Blackthorne. Ruth Langan
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rolling dough and shaping it into small tarts. Mistress Thornton ambled in and poured herself a cup of tea, and within minutes Pembroke joined them as well.
“I see ye’re getting acquainted with the lad and ’is governess,” the housekeeper muttered as she helped herself to a tart.
“Aye.” Cook handed a tart to the butler. “Been telling them about the lord and his brother. Got into mischief when they were younger. But never anything mean-spirited.”
Pembroke nodded. “They always looked out for each other. But they were full of energy.”
“Do you recall the time the old lord had us hunting all over Blackthorne for his two grandsons? Turned the house upside down, we did.”
“Where did you finally find them?” Olivia asked.
“In the stables, beside their favorite mare, who had just foaled. All three young ones, the lads and the foal, being licked and nuzzled until they had fallen asleep.” Mistress Thornton, in her high-pitched voice, had them all laughing as she recalled the scene.
It was a most pleasant hour. And it gave Olivia a chance to see Lord Stamford in a whole new light.
“Miss St. John seems attentive enough, m’lord. She and the lad seem to be getting on. A bit bold though. Has no qualms about poking all round the place, chatting up the servants.”
Mistress Thornton saw Lord Stamford glance up from his ledgers and started talking faster to hold his attention. “From what I can learn, she’s educated. Her parents were scholars. Made their home in Oxford. And...”
“Thank you, Mistress Thornton.” Quenton rubbed at his temple to relieve the dull throb of a headache, made worse by the shrill voice. “Tell her to bring the lad to sup with me tonight. I’ll see for myself how they’re getting on.”
“Aye, m’lord.” She twisted the apron in her hands as she gathered up her courage. “That might prove to be a bit of a problem.”
“A problem?”
“She asked if she and the lad could take their meal with Master Bennett tonight.”
He shot her an incredulous look. “My brother?”
The housekeeper looked away. “I told her it was impossible. Master Bennett always takes his meals alone in his room with one of the servants to assist him. ”
“Why did she wish to eat with my brother?”
Mistress Thornton shrugged. “She seems to think that having company will ease some of the young lad’s fears.”
His scowl deepened. The housekeeper braced herself for his wrath. Instead he said through gritted teeth, “Very well. Invite Miss St. John and the lad to sup with me. And have one of the servants bring along my brother as well.”
“To dine with you?” The housekeeper was so startled she couldn’t help staring.
Instead of responding, he merely glowered at her.
“Aye, m’lord. I’ll see to it myself.” She hurried away and sent a servant to inform the new governess that she would be expected to dine with Lord Stamford and his brother.
An honor indeed, seeing as how the heir to Blackthorne had dined alone every night since his return.
Minutes later there was a knock on Liat’s door. “Miss St. John?”
Olivia looked up at the dour Edlyn. “Yes?”
“Mistress Thornton says you and the boy are to dine with Lord Quenton tonight.”
“But I had hoped to dine with his brother.”
“Master Bennett will join you.”
“Thank you.” Olivia stood and held out her hand to Liat. “Come. I’ll help you wash and get ready.”
He held back. “Must I go?”
“Don’t you want to?”
He shook his head and studied the floor.
“Why?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of Lord Stamford?”
He nodded. In a very small voice he said, “He doesn’t ever speak to me. Or smile. He just looks at me. And his eyes aren’t happy.”
“I see.” She knelt, so that their faces were level.
“I only met Lord Stamford twice. Both times were on the night I arrived. He was a bit abrupt with me as well. So I suppose I should be as frightened of him as you are.”
“Are you?”
She nodded. There was no point in denying the truth. “I suppose we’re always afraid of what we don’t know. But I’ve heard he’s a very fine man. And very fair.” She hoped her little lie would be forgiven. In fact, she’d heard whispers from the servants that Lord Quenton Stamford spoke to them only when necessary, and that he was most often brusque and impatient.
There were rumors and mutterings about him being repeated in every room and hall of the great manor house. Talk that he had been a murdering, thieving pirate in the employ of King Charles. That he had led a life of debauchery in the port city of Jamaica. And that the lad, Liat, was just one of his many illegitimate children. Olivia was determined to turn a deaf ear to all. Her only concern was the well-being of Liat. But it was difficult to ignore the rumors.
She got to her feet. “Let’s get ready and go to dinner together, shall we?” She offered her hand again. This time Liat accepted, and followed her to the basin of water.
A short time later they made their way downstairs.
“Good evening, miss.” Pembroke stood guard in front of massive double doors. “His lordship is expecting you.”
He opened the doors, then stepped aside, allowing Olivia and Liat to precede him.
The little boy’s hand found its way into Olivia’s. And though she gave him a bright smile, her heart was thundering.
The room suited the man. It was a formal dining hall, hung with tapestries and furnished in a lavish manner. On either end of the hall was an enormous fireplace with logs ablaze. A long wooden table, capable of seating a score of people, dominated the center of the room. A dozen lavish pewter candleholders bathed the room in light.
“Lord Stamford.” Pembroke’s cultured voice broke the silence.
Quenton Stamford stood in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. At the sound of Pembroke’s voice, he turned. The hound at his feet stood and issued a warning growl.
This time Olivia could see the man much more clearly than on her earlier meetings in a dimly lit hall. A dark angeL The thought jolted. He was very tall, with wide shoulders and narrow waist. The elegantly tailored jacket couldn’t hide the ripple of muscle along his arms and shoulders. Dark hair curled over the collar of his shirt, framing a clean-shaven face that might have been handsome had it not seemed so stern. His jaw was square, with a hint of a cleft in the chin. In his hand was a silver goblet. Both his hands and face, she noted, were bronzed by the sun. From his years aboard ship, no doubt.
As always, his eyes, so dark and piercing, held her when she would have looked away.
“Miss St. John and the lad are here.”
He swung his gaze to the older man. “Thank you, Pembroke. You may tell Mistress Thornton to hold off serving until my brother joins us.”
“Aye, my lord.” Pembroke stepped discreetly from the room and closed the doors.
“Will you have some ale, Miss St. John? Or some wine?”
“No, thank you.” She wasn’t aware that she was squeezing Liat’s hand until he glanced up at her. At once she relaxed her grip. Then, annoyed