Читать книгу The Impossible Earl - Sarah Westleigh - Страница 8

The Earl departed as the luggage came up, causing confusion on the spiralling stairs.

Anything large, Leonora could see, would have to be hoisted in through the windows. She looked forward to causing a different kind of confusion when she changed some of the furniture. For although she had said, and believed, that she could be comfortable surrounded by her late uncle’s things, her ideas on furnishing were rather different to his. Were she to be here long, changes would have to be made.

“The apartments are quite spacious,” remarked Clarissa as they went from room to room together.

Once the Earl had left, they had taken a good look round the front parlour and the rear dining room before inspecting the front bedroom, which Leonora would use despite its masculine decorations, because it was big and had a door through to a dressing room.

“Morris House is nothing like Thornestone Park, of course,” went on Clarissa as they moved on, “or as grand as what you were used to as a child, I collect.”

“No.” Leonora opened the last door and looked around approvingly at the smaller bedroom at the back of the house, which must have been used by Mr Vincent’s valet. “This should suit you, Clarissa, if we brighten it up a bit. The bed and rest of the furniture look adequate. It seems my uncle did not scruple to make his man comfortable.”

“Indeed, yes! It is larger than my room at home in the Rectory and look, there is a splendid washstand, and a writing table—even a mirror!” Clarissa’s normally rather sallow complexion had taken on a faint glow of excitement. “But what of Dolly?”

“She will sleep upstairs in one of the rooms in the attic. I’d better go down and arrange it with this Monsieur André. Meanwhile, you could begin to unpack your things.”

“Would you like me to see to yours first?”

“No. Dolly can do it after she has been downstairs with me. You make yourself comfortable.”

The back stairs were discovered behind the main staircase, at the end of a short passage accessed through a narrow door opening from the lobby. Dolly, her boots clattering on the bare boards, followed her mistress down to the basement. A comfortingly warm, aromatic and steamy atmosphere drew them to the kitchen.

Dinner was over, though sounds of washing up came from the adjoining scullery, through which Leonora dimly glimpsed the back area and steps.

In the kitchen itself, pots and pans, mostly iron but some copper, hung from hooks and sat on shelves, shadowy in the light cast by oil lamps and candles. A huge dresser held an assortment of crockery and jars. Beyond the long scrubbed table that occupied the centre of the room, a large range stretched along the opposite wall. A clockwork spit turned a couple of chickens over the glowing fire, which largely accounted for the mouth-watering aromas filling the kitchen, and a couple of pots simmered gently on the hob.

Mixed in with the smell of roasting meat were echoes of coffee, of baking bread, of spices and herbs. Leonora’s stomach rumbled. They had not stopped to take more than a light nuncheon on the way.

A small man in a tall, crumpled white hat aimed an excited stream of fractured English at those working about the table chopping, beating and blending. As the door opened he paused in mid-flow to exclaim in scandalised tones, “What ees eet? What you do ’ere, madame? What you want?”

Everyone in the room stopped work.

Leonora swept forward with a gracious smile. “Monsieur André?”

“Zat ees me, oui.”

“And you are the cook.” It was a statement. He could be no one else.

“Le chef de cuisine, madame,” he corrected her stiffly, with a small bow.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, monsieur,” said Leonora. “Allow me to introduce myself, since there is no one here to do it for me. I am Miss Vincent, now the owner of these premises. I have spoken with my tenant, Lord Kelsey, who informs me that, through him, you are contracted to supply any meals I might order.”

The cook’s stiff manner changed into one of open curiosity as he made a deep, deferential bow. “Madame! Enchanté, madame! Hees lordship, ’ee ’as tolded me you come. And you ’ave chose to stay?”

“I have, monsieur. I find the house quite charming. This,” she said, pulling her reluctant servant forward, “is my maid, Dolly. She will bring down my orders and collect the dishes when they are ready.” Dolly dipped a clumsy curtsy and Monsieur André acknowledged her presence with a nod. “And perhaps she may be allowed to use your kitchen to make me a pot of tea or some other drink or snack occasionally?”

He eyed the girl, who stood awkwardly beside Leonora, her face as red as her work-worn hands. “Zere will be nossing of any difficulty, madame.”

“Thank you. Dolly will need to occupy a servant’s room in the attic. Perhaps someone could show her up?”

“Zee ’ousekeeper will arrange zat, madame. She is in ’er chamber.”

