Chapter Twelve
Roland had not managed to return to the orangery.
Hugo Ashby, it turned out, was a voluble young gentleman and quietly determined to complete a task once he’d begun.
Having decided that Roland was going to become familiar with the entire Mundlingham Castle estate, he’d dragged him through the kitchens, cellars, attics, and outbuildings, and had even shown him a medieval garderobe in a tower.
The tour had not yet been completed when the gong sounded for luncheon.
Roland tried not to be too obvious in his relief.
“You must join us for luncheon, Mr. Cowley. You won’t have anything organized as yet, will you?
And I don’t know if the housekeeper has been given any instructions to feed you.
I know Mama won’t mind if you come. Wait here, and I’ll just trot along and make sure there’s another place set for you at table. ”
This didn’t bode well. He was going to be coming face-to-face with Lissy again, before they’d had their difficult conversation.
Every moment spent in her company, unable to explain himself, would be torture.
He had a sword of Damocles hanging over his head—the threat that she would reveal his true identity to everyone.
If that happened, he would be forced to leave with his mission for Mrs. Dove-Lyon uncompleted.
It was either that or weave another tissue of lies, and he was heartily sick of lying.
The business of being an agent of the Black Widow of Whitehall was beginning to pall.
As he waited in the former inner bailey of the castle, a chill wind howled through the open gates, making him draw up his collar.
Glancing up at the sky, he saw it was gray and heavy with rain.
The clouds in the distance were darker still, and he thought he saw a flash of lightning at the farthest edge of his vision.
Curse it! He shouldn’t still be at the castle—he needed to get back to his lodgings and claim his possessions.
Including his multi-caped coat for keeping the rain off.
Hugo reappeared. “That’s settled. You’re joining us for luncheon, Mr. Cowley. Tell me, have you ever been down a mine?”
“There aren’t too many of them in Norfolk, where I was born. Although there are some deep shafts in a place where I believe the Romans once dug for flints. I’ve never been down them.”
“Mines are fascinating. You can’t imagine the variety of colors that one sees down there—it isn’t all just coal black, you know. The dining room’s just through here.”
“What’s that about colors?”
Lissy’s voice. Heat puddled in Roland’s chest as he turned around to bow and give her his best smile. It was ignored.
“Lissy. Mr. Cowley is joining us for luncheon.”
“Mr. Cowley.” She acknowledged his presence with the coolest of nods.
The two ladies were seated first, and Roland found himself ushered into a seat opposite Lissy.
Fortunately, Lady Ashby seemed inclined to talk, which meant nobody else was required to.
This was a relief to him, and no doubt to Lissy as well, as he could feel the anger emanating from her.
He knew she would have difficulty keeping the vitriol out of her voice if she were forced to converse with him.
Just as he would have trouble keeping the longing out of his.
Longing? Since when had he developed a longing for Miss Felicity Ashby?
His body ached for her, certainly—especially after that kiss.
But there was an unfamiliar pain around his heart, and he knew there was something more than physical attraction between them.
The feeling was new, raw, and hurt like hell.
He was going to have to be very careful in her presence.
“What do you say to that, Cowley?”
Roland failed to respond until he felt a sharp kick on his shins.
“I beg your pardon?” He had temporarily forgotten his alias.
“I said, I shall show you the tunnels after lunch. Then I’ll run you back to Woodbridge in the carriage. You won’t want to go by carrier—it looks like it’s going to rain. We can bring your things back forthwith and get you settled into the coach house by nightfall. How does that sound?”
Roland was aware of Lady Ashby’s regard.
When she nodded her approval, he smiled and thanked Hugo for his offer.
This was a novel situation for him, requiring either patent or tacit approval for his actions.
Although Leo had been instructing him in how to run Brampton Hall, he’d never been an employee before.
He risked a glance at Lissy, wondering how she’d feel about him living under the same roof. She was stabbing a slice of ham on her plate, and he realized that, like himself, she’d eaten very little. Was his presence at the table disturbing her that much?
Her expression gave nothing away. Perhaps she, too, was aware that Lady Ashby seemed very interested in the interplay between the two of them.
“Lissy should come as well. There are some interesting carvings in the vault that I’m sure would be of artistic interest. But she won’t. My sister’s a coward when it comes to enclosed spaces.”
There was the clatter of a fork against a plate. “You forget we have company, Hugo. That is not the kind of thing that one says in front of a visitor.”
“Sorry, Mama, but it’s true. You’ve always hated those tunnels, Lissy.”
“You like to call them tunnels. I call them dungeons. They are places of cruelty and suffering, and I think they should be backfilled. Let the barbarism of the past remain in the past.”
Well said. Roland grinned at Lissy, but all her attention was on her brother.
“You are afraid, aren’t you?” Hugo teased. “Even though you’re a lady now, you won’t go down.”
Lissy glared at her brother.
“I will go into the dungeons with you. Just to prove that I’m not the kind of ninnyhammer you think I am. But only for a few moments—I have far more important things to get on with than trailing around after you to prove a point.”
Roland smiled to himself. They were to spend part of the afternoon together. Perhaps he would have the opportunity to explain himself to Lissy and apologize. His appetite returned.