seeing Benjy again, of perhaps having to do battle with an irate and grumpy old autocrat accustomed to absolute command in order to win the boy free, nearing with every clop of hooves, it was time to think of strategy.
Anne glanced at Reggie. “His Grace won’t be expecting us. We don’t know what he intends by Benjy—we shouldn’t give him time to hide him away.”
His gaze on his horses, Reggie nodded, frowning, then he shot her a glance. “Ducal butlers being what they are, I seriously doubt we’ll be able to bully the man into letting us see His Grace unannounced.”
She said nothing, simply waited.
The drive ended and the house—a long, low, early Georgian mansion set neatly into a landscape of lawns and parkland—appeared before them.
Reggie grimaced; he steered the horses toward the front steps. “Let me do all the talking, behave accordingly—all smiles and charm—and—” He broke off and glanced at her feet; she hadn’t expected to go wandering and still had on the shoes she normally wore in the house in the morning. “Good—when I move, stick with me, by my side, but walk as silently as you can.”
There wasn’t time to say more; a stable boy came running around the side of the house, alerted by the crunching gravel. He deftly caught the horses’ heads, then the reins as Reggie tossed them to him.
Helping Anne down, Reggie murmured, “Remember,” then the huge front door swung wide and a very correct butler loomed large.
“Yes?”
It happened in the blink of an eye; Reggie’s amiable, affable, completely unthreatening mask slid into place, admirably concealing any hint of purpose, any sense that he was there with any goal whatever in mind.
“Ah! Good afternoon. Is His Grace about?” Reggie set Anne’s hand on his arm and conducted her up the steps, airily chattering. “We’ve just been wandering the countryside—it’s been such a pleasant day. Met His Grace at m’parents—a dinner, you know—some time ago. The pater heard I was headed this way and asked me to call in and remember him to His Grace.”
They reached the porch, and the butler stood back to allow them to enter. Anne beamed at him and swept in. Reggie followed, still declaiming, “Quite wonderful, these old places. Gather m’father thought there might be something of news His Grace might wish me to bear home again.”
The butler bowed low. “Indeed, sir. And the name?”
Reggie smiled idiotically. “Oh, didn’t I say? It’s Carmarthen. Well, that’s my name, but the pater’s Northcote, don’t you know.”
Anne smiled sweetly. To give the butler his due, he merely bowed again.
“I shall inquire if His Grace is available, sir. If you and Miss…?”
“Ashford,” Reggie supplied.
“If you will wait in the withdrawing room I will inquire of His Grace.”
The butler showed them into the drawing room, then shut the door. Reggie immediately halted. “No footmen in the hall, thank heavens!”
Gripping Anne’s arm, he swung back to the door. “Stay close.” With that whispered injunction, he eased the door open again.
The butler was just disappearing into the mouth of a corridor leading from the main hall.
Reggie whipped out of the drawing room, anchored Anne’s hand on his sleeve, then stepped out, strolling quickly and all but silently in the butler’s wake. Any footman who chanced to see them would assume they’d been summoned to His Grace’s presence.
They hung back far enough for the butler to remain unaware of them; accustomed to guests of quality and their rigid adherence to accepted rules, it would never occur to him that they might flout them and follow.
The butler went to a door, opened it, and entered.
Reggie halted just before the doorway; they listened.
“Your Grace, there are two persons—”
Reggie’s mask slid away; jaw firming, he stepped into the doorway, then strode into the large room beyond.
The butler, facing the area before a huge fire place in which a healthy
Anne glanced at Reggie. “His Grace won’t be expecting us. We don’t know what he intends by Benjy—we shouldn’t give him time to hide him away.”
His gaze on his horses, Reggie nodded, frowning, then he shot her a glance. “Ducal butlers being what they are, I seriously doubt we’ll be able to bully the man into letting us see His Grace unannounced.”
She said nothing, simply waited.
The drive ended and the house—a long, low, early Georgian mansion set neatly into a landscape of lawns and parkland—appeared before them.
Reggie grimaced; he steered the horses toward the front steps. “Let me do all the talking, behave accordingly—all smiles and charm—and—” He broke off and glanced at her feet; she hadn’t expected to go wandering and still had on the shoes she normally wore in the house in the morning. “Good—when I move, stick with me, by my side, but walk as silently as you can.”
There wasn’t time to say more; a stable boy came running around the side of the house, alerted by the crunching gravel. He deftly caught the horses’ heads, then the reins as Reggie tossed them to him.
Helping Anne down, Reggie murmured, “Remember,” then the huge front door swung wide and a very correct butler loomed large.
“Yes?”
It happened in the blink of an eye; Reggie’s amiable, affable, completely unthreatening mask slid into place, admirably concealing any hint of purpose, any sense that he was there with any goal whatever in mind.
“Ah! Good afternoon. Is His Grace about?” Reggie set Anne’s hand on his arm and conducted her up the steps, airily chattering. “We’ve just been wandering the countryside—it’s been such a pleasant day. Met His Grace at m’parents—a dinner, you know—some time ago. The pater heard I was headed this way and asked me to call in and remember him to His Grace.”
They reached the porch, and the butler stood back to allow them to enter. Anne beamed at him and swept in. Reggie followed, still declaiming, “Quite wonderful, these old places. Gather m’father thought there might be something of news His Grace might wish me to bear home again.”
The butler bowed low. “Indeed, sir. And the name?”
Reggie smiled idiotically. “Oh, didn’t I say? It’s Carmarthen. Well, that’s my name, but the pater’s Northcote, don’t you know.”
Anne smiled sweetly. To give the butler his due, he merely bowed again.
“I shall inquire if His Grace is available, sir. If you and Miss…?”
“Ashford,” Reggie supplied.
“If you will wait in the withdrawing room I will inquire of His Grace.”
The butler showed them into the drawing room, then shut the door. Reggie immediately halted. “No footmen in the hall, thank heavens!”
Gripping Anne’s arm, he swung back to the door. “Stay close.” With that whispered injunction, he eased the door open again.
The butler was just disappearing into the mouth of a corridor leading from the main hall.
Reggie whipped out of the drawing room, anchored Anne’s hand on his sleeve, then stepped out, strolling quickly and all but silently in the butler’s wake. Any footman who chanced to see them would assume they’d been summoned to His Grace’s presence.
They hung back far enough for the butler to remain unaware of them; accustomed to guests of quality and their rigid adherence to accepted rules, it would never occur to him that they might flout them and follow.
The butler went to a door, opened it, and entered.
Reggie halted just before the doorway; they listened.
“Your Grace, there are two persons—”
Reggie’s mask slid away; jaw firming, he stepped into the doorway, then strode into the large room beyond.
The butler, facing the area before a huge fire place in which a healthy
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