Chapter 4 #2
‘Thank you, that is most kind,’ Josephine murmured, stepping over the threshold into a flagstone hallway that smelled distinctly of rotten potatoes and dust. She glanced around at the dirty windows, unswept floor and dimly lit passages, and forced a smile.
‘Actually, I’d be grateful if you could take me straight to the breakfast room, if that’s not too much trouble?’ she asked, aware that no wilful heroine in her books ever waited in the library. ‘I have risen early myself and would be glad of some coffee.’
At this, the elderly retainer stared as though she’d asked for oyster soup and a fork, before shuffling towards a long murky corridor.
‘As you wish, miss, of course, though His Lordship did not sleep well, and was not expecting visitors, so perhaps you could excuse his … informal attire…?’
Josephine murmured something resembling a polite reply, but her mind was already awhirl with the villain she was likely to confront in the breakfast room.
She’d expected a gentleman actively shunning society, one reluctant to meet with an unaccompanied young lady perhaps, not a recluse who didn’t even bother to dress.
And yet, she’d come this far.
Resolutely, she followed the manservant along the dimly lit hallway, and through a formal hall with a minstrel’s gallery, until he reached a closed door. Then he lifted his hand and knocked awkwardly, as though unused to the formality.
‘That you, Henry?’ a gruff voice answered. ‘What foolery are you playing at at this hour? You’d better have brought that Chateau Margaux I sent for or you can walk Brutus too, and we both know how much you’ll enjoy that!’
Josephine glanced up at the elderly retainer, who appeared somewhat frozen, and swallowed to quell a spiral of her own fear.
‘Thank you, Henry,’ she whispered, wondering if she too ought to be concerned about Brutus. ‘I can take it from here.’
Then she turned the door handle and stepped inside, to be greeted by utter disarray.
A long breakfast table dominated the centre, with little space for any guest to sit for it was littered with used crockery and glasses, as though several meals had been eaten at once.
Silently, Josephine glanced at an astonished gentleman seated at the top of the table, before stepping around the clutter to a small fireplace, where a large hound eyed her with suspicion.
She regarded the creature carefully before drawing to a halt, when it lowered its head and resumed snoring.
‘Thunder and turf! Didn’t I tell you not to bring the applicants directly, Henry?’ the astonished gentleman bellowed. ‘Take the girl to the library where I can interview her properly!’
‘No … thank you, Henry,’ Josephine countered in a tone that quite belied her terror, ‘it’s all right.’
Then she settled her gaze on the scowling gentlemen to whom she was to propose the most daring agreement of her life.
Lord Alistair Huntingly of Huntingly Manor looked most unlike any gentleman she’d ever seen before.
He was sprawled, rather than seated, across a chair at the head of the table, and wearing buckskin breeches, muddied boots and a creased day shirt, unbuttoned at the neck.
He was also surprisingly tall, even when seated, with long athletic limbs and a glinting scar that ran down his left cheek to his throat.
The rest of his face was heavily bearded, while his hair – which was much the same moorland colour as her own – reached as far as his wayward collar, giving the impression of the survivor of a shipwreck, rather than the lord of a manor.
Yet, despite the swarthiness of his appearance, all Josephine’s regard was for his eyes.
They were the colour of horse chestnuts, accentuated by bruises of tiredness, and heavily lidded.
For a moment, her racing thoughts conjured the faded newspaper report of six years ago, when two gentlemen with bloodlust faced one another in the early morning mist. Then she recalled that this was the gentleman to whom Matilda was betrothed, and a wave of urgency reached through her.
‘Pray excuse the intrusion,’ she began stiffly. ‘It was not Henry’s decision that I should come to the breakfast room, so please spare him any retribution. Neither am I in search of a position,’ she added before he could respond, ‘for my name is Fairfax.’
She paused to push her chin into the air so that he might better observe the profile for which the Fairfaxes were famous, and yet his blank stare only served to confirm her suspicion that she really was the exception to the rule.
‘Miss Fairfax,’ she repeated with a brief glare. ‘I think you may be acquainted with my brother Sir Thomas Fairfax?’
At this, the bemused lord’s thick eyebrows forked skywards.
‘Fairfax?’ he repeated in a brusque tone. ‘So, you’re not a prospective housekeeper? Should I be expecting you?’
