Dom recalled Wilton carrying in the service to his callers yesterday, lugging a tray full of victuals from the kitchen up to the library for him this afternoon.
‘It’s been more than seven years since I visited, and years before that since the family resided here,’ he admitted. ‘Beyond noting in a general way that Wilton had aged, I’m ashamed to say I never considered whether resuming duties he’d not had to perform for years would be hard on him.’
He’d come up from London in a laudanum haze that enabled him to bear the jolting of the journey, then shut himself in the master’s chamber and, until yesterday, hadn’t set foot out of the house. To his mortification, he hadn’t given a thought to how his unexpected arrival must have upset the routine of the handful of servants who’d remained to oversee Bildenstone Hall during the family’s long absence, or the strain on all of them required to extract the place from its holland covers and make it habitable.
‘Even though I don’t intend to entertain, I should probably hire more servants,’ he admitted. ‘While I’m at it, perhaps I will put Wilton out to pasture.’
‘Oh, I don’t think—’ she began before closing her lips.
Dom laughed outright. ‘You might as well tell me the whole. I promise not to accuse you of interfering.’
‘Wilton has been long at Bildenstone Hall?’
‘He’s been butler since I was a lad.’
‘Then I don’t think I’d retire him—not immediately, after such a long absence, lest he feel you are dissatisfied with his service. Why not find someone to serve as under-butler, whom Wilton can train up as his eventual replacement? Then, after a suitable interval, you can offer him a cottage nearby and a generous settlement for his lifetime of loyalty. If the family hasn’t resided here for some time, it probably would be wise to hire more staff, which will also earn you the good will of the neighbourhood— paying jobs are always prized, especially now, with so many being let go from the army.’
‘That sounds like excellent advice. If you have any other suggestions, pray offer them.’
She uttered a delightful gurgle of a laugh. ‘As if you thought I could keep my opinions to myself! Goodness, though, your family must possess some magnificent properties, if they chose to leave the beauties of Bildenstone for another location.’
‘It’s worse than that—Papa actually had to purchase the other property. Having always loved hunting, both haring and fox, he happened to meet Hugh Meynell, now of Quorn Hall in Leicestershire.’
He paused, but as no hint of recognition dawned in her eyes, he continued. ‘Meynell, another hunting enthusiast, believed there was no reason that hounds couldn’t be bred for a good nose and for speed, which would allow fox hunting at any time of the day, not just early in the morning when the foxes, weary after a night of hunting, return to their dens too tired to outrun the slow hounds. My father thought it an intriguing idea, and along with Meynell and some others, experimented with producing fast-running hounds. So absorbed did he become in the project, he determined to obtain a property in Quorn country, where he could continue the breeding experiments and hunt with Meynell’s pack.’
He paused, remembering. ‘I’d just outgrown my first pony when we relocated to Upton Park. It took only one hunt to make me as keen about the chase as my father. So I can’t say I regretted leaving Bildenstone, despite the beauties of its bluebell wood.’
‘Appreciation for flowers isn’t generally a trait possessed by young boys,’ she replied. ‘I don’t wonder you found the excitement of Leicestershire much more to your liking. So you devoted yourself to the hunt?’
‘Single-mindedly. Which reminds me,’ he said, recalling her hours waiting on his wall. ‘What would you have done if I’d not relented and admitted you today?’
Following the sudden change in topic without a blink, she said, ‘Waited a bit longer, then tracked down your estate agent. When I first proposed to lease Thornfield, I was told your family hadn’t occupied the property for years, so finding an owner in residence was an unwelcome surprise. If the agent thought you were indifferent to the use of the building, or were not planning to remain long at Bildenstone, I would have proceeded. Otherwise, I would have made plans to go elsewhere.’
He had to laugh. ‘You really are resourceful!’
‘Papa always said you can never count on the enemy to do what you expect; for a sound battle plan, one must devise alternates for every imaginable contingency.’
He smiled down at her. ‘I hope you don’t consider me the enemy.’
She gazed up into his eyes. ‘No, I consider you...’ Her words trailed off, her lips slightly parted as she stared at his face...his mouth.
Attraction crackled like heat lightning between them again, scorching his face, leaving his mouth tingling. Immobilised by its force, Dom wasn’t able to tear his gaze from hers until the jolting of the vehicle over a particularly large bump forced him to return his attention to his driving.
Patting her flaming cheeks with one hand, Theo took a deep breath, her heart thudding as she surreptitiously watched Mr Ransleigh manoeuvre the pony trap.
Goodness, what was wrong with her? First her runaway tongue, and now this firestorm of sensual awareness!
Granted, she’d never been shy about expressing her opinions, but what had possessed her to be so free with her advice—to a man she’d scarcely met, and one with whom she needed to establish good relations, if she hoped to settle her orphans at this location? If that almost instantaneous sense of rapport she’d felt with him was an illusion, she might have doomed her mission before it even began.
And yet, she was convinced Mr Ransleigh, too, felt the connection between them.
After an initial surprise and dismay upon discovering her potential landlord to be the one-armed man she’d been so rude to in the lane, she’d been immediately drawn to this ex-soldier, who matched her apology with a generous one of his own. Then, to confirm that his life had, like hers, been upended in the aftermath of Waterloo and to learn they shared the same army experiences...
Having made her awkward way these last few months through an unfamiliar civilian society in an unfamiliar land, to stumble upon someone who’d been part of the world she’d lost was like coming home. Within a few moments, she’d been more comfortable in his company than she’d felt since leaving the regiment in Belgium.
Yet at the same time, upon meeting the man again, properly garbed and in his own element, she’d been struck by the potent masculinity he radiated, in spite of his injuries. The fever-induced thinness of his frame only served to emphasise his impressive height and the broadness of his shoulders. Caught up in gazing at the strong chin, sensual lips and brilliant blue eye, she’d several times, like a moment ago, lost track of where she was in the conversation.
A fact as sobering and even more dismaying than learning the identity of her new landlord.
Just sitting beside him in the pony trap, close enough that the next bump in the road might bounce her into contact with his body, kept her heartbeat skipping at an accelerated pace. The air between them seemed to simmer with a palpable tension.
As an unmarried woman, society might expect her to be an innocent, but she was no stranger to passion. In the arms of the man who’d intended to make her his wife, she’d revelled in kissing and touching, eager to explore Marshall’s body, wanting him to explore