“Housekeeper?” murmured Leonora, momentarily brought up short. Lord Kelsey had not mentioned a housekeeper, though of course he would need one.

“Mrs Parkes, madame, une veuve—’ ow you say? A vidow? She ’as zee room in front next zee servants’ room. I ’ave zee one next ma cuisine.”

“Then perhaps you will introduce us?”

The housekeeper’s room had a large chunk cut out of it for a store-room, but otherwise it was the same size as her own drawing room upstairs, plenty big enough to accommodate table, chairs and bed. The fast-fading daylight barely allowed her to see the basement wall, some three yards from the window. As she looked up she glimpsed the railings etched against the flickering light cast on the feet of a man by the torch he carried. The grass and trees beyond were quite out of sight.

The housekeeper herself was of ample proportions and looked middle-aged. Her gown was of dark stuff and a frilly black cap touched by white hid her hair. She rose from a chair drawn up before a bright fire, while candles flickered above on its mantel. Her curtsy was made without fuss and a neutral smile appeared on her smooth-cheeked face.

“Of course there’s room for the lass,” she said comfortably and the smile she turned on Dolly was motherly. “You’ll find company up there, my girl.” To Leonora she said, “I’ll be up in a minute to show her where to go. Have you ordered your supper, madam?”

Leonora, surprised by the way the woman spoke, shook her head. “Not yet. I have a companion to live with me. There are therefore three of us, with Dolly.”

“Dolly can eat in the Servants’ Hall, with the others, if that suits. I shall order a meal for you and your companion, madam. Leave it to me. Monsieur André is an exceptional cook, which makes the Club’s dining room popular, and I shall see that you are provided with the best.”

“Thank you, Mrs Parkes. When will supper be served?”

“Dinner is between two and five o’clock and supper between eight and midnight.” The excellent Mrs Parkes, plainly a superior woman of some education, glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It is only a half after five. Would you like a snack while you wait?”

“Thank you, I would appreciate that. And supper early, at eight, tonight. We have had a tiring day. I am obliged to you, Mrs Parkes.”

The spiral stairs seemed to rise up forever. Following Dolly now, Leonora wondered if she would ever be able to mount them from bottom to top without losing her breath. But of course she would! She was comparatively young, and fit, and she would not allow the inconvenience of having to climb innumerable narrow, winding stairs to reach her rooms daunt her. It would please his lordship too much if she did.

She was out of breath by the time she reached her floor, but managed to recover it quickly by inhaling deeply a couple of times.

“Come, Dolly,” she ordered the youngster. “While you are waiting for Mrs Parkes, you may as well begin to unpack my things.”

Her bedroom was large enough to double as her boudoir, she thought, looking around with more attention than she had given it before. With pretty striped drapes at the windows and new bed curtains and cover, it would be both comfortable and pleasant on the eye.

A mahogany chest of drawers and a cupboard with shelves stood in the dressing room, with a wash stand and close stool. Her clothes would all be kept in there. She would buy a cheval mirror or two and replace the gentleman’s chest in the bedroom with a dressing table and perhaps buy a chaise-longue.

She would show the intolerable Earl downstairs that she was no wilting lily to be frightened off by his desecration of her premises. What had her uncle been thinking of, to allow him to set up a gambling hell below?

The answer came to her without her even having to think. He had been a man, probably a gambler and had belonged to the Club. Of course he had seen no reason to object!

Apart from the interminable stairs she must climb to reach it, she would have been well satisfied with her accommodation. That she must use the servants’ entrance and back stairs was an insult entirely caused by the disobliging presence of Lord Kelsey pursuing his dubious activities beneath her.

Tomorrow, she decided as she consumed the cold ham, fresh bread and butter and pot of tea Mrs Parkes had sent up after showing Dolly her quarters, she would confront Mr Coggan in his chambers and demand that the lease be terminated. After she had inspected the premises downstairs.

Tomorrow promised to be an interesting day.

Sharp on nine the following morning, refreshed by a night of deep and untroubled slumber, Leonora trod down the main staircase to beard Lord Kelsey in his den. She took the precaution of taking Clarissa with her. After all, she was flouting convention by visiting a gentleman in his rooms, even although it was on business. Besides, there was something about the Earl she did not—quite—trust.

The doors on the middle landing were ajar and sounds of cleaning could be heard. They passed straight down to the ground floor and Leonora, seeing no functionary to stop her, led the way to the office she had been in yesterday.

