the look of horror that appeared on her face. “Never mind. I’ll send someone up myself.”
To her utter amazement, the earl strode out of the bedchamber and down the stairs. She could hear him bellowing for Timmons and a few minutes later, Miss Honeycutt and Mrs. Wadding both came bolting into the room.
Determined to act with at least some portion of her authority as housekeeper, Tory instructed the women to finish mopping the floors in both bedchambers, then sprinkle a few drops of lavender scent on the embroidered linen pillowcases.
With menus to plan for the week and shopping lists to compile, she left them to their work and returned downstairs. She was on her way to change into a dry blouse when she passed the open door to the earl’s study. Her steps seemed to slow all by themselves and she found herself wandering inside, over to the chessboard in the corner.
She was surprised to discover the white knight hadn’t been returned to its former position but remained exactly where she had placed it. Even more amazing, the earl had countered the move.
Not that he knew it was she who had made it. Clearly, he believed one of the male servants had made the play, having made the reference to a man several times in his tirade that night—which irritated her more than he knew. Perhaps he thought it was Timmons who challenged him or one of the two new footmen who had recently been hired.
Whatever the case, in moving his bishop in response, her challenge had clearly been accepted. Either that, or a trap was being laid to discover if the culprit had the nerve to gainsay his orders again.
Tory pondered the latter, worried she might lose her position. Surely the man wouldn’t fire her over a simple chess game. Convinced she could talk her way out of trouble if she had to and never one to back down from a challenge, she seated herself in front of the board and contemplated how to counter the earl’s countermove.
It was late in the afternoon the following day, the June days lengthening and growing warmer. With so many projects in the works, Cord rarely had time for visitors. His cousin Sarah was the exception.
Seated on a pale blue brocade sofa in the Blue Salon, Sarah Sharpe Randall, Viscountess Aimes, was the sister Cord never had. Blond and fair, Sarah was tall for a woman yet slim and fine-boned. As children growing up, he had always been protective of her, the only girl among three rowdy boys, but in truth, Sarah was entirely capable of taking care of herself.
Cord crossed the high-ceilinged room beneath a crystal chandelier, stopping in front of an ornately carved sideboard to refill his glass of brandy.
“How is Jonathan?” he asked, speaking of her husband. “Well, I trust.”
Lifting a delicate, gold-rimmed porcelain teacup, Sarah took a sip of her chamomile tea. “Aside from grousing over the fact he had prior commitments and couldn’t come with us, he is fine. He sends you his regards.”
Cord took a drink of brandy. “Teddy has certainly grown since last I saw him. I hardly recognized the boy.”
Sarah smiled with pleasure. Her husband and son were the most important people in her life. “Teddy looks more like his father every day.”
“You have a fine family, Sarah.”
“Yes, I am fortunate in that. Perhaps it is time you began to think of having a family of your own, Cord.”
Carrying his glass, he walked over to the sofa. “Actually, I’ve been thinking quite a lot about it. I’m trying to work up the courage to enter the marriage mart. So far I haven’t quite found the nerve.”
“At least you’re considering the notion. That is more than you have ever done before.”
“More than considering. I’ve decided to wed. It’s merely a matter of choosing the right woman.”
“Have you anyone particular in mind?”
He thought of Mary Ann Winston and Constance Fairchild, the two young women currently at the top of his list, but he was far from ready to mention any names. “Not
To her utter amazement, the earl strode out of the bedchamber and down the stairs. She could hear him bellowing for Timmons and a few minutes later, Miss Honeycutt and Mrs. Wadding both came bolting into the room.
Determined to act with at least some portion of her authority as housekeeper, Tory instructed the women to finish mopping the floors in both bedchambers, then sprinkle a few drops of lavender scent on the embroidered linen pillowcases.
With menus to plan for the week and shopping lists to compile, she left them to their work and returned downstairs. She was on her way to change into a dry blouse when she passed the open door to the earl’s study. Her steps seemed to slow all by themselves and she found herself wandering inside, over to the chessboard in the corner.
She was surprised to discover the white knight hadn’t been returned to its former position but remained exactly where she had placed it. Even more amazing, the earl had countered the move.
Not that he knew it was she who had made it. Clearly, he believed one of the male servants had made the play, having made the reference to a man several times in his tirade that night—which irritated her more than he knew. Perhaps he thought it was Timmons who challenged him or one of the two new footmen who had recently been hired.
Whatever the case, in moving his bishop in response, her challenge had clearly been accepted. Either that, or a trap was being laid to discover if the culprit had the nerve to gainsay his orders again.
Tory pondered the latter, worried she might lose her position. Surely the man wouldn’t fire her over a simple chess game. Convinced she could talk her way out of trouble if she had to and never one to back down from a challenge, she seated herself in front of the board and contemplated how to counter the earl’s countermove.
It was late in the afternoon the following day, the June days lengthening and growing warmer. With so many projects in the works, Cord rarely had time for visitors. His cousin Sarah was the exception.
Seated on a pale blue brocade sofa in the Blue Salon, Sarah Sharpe Randall, Viscountess Aimes, was the sister Cord never had. Blond and fair, Sarah was tall for a woman yet slim and fine-boned. As children growing up, he had always been protective of her, the only girl among three rowdy boys, but in truth, Sarah was entirely capable of taking care of herself.
Cord crossed the high-ceilinged room beneath a crystal chandelier, stopping in front of an ornately carved sideboard to refill his glass of brandy.
“How is Jonathan?” he asked, speaking of her husband. “Well, I trust.”
Lifting a delicate, gold-rimmed porcelain teacup, Sarah took a sip of her chamomile tea. “Aside from grousing over the fact he had prior commitments and couldn’t come with us, he is fine. He sends you his regards.”
Cord took a drink of brandy. “Teddy has certainly grown since last I saw him. I hardly recognized the boy.”
Sarah smiled with pleasure. Her husband and son were the most important people in her life. “Teddy looks more like his father every day.”
“You have a fine family, Sarah.”
“Yes, I am fortunate in that. Perhaps it is time you began to think of having a family of your own, Cord.”
Carrying his glass, he walked over to the sofa. “Actually, I’ve been thinking quite a lot about it. I’m trying to work up the courage to enter the marriage mart. So far I haven’t quite found the nerve.”
“At least you’re considering the notion. That is more than you have ever done before.”
“More than considering. I’ve decided to wed. It’s merely a matter of choosing the right woman.”
“Have you anyone particular in mind?”
He thought of Mary Ann Winston and Constance Fairchild, the two young women currently at the top of his list, but he was far from ready to mention any names. “Not
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