sharpened a pen, hoping she could complete a letter to her trustees. But, as had happened all three times she’d tried on Sunday, her brain refused to cooperate. Richard dominated her thoughts, confusing her more with each passing hour.
When they’d fled the Yellow Oak, he’d been warm. Almost seductive. By the time they’d reached this cottage, he’d turned curt, barely controlling fury. At breakfast yesterday he’d been pleasant but aloof. At lunch he’d sent her into gales of laughter by describing mishaps he’d witnessed and pranks he’d played. His eyes had flashed with humor and camaraderie. Yet an hour later she’d heard him pacing and muttering in the next room, so irritated that his tension had seeped through the closed door to stifle her. And last night he’d blown hot and cold throughout dinner, then retired without even bidding her good night. So she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d been gone when she’d come down for breakfast.
Another oddity was that he’d stationed the maid outside her door both nights, as if he expected her to bolt at any moment. She didn’t like the implication. It couldn’t be for protection against Derrick – the maid was all of sixty and quite dull-witted. So he must be keeping her fortune within reach.
She tried to force her mind back to the letter. It was time to remind her trustees that she was to take charge of her inheritance on her birthday. She must also warn them of Derrick’s greed. Giving the money to Derrick to handle for her would not only break faith with her father but guarantee she never saw a groat of the funds. It shouldn’t happen, of course, but she was rapidly learning that men too often twisted the law for their own benefit. And few believed females could be trusted with more than a few shillings.
She penned a salutation, then paused, mind blank.
Perhaps her problem was this sitting room instead of Richard. It was not designed to facilitate thought, being sumptuously furnished in red and gold, its satins and velvets blatantly sensual. A painting of naked nymphs cavorting in a garden hung above the fireplace. Several well-thumbed books sat atop a table, but she’d not dared examine them closely after one fell open to a shocking illustration. The memory had produced some very odd dreams last night.
Richard had seemed oblivious to the décor, proving his familiarity with such rooms – why this surprised her was a question she ignored. He had taken the main bedchamber for himself, though. Her one glimpse through the door had revealed some provocatively placed mirrors, so he did have some concern for her sensibilities.
Concentrate on the letter.
Yes, the letter. No purpose was served by imagining that illustration brought to life in front of a mirror, with Richard’s hand on her—
She wrenched her mind back to business. How could she convince her trustees to ignore Derrick’s claims? Derrick was a lord. She was an unknown who had met them only once, when she’d been fifteen. Why would he—
Richard pushed open the door. He was frowning.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“Nothing you need to fret over.” He smoothed his expression. “I met with Hawthorne’s solicitor. He will present your petition to the bishop this afternoon. Inslip’s support should gain you a hearing tomorrow. A notice to that effect is on its way to Herriard.”
“So fast.”
“There are times when influence is useful. I also spoke with Inslip. He will call on you this afternoon and will accept your guardianship, if you approve. We can still find someone else if need be, but I believe you will suit.”
She wasn’t so sure, but he was in no mood to argue. So she must prepare to meet a marquess.
A glance at her gown made her cringe. Brushing had helped, but it remained unfashionable and shabby. It was also her only gown at the moment. She’d left her other ones in Hawthorne’s carriage.
Shaking her head, she returned to her letter. Now
When they’d fled the Yellow Oak, he’d been warm. Almost seductive. By the time they’d reached this cottage, he’d turned curt, barely controlling fury. At breakfast yesterday he’d been pleasant but aloof. At lunch he’d sent her into gales of laughter by describing mishaps he’d witnessed and pranks he’d played. His eyes had flashed with humor and camaraderie. Yet an hour later she’d heard him pacing and muttering in the next room, so irritated that his tension had seeped through the closed door to stifle her. And last night he’d blown hot and cold throughout dinner, then retired without even bidding her good night. So she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d been gone when she’d come down for breakfast.
Another oddity was that he’d stationed the maid outside her door both nights, as if he expected her to bolt at any moment. She didn’t like the implication. It couldn’t be for protection against Derrick – the maid was all of sixty and quite dull-witted. So he must be keeping her fortune within reach.
She tried to force her mind back to the letter. It was time to remind her trustees that she was to take charge of her inheritance on her birthday. She must also warn them of Derrick’s greed. Giving the money to Derrick to handle for her would not only break faith with her father but guarantee she never saw a groat of the funds. It shouldn’t happen, of course, but she was rapidly learning that men too often twisted the law for their own benefit. And few believed females could be trusted with more than a few shillings.
She penned a salutation, then paused, mind blank.
Perhaps her problem was this sitting room instead of Richard. It was not designed to facilitate thought, being sumptuously furnished in red and gold, its satins and velvets blatantly sensual. A painting of naked nymphs cavorting in a garden hung above the fireplace. Several well-thumbed books sat atop a table, but she’d not dared examine them closely after one fell open to a shocking illustration. The memory had produced some very odd dreams last night.
Richard had seemed oblivious to the décor, proving his familiarity with such rooms – why this surprised her was a question she ignored. He had taken the main bedchamber for himself, though. Her one glimpse through the door had revealed some provocatively placed mirrors, so he did have some concern for her sensibilities.
Concentrate on the letter.
Yes, the letter. No purpose was served by imagining that illustration brought to life in front of a mirror, with Richard’s hand on her—
She wrenched her mind back to business. How could she convince her trustees to ignore Derrick’s claims? Derrick was a lord. She was an unknown who had met them only once, when she’d been fifteen. Why would he—
Richard pushed open the door. He was frowning.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“Nothing you need to fret over.” He smoothed his expression. “I met with Hawthorne’s solicitor. He will present your petition to the bishop this afternoon. Inslip’s support should gain you a hearing tomorrow. A notice to that effect is on its way to Herriard.”
“So fast.”
“There are times when influence is useful. I also spoke with Inslip. He will call on you this afternoon and will accept your guardianship, if you approve. We can still find someone else if need be, but I believe you will suit.”
She wasn’t so sure, but he was in no mood to argue. So she must prepare to meet a marquess.
A glance at her gown made her cringe. Brushing had helped, but it remained unfashionable and shabby. It was also her only gown at the moment. She’d left her other ones in Hawthorne’s carriage.
Shaking her head, she returned to her letter. Now
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