At first, he’d been angry. He’d realized that, even in the sanctuary of his library, he wouldn’t be able to avoid eligible females. How had his friend managed to forget mentioning that the talented and knowledgeable Mr. Turner brought his daughter with him?
Her fire delighted him. How long had it been since someone bothered to disagree with him? Not while he commanded his troops, and certainly not since he’d joined the ranks of a society only too pleased to fawn all over him due to a title and fortune he’d never earned. No. This was no simpering debutante or sly diamond he need tread carefully around.
Miss Paige had spunk, in addition to an active mind and an honest streak. Not to mention abominable fashion taste. It would be interesting to see what she’d look like with that heavy, dark hair curling around her shoulders instead of pulled back so tightly. The candlelight in their secret room picked out rich strands of mahogany in her brown tresses even as she glowered at him, brandishing a book.
His gaze fell on the volume he’d carried up to his chambers. One thing was for certain. Even if they found nothing else of value the next day, he would enjoy the search. He could feel the grin spread across his face.
“You look awfully pleased with yourself.” Freddy Linbrooke strolled into the room and sprawled on a chair.
“So you had the nerve to show up, after all,” Stephen countered lightly.
“Well, I thought I’d give you a day or so to get over the surprise before I showed up.” Freddy let loose a grin of his own. “Still, I assure you there will be no cause for disappointment. I’d forgotten what it was like to enjoy an intelligent conversation without innuendo and being rapped with a fan. Paige Turner’s a most … unusual young lady. Bang-up to the echo, if you ask me.”
“I noticed.” Stephen quelled a spark of jealousy over the fact that his friend had gotten to know Miss Turner so well. “But you should have prepared me.”
“You wouldn’t have hired Mr. Turner if I’d told you he’d bring his daughter.” Freddy idly twirled his pocket watch. “Seems you’ve suffered a bit of paranoia regarding the fairer sex lately.”
“Paranoia, eh?” Stephen muttered grimly. “Wait until dinner.”
“I already told you she’s not that kind.”
“And I agree. My mother made other plans.”
“Your mama’s a worthy opponent,” Freddy agreed. “But she won’t find an ally in Miss Turner. Not angling for a rich husband.”
“Reassuring as that is, you mistook my meaning. Mother knew I’d be here to oversee the library, so she planned a surprise house party—an intimate gathering of eligible women and their escorts.” Stephen relished watching as comprehension darkened Freddy’s face.
“Stormed the manor, have they? Sorry, old chap.” He heaved a sigh. “Bother. Now I’ll have to do the pretty, too.” Horror widened his eyes as he asked, “Miss Merryweather wasn’t invited, was she?” Freddy, as another eligible peer of the realm, had his own share of female admirers. Estelle Merryweather made no secret about the fact she’d set her cap for the wealthy viscount.
“Now who’s overanxious?” Stephen teased, then shook his head. “No, but Arabella Poffington wrangled an invitation.”
“Well, on to the battle, I say.” A relieved Freddy marched out of the room. “It should be an interesting stay.”
There’d be reckoning for this bit of matchmaking, Stephen vowed. Now that the numbers were even, his mother had taken over the seating arrangements. Rather than a casual buffet as they’d enjoyed at luncheon, he’d have to endure a seven-course meal. How had she not realized he’d need to be next to the Turners, since they were his honored guests?
He eyed Freddy enviously. Sure, he could enjoy himself, sandwiched between Emma and Miss Turner. To be fair, Stephen himself enjoyed the place on his sister’s other side, but the menace of Miss Poffington to his left far overshadowed that comfort. Two courses down, five to go.
Stephen winced as Arabella daintily slurped another bit of split-pea soup. He’d withstood cannon fire. How could the challenge of stoically enduring Arabella’s piercing titter prove a heavier burden? He wasn’t sure, but he knew it to be true.
Silently, he disparaged the social dictates allowing one only to politely converse with the guests seated directly to one’s left or right. How long could a man feign interest in his plate? The footman placed a serving of capon in front of him, and he stabbed it with his fork with far more violence than necessary.
