Damn it, if he was honest with himself, the party last night had left him with that same empty feeling. Was this just what being thirty was about? Or was it something else? He had everything a man could want. Wealth, friends, good looks…a winning personality, if he did say so himself. He wasn’t exactly stupid either. So why oh why could he not be content?
Bram pushed open the door and let it thud on its hinges.
“Bram,” Ambrose hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Food will be served shortly, my lord.” The butler paused, withdrew a penknife from his pocket, and scooped something up from one of the sofas with the tip of it.
Ambrose frowned at the slip of fabric.
“Should I see this returned to one of your lady friends, my lord?”
He peered at it and recognized it as a stocking. He vaguely recalled some game of stripping one’s clothes off occurring and could only assume it had come from that. He waved a hand. “I could not be certain which lady friend it was from.”
“Then I shall...dispose of it, my lord.” Bram tightened his lips and carried it at arm’s length out of the room.
He watched the butler leave, his long legs making quick work of the strides to the door. Bram moved with a litheness that Ambrose envied right now. He snorted to himself. It was ridiculous to be envious of a man who was likely thirty years his senior.
He frowned. At least, he suspected Bram was around sixty years of age. The butler was notoriously tight-lipped about everything. The long, slender man revealed little about his life and the few snippets Ambrose had garnered had been from other servants. Even Ambrose’s mother knew little of him, but then she had spent many a year at the estate in the country, away from her estranged husband, so it could be said she had spent little time with the man.
Regardless, he couldn’t fathom being so closed about everything. His life was out there for all to see and had been for many years, even before he took on the title of earl. If he had any secrets, it was news to him.
Bram returned to the drawing room for the third time, this time with a platter of food. Ambrose pressed a hand to his stomach at the sight of freshly cooked sausages, bacon, and large hunks of bread slathered with butter. He usually had a hearty appetite in the morning but today… He groaned and waved the food away.
Bram tutted and moved the tray to the console table.
Ambrose rolled his eyes to himself. Bram had been with the family for years and had served the previous earl. He was somewhat like an old piece of furniture that one kept thinking one should give away but couldn’t bring oneself to.
Ambrose could not fathom what he would do without him but, at the same time, he did not much appreciate all the judgmental looks. It was hardly like he behaved any differently to his father or many men before him. His father had been known to have many a mistress and enjoy a good drink, after all.
“You really should eat, my lord,” Bram muttered.
Ambrose released a long breath. Now he recalled why he kept the man on. Despite his tight-lipped, disapproving attitude, there was no one he could rely on more than Bram and deep, deep down, he could swear the butler actually cared for him.
“I will try once my stomach has settled,” he promised.
Bram continued to move around the room at a speed far too quick for Ambrose’s liking. The butler tweaked curtains, pushed chairs back into place, and maneuvered ornaments until they were just so. Ambrose shook his head at the butler’s efficiency, now more than envious at his ability to actually move from a chair. His head still pounded, that dryness in his mouth had yet to dissipate, and his damn heart felt as though it was going to explode through his chest.
“You can leave that to one of the maids, you know.”
Bram’s lips tightened while he adjusted a painting that had somehow been knocked askew during the previous night’s frivolities. “I should rather those young ladies not have to witness the aftermath of...such evenings.”
“I am not certain why they would be scandalized by a crooked painting or vase.”
“They may be scandalized by what they find, and I would not wish such a thing on those young women.” Bram lifted the edge of a curtain and indicated to what appeared to be another stocking with a raised brow. Whichever lady had removed them was apparently missing both this morning.
Ambrose made a dismissive noise. “‘Tis only a stocking.”
“Those girls are hard-working and respectful. I should rather it stay that way.”
“If you fear they will gossip, you need not worry, Bram.” Ambrose waved a hand. “There is enough gossip about me that a pair of stockings would read most tiresomely.”
The butler kicked aside the stocking in question with a pinched expression. “As you say, my lord.”
Watching the man for a few moments more as he finished tidying the room, Ambrose pressed a finger to his lip. “Do you enjoy your job, Bram?”
“Enjoy, my lord?”
“Is it satisfying?”
He stilled. “It is.”
“Hmmm.”
“My lord?”
“Is there anything else you find satisfying?”
Bram straightened and creases appeared on a surprisingly line-free face for his age. “I am not certain what you mean, my lord.”
“If you were looking for something interesting to do, what would it be?”
The lines deepened. “I should think his lordship knows enough about ‘interesting’ things in life.”
“I am hardly asking if you have a lady lover, Bram.” Ambrose held back a chuckle when the butler’s skin paled a little. “I just meant, is there anything else in your life aside from...butlering? Anything that you find brings you a sense of...I don’t know...fulfillment.”
“I enjoy a good game of solitaire, my lord.”
He groaned inwardly. He should have known Bram would not be able to offer much advice. The man was as plain as a man could get in his tastes—preferring water to ale, and bread to cake. And this was not much helping his conundrum. He could feel it, twisting deep in his gut. These parties and his life in general...well, they simply didn’t bring him the enjoyment they used to. He needed to find something to stop that ache, to appease this need to do something new or useful.
