Season Of Secrets. Кэрол Мортимер
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on the figures laid out in the ledger before him. The study door opened, then was softly closed again, followed by a lengthy silence. So lengthy that Adam was finally forced to look up beneath frowning brows, that frown easing slightly as he saw a flushed and obviously discomforted Elena Leighton standing in front of his wide mahogany desk. ‘Yes…?’
She moistened her lips. ‘I am not disturbing you, my lord?’
‘I believe you have used the wrong tense, Mrs Leighton—you have obviously already interrupted me,’ he drawled pointedly as he leant back in his chair to look across at her.
He had seen Amanda only briefly these past two days, and her governess not at all, having been kept busy dealing with the myriad of paperwork involved in running the estate. He frowned now as he saw the governess was still wearing one of those unbecoming black gowns that so infuriated him. ‘Has Mrs Standish not yet engaged the services of a seamstress—?’
‘That is the very reason I am here, my lord,’ she rushed into speech. ‘I fear there has been some sort of mistake. The seamstress brought with her materials that are more suited to—to being worn by a lady than a—a child’s governess.’
Adam arched one dark brow. ‘And is that child’s governess not also a lady?’
‘I—well, I would hope to be considered as such, yes.’ Elena looked more than a little flustered. ‘But the materials are of the finest silks and of such an array of colours, when I had been expecting—I had expected—’
‘Yes?’
She bit her lip. ‘I had thought to be wearing serviceable browns, with possibly a beige gown in which to attend church on Sundays.’
Adam gave a wince at the thought of this woman’s ivory skin against such unbecoming shades. ‘That would not do at all, Mrs Leighton.’ His top lip curled with displeasure. ‘Brighter colours, a deep rose, blues and greens, are more suited to your colouring, with perhaps a cream for Sundays.’
Exactly the colours, Elena realised, that the plump Mrs Hepworth had just laid out for her approval.
‘And I am not a churchgoer,’ Adam continued drily, ‘but you may attend if you feel so inclined.’
‘But is it not your duty to attend as—?’ Elena broke off abruptly, aware she had once again almost been inappropriately outspoken in this man’s presence. Inappropriate for the widowed Mrs Elena Leighton, that was. Which, considering she had not set sight on, nor heard sound of Adam Hawthorne these past two days, she probably should not have done.
‘You were saying, madam?’
‘Nothing, my lord.’ It really was not her place to rebuke him for not attending church, even if she knew her grandfather had made it his habit to always attend the Sunday service. Not because he was particularly religious, but because he maintained that conversation afterwards was the best way to mingle with and learn about the people who lived and worked on his estate.
‘This reticence is not what I have come to expect from you, Mrs Leighton,’ he drawled mockingly.
‘No. Well…’ She pursed her lips as she thought of the past two days, the time that had elapsed since she had last irritated him with her outspokenness. ‘Perhaps I am finally learning to practise long-overdue caution in my conversations with you, my lord.’
Adam stared at her in astonishment for several seconds before he suddenly burst out laughing. A low and rusty sound, he acknowledged self-derisively, but it was, none the less, laughter. ‘Did you tend to be this outspoken when you were employed by the Bamburys?’ He continued to smile ruefully.
‘I do not understand.’
Adam knew Lord Geoffrey Bambury slightly, from their occasional clashes in the House in the past, and knew him as a man who believed totally in the superiority of the hierarchy that made up much of society; as such Adam did not see him as a man who would suffer being rebuked by a servant, which the other man would most certainly have considered Elena Leighton’s role to be in his own household.
He shrugged. ‘I merely wondered if I was the exception to the rule as the recipient of this…honesty of yours, or if it is your usual habit to say exactly what is on your mind?’
‘Oh, I do not believe I would go as far as to say I have done that, my lord—oh.’ She grimaced. ‘I meant, of course—’
‘I believe I may guess what you meant, Mrs Leighton,’ Adam said. ‘And as such, I should probably applaud your efforts at exercising some discretion, at least.’
‘Yes. Well.’ Those blue-green eyes avoided meeting his amused gaze.
‘You were about to tell me my religious duty, I believe?’ he prompted softly.
Too softly, in Elena’s opinion; she really did seem to have adopted the habit of speaking above her present station in life to this particular gentleman! Perhaps, on this occasion because she was still slightly disconcerted by the sound and sight of his laughter a few minutes ago…
He had informed her only three evenings ago that he found very little amusement in anything, and yet just now he had laughed outright. Even more startling was how much more handsome, almost boyish, he appeared when he gave in to that laughter.
She swallowed before speaking. ‘Of course I was not, my lord. I just—I merely wondered if attending the local church would not be of real benefit to you, in terms of meeting and talking with the people living on your estate and the local village?’
‘Indeed?’ The suddenly steely edge to his tone was unmistakable.
Elena felt the colour warming Her cheeks. ‘Yes. I—I only remark upon it because I know it was Lord Bambury’s habit to do so.’ Her grandfather and Lord Bambury had discussed that very subject over dinner one evening at Sheffield Park…
Adam raised dark brows over cold grey eyes. ‘And you are suggesting I might follow his example?’
Her cheeks burned at his icy derision. ‘Perhaps we should return to the subject of the materials for my uniform, my lord?’
‘What uniform?’ He looked at her blankly.
Elena’s eyes widened. ‘Did you not say two days ago that it was your wish for me to wear a uniform whilst I am attending Amanda?’
He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘I do not recall ever using the word “uniform” when I made the request for you to wear less sombre clothing in future.’
‘But—’ Elena frowned, thinking back to that conversation when they had arrived at Hawthorne Hall. ‘I assumed…’
He gave a tight smile. ‘It is never wise to make assumptions, Mrs Leighton.’
When it concerned this gentleman, obviously not. ‘So it was your intention all along to supply me with new, prettier gowns, rather than simply a uniform?’
‘Yes.’ There was no mistaking the challenge in his monosyllabic reply.
Elena drew in a sharp breath. ‘And is this—would this be your way of—of circumventing my earlier objections about this matter?’
‘It would, yes.’
Elena clenched her fists tightly to rein in her frustration as Adam Hawthorne continued to look up at her calmly, one eyebrow raised in mocking—and infuriating!—query. ‘In that case…perhaps I might ask something of you in return?’
That dark brow rose even higher. ‘In return for what, madam?’
‘In return for my making no further objections to the procuring of new gowns for me to wear.’ In truth, Elena’s heart had leapt in excitement earlier just at sight of those wonderful colours and delicious fabrics. True, she should out of respect for the recent death of her grandfather insist upon retaining her mourning clothes, but having already worn black for her mother for half a year, and then greys and dull purple for the rest of the year, with only a matter