He struggled to pay attention as Arabella recited various snide on-dits with malicious glee, but found his mind wandering until the words hidden for ages brought him back. He realized immediately what had happened.
Miss Turner had mentioned the secret storage room, and Emma enthusiastically corroborated the report to an interested Lord Freddy—along with everyone else at the table. Despite the convention of concentrating solely on the conversation of one’s partners, everyone stilled at the mention of a secret room.
Stephen suppressed a groan. Why hadn’t he warned everyone not to mention it? He should have known better. Now everyone at the table began buzzing excitedly. He caught the words heirlooms, treasure hunt, and mystery at random.
“Ooooh, how interesting.” Arabella laid her hand on his arm, ostensibly overwhelmed with excitement. “You’re so clever to find a secret room everyone else missed.”
He reached for his glass to dislodge her touch. “Actually, Miss Turner found it.” He wanted to give credit where credit was due, and after Arabella’s catty words the night before, he would not pass up an opportunity to praise Paige.
“But I’m sure you were the first one to look inside. You’re so brave.” He couldn’t believe she was actually batting her eyelashes at him.
“Yes,” he replied shortly, manfully resisting the urge to spill his water as a pretext to leave the table when she scooched her chair nearer.
“I’d love to explore it. It’s so exciting to see things no one has for years.”
He briefly considered offering to avoid her for the next twenty years in a gallant attempt to please her, then discarded the tempting notion. Instead, he pasted a concerned expression on his face.
“Why, Miss Poffington, I must say I’m rather surprised. I’d hate to think of your ruining one of your lovely gowns in the dust.”
“You’re right.” A frown wrinkled her brow. “I haven’t anything suitable. Perhaps I could borrow something from Miss Turncoat.” She cast a disdainful look at the second gray dress Paige wore in the same day.
Stephen wasn’t fooled. If Arabella considered Miss Turner to be competition, she knew her rival’s name. It was a deliberate insult, just as was the remark about her dress. Such idiocy made his blood boil.
“Why, Miss Poffington, I doubt that would do.” He stabbed another bit of succulent capon. “The two of you are as different as night and day.” She preened at the comment, though Stephen thought she would do better to remedy that as soon as possible. This stuck-up wench would do well to cultivate the sincerity and intelligence Miss Turner displayed. True, Paige had spoken before she thought earlier, yet her artless honesty and conviction were to her credit, in sharp contrast to Arabella’s blatantly catty remarks.
“Besides,” Stephen spoke loudly enough to garner the attention of the entire table, “I wouldn’t permit anyone access to the room until we ascertain both its condition and contents. We have yet to find proof that the floorboards are in good shape and the place isn’t infested with spiders and other distasteful insects that thrive in such places.” He disciplined himself not to grin at the expressions of terror gracing the faces of his guests.
“You know we are in the process of renovating the library. I’ll be more than happy to give everyone a detailed tour after the work has been completed.” This promise placated even the most recalcitrant of his guests, whose romantic ideals of treasure hunting easily gave way in the face of cobwebs. At least he could rest assured that he and the Turners would be able to proceed with the library in peace.
Mother rose, signaling the end of the seemingly interminable meal, and the women followed her into the parlor as he led the gentlemen to the billiard room. He vastly enjoyed the reprieve until Sir Ruthbert cornered him, asking when he planned to lead them on a hunt. Making some vague response, he headed for the door.
“About time we joined the ladies, don’t you think?” When he walked into the parlor, he noted Emma’s harassed look as she sat between Miss Turner and Miss Poffington. Miss Turner’s snapping gaze betrayed her bland expression as Arabella nattered on.
“Why, it’s so interesting to talk to someone who works for a living. You know, Father has always shielded me from any of the tradesmen at our home, so I never had the opportunity to interact with someone like you before.”
Stephen realized he’d caught the tail end of what must have been an unbearably long and insulting monologue. Arabella excelled at that dubious skill.