“Do you do anything else, Bram?” Ambrose demanded.
“I enjoy the occasional stroll in the park. When it is not too busy, of course.”
“Of course,” Ambrose intoned.
“My life is lived in service to you, my lord.”
“Well, now you have me feeling guilty indeed.”
Bram’s shoulders stiffened. “That was not my intention, my lord. You know I live to serve.”
“I should think it is about time you found something else with which to occupy your time. Why do you not take the rest of the day off?”
The butler’s eyes widened, and his posture grew so stiff that Ambrose feared he’d given the man a heart attack and he was going to keel over. “There are things to be done...,” he spluttered.
“I am hardly in a state to demand much today and Mrs. Locke can take care of anything else I need.” Ambrose shooed the butler with a waving motion. “If I cannot at least do something interesting, then you should.”
“But, my lord...”
“Bram,” he insisted.
His shoulders slumped. “Very well, my lord,” he muttered.
“Where shall you go?”
He pursed his lips. “I suppose I shall visit my niece. She has been sick of late and needs tending to.”
“Sick? Niece? Damn it, Bram, why did you not say something?”
He lifted a shoulder. “There was little to be said, my lord.”
“Does she need anything? Is there anything I can do?”
Bram shook his head vigorously. “Nothing at all, my lord. In fact, your family charity has already offered aid.”
“Charity?”
“The Creasey Children’s Charity?”
“Oh yes, that thing.” A
mbrose frowned. “You know you need not rely on charity, you can come directly to me for assistance.”
“You are busy, my lord...”
Too busy to help an employee out when their family member was ill, apparently. Bitterness rose in his throat. Lord, what sort of man was he?
“The charity…what exactly are they doing at present?” Ambrose asked. He was aware of it and how his family had established it some forty years ago, but he had little knowledge of what they did or even how much of his money went toward it.
“I believe they are trying to establish a hospital at present, near your estate in Hampshire.”
“Interesting...”
“Interesting, my lord?”
Ambrose waved the butler away. “Go and see your niece, Bram. I think we should make a trip to the Hampshire estate this week, so it will be your last chance to see her for a while.”
Chapter Three
Joanna peered up at the gray stone building and wrinkled her nose. Bright spring sunlight glinted upon grimy windows, revealing streaks of dirt. The old house might have been more a sandstone color at one point but its proximity to the busy town of Falbury had left it coated in smoke residue. Still, what a fine chance it was that there was a charitable project occurring only ten miles from her home. It was odd, really, because she did not believe in fate at all, yet when Chloe’s husband, Brook, had mentioned the Creasey Charity for Children, she understood the reason she had dreamed of the Earl of Newhaven.
It had been a sign.
She smiled to herself. No, that was ridiculous. There were no signs in life. If so, she would have known when her husband had been killed instead of blithely dancing on at some ball. The fact she had dreamed of the man that this very charity was named for was mere coincidence. After all, she was not a blind fool. There was no denying the Earl of Newhaven was a handsome man and it would stand to reason he might have implanted in her mind.
“We are lucky indeed,” said Mr. Bartlett, who craned his neck to view the building, giving her a view of his uneven side profile. The poor man must have suffered a break once and his nose was angled oddly. Combined with a rather recessed chin, she doubted he had ever offered to pose for silhouettes.
“Lord Kendall willed it to us not long ago, aware we were looking for a place to house a hospital for children,” he continued. “My understanding is that it has been left empty for some time, so we will have a lot of work ahead of us.”
Joanna did not make mention to the charity’s president that she had yet to decide if this was really how she wished to occupy her time. In truth, she had been surprised at his eagerness to meet with her and show her their work. However, her family were no paupers and she was not ignorant to the fact she had been known as a catch prior to her marriage. Joanna was confident she could bring something useful to this charity by way of fundraising. She just needed to be certain that this was the thing for her before committing.
“So what are your next steps, Mr. Bartlett?”
“Our first priority is ensuring the building is sound. Then we shall need to equip it. After that, we will concern ourselves with doctors and nurses and, of course, those who will manage it.” Mr. Bartlett grimaced. “We shall likely find ourselves in high demand, given the proximity to the factories. There are many, many children in the area with a need for healthcare here.”
“I can imagine.”
“Well,” he said brightly, “shall I show you around?”
“I can do that.”
Joanna whirled at the deep, intrusive timber of a voice she did not recognize. Her heart gave a little jolt at the sight of broad shoulders, highlighted by a perfectly cut jacket and green and gold waistcoat.
She trailed her gaze upward, aware it would have been easy to linger and ponder over the breadth of those shoulders, until she found a dimpled chin, slightly full lips, and green eyes that reminded her of the time she had gone to the coast during the winter and dipped her toes in the sea.
She was willing to wager he’d chosen that waistcoat to reflect the green of his eyes deliberately.
A shiver tracked up her spine as though she had just been exposed to the chilly depths of the water. She tensed her shoulders and eased a placid smile over her lips. “Lord Newhaven, I had no idea you would be here.”
