorway. The housekeeper still clutched the letter in her hand and pointed to it throughout their whispered discussion. Finally, they both lifted their gazes to face him.
“I can prepare a guest room if ye’ll wait in there.” Drummond strode forward, moving quickly for a man of his years, and led James toward a lavish drawing room decorated in pink and gold. A firecrackled low in the grate, and that in itself was too tempting to resist.
“Thank you kindly.”
The old man merely nodded, stepped out of the room, and closed the door. Metal snicking metal, then the click of the lock tumbler falling sounded behind him, and James swung to face the closed door.
Had they locked him in?
He twisted the latch and found that the door was indeed locked.
Bloody wonderful.
“Mrs. Fox? Drummond?” He banged at the thick wood, then paced in front of the fire, relishing its warmth. When no reply came, he slumped onto an overstuffed settee with a sigh.
At this point, he wasn’t sure if he cared if they’d locked him in for the night. Better than locking him out in the cold.
Now that rest was near, exhaustion was having its way with him. All of it could wait on a few hours of sleep, couldn’t it? Lady Cassandra, getting out of this damned room, figuring out what property was whose, informing the lady that she’d need to find a new home—first thing in the morning, he’d tackle all of that.
He settled onto a gold damask settee in front of the fire with a sigh of relief, then leaned his head back, letting the overstuffed upholstery cradle the back of his neck.
The moment he closed his eyes, a memory came.Pale green eyes fringed with sable lashes—Miss Lucy Westmont scowling at him, shocked and shaken, and then soft, curious, and as fascinated with him as he was with her.
Shame he’d never see those pretty lips and heart-stopping eyes again.
Gothic with pointed arches, inset windows, and a turret. That’s the sort of house Lucy thought Aunt Cassandra would love. She expected Invermere to be a dramatic, sprawling pile with overgrown vines, a garden gone wild, and maybe some broken statuary littering the grounds.
As the carriage slowed and they made their way up the gravel-covered drive, Lucy braced a hand on the edge of the carriage window and stared out on the moonlit landscape, trying to get a glimpse of the house her aunt loved so well.
When it came into view, Invermere took her breath away.