Josephine’s glare intensified. ‘No, I am not a prospective housekeeper, though the Lord knows you’re in need of one!’ she flashed, with a purse of her lips. ‘And you, sir, are drunk, which is not at all what I was expecting at such an early hour of the morning.’
She caught her breath, aware she’d committed the sort of verbal affront for which Phoebe and Matilda were famous, but unable to bring herself to regret it. His Lordship was clearly a terrible host and, it seemed, intent on insulting her too.
At this he tipped his head back and let out a bark of laughter, stirring his hound. Josephine took a wary step sideways. She was not in any way afraid of dogs – indeed, she had grown up around many, but this one was unusually large and looking at her as though she might be a new species of rabbit.
‘Oh, take no notice of Brutus, he’s the biggest coward I’ve ever known. But you … you’re beginning to interest me.’
He rose suddenly, throwing his chair backwards, and affording Josephine her first real glimpse of his towering frame. She shrank back, aware that her well-intentioned plan mightn’t be as straightforward as she first thought.
‘Thomas said I’d find you spirited but, egad, no female I’ve ever known has had the effrontery to waltz into my house and tell me it needs a good clean, before accusing me of being drunk!’
He paced towards the door, making Josephine sidle back towards Brutus, who suddenly seemed the least terrifying prospect of the two.
‘And the purpose of your trip, Miss Fairfax?’ he mocked.
‘Was it to inspect the manor over which you might preside? That’s somewhat understandable, yet I might remind you that, while Thomas appears to have done his homework, I have yet to make an offer.
’ He paused to run his fingers through his mop of unkempt hair, his eyes gleaming.
‘Though why I shouldn’t drink wine in my own home, and in my own time, eludes me.
I’m sure many would agree it’s far less unsociable than waltzing into a stranger’s house before they are even dressed, without so much as a by-your-leave.
Furthermore, while I am usually the last to observe any kind of social protocol, there are still certain formalities to be attended to, are there not? As well as a little familiarisation?’
He ran his gaze over her slim, neat person while Josephine reddened, aware Thomas had likely described a very different sister.
‘No… Yes… Of course!’ she replied in confusion, trying not to think about whatever Thomas may have said. ‘I am not who you think I am,’ she continued, clenching her fingers tightly. ‘My name is Fairfax, but I am Josephine, Matilda’s older sister.’
At this Lord Huntingly frowned, while reaching for the back of a chair as though to steady himself.
‘If you’re in need of assistance, sir…’ Josephine began, suddenly noticing a cluster of thick, ugly scars encircling his left wrist and reaching up his forearm.
‘No! I am not in need of assistance, any more than I’m in need of inspection, if that’s what this is about?
’ he growled. ‘And Thomas made no mention of surprise visits from…’ he looked her up and down again, ‘bluestocking sisters! Tell me, what is your impression? Are you to tell your sister to run while she still can? I would I could run from me too.’ He scowled as he picked up a nearby bottle and drained the contents directly.
Josephine gritted her teeth. An arrogant, shamed lord she could manage, but a self-pitying one?
‘Really, sir!’ she remonstrated. ‘I have younger brothers with more pluck than you!’ Her tone was severe as she eyed his scars.
‘And you can think again if you consider your injuries will frighten me, for my oldest brother fought at Waterloo and the rest are keen sportsmen. Through their combined efforts, I am no stranger to a wide array of injuries, which to my knowledge they have never used to plead sympathy!’
Her scolding words echoed around the high ceiling, while Lord Huntingly eyed her in fresh astonishment.
‘Haven’t they, egad?’ he repeated in wonder, running his fingers through his unkempt hair, his knot of scars glinting in the pale light.
‘And you’ve come here today to read me a lecture on all my deplorable habits? ’
Josephine flushed, realising it was going to be much harder to achieve her original aim if the lord in question was eyeing her with distinct abhorrence. ‘No…’ she stalled, wracking her head for inspiration and failing to find any. ‘I’ve come here to ask you to marry me.’
Momentarily, he stared as though she were a madwoman who’d accidentally wandered into his home, while a defiant heat bloomed across her cheeks.
Josephine forced herself to stand tall. She might not have Sophie’s face or Phoebe’s and Matilda’s spirit, but she was still a Fairfax and, from what Thomas had said, that was his only requirement.