Chapter Eight
TREES LINED THE DRIVE but not evenly, so perhaps they hadn’t been planted there by design.
Ivy did indeed cover the manor house’s dark gray stone exterior walls, but it had been trimmed back from the front windows.
Brooke saw a large circular stained-glass window centered above the front entrance, but couldn’t tell from the outside if the colored glass formed a picture.
Manicured shrubs hugged the walls on either side of the double doors.
Eavesdropping below the windows here wouldn’t be easy.
One of the Whitworth footmen assisted Brooke out of the coach.
She straightened her lilac pelisse coat, which fell to her knees, and looked down to make sure the hem of her pink dress reached her shoes.
She decided not to put on her feathered bonnet, which she had removed during the drive, and just carried it in her hand.
The sun broke through the clouds just then.
A good omen? she wondered. Probably not. Just no rain, after all.
Alfreda followed her out of the coach with Raston in her arms and remarked in a disagreeable tone, “You would think they would have seen or heard us arriving and be out here to greet us. They must have a lax staff if we have to knock on the door.”
“Perhaps no one lives here. We could be at the wrong house.”
“Don’t sound so hopeful, poppet. We had good directions from that last coaching inn.”
It could also be a not-so-subtle way of saying she wasn’t welcome, but Brooke didn’t mention that again.
Her stomach was tied in knots and had been for days, but now it was much worse.
If she vomited, she would be mortified. Whichever servant had to clean it up would hate her. Not a good start if they did get in.
The footmen were waiting for her order to unload the trunks.
She didn’t give it yet, didn’t move, either.
Alfreda didn’t notice that Brooke was rooted to the spot, merely said, “Come on, then,” and started toward the doors.
But Raston hissed loudly as the maid got closer to the house and fought to get out of her arms. They watched as he ran along the side of the house and disappeared.
“What the devil’s got into him?” the maid said in surprise.
“Maybe they keep dogs in the house that he can sense.”
“Or maybe it’s because there really is a wolf in there,” Alfreda countered, hinting that she believed in folklore after all. “Raston usually scares dogs away. I’ve yet to see one that frightens him.”
“It’s a new place. He doesn’t feel at home yet.”
“And neither do I with this lack of welcome.”
“Let’s go after him.”
“No, let’s get you settled first. Raston won’t go far. He’ll likely head straight for the stable. It’s what he’s used to.”
“Let’s wait,” Brooke said. “If that door doesn’t open, we’ll have good reason to leave.”
“I know you’re nervous, but—”
“Really, let’s wait. The sun is out now. I’d like to enjoy . . .”
Brooke fell silent before she started babbling. She was nervous. So much hinged on what happened today. Alfreda, peering closely at her expression, quickly nodded. Did she look that afraid? She took a few deep breaths, which didn’t help.
Ten minutes passed, possibly more. It really did seem as if no one was in residence today.
Or maybe the Wolfes didn’t have servants?
No, her mother had said they were an eminent family of means.
This was a rebuff. The wolf was going to tell her to be gone if she came face-to-face with him.
This was his way of avoiding that. She almost breathed easier, until she realized she had too much hanging over her own head to just make assumptions like that.
Brooke finally straightened her shoulders and nodded at Alfreda, who took the last few steps and raised her fist to the door—and almost lost her balance when one of the two doors finally opened and she hit air instead.
Alfreda glared at the man standing there.
Brooke said nothing. She had taken one glance at him and lowered her eyes as she was accustomed to doing with strangers.
But in that glance she’d seen a tall man with short blond hair, cut in the current fashion that her brother favored, and light blue eyes.
A handsome man, dressed nattily in buff breeches, a neatly tailored coat, and a thick cravat.
It was not how a servant would dress. If this was Lord Wolfe, she’d be pleased, indeed she would.
Her stomach stopped feeling quite so knotted.
But then she heard him say, “I was in a quandary of sorts, so I was not going to open the door until you knocked.”
“Do you realize how long we’ve been waiting out here?” Alfreda demanded.
“No longer than I’ve been standing in here waiting for your knock.”
Brooke was incredulous. Logic like that boggled the mind. Alfreda swore, then, sounding exasperated, asked, “What was your quandary that you chose to ignore us?”
“I would never do that! You are immeasurably unignorable, ’deed you are. I just wanted to make sure the halls were cleared before I invited you in.”
“Cleared of what?”
“Furious encounters,” Brooke thought she heard the man say, but he’d spoken so softly she wasn’t sure. Then he added, “Do please come inside.”
Alfreda complained, “If you’re the butler, I’ll see that you’re fired.”
“I’m not, and you won’t,” the man said cheekily. “You’ll warm toward me before long. You’ll love me.”
“In your dreams, puppy. Show us to your lord.”
“No, but I’ll show you to your rooms.”
So he wasn’t Lord Wolfe. How disappointing! But Brooke glanced up at him again only to find him staring at her now as if he’d only just looked her way. And continued to stare for a long time. Alfreda cleared her throat loudly at his rudeness.
He heard it but didn’t blush. He did grin and say to Brooke, “If he doesn’t love you, I will. You already have my heart, ’deed you do. At your service, M’lady Whitworth. I am Gabriel Biscane and so very pleased to meet you.”
The lighthearted, silly remarks brought a brief, courteous smile to her lips. She wasn’t used to meeting young men of any sort and had certainly never experienced this reaction from any of them.