Miss Turner pasted on a smile and turned to face Arabella. “And I do not hesitate to tell you, I’ve never enjoyed company such as yours.”
Stephen suspected the words were not intended as a compliment, yet they could be interpreted as such. He had to credit her for being clever enough to avoid falsehood while avoiding a faux pas.
“Now, as I’ve so much to do tomorrow,” Miss Turner said as she rose, “I think I’ll excuse myself to get a good night’s sleep.”
At least Miss Turner could hold her own. Stephen envied her easy escape even as he wondered whether he’d fare so well as she had for the remainder of the evening.
Chapter 7
I can’t believe we’ve already been here almost two weeks! Paige stretched as she awoke. She and her father had established a sort of pattern during the days, although by no means had they settled into anything mundane.
Since the discovery of the secret room, a certain anticipation colored their work. Before anything else could be done, a day was lost airing out the room. Then the process continued at an agonizingly slow pace. The servants, already overly busy meeting the needs of the houseguests, came only in pairs rather than the excited crowd present for what Paige thought of as the grand opening.
Another five days plodded by as the servants scrubbed the walls free of dirt and cobwebs, attached wall sconces to provide adequate lighting, then dusted items and moved them to rest against the walls before the hardwood floor could be swept and mopped.
Paige jumped out of bed, relishing the warmth provided by the fire as she dressed. Finally, she and the earl could begin looking through the mysterious trunks! The long wait hadn’t been the only test of her patience. The rest of the work in the main library did not show the typical progress. The sheer size factored into this, but most of the cause lay with the time wasted on social niceties. The servants delivered breakfast directly to their chambers. Luncheon, however, took more time, although since they’d begun adjourning to the cheerier morning room, the company improved.
The three smaller tables provided a welcome change, as Paige enjoyed the company of Lady Emma, Lord Freddy, and Miss Abercombe. Whenever possible, the earl joined them, but Arabella Poffington and her party determinedly waylaid him on a regular basis. Paige couldn’t help but sympathize with the distressed and longing looks he sent toward their table as Arabella let loose her high-pitched titter. By now, Paige knew this signaled a cutting observation or direct insult aimed at some poor, maligned soul.
The elaborate multi-course dinners and requisite entertainments, varying from cards to music, monopolized the entire evening. She even lost a precious hour having to “dress” every night for the formal ordeal. What with all the distraction of the house party, she and her father lost almost half of every day! She harbored a sneaking suspicion the earl shared this sentiment with her, although her father certainly didn’t mind foisting her into the company of “others of her station.”
It did no good to dwell on what Arabella Poffington would say to that idea! Paige shook her head. It didn’t really matter—not when the earl and a dozen mysterious trunks awaited her belowstairs.
She resisted the impulse to scurry down the staircase, instead choosing a more decorous pace. Her heart sank when she realized the earl wasn’t in the library yet. Of course, that’s only because I was so ready to explore, and he has to be here. She ignored the small voice in the back of her head that tsk-tsked and remembered all the kind things he’d done.
Long ago, she’d decided she must have misunderstood the first words she’d overheard him speak. The earl exhibited none of the snobbery she’d braced herself for. Instead, he not only let the servants know he appreciated their efforts, but he also called each one by name. He displayed no patience for Arabella’s snide comments and went out of his way to make Paige and her father feel welcome among his upper-class guests.
She let her thoughts continue along this vein as she wandered toward the secret room. The earl’s uncommon enthusiasm for knowledge and books warmed her heart. Why, she could almost see those fascinating green eyes light with interest—
“Good morning, Miss Turner.” The deep timbre of his voice pulled her out of her reverie, and she realized she hadn’t been imagining those intriguing depths—she’d been staring into them.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” she blurted out without thinking. At his wide grin, she swiftly amended, “When I didn’t see you in the library, I thought I’d have to wait, and I must confess, my patience is at an end. Have you already begun?”