The Earl of Newhaven inclined his head. “Nor I, you, Mrs. Lockhart.”
Ah, so he remembered her. She should not feel at all excited by the fact nor should her stomach burst with little bubbles of excitement. She did not mind rogues and rakes but to her mind, Lord Ambrose Creasey was rather much worse than a rogue or a rake. She rather felt he was a wicked combination of the two with nothing much more to him than a charming manner and exceedingly good looks.
She was hardly plain herself, but she liked to think that her accomplishments and skills in many areas meant she had a lot more to offer the world than merely what was on the outside. It rankled her that someone should skirt by life, relying on something merely gifted to them by God. After all, one day the looks would fade and what would either of them be left with? One had to ensure one was more than a pretty face.
“Lord Newhaven,” Mr. Bartlett stammered. “I did not anticipate you joining us when I made mention of our visit today.”
Lord Newhaven smiled—a careful, calculated pull of his lips that made Joanna want to tighten her own. “I arrived in Hampshire early and wished to get involved straight away.” He put a hand to his hat. “So this is what will be the hospital, eh?”
“It will, my lord.” Mr. Bartlett looked to Joanna and it was only then she realized she had been staring at Lord Newhaven as though he were some unknown species. “Lord Newhaven has decided to increase his involvement as patron of the charity,” Mr. Bartlett explained.
“Oh.”
“It does have my name on it, after all.” The earl grinned.
Joanna glanced away from the flash of white teeth and drew in a breath. This man was making a fool of her somehow and she did not like it one jot. She forced a smile of her own that she had no doubt could beat any of his practiced smiles and faced him.
“I had thought you were patron in name only. Charity hardly seems to your taste, my lord.”
He blinked a few times, his gaze darting over her lips, before fixing his smile back in place. “I fear you do not know me well enough to know my tastes, Mrs. Lockhart.”
“I know enough,” she muttered.
Lord Newhaven arched a brow. “Pardon?”
Mr. Bartlett cleared his throat. “I was just about to give Mrs. Lockhart here a tour.”
“And why is that exactly?” asked the earl.
“I intend to assist the charity,” she said sweetly. “With fundraising and such.”
“That is excellent news,” he said, his tone dry and a dark brow arched. “Now we have someone with a soft touch to aid us. Tell me, Mrs. Lockhart, do you have much experience with sick children?”
“About as much as you do, I suspect,” she replied archly. “But I do have some excellent organizational skills, not to mention important contacts. I find people are more likely to respond to the soft touch of a woman when parting with their money.”
His gaze clashed with hers and she refused to look away. It seemed this rake of a rogue did not deem her useful to the charity. Lord Newhaven, of all people! She doubted he had done anything useful in his entire life! Well, she would show him...
His lips quirked and he finally broke away. “Mr. Bartlett, you are a busy man no doubt. Why do you not let me give Mrs. Lockhart the tour of the house?”
“But you do not know your way around, my lord,” Mr. Bartlett protested, his bushy moustache quivering upon his top lip.
“One big house is much like another. I am certain I can find my way around.” He offered his arm to Joanna.
She didn’t hesitate. The man would not scare her away. Looping her arm through his, she smiled warmly. “I am certain we can find our way, Mr. Bartlett, and as Lord Newhaven says, your time is valuable
.”
Mr. Bartlett touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “Very well then.” He handed over a large iron key to the earl. “I hope we shall see you both at our next meeting in two weeks’ time.”
“Naturally,” Lord Newhaven answered swiftly.
“I would not miss it,” Joanna replied, wincing at how over-enthusiastic she sounded.
Mr. Bartlett left them, catching a passing hack.
Leaving her alone with him.
Why the thought should make her stomach do an odd twist, she did not know. Lifting her chin, she nodded toward the door. “Shall we?”
“Of course.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, the hinges creaking in protest. “After you.”
Joanna loosened her arm from his and stepped over the threshold onto dirty black and white tiles. The inside was gloomy with only slivers of light entering through the door and the shutters on the windows. Dust lingered in the air, making her want to sneeze.
Above, a gallery ran the length of the entrance way, stone balustrades once allowing guests or the owners to look down upon whomever entered the house. Those days of grandeur were long gone.
“Well, at least it looks secure.” She turned to see Lord Newhaven kick aside a pile of dried leaves. “No holes in the roof or anything.”
“I would have thought you would have inspected this place before your charity purchased it.”
“Mrs. Lockhart, you can hardly expect a busy man such as myself to interfere with the daily runnings of the charity.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“As are you.” He removed his hat, tucked it under an arm, and peered at her, that one sardonic eyebrow arched yet again.
She looked away under the guise of doing a tour of the entrance way, moving slowly around the edges of the room. She glanced briefly at him to find his gaze still upon her. In this light, his curly hair was almost dark, but she knew in candlelight it was more of a chestnut with little touches of gold in it.
Not that she had ever paid proper attention to him.
“It is hard to see how this will become a hospital,” she murmured.
Married to the Earl (The Wallflower Brides Book 3) Page 2