“How very noble of you, my lord earl.”
Even before Mannering handed him the London Times on a silver tray, Julien’s nostrils quivered at the unmistakable scent of Lady Sarah’s exotic perfume. It usually amused him that he could smell her heavy musk scent at a soiree before actually seeing her, but today he found himself a bit put out. Even the letter from his mother, who found perfume an irritant to her nerves, was tinged with the cloying scent. He remembered the attar of roses he’d given her once, but she hadn’t liked it, claiming it was too discreet a perfume. He had rather thought discreet was the point of the business.
Julien tossed the letters on an elegant French writing table and stopped Mannering as he turned to go. “Mannering, do stay a moment.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I find myself abominably ignorant about some of our local gentry. The Brandons, to be exact. The name is, of course, familiar to me, and I have but recently met for the first time the Brandon offspring. Quite a charming pair, incidentally. What can you tell me of the family?”
Mannering’s eyes lit up for a brief instant, and his thin lips curved into a smile. “Ah, yes, Miss Katharine. A most delightful young lady, if you will pardon my saying so, my lord. And, of course, Master Harry, too.”
Julien was intrigued by his normally staid butler’s praise of any person not directly connected with the St. Clair family or household.
“But who are they?”
Mannering, who prided himself on his intimate knowledge of every noble family within two days’ ride of St. Clair, cleared his throat ceremoniously. “Sir Oliver Brandon, Miss Katharine’s father, is a baronet who is considered quite an outsider here, having arrived only in the last thirty years. His family lives, I believe, in the Lake District, near Widemere. His lordship’s late wife, Lady Sabrina, was the only daughter of the McCelland laird, a most powerful lord whose grandfather fought for Prince Charlie in ’45. Unfortunately, my lord, I am unable to recount how the Lady Sabrina met Sir Oliver.
“Notwithstanding, my lord, I have been given to understand that the McCelland laird forbade the marriage, and the Lady Sabrina and Sir Oliver actually eloped.” Mannering’s nostrils flared at the very mention of such an action. “Sir Oliver also was cast out by his family, his father, as I understand, being none too fond of Scots.”
“You mean, Mannering, that the McCelland laird considered the Brandons beneath his touch?”
“Quite beneath, my lord. As you know, their union produced Miss Katharine and Master Harry. Lady Sabrina was never a strong lady, it was said. She died some six years ago, from an inflammation of the lung, most say.”
“Most say, Mannering?”
“Well, if you will forgive my saying so, my lord, it is my opinion that Lady Sabrina died of misery, pure and simple misery.” Mannering quickly added, “Sir Oliver isn’t a very generous or compassionate man, my lord, and Lady Sabrina’s years with him were not contented ones. How she came to elope with him eludes everyone’s reason.”
Mannering’s story of Lady Sabrina brought to Julien’s mind Kate’s unhappy look when he had mentioned her family. But he merely nodded and said, “Then why haven’t I met the Brandons? If they have been here thirty years, well, I have been here nearly twenty-eight years myself.”
A sense of foreboding descended over Mannering as his master fixed him with a hard stare, reminding himforcibly of the late earl. The young earl had drawn him out about the Brandons, and he had already said far too much to avoid answering this question. He had been silent for so many years, in keeping with the late earl’s wishes, that he found himself quite at a loss as how best to proceed.
He gave his characteristic cough and began with painstaking slowness. “As your lordship knows, the two Brandon children were too young for your notice when you lived at St.
Even before Mannering handed him the London Times on a silver tray, Julien’s nostrils quivered at the unmistakable scent of Lady Sarah’s exotic perfume. It usually amused him that he could smell her heavy musk scent at a soiree before actually seeing her, but today he found himself a bit put out. Even the letter from his mother, who found perfume an irritant to her nerves, was tinged with the cloying scent. He remembered the attar of roses he’d given her once, but she hadn’t liked it, claiming it was too discreet a perfume. He had rather thought discreet was the point of the business.
Julien tossed the letters on an elegant French writing table and stopped Mannering as he turned to go. “Mannering, do stay a moment.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I find myself abominably ignorant about some of our local gentry. The Brandons, to be exact. The name is, of course, familiar to me, and I have but recently met for the first time the Brandon offspring. Quite a charming pair, incidentally. What can you tell me of the family?”
Mannering’s eyes lit up for a brief instant, and his thin lips curved into a smile. “Ah, yes, Miss Katharine. A most delightful young lady, if you will pardon my saying so, my lord. And, of course, Master Harry, too.”
Julien was intrigued by his normally staid butler’s praise of any person not directly connected with the St. Clair family or household.
“But who are they?”
Mannering, who prided himself on his intimate knowledge of every noble family within two days’ ride of St. Clair, cleared his throat ceremoniously. “Sir Oliver Brandon, Miss Katharine’s father, is a baronet who is considered quite an outsider here, having arrived only in the last thirty years. His family lives, I believe, in the Lake District, near Widemere. His lordship’s late wife, Lady Sabrina, was the only daughter of the McCelland laird, a most powerful lord whose grandfather fought for Prince Charlie in ’45. Unfortunately, my lord, I am unable to recount how the Lady Sabrina met Sir Oliver.
“Notwithstanding, my lord, I have been given to understand that the McCelland laird forbade the marriage, and the Lady Sabrina and Sir Oliver actually eloped.” Mannering’s nostrils flared at the very mention of such an action. “Sir Oliver also was cast out by his family, his father, as I understand, being none too fond of Scots.”
“You mean, Mannering, that the McCelland laird considered the Brandons beneath his touch?”
“Quite beneath, my lord. As you know, their union produced Miss Katharine and Master Harry. Lady Sabrina was never a strong lady, it was said. She died some six years ago, from an inflammation of the lung, most say.”
“Most say, Mannering?”
“Well, if you will forgive my saying so, my lord, it is my opinion that Lady Sabrina died of misery, pure and simple misery.” Mannering quickly added, “Sir Oliver isn’t a very generous or compassionate man, my lord, and Lady Sabrina’s years with him were not contented ones. How she came to elope with him eludes everyone’s reason.”
Mannering’s story of Lady Sabrina brought to Julien’s mind Kate’s unhappy look when he had mentioned her family. But he merely nodded and said, “Then why haven’t I met the Brandons? If they have been here thirty years, well, I have been here nearly twenty-eight years myself.”
A sense of foreboding descended over Mannering as his master fixed him with a hard stare, reminding himforcibly of the late earl. The young earl had drawn him out about the Brandons, and he had already said far too much to avoid answering this question. He had been silent for so many years, in keeping with the late earl’s wishes, that he found himself quite at a loss as how best to proceed.
He gave his characteristic cough and began with painstaking slowness. “As your lordship knows, the two Brandon children were too young for your notice when you lived at St.
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