“Madam, I ask again,” he said, closing the door behind Gil who was staring, open-mouthed, around them. “Who are you and what is this upshot?”
Valeria Fanning aimed a furious glare at the tall, dark-haired man who refused to give her a direct answer. The old earl had been a warm-hearted man, but she suspected he had made little effort in this horrid house to keep his staff well-trained. This lean man, who must be the butler, for he was not dressed in the light blue livery of the other servants, made no effort to assist her. He carried a battered, black leather bag in one hand. Usually she would be curious what he might be toting about the house, but now she had no time to assuage her curiosity.
She started to turn back to ask a question of the woman she guessed was the housekeeper, but the exasperating man’s gaze refused to release hers. For a moment, surely no longer than a single heartbeat, she was captured by that silver-blue gaze in his sharply carved face. His jaw’s firm angle warned he was not a man who accepted reprimand well.
Dash it! Why was she worried about the butler when David was missing? Again!
“How can you just stand there?” she gasped, resisting the yearning to take him by the arm and shake him until he gave her a single answer to her questions. “We need to find him.”
“Him who?”
Was the man completely bereft of his wits? She had just described the problem to the manor’s household staff. She took a deep breath to keep from flying into a pelter. That would gain her nothing at this point, and she could not fault this household staff for its lack of guidance. That must be changed posthaste. Pointing to the footman who had opened the door for her, she said, “You explain. I do not have the time.”
Valeria whirled to rush up the stairs. David had a fondness for high, precarious places. Mayhap this drafty, archaic pile of stones had a tower that he had seen upon their arrival. She dared not consider how unsafe such a place would be for an eight-year-old lad.
A hand on her arm sent a fiery shock through her. Anger burst within her as she was spun to stare up at the man with the pale blue eyes. When he swiftly drew back his hand, astonishment on his face at his own forward behavior, she took a step away.
“Your manners are intolerable for a butler,” she snapped. “I have no doubts that you would be dismissed immediately if Lord Moorsea were here to witness this.”
“I am sure my manners are quite intolerable for a butler,” he said, with a tilt of his head in her direction. “However, madam, I am not the butler.”
“Not the butler? Then who are you?”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed more deeply. “I am Lorenzo Wolfe, Lord Moorsea.”
“You …?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
When Lord Moorsea put his hand under her elbow, she was grateful to let him assist her to a chair next to the massive staircase whose banister must have been made of oak sturdy enough for a ship’s keel. The rickety chair gave a warning creak as she sat on it, but it did not collapse. Dear God, she feared she was about to.
Squaring her shoulders, she clasped her hands primly in her lap. This was not a good beginning, but she must not allow her ill-spoken words to return to daunt her as Lord Moorsea had with his introduction. She was no young miss who could run crying back to her schoolroom in the wake of a faux pas. She had left that child behind long ago. She had endured more than she had thought she could in the past few months, and she had survived. Making a May game of herself mattered little when David was still missing in this strange house.
“Do you wish me to send for some sal volatile?” asked Lord Moorsea. A wry smile tilted his expressive mouth as his gaze swept the foyer and staircase. “I daresay it might be a scarce commodity here.”
Her answer faltered when his compelling gaze settled on her once again. He was not what was commonly considered handsome, but he had a face no woman could ignore. The sharp planes altered with each of his expressions, making him look one minute austere and daunting, the next warm and wondrously kind.
“I am quite well,” she whispered. “I shall not swoon.”
“I am glad to hear that, Miss—”
“Lady Valeria Fanning.” She stood and held out one hand while she gripped the back of the chair with the other. “Forgive me for my double errors of not realizing your identity, my lord, and of not introducing myself as soon as you entered.”
Lorenzo took the hand she offered between his and was not surprised when it trembled. Bits of color were returning to her face, but it still resembled carved marble. “You are quite distressed, as I noted upon our arrival. Whatever has unsettled you seems unresolved. Will you tell me what has upset you?”
“David is missing.”
“David?”
“My nephew David Blair. He is but eight years old, yet he has a curiosity that is unhampered by his age.”
Lorenzo looked over his shoulder. “Kirby? Gil?” When they pushed through the crush to his side, he said quietly, “Search the house without delay and find one eight-year-old lad who answers to the name David.”
“He is quite tall for his age,” Lady Fanning hurried to add. “His hair is dark, and he is wearing a forest green coat and brown riding pantaloons.”
Kirby gave her a consoling smile. “Don’t fret, my lady. No lad has ever been able to stay hidden when I have been seeking him. We shall ferret him out.” His smile wavered. “To own the truth, though, that was at Wolfe Abbey.”
“Take some of the footmen here with you,” Lorenzo said. “They know the house, and you have a way of knowing what might interest lads. Use your keen eyes to spot the lad.” As Kirby gathered some helpers and sent Gil on his way to one wing of the house while the valet took another, Lorenzo added, “I think you and I, Lady Fanning, should take this opportunity, while the search is on for young David, to become much better acquainted.”
“What do you mean?” She snatched her hand back from his and pressed it to that outrageous shawl.
