Burke bowed and left. Jenna raised a brow, wondering who was here. They rarely had guests this early in the day and now more visitors within an hour of each other.
The butler returned and announced, ‘Mrs McNabb and Lord Byrne.’
A lady glided into the room followed by a gentleman. Jenna’s gaze passed over the woman to stare at Lord Byrne.
Even though it was early in the day and in the country where clothing was casual and practical, he wore a peacock-blue velvet coat over a silver silk waistcoat that was embroidered with metallic threads in the shape and colours of the bird he resembled. Black pantaloons and silk stockings completed his toilette. Diamanté buckles secured his shoes. He would fit perfectly into a crowded London ballroom.
Were it a sunny day, he would have blinded her—and she was used to dandies. One of their neighbours had a son who thought himself the epitome of the London man about town. But Lord Byrne had an air about him that argued against the effete stance of one well-shod foot in front of the other as he made his bow, an elaborate fan flicking as though the room were too hot when it was really very cool.
Instead of a wig, his hair was curled and powdered until it was the colour of storm clouds. A black ribbon held the queue and wrapped back around and tied over the stock and ruffle at his neck.
A heart patch, perched on the corner of his full, well-shaped mouth, drew her attention to that attractive attribute. It was disconcerting to find that Lord Byrne’s lips reminded her of The Ferguson’s.
Once again, she remembered last night’s second kiss. Just the thought made her flush; the room suddenly too warm for comfort. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop this foolishness. It had been a kiss. Nothing more.
When she looked again, Lord Byrne was studying her with an intensity that belied his costume. Thick sable-coloured brows and lashes gave him a sultry look in keeping with his full sensual mouth. His eyes were hazel.
Except for the colour of his hair and his clothing, he reminded her of The Ferguson. She frowned.
‘Viscount Ayre,’ a woman’s low voice said, interrupting Jenna’s thought.
Jenna forced herself to look away from the man who she was sure was much more than the dandy he played and looked at the woman who accompanied him. She had forgotten Mrs McNabb in her reaction to Lord Byrne.
The woman was older, yet still beautiful. Tall and willowy, she carried herself with grace. Her skin was porcelain fair with a small tracing of lines around her eyes and lips.
She was very similar to Lord Byrne in colouring and features, likely his mother. There the similarity ended. Her dress was more conservative. Her clothing was much like Jenna’s, only in golds and browns. Her blond hair was not powdered under the muslin cap.
She was a distinguished woman, who also looked tired and worn. Jenna wondered what tragedy had aged her early, but doubted she would ever know. Jenna rose to meet Mrs McNabb, mindful of her manners.
Papa stood. ‘Mrs McNabb, welcome to de Warre Castle.’
She nodded regally. ‘Thank you for receiving us on such short notice.’
Papa smiled. ‘My pleasure, madam. May I introduce you to Captain Lord Seller? The Captain is here to protect us.’
Jenna started at what she thought was a hint of sarcasm in Papa’s voice. Surely not. He of all people would believe that Captain Seller truly would protect them.
‘Seller, I had not thought to find you this far away from London.’ Lord Byrne’s melodious baritone seemed to float across the room as he made his languid way to the soldier. ‘The last time I saw you, you were in his Majesty’s private guard.’
‘Ah, Byrne.’ Seller’s tone was a sneer. ‘I see you have not changed.’
Lord Byrne stopped and drew himself up. ‘Of course not. Why should I?’ He snapped his fan shut, but the look in his eyes was cold. ‘I am happy with the person I am.’
Seller lifted one black brow. ‘I see. What brings you to the wilds of Cumbria? I had thought you never likely to leave London.’
Lord Byrne yawned behind his fan. ‘We are rusticating. Mother had a penchant for the country, so I bought a hunting lodge. Nothing major.’
‘Captain Seller,’ Mrs McNabb intervened, ‘how nice to see you again. It has been a long time.’
The Captain turned to her. ‘Madam.’ He bowed. ‘The pleasure is mine.’
The butler re-entered with a tea tray and cakes. There was stronger drink for the men. This far north, they observed the niceties when it pleased them and ignored them when it did not.
Mrs McNabb and Lord Byrne sat in chairs opposite Jenna and her father. Burke built up the fire.
‘Viscount Ayre and Miss de Warre,’ Mrs McNabb said, ‘we would like to invite you to a dinner in a fortnight.’ She pulled a gilt-edged envelope from her muff and handed it to Jenna’s father. ‘A house warming.’ With a gracious smile, she turned to Seller. ‘Captain Seller, you are also invited, although, since I did not know you were here, I don’t have an invitation. If you give me your direction, I will send one.’
There was silence for long minutes while Seller watched Viscount Ayre. Something was about. Jenna’s stomach started to twist.
Finally, when Jenna thought she would tear her shawl with her nervous twisting, her father said, ‘Captain Seller will be staying here.’
Jenna was thankful she already sat, otherwise she might have made a spectacle of herself. As it was, shock gave her fingers added impetus and the sound of her nails ripping through the fabric of her shawl seemed very loud to her ears in the silence following his announcement.
Her father turned an apologetic smile to her. ‘I meant to tell you later, my dear.’
She nodded. ‘I will notify Mrs Joiner, Papa.’
She hoped the unease she felt about the English soldier being billeted with them did not show in her voice. This would make it doubly hard to care for Gavin. It was now too dangerous for her cousin to stay here. She would find Seller a room as far from the priest hole as possible, but something must be done.
‘That is easily settled, then,’ Mrs McNabb said. ‘I will have an invitation brought round for Captain Seller.’
Jenna forced a smile, thankful everyone was done with their tea, drink and cakes. Manners bade them leave shortly, even Seller, who was not yet billeted with them.
Something made her glance at Lord Byrne. He watched her with an intentness that belied the casual negligence of his pose. There was a coiled energy about him even though he seemed to lounge against his chair. When he realised she returned his attention, his mouth curled up faintly.
She blinked, taken aback by his attraction. Did he know how devastating he was? The knowing look in his eyes said he did. She flushed and looked away, feeling like a schoolroom miss caught in the grownups’ circle and ignorant of how to go on.
It was a disconcerting feeling for a woman of five and twenty.
Thankfully, Mrs McNabb chose that moment to stand. ‘We must be going, Lord Ayre.’
She held her hand out to the viscount, who took the delicate white fingers and raised them to his lips. A large blood-red ruby graced the third finger of her left hand.
‘My pleasure,’ he said, genuine pleasure in his tone. ‘I look forward to dinner.’
Jenna gave him a piercing look. Her father was always polite. He was rarely as delighted as the smile on his face implied.
They were no sooner quit of the room than Seller rose. ‘I too must take my leave.’ He made a bow to Jenna. ‘Miss de Warre, I am delighted to meet you again. I hope to further our acquaintance.’ He