The young girl beside her gave a beaming, vivacious smile. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Victoria had extended one gloved hand toward him. “I’m so glad that Heather has finally engaged a new estate manager,” she was saying. “I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.”
Lady Victoria Grayson, clad in a fashionable riding habit, sat atop a spotted white mare, her hat perched at a jaunty angle on her bright blond curls. She was slender and petite, her waist as narrow as that of a woman twenty years her junior. Her daughter Beatrice had inherited the same blond hair, wide-set blue eyes and heartshaped face.
Briefly he shook her hand. “I shall certainly try, my lady, though I’ve discovered today it will be quite a task stepping into Robin’s shoes.”
Victoria Grayson laughed. “Oh, I shouldn’t worry if I were you, Mr. Lewis. Heather would never have engaged you if she didn’t have every confidence in you.” She turned her attention to Heather. “As for you, young lady, I’m almost inclined to believe you’ve forgotten you have a family.” Though her tone was mildly reproving, her expression was soft.
Heather bit her lip, her eyes conveying a silent apology. “It’s been a busy week, Mama.”
“So I see, dear. But since we’re so near Stonehurst, why don’t you stop for a bit? I fear your father will never forgive either of us if you don’t stop to say hello, at the very least. Better yet, stay for tea. And of course we’d love to have you, too, Mr. Lewis.” She cocked her head to the side. “Can you spare an hour?”
“Of course I don’t mind, Mama.” Heather’s gaze slid to Damien. “Unless it’s an inconvenience for you, Mr. Lewis?”
Damien shook his head. “Not at all.”
Indeed, he had to smother his satisfaction. Tea with Miles and Victoria Grayson. It couldn’t have worked out better had he planned it himself….
Half an hour’s time found all of them seated in the huge, sumptuously furnished drawing room at Lyndermere Park, the country residence of the Earl and Countess of Stonehurst. Miles and Victoria occupied a settee across from the fireplace. The girl Beatrice sat to their right. Heatherwas in a velvet wing chair, her cane propped against the arm; Christina sat next to Heather, her head against Heather’s shoulder. Arthur had devoured his poppyseed tea cakes and was off to the kitchen to beg for more.
Miles Grayson was a tall, dark-haired man with a spare, lean build and a commanding presence. His hair was sprinkled with gray and faint grooves lined his mouth, but like his wife, there was an air of youthful vitality about him. Damien was well aware that many a highbrowed aristocrat would never have invited him—for he was, at the moment, a mere employee of his daughter—into his house, let alone his drawing room. But they did not stand on formality; Miles Grayson appeared as gracious and hospitable as his wife, Victoria, totally without pretension.
Just a few short minutes with this family had revealed much. The bond Heather Duval shared with the Graysons was not one of blood…
But one of love.
A bitter darkness seeped into his soul. He envied them, all of them. The Graysons. Heather Duval…and yet he almost hated them. For this was a setting that he and Giles would never share. They would never sit together as brothers, with their families gathered close around the hearth, laughter and voices surrounding them….
Giles had been robbed of this…as he had been robbed of his brother.
“Well, Mr. Lewis, what do you think of Lockhaven so far?” This came from the earl.
Damien shook aside his moodiness. “I’m veryimpressed, It seems an extremely well-run estate.”
“You should have seen Lockhaven four years ago. Oh, the house was in fairly decent repair. But the previous owner was far more interested in leaving his money at the gaming tables in London. Fields lay fallow, and most of the tenants had moved away.” His gaze flickered to Heather. “I
Victoria had extended one gloved hand toward him. “I’m so glad that Heather has finally engaged a new estate manager,” she was saying. “I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.”
Lady Victoria Grayson, clad in a fashionable riding habit, sat atop a spotted white mare, her hat perched at a jaunty angle on her bright blond curls. She was slender and petite, her waist as narrow as that of a woman twenty years her junior. Her daughter Beatrice had inherited the same blond hair, wide-set blue eyes and heartshaped face.
Briefly he shook her hand. “I shall certainly try, my lady, though I’ve discovered today it will be quite a task stepping into Robin’s shoes.”
Victoria Grayson laughed. “Oh, I shouldn’t worry if I were you, Mr. Lewis. Heather would never have engaged you if she didn’t have every confidence in you.” She turned her attention to Heather. “As for you, young lady, I’m almost inclined to believe you’ve forgotten you have a family.” Though her tone was mildly reproving, her expression was soft.
Heather bit her lip, her eyes conveying a silent apology. “It’s been a busy week, Mama.”
“So I see, dear. But since we’re so near Stonehurst, why don’t you stop for a bit? I fear your father will never forgive either of us if you don’t stop to say hello, at the very least. Better yet, stay for tea. And of course we’d love to have you, too, Mr. Lewis.” She cocked her head to the side. “Can you spare an hour?”
“Of course I don’t mind, Mama.” Heather’s gaze slid to Damien. “Unless it’s an inconvenience for you, Mr. Lewis?”
Damien shook his head. “Not at all.”
Indeed, he had to smother his satisfaction. Tea with Miles and Victoria Grayson. It couldn’t have worked out better had he planned it himself….
Half an hour’s time found all of them seated in the huge, sumptuously furnished drawing room at Lyndermere Park, the country residence of the Earl and Countess of Stonehurst. Miles and Victoria occupied a settee across from the fireplace. The girl Beatrice sat to their right. Heatherwas in a velvet wing chair, her cane propped against the arm; Christina sat next to Heather, her head against Heather’s shoulder. Arthur had devoured his poppyseed tea cakes and was off to the kitchen to beg for more.
Miles Grayson was a tall, dark-haired man with a spare, lean build and a commanding presence. His hair was sprinkled with gray and faint grooves lined his mouth, but like his wife, there was an air of youthful vitality about him. Damien was well aware that many a highbrowed aristocrat would never have invited him—for he was, at the moment, a mere employee of his daughter—into his house, let alone his drawing room. But they did not stand on formality; Miles Grayson appeared as gracious and hospitable as his wife, Victoria, totally without pretension.
Just a few short minutes with this family had revealed much. The bond Heather Duval shared with the Graysons was not one of blood…
But one of love.
A bitter darkness seeped into his soul. He envied them, all of them. The Graysons. Heather Duval…and yet he almost hated them. For this was a setting that he and Giles would never share. They would never sit together as brothers, with their families gathered close around the hearth, laughter and voices surrounding them….
Giles had been robbed of this…as he had been robbed of his brother.
“Well, Mr. Lewis, what do you think of Lockhaven so far?” This came from the earl.
Damien shook aside his moodiness. “I’m veryimpressed, It seems an extremely well-run estate.”
“You should have seen Lockhaven four years ago. Oh, the house was in fairly decent repair. But the previous owner was far more interested in leaving his money at the gaming tables in London. Fields lay fallow, and most of the tenants had moved away.” His gaze flickered to Heather. “I
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