Lorenzo sighed. He had meant exactly what he said, but he had forgotten that the plain speech of the country did not fall easily on the ears of those who preferred the artifice of Town. If he said that he simply wished to know why she was here at Moorsea Manor, that would be the truth. However, if he had added that he had not realized he was still holding her hand, she would be offended … and it would be a prime out-and-outer.
Was he mad? He had no interest in engaging in a flirtation. All he wanted was the tranquillity that these rough walls and the moors should offer him. He would offer Lady Fanning and her missing nephew hospitality for the night before their journey continued. Tomorrow, he could begin his new life.
“Madam,” he said quietly, “I hope you are more familiar with this house than I am.”
“More familiar than you?”
“I am just arrived for the first time. Does the house have a library or a sitting room where we might speak while we wait for what supper can be prepared for us?”
“I am not sure.” She glanced up the stairs.
“My lord,” Mrs. Ditwiller intruded before Lorenzo could ask the questions about Lady Valeria Fanning and her nephew that were burning on his tongue. “One of the lasses told me there is a comfortable room at the top of these stairs and to the left.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ditwiller.” He was glad his housekeeper had the wit to know what he wanted before he needed it. Now, he could get the answers to those questions without so many of the household heeding every word they spoke. “Can you see that these people have tasks to do that will keep them busy while I speak with Lady Fanning?”
“Of course, my lord.” She smiled, and he knew she relished the opportunity to assume her place as housekeeper.
He motioned toward the stairs. “Lady Fanning?”
The lovely redhead nodded and led the way up the stone stairs that were covered with miniatures of the carpet which had been hidden beneath all the people gathered in the foyer. The slow sway of her hips drew his eyes, but he forced himself to look away. Even if he
had wanted to amuse himself with the harmless court-promises of a flirtation, this woman with her snapping violet eyes would not be the one he chose. With her Town bon ton, she represented everything he wanted to put out of his life—silly parties and worthless calls where the prattle filled him with ennui.
His eyes widened as he stared at the items lining the upper hall. Suits of armor battled for space with dusty portraits and antique vases, many of them chipped and broken, that were stacked four deep on the tables flanking a doorway. A stuffed bear, which stood on its back feet, leaned heavily against the wall by the narrow window, and some plant that he could not name was growing in wild abandon from its pot to curl around the banister leading up to the next floor. He tried to imagine his mother, who had always been so tidy, living with this hodgepodge.
It was impossible both to imagine her here and to wend his way through the jumble.
As she edged toward the door that must lead to the sitting room, Lady Fanning held her gown close to her, offering him a beguiling view. Again he looked hastily away. He yelped when his shin struck something that had been hidden under one of the suits of armor. Bending, he lifted the cracked hilt of what once must have been a broadsword. He set it on the windowsill.
“Mayhap it would look better in the bear’s claw,” suggested Lady Fanning.
“What?”
She smiled as she slipped, with an ease he could not copy, past the tables to the doorway. “It would be interesting to invite your guests up here and surprise them with a bear armed with a broadsword.”
“I have no intention of entertaining here.”
“No?” She stared at him with as much amazement as if he had just announced he had been named the next king. “Do you plan to pay only a brief call here?”
“No, I plan to live here.”
“All alone?”
He smiled. “From what I saw in the foyer, Moorsea Manor need never worry about a dearth of people.”
“But this is such a large house. It would hold many guests for a hunt gathering or simply an assembly here in daisyville.”
“I enjoy my own company, madam.”
“And no one else’s?” She shook her head as she ran her fingers along the bear’s upraised front paw. “I swear I would go quite mad if I were not surrounded by friends and gaiety.” Throwing out her hands, she said, “My dear Lord Moorsea, this house is made for entertaining.”
“I doubt that. My uncle seldom, as I understand it, received anyone here.” When she opened her mouth to retort, he edged past her into the large room. “I mean to say, this is much better.”
Lorenzo heard her soft gasp when she stepped into the room. He shared her incredulity, for the room was twice the size of the spacious foyer below. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, and others were stuck out in the middle of the floor. It was the largest book-room he had ever seen, and each shelf was stacked, to overflowing in places where books had fallen to the floor, with books and papers and bric-a-brac. This changed his plans. First he would explore this splendid room, then he would acquaint himself with the rest of the house.
Looking up, he saw the ceiling vanished into the shadows that claimed everything beyond the fire someone had thoughtfully laid on the hearth and the single candle that was set on a table between two chairs. Even from where he stood, he could see the chairs were well-worn. He hoped that was a sign of their comfort. One for him to sit upon, the other to balance his feet on while he worked on his writing. That would be just perfect, he decided, as he set his small bag on the floor beside one.
“Quite miserly with the light, I see,” Lady Fanning said as she picked up the candle and walked to view the rest of the room. She called, “David?”
“I doubt you will find the boy lurking in a library when it is too dark to read.” Lorenzo smiled up at the stacks of books, lying at every angle on the shelves reaching to the ceiling. A man could spend a lifetime trying to read all of them.
