Chapter 3
Directly below the terrace, Colin had been enjoying the peace and quiet he’d wished for during the carriage ride.
He’d found a spot nestled right next to the stairs leading to the garden.
The fragrant summer blooms, a delightful gentle breeze, and the warm sun on his face provided the perfect ingredients for some well-earned and well-deserved solitude.
Eyelids growing heavy, he followed the siren call of slumber. Until a feminine voice disturbed his serene contentment and pulled him from blessed oblivion.
“There you are! Don’t think you can hide from me!”
His body reacted before his mind had caught up, his arms flung out in defense as he bolted from his comfortable seat and turned toward the intruder.
Who the devil?
A petite redhead staggered back, her blue eyes flaring with surprise and her mouth gaping in a little O.
Freckles—in stark relief against her pale skin—dotted her face, especially the bridge of her nose.
Her foot caught against an uneven pavement stone on the path, and she landed on her arse with a flourish.
Served her right. Colin fought a laugh.
Pretty, but not beautiful in the classical sense like Margery had been in her bloom, the sprite of a girl stared at him. No, not a girl. Woman. Deep furrows creased the nymph’s brow.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a lump, sir. Help me up.”
Colin shook himself. Where were his manners? The elfin creature had momentarily addled his brain. Perhaps she was a witch.
He held out a hand, cursing himself for not wearing gloves. Of course, in fairness, he hadn’t expected to be conversing with a strange woman and helping her up from off her—
The laugh he’d held back unfurled from deep within his chest and broke free.
Warm flesh met his, her gloveless fingers sliding against his palm. An electric hum traveled up his arm from the casual touch and made his throat go dry.
“I’m glad you find it humorous when a lady falls on her bum. But it certainly is not to the person who has fallen.”
He laughed again. Tears formed, and he wiped them away. “It was rather amusing. It’s not every day a man gets to witness such grace in motion.” When had he last given himself over to belly-deep laughter? When Ellie was two and smeared jam all over her face?
It tickled through his body and felt . . . good. Strange, but good.
She brushed off her skirts. “I thought you were my brother.”
He hitched a brow at her. Brother? Definitely not. “I am a brother, just not yours.”
She paused in brushing the non-existent dust from her skirts and met his gaze. Eyes as blue as the rare sunny sky stared back at him and scattered his wits.
He suddenly felt unsteady on his own feet. Perhaps it served him right for laughing at her.
“You must be Honoria’s brother.”
“I am.” He gave a—rather exaggerated—bow. “Viscount Manning at your service, miss.” He studied her. “Or is it madam? Since we haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced, it would be rude of me to presume you aren’t married.”
And why did that matter to him? He brushed the question aside.
“Miss Anne Weatherby.”
Weatherby. Where had he heard that name? “Well, Miss Weatherby, as you have discovered, I am not the brother you were seeking. So I suggest you go back inside and continue your search there.”
The pixie uttered something that sounded very much like rude.
“Anne.”
Colin tore his attention away from the petite woman before him and turned toward the house at his sister’s voice.
“Indira and Eleanor were looking for you.”
Two girls Colin did not recognize bracketed Honoria in the terrace doorway. Anne’s children? No, she said Miss Weatherby.
Honoria’s eyes locked with his. “Colin? I see you’ve met Miss Weatherby.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” His lips twitched as he fought a smile. “She mistook me for her missing brother.”
“Missing?” Honoria stepped closer, the two girls on her heels. “Mr. Weatherby is with Drake. Why would you think he’s missing, Anne?”
“I didn’t say he was missing.” The nymph’s eyes flared as she glared at him. “Your brother did. I was simply looking for Andrew and saw the back of his head. With his red hair, I presumed it was Andrew. It was a simple mistake.”
Colin speared her with a glare. “A mistake that disturbed my solitude.”
“He doesn’t look like Father. He’s taller and meaner looking,” one of the young girls said.
Ah, so the girls were Miss Weatherby’s nieces. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Eleanor, and this is my twin, Indira.” The girls gave remarkably well-executed curtsies.
He bowed in return. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Weatherby and Miss Indira. Or is it the other way around? Twins, you say? Who is the eldest?”
“I am,” Indira said. “Her Grace says you have two daughters, and one is named Elinor as well.”
