speed him to his destination, his concern and
impatience growing with every mile travelled.
"She's with a
very annoying fellow named Freddy," James informed him.
"And who is
this Freddy?" Lord Michael inquired, surprised at such news.
"He's a
fortune hunter, but I've allowed him access to Elizabeth in the
hopes he might - well - be able to help somehow," George replied.
"He's a chatterbox and Elizabeth hasn't spoken a word since her
uncle died."
Lord Michael
stopped mid-stride.
"Not a
word?"
"No," James
answered. "Not a word. Not a smile, not a tear - nothing. It's as
if she's not here. It's very upsetting."
James, not one
to wear his heart on his sleeve, had to swallow very hard. He was
deeply upset at his sister's plight, and seeing Lord Michael had
brought the emotion to the surface.
"Right, where
is she, and this Freddy person?" Lord Michael asked, the question
being more of a demand than an inquiry.
"Follow me,"
George said. 'They're in the drawing room."
Lord Michael
scanned the house he was about to enter. It was a stately home
indeed. He was shocked that Elizabeth's Uncle had seen fit to leave
her with such a heavy responsibility. The care and running of such
a property required experience and expertise. She had her father
and brother to help her, but even so.
Walking into
the foyer he could hear a man's high-pitched voice talking quickly
and incessantly, barely stopping for a breath. He marched in and
the first thing he saw was the back of Elizabeth's head. Though she
was seated it was clear to him the dress she was wearing was
ill-fitting, almost falling off her shoulders. Had she lost that
much weight? His gaze shifted to Freddy. He stared at the beaklike
nose, the close set eyes and the black hair, plastered down in a
most unusual manner.
Good heavens , he thought. The man's a raven .
Then marching
forward and standing tall, he glared over at the odd chap.
"Enough!" he
barked.
Freddy,
shocked at the sudden and sharp interruption, abruptly stopped
speaking, and jerking his head up in a most peculiar manner, saw
standing before him a proud figure of a man. Tall, beautifully
dressed, possessing a most authoritative air. He jumped to his feet
and moved forward, head bowed, his hand extended.
"I say,
delighted to—"
"Out. Out now
and do not return!" Lord Michael commanded.
Freddy froze,
then to everyone's surprise, raised his hands and smoothed his
hair, and once again started forward, head bowed.
"Delighted, I
must say—" he chirped.
Lord Michael
could see Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye. She had turned
her head and was staring at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly
open. He could not have known it was the only expression she'd
exhibited since the fateful day of her Uncle's passing.
"If you do not
leave this instant," Lord Michael continued, "I shall throw you
out."
Freddy looked
over at his hosts. James and his father were immobile.
"I'm sure you
don't—"
Freddie didn't
have a chance to finish his sentence. Lord Michael strode forward,
grabbed him by the back of his collar, dragged him across the
length of the very large room, out into the foyer, on to the
veranda, and pushed him forward. Freddie tumbled down the steps and
landed on the gravel driveway. Attempting to stand he tripped over
his own feet and stumbled on to his knees, then finally, awkwardly
stood up, righteously indignant but clearly terrified.
"Should I see
your face at this house again I shall beat you with this cane,"
Lord Michael threatened, waving his walking stick in the air.
In complete
and utter shock Freddy began running up the drive, causing James to
laugh out loud. While Freddie's walk was reminiscent of a duck, his
run was even more so. The laughter was contagious and George joined
in. Even the footmen in the middle of collecting Lord Michael's
luggage from the carriage were stifling their chortles.
Lord Michael
turned, grinning, and walked back to the foyer, James and George,
still chuckling at his
impatience growing with every mile travelled.
"She's with a
very annoying fellow named Freddy," James informed him.
"And who is
this Freddy?" Lord Michael inquired, surprised at such news.
"He's a
fortune hunter, but I've allowed him access to Elizabeth in the
hopes he might - well - be able to help somehow," George replied.
"He's a chatterbox and Elizabeth hasn't spoken a word since her
uncle died."
Lord Michael
stopped mid-stride.
"Not a
word?"
"No," James
answered. "Not a word. Not a smile, not a tear - nothing. It's as
if she's not here. It's very upsetting."
James, not one
to wear his heart on his sleeve, had to swallow very hard. He was
deeply upset at his sister's plight, and seeing Lord Michael had
brought the emotion to the surface.
"Right, where
is she, and this Freddy person?" Lord Michael asked, the question
being more of a demand than an inquiry.
"Follow me,"
George said. 'They're in the drawing room."
Lord Michael
scanned the house he was about to enter. It was a stately home
indeed. He was shocked that Elizabeth's Uncle had seen fit to leave
her with such a heavy responsibility. The care and running of such
a property required experience and expertise. She had her father
and brother to help her, but even so.
Walking into
the foyer he could hear a man's high-pitched voice talking quickly
and incessantly, barely stopping for a breath. He marched in and
the first thing he saw was the back of Elizabeth's head. Though she
was seated it was clear to him the dress she was wearing was
ill-fitting, almost falling off her shoulders. Had she lost that
much weight? His gaze shifted to Freddy. He stared at the beaklike
nose, the close set eyes and the black hair, plastered down in a
most unusual manner.
Good heavens , he thought. The man's a raven .
Then marching
forward and standing tall, he glared over at the odd chap.
"Enough!" he
barked.
Freddy,
shocked at the sudden and sharp interruption, abruptly stopped
speaking, and jerking his head up in a most peculiar manner, saw
standing before him a proud figure of a man. Tall, beautifully
dressed, possessing a most authoritative air. He jumped to his feet
and moved forward, head bowed, his hand extended.
"I say,
delighted to—"
"Out. Out now
and do not return!" Lord Michael commanded.
Freddy froze,
then to everyone's surprise, raised his hands and smoothed his
hair, and once again started forward, head bowed.
"Delighted, I
must say—" he chirped.
Lord Michael
could see Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye. She had turned
her head and was staring at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly
open. He could not have known it was the only expression she'd
exhibited since the fateful day of her Uncle's passing.
"If you do not
leave this instant," Lord Michael continued, "I shall throw you
out."
Freddy looked
over at his hosts. James and his father were immobile.
"I'm sure you
don't—"
Freddie didn't
have a chance to finish his sentence. Lord Michael strode forward,
grabbed him by the back of his collar, dragged him across the
length of the very large room, out into the foyer, on to the
veranda, and pushed him forward. Freddie tumbled down the steps and
landed on the gravel driveway. Attempting to stand he tripped over
his own feet and stumbled on to his knees, then finally, awkwardly
stood up, righteously indignant but clearly terrified.
"Should I see
your face at this house again I shall beat you with this cane,"
Lord Michael threatened, waving his walking stick in the air.
In complete
and utter shock Freddy began running up the drive, causing James to
laugh out loud. While Freddie's walk was reminiscent of a duck, his
run was even more so. The laughter was contagious and George joined
in. Even the footmen in the middle of collecting Lord Michael's
luggage from the carriage were stifling their chortles.
Lord Michael
turned, grinning, and walked back to the foyer, James and George,
still chuckling at his
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