Chapter 2
Jensen
A heavy door swings open, and I’m greeted by a kindly woman with a round face and a no-nonsense look in her eyes.
“You must be Jensen,” she says, offering me her hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
I’m badly shaken by what Charlie said before he left, and the full insanity of my impulsive decision to move to England and live in a mansion with a man I don’t know from Adam is hitting me in crushing waves.
What was I thinking? That reality would be different in England? That English alphas would be evolved, mannered, and totally unproblematic simply because of their nationality?
I must have been thinking something along those lines because not once during the planning of this move did I stop to consider the gravity of living on the same property as an unmated alpha.
I mean, the thought did almost penetrate my consciousness, but before it properly took hold, I told myself I was being ridiculous to worry about it because this particular alpha is not only English, but an English nobleman.
An actual, honest-to-God lord. Lord Alfred Augustus the Third, to be exact.
Surely, lords know how to keep their dicks in their pants? Surely, they have to take at least one module called something like How to Handle Your Knob Like a Gentleman at finishing school.
Hmm, mind you, when I think of it now, I’m not sure whether finishing school is still a thing or whether it only happens in old books.
Shit. I’ll have to look that up.
“Mrs. Thompson, the pleasure is mine,” I say when she gives me her name.
“You’ve had a long trip, dear. You must be exhausted. Let me show you to your rooms.” She takes one of my bags, wheeling it along next to her, and heads into the house at a brisk pace.
As I follow, my mouth gapes more. The hallway is somber with poor natural light.
It smells like wood polish and a notable absence of dust. We turn left, and then right, and the hallway opens into a soaring entrance hall.
There are columns and arches, gleaming woodwork, and an enormous sweeping staircase.
Oversized portraits of people long gone are adorned in heavy gilt frames and crystal chandeliers draw the eye up.
It is magnificent.
“This way, please,” says Mrs. Thompson as she marches along.
I pick up my pace to keep up with her, lifting my bags so the wheels don’t scuff the floor. The last thing I need on my first day here is to cause damage to a property that’s almost three hundred years old.
She leads me through the entry to the west wing of the property. Doorways flit by, giving me the distinct impression I’m going to have my work cut out for me when I attempt to find my way back to the service entrance to collect the rest of my bags.
At last, Mrs. Thompson pushes one of the doors open and shows me in.
The room is papered in a soft green silk with a peach-blossom motif.
It’s easily double the size of my old apartment, and best I can tell, it’s only the sitting room.
There’s a fireplace, two large sofas, two armchairs, a plush Persian rug, and a potted plant near the window that seems under the impression it’s a tree.
A door on the left leads to the bedroom. It’s a smaller space, but still generous. The bed has a mahogany headboard with intricate scrolls and acanthus leaves carved into it. The bedding is white and six decorative pillows are arranged on the bed with military precision.
“Bathroom’s through there,” chirps Mrs. Thompson, “and there’s a selection of blankets in the cupboard, in case you need them.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you to get settled in. Dinner’s at seven, so take your time and make yourself comfortable.” She turns to go, but pops her head back. “By the way, I’m off at five, so if you need anything, come and find me before then.”
“Uh, Mrs. Thompson, w-what about the library?”
“I’ll give you a full tour of the house and the grounds tomorrow. We’ll get started nice and early, so you can get to work.”
“A-and, about Mr. um, his lordship… Is he…?”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, dear,” she says, waving me off reassuringly.
“You’ll have no trouble from him. You’ll barely know he’s here.
Bit of a loner, our lord. He’s good as gold…
” There’s a fractional pause, and I can’t tell if she meant to pause or if she’s simply taking a breath. “Nowadays.”