“So you were expecting us?” Brooke said.
“Not this soon, but you and your mother should come inside.”
Alfreda growled, “I’m not old enough to be her mother—well, I am, but I’m not, and if I catch you staring at her again like you just did, you’ll think I’m your mother, I’ll box your ears so hard.”
Alfreda was definitely annoyed by the welcome they were receiving from Gabriel Biscane. But he wasn’t the least bit cowed by her. With a wink he said to Alfreda, “See? You already love me.”
He stepped back from the doorway so they could enter the house. “Come along, then. I will show you to your room, though in my opinion it’s not a room. Very well, you might not think it a room either. Oh, bloody hell, it’s a tower.”
Brooke didn’t like the sound of that and reiterated Alfreda’s previous request. “Perhaps you should take me to Lord Wolfe?”
“I can’t do that. When he’s ready to see you, he will request your presence.”
“Today?”
“Possibly not.”
Another reprieve, and this one brought a sigh of relief, another smile to Brooke’s lips, and the last of the knots in her belly dissipated.
He had to have been joking about the tower, she decided.
But if he wasn’t, tower be damned, she wouldn’t mind it at all if it meant she wouldn’t have to deal with the lord of the manor anytime soon—well, as long as the tower had a bed.
Surely it would have a bed. Alfreda was about to protest, though, but Brooke shook her head at the maid, who had done too much complaining already.
And Mr. Biscane had already turned about and was heading down the hall.
As they walked past two Grecian columns that bordered the foyer, they entered a gray-marble-floored hallway that was two stories high.
Oil paintings lined the white walls above the dark wood wainscoting.
Brooke saw that they were portraits of men and women, a few of whom were wearing clothes that dated to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
She assumed they were the viscount’s ancestors.
A large crystal chandelier was in the center of the hall, but so high up a servant would have to climb a tall ladder to light it, so she doubted it was used often. They passed several sets of double doors, which no doubt led to parlors and the dining room, before they came to the grand staircase.
Splashes of color on the white walls made her glance back at the foyer.
The round stained-glass window above the front door threw beams of blue, red, and yellow light on the white walls.
The window did indeed have a design—the head of a wolf baring its teeth.
Brooke assumed the emblem was part of the family crest—the wolf’s head because of their name.
But why had they chosen the image of a ferocious wolf?
Perhaps the current Lord Wolfe had a sense of humor and had had the window made as a way of poking fun at the fanciful rumors.
But, on second thought, she figured he probably didn’t like the rumor that he howled on the moors any more than he liked the one about his being cursed and doomed to die young.
At the top of the stairs, Gabriel Biscane led them to the right, down a wide carpeted hallway that had doors on only one side.
These rooms would face the back of the property, Brooke realized.
Soon they turned a corner and headed down another corridor that led back to the front of the house.
Here a few of the doors on both sides of the corridor had been left open to let in light.
The house certainly had many bedrooms and was bigger than it appeared from outside.
At the end of the corridor, Gabriel stopped at a circular stairway.
Brooke guessed it led to the tower room he’d mentioned.
She hadn’t thought he was serious about putting her there until that moment.
She tensed, waiting, but he didn’t move, just stared at the dark winding stairs in front of them for a long moment.
Then without a word he turned about and marched them back down the corridor and returned to the other.
As he passed the door at the end, he glanced back at Brooke and Alfreda and put a finger to his lips, suggesting they needed to be quiet, and moved to the next door, just to the right of the stairs.
Brooke was reminded of what had happened to her as a child when she’d disturbed her father’s solitude upstairs.
She’d only done it once. Lessons had been learned quickly in that house.
Gabriel entered the room, walked across it, and opened the two windows to let in some fresh air.
Brooke followed him, wanting to see the view.
She’d been right. The tall hedges she’d seen from a distance surrounded a large parklike area behind the house with bright green lawns and pathways bordered by beds of roses and other pretty flowers.
There were a few shade trees with benches beneath their leafy, green canopies and a tiny pond.
Lampposts were placed here and there to light the way at night or just look pretty from the house.
Right in the center was indeed a maze, not huge, but with hedges so tall she couldn’t see the pathways inside it from her window.
Too bad. She would have liked to memorize them before venturing into it, and she would be doing that—if they were staying.
Before Gabriel left, he said in a whisper, “I will bear the brunt of his wrath for not putting you where he ordered, but I’d rather not wake him just yet, so do try to be as quiet as you can so he doesn’t hear you in here.”
Appalled that he hadn’t been joking about the tower, Brooke replied, “Please, I’d prefer another room not so close to his, even one in that tower.”
He smiled, apparently not as worried about the lord’s wrath as he’d sounded. “Nonsense. Most of the rooms up here aren’t cleaned regularly unless guests are staying in them. This is the only unoccupied room that is clean and doesn’t have a permanent ‘don’t use’ sign on the door.”
She hadn’t noticed any signs. “Why is Lord Wolfe sleeping in the middle of the day?”
“I’d be amazed if he is.” Gabriel was already heading briskly toward the door, adding without pause, “I will have your trunks sent up.”
Brooke might have thanked him if the door hadn’t closed so quickly and she weren’t wondering now if the wolf was as ill-tempered as her father, if he needed to be tiptoed around.
And then she was staring at another door, one that could very well connect to Lord Wolfe’s room, and all sorts of alarming thoughts entered her head, the worst of which was that the wolf would have easy access to pounce on her while she slept!