He took one from the nearest shelf and open it, tilting the pages toward the fire so he might read the letters printed upon them. He chuckled. He had a fool’s own good fortune, for the book was poetry. Scanning the French and then the English translation, he closed it, his nose wrinkling with disgust. He had no use for Marquis de la Cour’s sickish-sweet love poems. He set it back on the shelf and reached for another.
“How dare you!”
He turned as Lady Fanning surged around the end of the shelf as if she had been shot at him in a flurry of fireworks. Frowning, he wondered what he had done to disturb her now when, in truth, she was the one disturbing him in his own home.
“How dare I—?”
Her hand striking his cheek echoed through the room. As he stared at her, too stunned to speak, she cried, “Curse you, Lorenzo Wolfe.”
Two
Lorenzo put his hand on his stinging cheek and bit back the retort he could not let ring in a lady’s ears. “Madam, I have no idea what—”
“Better acquainted?” Lady Fanning sniffed in outrage. “I should have listened to my better sense and stayed downstairs until David was found.”
“I do not understand what you are babbling about.”
“Babbling?” Her finger trembled as she pointed to the end of the bookcase where she had gone to explore. “You expect me to believe that after—after—”
“After what?” He was trying to be reasonable, but he was hungry and his head had been aching even before she struck him.
“After I saw that! I have no idea what kind of woman you think me to be, but I can assure you, I am a lady come in hose and shod.”
“Lady Fanning, I have not intimated otherwise.”
“Intimated?” Her laugh was sharp. With fear? He could not understand why, when he had been the pattern-card of propriety, save when he had taken her arm to halt her from storming up the stairs. “Odd that you should choose that word.”
“Mayhap I would not have chosen it if I had any idea what in the blazes you are prattling on and on about.”
Her chin lowered a finger’s breadth. Confusion filled her voice. “Are you asking me to believe you are unaware of what is on the other side of this bookcase?”
He did not answer. Reaching through the thick fringe on her shawl to take her gently by the arm that was holding the candle, he steered her around the end of the shelves before she could fire another demure hit at him. She pulled her arm away, but he grasped the candle before she could walk away to leave him in the dark.
In disbelief, he stared at the grand bed set behind the bookshelves. It must be of an age with the house, for its tester was hung by silken cords from the ceiling. The bed curtains were open. The headboard, that was carved with leaping stags and a unicorn, came alive as the candlelight skimmed across it.
“Now I know why you have been lurking in the country,” Lady Fanning said coldly. “No decent woman would allow herself to be alone in your company. If you think that you can lure me up here and—”
“Lady Fanning,” he said, glad the shadows hid his smile which she was sure to misinterpret, “you must recall several things. First, the whole of this household could burst upon this room at any moment with the tidings that your nephew has been found. Secondly, I am, in spite of your low opinion of me, a gentleman, a fact that is generally known. Lastly, as I informed you in the foyer below, I have only arrived for the first time at Moorsea Manor. I have no knowledge of what is in any of these rooms.”
She wrapped her arms and that ridiculous shawl even more tightly around her. “I am not interested in listening to your explanations and apology here. We must speak of this elsewhere.”
“Nonsense.” He pulled the curtains on the imposing bed and walked to the hearth. He looked back, sure she would follow instead of huddling in the darkness. He was right, but she kept more than an arm’s length between them and looked anxiously toward the door. “You cannot leave here until you learn where your nephew might be.” Turning the two chairs so they faced the fire, he said, “Please sit.”
A chilly prescience filtered through him, but he could not pounce on each word she spoke. She was quite distraught, and he must treat her with extraordinary gentleness until her nephew was found. He did hope it would be quite soon. He had not realized how exhausted he was from the trip to Moorsea Manor until they chanced upon that bed. He could use a long nap and a longer night’s sleep.
“Lady Fanning—”
“I would as lief you call me Valeria.”
Lorenzo wanted to ask her why she offered that familiarity when she had accused him, but moments ago, of heinous motives. When he noted how wan she appeared in the candlelight, he silenced the question and said, “As you wish, Valeria.”
“Thank you … Lorenzo.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I would like to say—”
“So here you are.” Another feminine voice, this one not as melodic as Valeria’s, came from near the door.
Lorenzo stared at the woman entering the room. The lamp she carried lit her face, making it a macabre mask. As she walked closer, he saw that she was not young. Her face, which once might have been lovely, now resembled the crags on the sea cliffs beyond Wolfe Abbey, worn by time and falling from its former glory. Her gown, even though made of fine fabric, was worn thin and of a style last popular almost thirty years before.
He glanced at Valeria, but she shrugged. For the first time, he wondered how long Valeria had been at the house before he arrived. She seemed as unfamiliar with it as he was.
“You must be the boy,” the old woman said as she strode toward them. A cane was hooked over her wrist, but she did not use it.
“The boy we are seeking is—”
She interrupted Lorenzo, “Not the youngster, the boy.”
Although he was not quite certain what she meant, he decided to fall back on formality. It might serve him until he could figure out even one of the peculiar denizens of this manor house. “Lorenzo Wolfe, madam.” When she held out her hand, freeing it from the heavy lace edging of her sleeve, he bowed over it. “A pleasure.”
The Convenient Arrangement Page 2