then asked, “Should I be bedding down in the stable this night, Lady Rose?” The thought wasn’t at all welcome, but at this late hour, it was better than seeking shelter from strangers in the village.
He cast one last look at the road, in the unlikely event that his long-lost servants returned. But there was no sign of anyone. In the morning, he would have to travel back to the place where the axle had broken on his coach. At least then, he would have answers.
A flash of something came over Lady Rose’s face, but he couldn’t tell what it was. Calvert had stepped between them to lift her from the horse. “Don’t be troubling the lady over things that don’t matter to her. Be on your way and find your own place in the village.”
But Lady Rose paused a moment, lifting her hand. “It does matter, I suppose.” She eyed him closely, as if wondering about the truth of his identity. “We do have enough room among the servants to accommodate one more.”
Calvert looked horrified at the prospect. “My lady, you cannot be serious. We know nothing about this man.”
“You could lock him within one of the rooms,” she suggested, and Iain spied a hint of amusement in her voice. “Or you could sleep outside his door with a loaded revolver if that would make you feel better.”
Her footman appeared unaware that she was teasing, and seemed to be considering the idea. As for himself, Iain was willing to sleep anywhere that wasn’t tainted with the odor of manure.
Her decision made, Lady Rose continued, “Tell Mrs. Marlock to find a place for Mr. Donovan in one of the garrets. He need not sleep among the horses.”
The footman grimaced and promised to speak with the housekeeper. But the look he sent toward Iain suggested that he would rather have him bide with the pigs.
“Do you believe me, then?” Iain asked Lady Rose, before Calvert could take her away.
She held his gaze for a long moment. “I don’t know what to believe.” Then, in a softer voice, she admitted, “But I think there is more to you than the others see. I hope that my instincts are not wrong in this.”
As she left with her footman, it humbled him to realize that it was the first time that anyone had put faith in him. And he found himself wanting to prove her right.
After nearly an hour, Mrs. Marlock led him up to one of the garrets, far away from the household. She’d also warned that she intended to lock the door behind him. “So ye won’t get it in yer head to come and rob us blind whilst we sleep.”
It reminded him of a twisted fairytale, one with the earl locked in the tower. All he needed now was a princess to come and rescue him.
To be sure, it had been the most trying day he’d ever had. Iain had attempted to keep his irritation under control—for his hosts were wary enough of him as it was—but now that he had a moment to consider his circumstances, he could no longer deny his frustration. Nothing had gone as planned, curse his damned servants and Niall. Without a coach and a traveling staff, there was little he could do about it.
And now what? Lady Wolcroft was not in residence, and his letter of introduction was missing, along with his signet ring. The others might have believed his story, if Lady Wolcroft had alerted them of his impending arrival. As it was, no one thought of him as anything other than a well-spoken beggar.
Iain lit a candle stub and studied his surroundings. It was a far cry from his estate at Ashton. His father’s house boasted twenty-seven rooms, and his own bedchamber had an enormous mahogany bed.
This bed was currently occupied by a cat who did not look eager to surrender his place. The feline yawned, stretched, and sharpened his claws upon the bedding. So be it. It would only be for this night, possibly one more, at worst. And it was a far cry better than the stables.
Iain removed his coat and shirt, then sat down beside the cat to remove the shoes Mrs. Marlock had loaned him. Although he
He cast one last look at the road, in the unlikely event that his long-lost servants returned. But there was no sign of anyone. In the morning, he would have to travel back to the place where the axle had broken on his coach. At least then, he would have answers.
A flash of something came over Lady Rose’s face, but he couldn’t tell what it was. Calvert had stepped between them to lift her from the horse. “Don’t be troubling the lady over things that don’t matter to her. Be on your way and find your own place in the village.”
But Lady Rose paused a moment, lifting her hand. “It does matter, I suppose.” She eyed him closely, as if wondering about the truth of his identity. “We do have enough room among the servants to accommodate one more.”
Calvert looked horrified at the prospect. “My lady, you cannot be serious. We know nothing about this man.”
“You could lock him within one of the rooms,” she suggested, and Iain spied a hint of amusement in her voice. “Or you could sleep outside his door with a loaded revolver if that would make you feel better.”
Her footman appeared unaware that she was teasing, and seemed to be considering the idea. As for himself, Iain was willing to sleep anywhere that wasn’t tainted with the odor of manure.
Her decision made, Lady Rose continued, “Tell Mrs. Marlock to find a place for Mr. Donovan in one of the garrets. He need not sleep among the horses.”
The footman grimaced and promised to speak with the housekeeper. But the look he sent toward Iain suggested that he would rather have him bide with the pigs.
“Do you believe me, then?” Iain asked Lady Rose, before Calvert could take her away.
She held his gaze for a long moment. “I don’t know what to believe.” Then, in a softer voice, she admitted, “But I think there is more to you than the others see. I hope that my instincts are not wrong in this.”
As she left with her footman, it humbled him to realize that it was the first time that anyone had put faith in him. And he found himself wanting to prove her right.
After nearly an hour, Mrs. Marlock led him up to one of the garrets, far away from the household. She’d also warned that she intended to lock the door behind him. “So ye won’t get it in yer head to come and rob us blind whilst we sleep.”
It reminded him of a twisted fairytale, one with the earl locked in the tower. All he needed now was a princess to come and rescue him.
To be sure, it had been the most trying day he’d ever had. Iain had attempted to keep his irritation under control—for his hosts were wary enough of him as it was—but now that he had a moment to consider his circumstances, he could no longer deny his frustration. Nothing had gone as planned, curse his damned servants and Niall. Without a coach and a traveling staff, there was little he could do about it.
And now what? Lady Wolcroft was not in residence, and his letter of introduction was missing, along with his signet ring. The others might have believed his story, if Lady Wolcroft had alerted them of his impending arrival. As it was, no one thought of him as anything other than a well-spoken beggar.
Iain lit a candle stub and studied his surroundings. It was a far cry from his estate at Ashton. His father’s house boasted twenty-seven rooms, and his own bedchamber had an enormous mahogany bed.
This bed was currently occupied by a cat who did not look eager to surrender his place. The feline yawned, stretched, and sharpened his claws upon the bedding. So be it. It would only be for this night, possibly one more, at worst. And it was a far cry better than the stables.
Iain removed his coat and shirt, then sat down beside the cat to remove the shoes Mrs. Marlock had loaned him. Although he
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