“I’m hurt, Miss Turner. I wouldn’t dream of beginning our exploration without you. After all, if you hadn’t such a keen eye, we wouldn’t be standing here. Shall we?” He gestured toward the trunks.
“Yes, please.” She resisted the urge to peer over his shoulder as he opened the first trunk. Instead, she walked a short ways over and picked another.
“Hmm … Old ledgers and accounting records in this one. How about yours?”
Paige smiled at him. She should have known that he’d share his findings immediately rather than make her wait. “It looks like old primers. Yes, here’s an English text … math problems …” She laughed. “One of your ancestors had horrible penmanship!” She passed the practice sheet to the earl.
“Wait a minute. This looks a lot like mine!” He chuckled. “One of the reasons I became so fascinated with older, handwritten manuscripts is that I could never duplicate them.”
Paige vividly imagined a young earl painstakingly copying lines, frustrated and intrigued to find something he couldn’t master. She moved to the next trunk.
“You write beautifully, Paige. I’ve peeked at some of your notes. It’s an enviable talent.”
“It’s more of a skill,” she consoled. “One needs a deft hand to restore and mimic script, and I practiced for years at our old shop.” She hoped he didn’t hear the wistfulness that crept into her tone. If he had, he gallantly ignored it.
“Before we search any others, I should move these aside.” She watched as he hefted the heavy-looking trunk, noticing the breadth of his strong shoulders as he carried it across the room. After he repeated the feat, they continued.
So many choices. Each chest held a promise she couldn’t wait to reveal. She reached for another, only to pull up short at his disappointed groan.
“Ugh. Clothes. Why would anyone put clothes in an old teaching room next to a library?”
She reached out to stop him when he made as if to close the lid and move on. “Wait a minute! I never thought you’d give up so easily. You have to look through the entire thing.”
He pulled out article after article of clothing. Layers of doublets, gloves, voluminous folds of farthingale dresses appeared. She ignored the I-told-you-so look he shot her as he reached to stuff the beautiful fabrics back inside. Something clunked as he dislodged a hat from the top of the pile.
“What do we have here?” Paige picked it up and looked inside. After fishing out a small black bundle, she tossed the discarded velvet cap toward the earl.
“Ahem!”
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She looked up from unraveling the fabric to see she’d hit her target: The cap hung drunkenly on his head and over one eye.
She tilted her head and surveyed him critically. “I suppose we should be grateful your valet has a more refined sense of style than you do.” Through teasing him, she plucked it from his head and dropped it into the chest. His deep rumble of laughter caught her off guard. She’d thought his rare smiles to be special, but when he gave happiness free rein, the result took her breath away.
After his laughter had run its course, he gestured to the bundle in her hands. “So, what treasure did you find?”
She hastily finished unwrapping it to discover two small paintings. “Miniatures. I’d say this fellow was an ancestor of yours.”
When he looked at the brown eyes and blond hair depicted, he shot her a doubtful glance. She elaborated, “The shape of the nose and chin are similar. It looks like his young bride gave you your green eyes.” The lovely woman, rather than staring solemnly as was customary, had been painted smiling. She looked happy and radiant.
“I’ll bet these dresses belonged to her,” Paige murmured, “and you’re right. It’s a bit odd they were stored here.”
“Maybe not. Old rooms collect the strangest things.”
“Like what?” The overly warm voice sent chills down Paige’s spine as Arabella Poffington invaded their secret room. Her cloying perfume filled the air, the heavy scent making it difficult not to sneeze. Out of the corner of her eye, Paige saw the earl surreptitiously shut the lid on the chest of clothes.
“We’ve found stacks and stacks of old papers and ledgers,” he answered. “Boring things no one bothered to get rid of but didn’t actually want to read. So tell me, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Well,” Arabella heaved a dramatic sigh, “I suffered an absolutely dreadful headache all night and simply couldn’t sleep. No one else is up and about, so I hoped for some pleasant company.” The adoring look she shot at the earl made it clear Paige wasn’t included in her estimation of “pleasant company.”
British Brides Collection Page 23