“Correct. Cassandra is the eldest. They should be around somewhere. I apologize for my disgruntled appearance. You see, I was enjoying a rare moment of respite when someone rudely interrupted.” From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Miss Anne Weatherby, satisfied by her huff of annoyance.
“Now, if you will all excuse me, it’s becoming rather crowded out here. ”
Colin avoided the disapproving look in Honoria’s eyes as he skirted past her and the two girls. So much for his one wish. He should have stayed in his room. Or gone fishing, as Ellie had first guessed.
Almost at the French doors, Miss Weatherby’s voice rang behind him. “Is your brother always in such a foul temper?”
Another chuckle rumbled in his chest. No, little sprite. I’m usually so much worse.
And wasn’t that a surprising thought?
Anne stared at the rude man’s retreating back. “Is your brother always in such a foul temper?”
“Forgive him, Anne. Colin has secreted himself away for so long, I fear he’s forgotten how to behave in polite company. He truly is an extremely kind man,” Honoria said.
“Why is he so grumpy, then?” Indira asked.
Not one to be bothered by a child’s direct question, Honoria smiled down at the girl, kindness radiating in her eyes. “Well, my dear, his wife died. He misses her terribly.”
Oh. Of course. How could Anne have forgotten?
Lord Manning’s wife died around the same time that Honoria’s daughter, Kitty, had been born.
“But that’s been more than three years ago.
He must have loved her very much.” Anne sighed.
If only she could find a husband who would grieve her so desperately when she died.
Goodness! What was she thinking? Although Andrew implied that her age made her nearly unmarriageable, she was nowhere near ready to expire!
“For an arranged marriage, they became remarkably close.” Honoria shook her head. “I hope he will find someone who will help him heal.”
Discomfort shivered up Anne’s spine from the expression on Honoria’s face when their eyes met. Oh, no. Surely Honoria doesn’t think . . . ? She pulled in a steadying breath. “Your brother doesn’t like me.”
Honoria waved Anne’s objection away. “Pish-tosh. Of course he likes you. You’re a spirited and charming young woman. We shall simply have to give him an opportunity to become better acquainted with you.”
Somehow, Anne didn’t think spending time with Viscount Moody-Manning was one of Honoria’s better ideas. “If you’re matchmaking, it might be best to concentrate your efforts on Miranda.”
A smile flickered across Honoria’s lips. “Why would you think I’m matchmaking?” When she turned and walked back into the house, a trill of laughter trailed behind her.
“We found an adult,” Eleanor said.
Anne’s niece jolted her attention back to reality and away from the infuriating man who knocked her off balance—figuratively and literally.
Indira nodded. “Not just an adult. A duchess. We should each get two extra pieces of cake.”
“Well, I found an adult, too. A grumpy viscount. And who is to say I didn’t find him before you found the duchess? Perhaps I’m the one who should receive the extra slice of cake, especially considering Lord Grumpy-Trouser’s foul mood.” Her lips twitched as she fought a teasing smile.
Being the more sensitive of the two, Indira gazed up at Anne, a glassy sheen misting her blue eyes. “But . . . but . . .”
Eleanor patted her twin’s shoulder. “What Indira is trying to say is, we know where the girls are! And wasn’t that our task, Auntie Anne? To find an adult who knew where the other girls were?”
Was anything more humiliating than being outsmarted by a nine-year-old?
Anne thought rather not. Still, she refused to let them know they got the better of her.
A woman had her pride after all. “Very well. Where are these mysterious girls who belong to the mean ogre of a man? Shall we seek them out and see if, like their father, they are hideous trolls?”
Indira’s mouth gaped open. “Do you think they really are?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Of course not, ninny. Aunt Anne is teasing us. And I didn’t think Viscount Manning was so hideous. I would be cross, too, if my wife died.”
Her worry forgotten as quickly as it had appeared, Indira placed her hands on her hips. “You’re the ninny. You don’t have a wife.”
Recognizing an escalating argument ensuing over wives, imaginary or real, living or deceased, Anne intervened. “Enough! Are we to stand here and bicker or go find the girls?”
“Her Grace said they went to the lake behind the house.” Eleanor pointed to the back of the enormous home.
Excellent! Anything to put more distance between her and the house where stuffy Viscount Manning recently entered. “First one there gets the largest piece of cake.” Anne lifted her skirts to her calves and raced off.
The girls shrieked with laughter behind her, and Anne could already taste the delicious sweetness of cake—and she dearly hoped it would be chocolate.