had useful contacts, and he could go anywhere without raising a single suspicion . That is certainly unfair too.
Chapter 7
Royce rode up to the front of Birdelwood Manor. Gazing about, he noted the mellow brick façade blended with the background of well-cropped lawns and flower borders skirting the two-story house. Intending to tie his horse to the hitching rail, instead he relinquished the reins to a stable lad who appeared before he dismounted.
He met the measuring, blue gaze of the lad and judged him to be around twelve years of age. The boy’s head was covered with a cap, allowing blonde locks to peek out around the edges. He nodded and took the horse’s reins.
“You be the new law?”
Royce nearly shook his head in denial, but he remembered he’d been appointed Lord Lieutenant upon his uncle’s death. “Indeed.”
“Had a notion you was. Name’s Jem.”
“Jem, you said? Do you require something of me?”
With his features twisted in an anxious frown, Jem gulped and nodded his head.
“A matter needing my immediate attention?” Royce glanced at the entrance of Birdelwood Manor in two minds, doing his duty or continuing on his way.
The lad followed his gaze and finally shook his head. He shuffled his feet, but stood in place for a minute before he blurted out, “Naw. It can wait till you be done.”
Royce climbed the steps to the heavy front door. Being aware of everything out of the ordinary had kept him alive during the war, and his senses were on the alert. What desperate straits could entangle a stable lad? Mentally, he shrugged, probably nothing serious. Still, a strong urge to follow the boy and discover what difficult situation concerned him nearly caused Royce to turn, but he continued up the stairs.
Stroter Hall had seemed the ideal location in which to reside, nestled six or seven miles off the main road leading to Newbury and points west from London. Now, his sanctuary of retreat appeared to be planted in a swamp of turmoil. Squaring his shoulders, he plied the knocker.
The thought of traitors and spies in his neighborhood chilled him to the bone, but he couldn’t quite believe these people, wealthy by all accounts, could be guilty of treason or even be linked to such treachery. Besides, the Littletons were Eleanor’s parents, and a connection to such creatures clearly could never be accepted.
One side of the double panel swung slowly open, giving the appearance of being too heavy to move swiftly. A stiff, slender butler, complete with thinning white hair, stood in the doorway and swept Royce with an assessing gaze.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Royce withdrew a calling card and handed it to the servant. “Lord Rivton to see Lady Eleanor Littleton.”
The butler bowed. “Milord, follow me, please.”
After taking Royce’s hat and gloves, the servant ushered him into the parlor. “I’ll see if milady is at home.”
With a quick glance around, Royce found the scene before him most welcoming, everything up to scratch. The three damask-covered sofas encircled an ornate, low table placed for conversation and exactly matched to what he expected of Lady Littleton’s establishment. A shaft of sunlight caught the edge of a gilded frame placed against the expanse of warm, gold wall coverings. He stepped nearer, intent on studying Eleanor’s portrait. The artist was particularly fine.
The butler had left the door ajar when he hurried away, and Royce caught himself listening to female voices drifting from one of the several doors leading off the hallway. Instead of moving away politely, he edged closer to listen intently. His mission to discover all he could about the Littletons dictated his actions.
A very harsh tone reached him, and he thought he recognized Lady Littleton’s voice. “Betha, never touch my correspondence again.”
“But Aunt Gertrude, Uncle Arthur sent me—”
The aunt interrupted, “I’ll deal with Littleton.”
Ah. Lady Littleton, indeed. Now what is
Chapter 7
Royce rode up to the front of Birdelwood Manor. Gazing about, he noted the mellow brick façade blended with the background of well-cropped lawns and flower borders skirting the two-story house. Intending to tie his horse to the hitching rail, instead he relinquished the reins to a stable lad who appeared before he dismounted.
He met the measuring, blue gaze of the lad and judged him to be around twelve years of age. The boy’s head was covered with a cap, allowing blonde locks to peek out around the edges. He nodded and took the horse’s reins.
“You be the new law?”
Royce nearly shook his head in denial, but he remembered he’d been appointed Lord Lieutenant upon his uncle’s death. “Indeed.”
“Had a notion you was. Name’s Jem.”
“Jem, you said? Do you require something of me?”
With his features twisted in an anxious frown, Jem gulped and nodded his head.
“A matter needing my immediate attention?” Royce glanced at the entrance of Birdelwood Manor in two minds, doing his duty or continuing on his way.
The lad followed his gaze and finally shook his head. He shuffled his feet, but stood in place for a minute before he blurted out, “Naw. It can wait till you be done.”
Royce climbed the steps to the heavy front door. Being aware of everything out of the ordinary had kept him alive during the war, and his senses were on the alert. What desperate straits could entangle a stable lad? Mentally, he shrugged, probably nothing serious. Still, a strong urge to follow the boy and discover what difficult situation concerned him nearly caused Royce to turn, but he continued up the stairs.
Stroter Hall had seemed the ideal location in which to reside, nestled six or seven miles off the main road leading to Newbury and points west from London. Now, his sanctuary of retreat appeared to be planted in a swamp of turmoil. Squaring his shoulders, he plied the knocker.
The thought of traitors and spies in his neighborhood chilled him to the bone, but he couldn’t quite believe these people, wealthy by all accounts, could be guilty of treason or even be linked to such treachery. Besides, the Littletons were Eleanor’s parents, and a connection to such creatures clearly could never be accepted.
One side of the double panel swung slowly open, giving the appearance of being too heavy to move swiftly. A stiff, slender butler, complete with thinning white hair, stood in the doorway and swept Royce with an assessing gaze.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Royce withdrew a calling card and handed it to the servant. “Lord Rivton to see Lady Eleanor Littleton.”
The butler bowed. “Milord, follow me, please.”
After taking Royce’s hat and gloves, the servant ushered him into the parlor. “I’ll see if milady is at home.”
With a quick glance around, Royce found the scene before him most welcoming, everything up to scratch. The three damask-covered sofas encircled an ornate, low table placed for conversation and exactly matched to what he expected of Lady Littleton’s establishment. A shaft of sunlight caught the edge of a gilded frame placed against the expanse of warm, gold wall coverings. He stepped nearer, intent on studying Eleanor’s portrait. The artist was particularly fine.
The butler had left the door ajar when he hurried away, and Royce caught himself listening to female voices drifting from one of the several doors leading off the hallway. Instead of moving away politely, he edged closer to listen intently. His mission to discover all he could about the Littletons dictated his actions.
A very harsh tone reached him, and he thought he recognized Lady Littleton’s voice. “Betha, never touch my correspondence again.”
“But Aunt Gertrude, Uncle Arthur sent me—”
The aunt interrupted, “I’ll deal with Littleton.”
Ah. Lady Littleton, indeed. Now what is
Similar Books
