quite cheaply. Of course, we have to pay a tax on our windows, but that is another problem.”
Rufus settled back in the gig, for the first time seeming to accept the possibility that James had told him the truth. His expression deepened to one of dismay and an age-old fear of the unknown.
When the odd little party drew up to the manor’s front door, James dismounted from his horse and assisted Hilary from the gig. Rufus also clambered down from the gig, and stood, with Jasper at his heels, surveying the manor house.
Hilary stepped up to him, murmuring encouragement. Watching her, James was forced to admit once again, that if one took the time to really look at Lady Hilary she was not unattractive. Her features were well-formed and that mop of red hair lent them a certain incandescent charm.
He frowned. Not that he was even slightly susceptible to feminine charm, no matter the erudition that lay behind it.
Not to his surprise, Rufus huffed for a moment, then allowed Hilary to place her hand on his arm. She smiled encouragingly as she led him up the stairs and, when the door was swung open by Burnside, the awe-inspiring butler inherited by James from Sir William, Rufus allowed himself to be ushered into the house with no further demur. Burnside, on his part, refrained from displaying so much as a flicker of ill-bred curiosity regarding the extremely odd appearance of one of his master’s guests, nor the fact that the other, though she was well known to him, should really not have been here at all sans chaperon.
“Send Mrs. Armbruster to me, if you please, Burnside,” were James’s first words to the butler. “And please send someone to Whiteleaves to fetch Lady Hilary’s abigail. As you can see, she was caught in the rainstorm that occurred awhile ago.”
“Very good, sir. And the, er, animal, sir?” Burnside indicated Jasper, who was attempting to insert his large form through the door as unobtrusively as possible.
“You may have it removed to the stables,” said James firmly. “Although he is not, as one might suppose, to be ridden.”
At a gesture from Burnside, a hovering footman ran to grasp Jasper by the collar, but the dog forestalled this indignity by the simple expedient of once more baring his teeth. The footman retreated to a prudent distance.
“We can simply leave Jasper outside,” said Hilary icily. “He will be no trouble—though he may howl a little.” She swept past James and the butler into the house.
Rufus, on his part, remained silent, absorbing his surroundings with fearful curiosity. Silently, his gaze wide, he took in damask hangings, crystal chandeliers, armorial bearings and heavily upholstered furnishings. By the time James ushered him into the library, Hilary trailing in their wake, he appeared ready to explode.
“Gods!” he exclaimed as James shut the door. “Tell me again where in time I am. And what is the language you speak now? Am I still in Britannia? Who are you? You cannot be citizens of Rome, but you do not look like Dobunnii. What—”
James raised a hand. “We will answer all your questions, Rufus, in good time. But first I wish you would answer some of mine.”
Rufus snarled. “I have done nothing but answer your questions since we met. Now, it is my turn.”
James remained unmoved. “I will tell you anything you wish to know, but I must also tell you that I am not at all convinced that you are the genuine article.”
“What?” gasped Hilary. “Good heavens, Mr. Wincanon, how can you doubt him? I will very readily admit that the situation is difficult to comprehend, but it must be apparent to the meanest intelligence that Rufus is precisely who he says he is—a simple soldier who somehow has been hurled through time.”
James’s chocolate-brown eyes narrowed, and once more Hilary was struck by the unnerving strength in his gaze. “But you see, my girl, I flatter myself that I possess a bit more than the meanest intelligence, and I am not easily
Rufus settled back in the gig, for the first time seeming to accept the possibility that James had told him the truth. His expression deepened to one of dismay and an age-old fear of the unknown.
When the odd little party drew up to the manor’s front door, James dismounted from his horse and assisted Hilary from the gig. Rufus also clambered down from the gig, and stood, with Jasper at his heels, surveying the manor house.
Hilary stepped up to him, murmuring encouragement. Watching her, James was forced to admit once again, that if one took the time to really look at Lady Hilary she was not unattractive. Her features were well-formed and that mop of red hair lent them a certain incandescent charm.
He frowned. Not that he was even slightly susceptible to feminine charm, no matter the erudition that lay behind it.
Not to his surprise, Rufus huffed for a moment, then allowed Hilary to place her hand on his arm. She smiled encouragingly as she led him up the stairs and, when the door was swung open by Burnside, the awe-inspiring butler inherited by James from Sir William, Rufus allowed himself to be ushered into the house with no further demur. Burnside, on his part, refrained from displaying so much as a flicker of ill-bred curiosity regarding the extremely odd appearance of one of his master’s guests, nor the fact that the other, though she was well known to him, should really not have been here at all sans chaperon.
“Send Mrs. Armbruster to me, if you please, Burnside,” were James’s first words to the butler. “And please send someone to Whiteleaves to fetch Lady Hilary’s abigail. As you can see, she was caught in the rainstorm that occurred awhile ago.”
“Very good, sir. And the, er, animal, sir?” Burnside indicated Jasper, who was attempting to insert his large form through the door as unobtrusively as possible.
“You may have it removed to the stables,” said James firmly. “Although he is not, as one might suppose, to be ridden.”
At a gesture from Burnside, a hovering footman ran to grasp Jasper by the collar, but the dog forestalled this indignity by the simple expedient of once more baring his teeth. The footman retreated to a prudent distance.
“We can simply leave Jasper outside,” said Hilary icily. “He will be no trouble—though he may howl a little.” She swept past James and the butler into the house.
Rufus, on his part, remained silent, absorbing his surroundings with fearful curiosity. Silently, his gaze wide, he took in damask hangings, crystal chandeliers, armorial bearings and heavily upholstered furnishings. By the time James ushered him into the library, Hilary trailing in their wake, he appeared ready to explode.
“Gods!” he exclaimed as James shut the door. “Tell me again where in time I am. And what is the language you speak now? Am I still in Britannia? Who are you? You cannot be citizens of Rome, but you do not look like Dobunnii. What—”
James raised a hand. “We will answer all your questions, Rufus, in good time. But first I wish you would answer some of mine.”
Rufus snarled. “I have done nothing but answer your questions since we met. Now, it is my turn.”
James remained unmoved. “I will tell you anything you wish to know, but I must also tell you that I am not at all convinced that you are the genuine article.”
“What?” gasped Hilary. “Good heavens, Mr. Wincanon, how can you doubt him? I will very readily admit that the situation is difficult to comprehend, but it must be apparent to the meanest intelligence that Rufus is precisely who he says he is—a simple soldier who somehow has been hurled through time.”
James’s chocolate-brown eyes narrowed, and once more Hilary was struck by the unnerving strength in his gaze. “But you see, my girl, I flatter myself that I possess a bit more than the meanest intelligence, and I am not easily
Similar Books
