boomed out from the darkness below. Standing at the bottom of the stairs was Avenel Slane. She peered down at him from her door, not daring to move any farther.
"I said nothing but that he was a gentleman—and very much unlike you." Brienne made a slight movement with her leg, but Orillion was quick to notice and snarled ominously. "Call off your beast. I have no need to be guarded," she demanded.
" 'Tis more for your protection." He leaned against a squared-off post, leisurely watching her. And she watched him despite the darkness, noticing that his rich, brocaded waistcoat was unfastened, which left his shirt open and revealed a fine sprinkling of dark hair on his chest.
"I need no protection. I'm more than capable of caring for myself," she said, looking away from him.
"Orillion shall stay. You wouldn't want some errant servant to wander into your bed." He looked at her, but she couldn't tell what his expression was because his face was cast in shadow.
She gave a sarcastic laugh. "Then do call him off! The only one I truly need protection from is you—and in that case the animal is useless."
He smiled and replied, "How astute of you, Lady Brienne. But nonetheless, Orillion shall stay." Changing the subject, he called up to her, "How do you find your quarters, my lady? Are they meager enough for you? I wouldn't want to ruin your game of playing the peasant by subjecting you to fine accommodations."
Anger built in her breast. So he thought she was play-acting? That she was the rich daughter of an earl whose only amusement was to pretend she was poor? Suddenly the thought of her mother selling her magnificent jewels and her heavy, embroidered court dresses one by one came into her mind. So that they would not have to live at the mercy and whim of the earl, her mother had done without. They had barely managed. Their shabby clothes and meager surroundings had not been an amusement!
"It was no game," she whispered with a vengeance, yet so softly she thought only she could have heard it.
"If that is so, you may come back to the house." Avenel started up the stairs. Orillion watched him; his tail thumped vigorously as his master approached.
"You have a beautiful bedroom to return to. Why stay here when all that magnificence is waiting for you?"
"Osterley is a horrible house." She spoke her thoughts aloud before she could catch herself.
"How can you say that?" He reached the top of the stairs, and there was no mistaking the mocking contempt in his voice. "They say 'tis the most beautiful house in all of England. I have paid dearly to own it." There was bitterness in his voice, and his face, now showing clearly from the light of her room, appeared to be lined with anguish.
"You did not pay for Osterley. You won it in an illicit card game. You gambled for it." She stressed the word gambled, remembering Tenby's Anglican minister's many lessons on the evils of gambling. That made her ignorance of contemporary gentry obvious.
"Spoken like a Puritan." He looked at her curiously and then bent nonchalantly to stroke Orillion's white-piled head. "Tell me, have you never played an innocent game of whist with your peers? I find it hard to believe that one of your station is completely unfamiliar with it. Even the young women in America are not immune to the pleasures-of gambling."
"Never," she said. Her slightly pointed chin jutted out self- righteously.
"You're a strange one," he said, watching her closely. "You condemn gambling as if it were original sin, yet you show a remarkable lack of grief at your father's loss. Do you not resent the fact that I have won Osterley?"
"Riches do not make the man," she said simply. "Whether my father owns
Osterley
Park
or not makes little difference to me. Except," she added, "for the inconvenience that now I am displaced and that you are preventing me from finding a new home." She stepped back into the stable room and walked over to the dead hearth, realizing how cold the empty stable
"I said nothing but that he was a gentleman—and very much unlike you." Brienne made a slight movement with her leg, but Orillion was quick to notice and snarled ominously. "Call off your beast. I have no need to be guarded," she demanded.
" 'Tis more for your protection." He leaned against a squared-off post, leisurely watching her. And she watched him despite the darkness, noticing that his rich, brocaded waistcoat was unfastened, which left his shirt open and revealed a fine sprinkling of dark hair on his chest.
"I need no protection. I'm more than capable of caring for myself," she said, looking away from him.
"Orillion shall stay. You wouldn't want some errant servant to wander into your bed." He looked at her, but she couldn't tell what his expression was because his face was cast in shadow.
She gave a sarcastic laugh. "Then do call him off! The only one I truly need protection from is you—and in that case the animal is useless."
He smiled and replied, "How astute of you, Lady Brienne. But nonetheless, Orillion shall stay." Changing the subject, he called up to her, "How do you find your quarters, my lady? Are they meager enough for you? I wouldn't want to ruin your game of playing the peasant by subjecting you to fine accommodations."
Anger built in her breast. So he thought she was play-acting? That she was the rich daughter of an earl whose only amusement was to pretend she was poor? Suddenly the thought of her mother selling her magnificent jewels and her heavy, embroidered court dresses one by one came into her mind. So that they would not have to live at the mercy and whim of the earl, her mother had done without. They had barely managed. Their shabby clothes and meager surroundings had not been an amusement!
"It was no game," she whispered with a vengeance, yet so softly she thought only she could have heard it.
"If that is so, you may come back to the house." Avenel started up the stairs. Orillion watched him; his tail thumped vigorously as his master approached.
"You have a beautiful bedroom to return to. Why stay here when all that magnificence is waiting for you?"
"Osterley is a horrible house." She spoke her thoughts aloud before she could catch herself.
"How can you say that?" He reached the top of the stairs, and there was no mistaking the mocking contempt in his voice. "They say 'tis the most beautiful house in all of England. I have paid dearly to own it." There was bitterness in his voice, and his face, now showing clearly from the light of her room, appeared to be lined with anguish.
"You did not pay for Osterley. You won it in an illicit card game. You gambled for it." She stressed the word gambled, remembering Tenby's Anglican minister's many lessons on the evils of gambling. That made her ignorance of contemporary gentry obvious.
"Spoken like a Puritan." He looked at her curiously and then bent nonchalantly to stroke Orillion's white-piled head. "Tell me, have you never played an innocent game of whist with your peers? I find it hard to believe that one of your station is completely unfamiliar with it. Even the young women in America are not immune to the pleasures-of gambling."
"Never," she said. Her slightly pointed chin jutted out self- righteously.
"You're a strange one," he said, watching her closely. "You condemn gambling as if it were original sin, yet you show a remarkable lack of grief at your father's loss. Do you not resent the fact that I have won Osterley?"
"Riches do not make the man," she said simply. "Whether my father owns
Osterley
Park
or not makes little difference to me. Except," she added, "for the inconvenience that now I am displaced and that you are preventing me from finding a new home." She stepped back into the stable room and walked over to the dead hearth, realizing how cold the empty stable
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