Most of the doors down here, to private rooms occupied by the Earl and his manager, were firmly closed against intrusion. The office door, however, was ajar. She rapped on the panel and entered on a brisk invitation so to do.

She had not noticed, yesterday, that the room was more than an office. It was, in most respects, equipped as a study, with armchairs by the fire and a reading desk near the single window. The other window, this one’s twin, had been cut off to create an inner room, the use of which was not immediately obvious.

The Earl, however, had risen from the same large desk he had been using yesterday. Its surface was strewn mostly with bills and ledgers. He was not making the entries but checking someone else’s work, the scanty daylight augmented by the light from a branch of candles.

“You are punctual, Miss Vincent,” he greeted her, having bowed and received their curtsies in return.

“In business, my lord, it pays to abide by one’s promises,” Leonora said. “I am ready to make my inspection, and have brought Miss Worth with me to take down any necessary notes.”

Clarissa held a pad of paper and a pencil clutched to her breast. She was gazing at his lordship with bright, interested eyes and faintly flushed cheeks. Yesterday, realised Leonora, Clarissa had not had much chance to take in Kelsey’s splendid physique and the excellent tailoring which displayed it to full advantage. Neither had she been treated to a smile which conveyed both welcome and a degree of conspiratorial sympathy. As though she, Leonora, was some harridan to be placated!

She looked about her with an austerely critical gaze.

“This room appears to be in satisfactory order—except for that patch of damp by the window.” She walked over and looked up, peering as closely as possible at the stained wallpaper. “Why have you not had it repaired?”

Kelsey spoke in the resigned tone of one dealing with a fractious infant. “Because, Miss Vincent, the trouble is outside, in the stonework, for which the owner is responsible. Mr Vincent was intending to have a repair effected before he so unfortunately died. He also expected to bear the cost of having the wall redecorated internally.”

“I shall consult a stonemason,” declared Leonora briskly, hiding her discomfort under a businesslike manner. Dear Lord, how much would that cost her? She had not even considered that repairs might be necessary to the fabric, for which she would be responsible. “Clarissa, make a note.” She indicated the closed door to the inner room. “What is in there?”

“I had that room formed, with Mr Vincent’s permission, to accommodate my valet. It seemed the most convenient place since my dressing room is little more than a cupboard and has no window.”

He opened the door and Leonora took a brief glance around the small but tidy bedroom.

“Very well. Shall we move on?”

Kelsey closed the door again as they withdrew and strolled across to the office door to hold that open for them, looking indolently tolerant. Leonora seethed. He had certainly had the best of that exchange.

As they passed through she glanced about the hall but could not fault the polished floorboards, the strip of patterned carpet leading to the stairs, the cream walls and brown paintwork or the blue and gold tasselled decorations. Tasteful, mildly opulent yet dignified, it was tilted towards the masculine, of course, but she could scarcely complain about that.

A wreath-like decoration affixed to the wall near the front door caught her attention. She had not noticed it before, or the words it contained.

“‘Welcome to the Vitus Club,”’ she read aloud. “Is that what you call your gambling den?”

“The Vitus Club is known throughout Bath, Miss Vincent.”

“I’m certain it is. Do your members all suffer from nervous twitches?”

He laughed, but his tone patronised when he spoke. “Fortunately, no, Miss Vincent. My family name is Dancer. St Vitus is the patron saint of dancers. I thought the name appropriate.”

“Prodigiously so. If your clients are not twitching from some nervous disease, they will be from gambling fever or despair,” Leonora scoffed.

The dark brows lifted. Now his tone held an undercurrent of scornful disbelief. “Do I infer that you disapprove of gambling, Miss Vincent? That you never wager on a hand of cards?”

Leonora flushed. She had allowed herself to fall into the trap of appearing a prude. “Not at all, sir,” she contradicted him. “Like everyone else, I gamble in moderation when in card-playing company. I do not disagree with gambling in principle but fear the hold it gains on some people—” like her father, though she would not mention him. Her hand tightened on the handle of her reticule “—and despise those who trade on their weakness,” she concluded quickly.

He waved a hand, indicating that she should enter the door he was opening. She did, and Clarissa meekly followed behind. Leonora wondered what her friend thought of the verbal battle raging between herself and the Earl.

In truth, she scarcely knew why she was being so difficult, except that the entire situation had taken her completely by surprise. White’s, Boodle’s and Brooks’s in London could be regarded as respectable, she supposed, but even so a man could lose a fortune in an evening. The less respectable clubs often set out to fleece their clients.

Unable to meet the high membership fees demanded by White’s and the like, her father had fallen victim to such a one on his last visit to Town, a circumstance which had undoubtedly given her a jaundiced view of small clubs like the Vitus. His losses had, in effect, caused his death. He had sold his carriages and horses and his hunters, and been thrown by a devilish animal with an evil eye, the best mount he could afford.

“So no one should deal in the selling of wine or spirits and thus incite drunkenness and delirium tremens?” remarked Kelsey smoothly as he walked to the centre of what must be his parlour-cum-dining room.

Leonora, unwilling to confide her true reasons for her antagonism, chose to ignore this irrelevance while busily occupying herself with looking about. The room was tastefully decorated and comfortably furnished with armchairs. The dining table was small, large enough only for intimate dinners. He would not eat here often, she supposed, he would take his meals in the Club. A side board held an array of decanters and glasses. Leonora could not fault the condition of the place.

“The bedroom is through here,” said Kelsey smoothly, opening a communicating door leading to the back room.

Not to be hurried or intimidated, Leonora finished her survey of the room she was in before walking through with her chin in the air. Clarissa, reared in the genteel confines of a rectory, held back. Kelsey, a hand in the small of her back, guided her through. Clarissa’s colour flared. Her colourless lashes fluttered, revealing and then hiding the pale blue eyes raised to meet the Earl’s.

Turning, Leonora felt a small shock run through her. Clarissa was flirting with his lordship! Her voice, therefore, was sharp as she called for her attention.

“Miss Worth! I hope you have continued to make notes?”

“I did not realise that there was anything to write,” said Clarissa placidly. “You have found no other fault, I believe?”

“No. But that fact must be recorded, too. Hall, parlour and bedroom are all in excellent order.”

“I am glad you find them so, madam,” came Kelsey’s rather amused voice. She had scarcely glanced at the bedroom and in her hurry had ignored the middle-aged gentleman’s gentleman occupied in tidying his master’s clothes beside a cubicle containing a cupboard and washstand, and he knew it. He might not intimidate her, but his huge canopied bed did.

“There are other rooms on this floor, I believe,” Leonora said, making speedily for the door to the hall.

Kelsey followed her out of his bedroom, a small smile denting one corner of his mobile mouth. He crossed to the door next that of his office. “Only one. This is Sinclair’s room. I have arranged with him that you should be admitted.”

Leonora merely raised her brows at this piece of nonsense. She had every right to be admitted!

Kelsey knocked. A voice bade them enter.

Sinclair had risen and met them near the door, his manner almost effusive.

“Good morning, Miss Vincent. I believe you wish to inspect my room?”

Leonora gave him her sweetest smile. “I merely wish to discover the general condition of the part of the building Lord Kelsey rents,” she explained.

“Then you must be quite reassured,” observed Sinclair, returning her smile and transferring it to Kelsey as a grin. “He is most particular and Mrs Parkes is an able housekeeper.”

“Your apartment looks comfortable, clean and well-decorated,” observed Leonora. “You are well suited here?”

“Indeed, madam, I am happy in my accommodation and my association with his lordship. As you can see, he has provided me with every comfort. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

“I think not,” said Leonora, noting that he had a small desk in his room, at which he had been working, as well as a dining table and chairs, a well-stocked side board, several armchairs and a narrow bed behind a screen in one corner. “Thank you, Mr Sinclair. Miss Worth, note only that there is a little paint peeling from the window frame.”

“There is?” murmured Kelsey, his brows rising. “You did not tell me, Sinclair.”

“I thought the matter too trifling,” said the manager.

They all dutifully inspected a small area near the sill where the paint had flaked.

“Strictly, it is,” said the Earl. “But I will undertake to have it touched up. And now, madam, if you are satisfied with this floor, we can mount the stairs to see those rooms I use for the Club. I fear we must not linger, for the doors will open in half an hour. I will lead the way.”

“Very well.”

This flight of stairs was wider than the next one leading up to her rooms, as she had already noted. It was usual, of course, for stairs to become narrower the higher they climbed. She became even more determined to gain possession of the lower rooms, particularly the main rooms served by the wider staircase, as soon as possible. Otherwise, how was she ever to receive?

“This is the Dining Room,” he said, ushering them into one of the back rooms through an already half-open door. “But you may even think that selling food holds out the danger of encouraging gluttony?”

He wanted to throw ridicule on her views. The question in his voice held the ring of irony. Leonora shook an angry head.

“Pray do not be absurd,” she snapped. “If a man chooses to drink or eat himself to death, he does not necessarily leave his family bereft of anything but his presence. A man who is stripped, of intent, of all he owns and dies deeply in debt, leaves a destitute family. There is a difference.”

There was a considering look in the slate-grey eyes. Leonora flushed again, conscious that she may have given away more of her past than she had intended.

He bowed. “I give you best, madam. A prudent, honest gentleman will have a care for others. It is the imprudent who find themselves with pockets to let, be it through over-indulgence in the good things of life or in gambling.”

“Imprudent? Maybe.”

Leonora stood by one of the circular tables, her fingers smoothing the polished mahogany surface. Her father, for one, had not in general behaved rashly. She collected her scattered thoughts and looked about her.

Like others of its size the table was set about with four padded chairs. Some were meant only for two, one for a larger party. White damask cloths were already in course of being spread and cutlery placed in position. The clatter of continuing activity distracted her for a moment.

She realised that it would be pleasant to eat in this room, with its buff walls divided into panels outlined in blue, while above gold leaf and blue paint decorated the wide cornice. A gilt—it could scarcely be gold—chandelier holding dozens of candles and dripping with crystal hung from the centre. Rich damask curtains matched the blue and gold chair seats.

She stirred, only now ready to finish what she had begun to say. “But gambling is like a fever. The compulsion can be caught; once in its grip, an individual is helpless until the bout is over.”

“The addictive compulsion to alcohol is equally deadly, Miss Vincent, particularly for the poor, where families starve because the father spends what little he earns on drink. Yet alehouses remain open and merchants continue to peddle spirits without rousing condemnation. I see no reason why I should be damned for providing the facilities for gentlemen to eat, drink and amuse themselves in congenial company.”

He shrugged his immaculately clad shoulders. “I no more encourage anyone to indulge to excess than does your wine merchant or the hostess who sets up card tables in her home. The stakes at the tables here may be a little higher than at a rout or at the Assembly Rooms, but that is the gambler’s choice, not mine.”

He was, she realised, attempting to justify himself and using all his charm to win her over. He did have a point, if what he said was true. But how could she know that it was? He must take a percentage of the stakes. She shook her head, the slightest of involuntary movements. The very fact that he had chosen to profit from the frailties of others must condemn him.

She met his dark, quizzical eyes without flinching, going straight to what she conceived to be the weakest part of his argument. “You set no limit on the stakes, I collect.”

He shrugged shoulders encased in immaculate blue broadcloth. The shadows on his neckcloth shifted and changed but his expression did not. Not a trace of guilt showed in his manner. “No, madam. A man must have somewhere to go where he is allowed to do as he determines.”

“To go to hell if that is his choice?”

“Exactly, madam.”

Leonora’s soft lips compressed into a tight line before she said, “I should prefer such an activity to take place somewhere other than beneath my roof.”

“I regret, Miss Vincent, that I cannot oblige you in that respect. Have you seen all that you require in here?”

So he wanted to abandon the argument for the moment. Leonora’s frustration grew. Nothing she could say or do could shift him.

She could feel nothing but righteous pleasure that she had made her position so abundantly clear. She had no desire to prolong the argument. What she did most urgently want was to find some flaw in his lordship’s tenancy agreement or in his adherence to it, which would allow her to evict him.

“Yes,” she answered him. “This room is in excellent repair.” The double doors leading to the front room stood open. She moved to pass through. “This is the Reading Room?”

“As you can see, Miss Vincent.”

If anything, it was decorated, furnished and equipped in better style than the Dining Room. High-backed armchairs, each with a small table beside it, predominated. Where the walls were not lined with shelves bearing books, they were painted cream with white, blue and gold decorated panels. Rich brown velvet curtains hung at the windows.

Besides the central chandelier and a number of wall brackets, a branch of candles stood on the table by each chair, ready to be lit with a taper from the jar standing near the grate where a fire was already burning. The supply of candles must form one of his greatest expenses, she thought, he was so lavish with his lighting. One side-table had newspapers spread upon it while another held an array of glasses. The drink itself must be out of sight in the locked cupboard behind the main door.

Leonora found herself fingering the leather spines of some of the books. Perhaps she allowed her longing to show. His lordship lifted a brow and smiled. Sweat pricked uncomfortably under her arms and a pulse throbbed in her throat. She would so much rather he had not smiled in the way he had, in warm enquiry rather than in censure or irony.

“You would be most welcome to borrow a volume at any time, Miss Vincent,” he invited. “Although,” he added, “you would require to come down at about this hour to make your choice, while the room is unoccupied.”

“Thank you.” Despite the unwelcome response his smile had provoked and the caveat about the time, she wanted to explore the books so much she found she could not hide her pleasure. “I had feared I would miss the library at Thornestone Park, but I expected that there would be a subscription library in the town?”

“There is, in Milsom Street.”

“Then between the two I shall not lack for something to read.”

“Reading can give great joy, can it not?” he remarked, apparently with all sincerity. “No doubt, as a governess, you have felt the need to extend your knowledge.”

“I have enjoyed reading since I was a child,” responded Leonora, inordinately annoyed that he should think her interest in reading due entirely to the profession forced upon her.

He bowed slightly in acknowledgment of her protestation. He said, “If you would care to come through, I will show you the other rooms,” and opened the door to the landing.

Card rooms, of course, were a feature of every large house, of every Assembly Room, and card tables graced every private gathering. She could never have entered any level of society had she not been willing to play cards and lay down her stake, however small! Kelsey had known this and deliberately misunderstood her. The more generous perception she had begun to have of him suffered on this reflection.

So she entered the other front room with a frown between her brows, her eyes narrowed, looking for evidence of foul play or sharp practice.

“The Card Room is reserved for those desirous of playing whist,” said Kelsey. He regarded her frown, the intent expression in her grey-blue-green eyes, with relaxed amusement.

As well he might. It was impossible to tell, of course. The room was equipped with perfectly ordinary green baize-covered tables large enough for four people to sit around, with a candle and an unbroken pack of cards on each. And the decorations, as elsewhere, proved to be both tasteful and faultless.

“Nothing to be done,” she said abruptly to Clarissa, who faithfully recorded the verdict.

Here again, double doors led through to the back room. This was fitted out rather differently. A large padded, baize-covered table predominated, with small tables and their attendant chairs scattered about in random fashion.

“This is the Gaming Room,” Kelsey informed her. “Members are free to play whatever they like in here. Vingt-et-un and other games involving many participants are played at the large table, piquet, cribbage, dominoes and dice at the smaller ones.

“That book there,” he went on, pointing to a leather-bound ledger-like article, “records all the non-gaming bets and the stakes laid between members. Gentlemen will wager on anything under the sun, as you must know. But once a bet is recorded in there, no gentleman can deny its existence or refuse to honour the debt. I do not make the book,” he observed mildly. “I merely keep the record.”

“Has anyone,” asked Leonora fiercely, “ever lost their inheritance in here? Gambled away the deeds of their property?”

Kelsey’s face remained inscrutable. “Would you like to be the first to do so, Miss Vincent?” he asked amiably.

“You are unbelievable, my lord!” cried Leonora. “You are suggesting that I should bet my ownership of this property on the winning of a game of cards? What, may I ask, would be my reward should I win?”

“I should set my lease against your deeds,” responded his lordship imperturbably.

“Ha!” exclaimed Leonora. “And both of us are very sure that you would win! No, my lord, you cannot bamboozle me in that fashion! I was not born yesterday!”

“No,” he agreed, his gaze considering. “You are certainly not in the first flush of youth, Miss Vincent.”

Her choke of shocked outrage and Clarissa’s surprised gasp almost overset him. Lights danced in the dark eyes and his mouth gave an involuntary twitch. Leonora was too angry to notice.

“You are no gentleman, sir!” she managed to gasp.

“But then, madam, you do not behave like a lady,” came the instant riposte. He bowed languidly and gave her a lazy smile. “May we not call a truce while you inspect the last room over which I have temporary dominion? May I show you the office?”

“You may show me the office, my lord, but I do not accept your truce. I shall proceed to my lawyer’s rooms immediately after breakfast.”

“That will be your privilege, madam.” He sounded not in the least perturbed.

She scarcely looked at the small room above the entrance hall, where an elderly clerk sat on a tall stool working at a sloping desk surrounded by shelves and strong-boxes. She could not escape Kelsey’s presence soon enough. She flounced off up the narrowed stairs, her front-door key conspicuous in her hand, with Clarissa following meekly behind.

And did not see the amused, reluctant admiration with which Blaise Dancer, Earl of Kelsey, watched her undoubtedly attractive posterior disappear from his view.