Lord Iverbrook's Heir Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    Close up, it seemed even more attractive. It was built mostly of a fawn-coloured stone, embellished with decorative red brick, though parts of the facade were Tudor style black and white. A curious mixture, but somehow the whole was harmonious. The mullioned windows gleamed and the open door offered a welcome.
    The butler who answered Iverbrook’s ring invited him into the cool hallway, redolent of lemon oil and beeswax.
    “Miss Whitton is out, my lord,” he said apologetically. “I fear she is not expected to return for some time. If your lordship would wish to see Lady Whitton, I shall enquire as to whether her ladyship is at home.”
    “My business is with Miss Whitton . . . but I daresay I ought to pay my respects to Lady Whitton,” responded the viscount with annoyance. As the butler bowed and withdrew, he wondered a shade anxiously whether he would recognise Gil’s mother-in-law. He had no more recollection of her than of her daughters, except for Phoebe, though they must certainly have been introduced at the wedding.
    The butler returned.
    “It seems her ladyship is also out, my lord. I had thought her to be in the stillroom but Mrs. Tooting says she walked down to the village, and Miss Delia with her. Will your lordship wait?”
    “Dash it, I’ve no alternative! Is it customary in this household for everyone to leave when a visitor is expected? I suppose my letter was received?”
    “I cannot take it upon myself to say, my lord,” reproved Bannister.
    “What about my nephew? Mr. Carrick’s son. At least I can go up to the nursery and see him!”
    “I understand, my lord, that Master Peter rode out with Miss Selena. Miss Whitton, that is. Perhaps your lordship would care to take some refreshment in the drawing room? Or, the gardens are particularly fine at this season."
    The irate viscount had no desire to see the gardens, but the thought of being shut up in a stuffy drawing room to cool his heels was still less bearable. “Bring me some ale in the garden, dammit,” he growled, then smiled his sweet, rueful smile. “I beg your pardon! I should not come to cuffs with you only because your mistresses’ notions of courtesy do not suit mine. Refreshments in the garden, if you please, and if possible, a newspaper. And notify me the instant Miss Whitton returns!”
    The gardens were peaceful, full of humming bees and the fragrance of roses and spicy marigolds. Brick steps led down from terrace to terrace to the river bank, where Lord Iverbrook found a comfortable bench in the shade of an oak. The Thames slid by, green-brown, smooth, hypnotic.
    A pretty maidservant in white cap and apron appeared, bearing a tray. “Here’s your ale, my lord,” she said, bobbing a curtsey, “and a bit of lardycake. Cook baked it just this morning and it’s right good. Oh, and the paper. Mr. Bannister said to tell you it’s just Jackson's Oxford Journal and is there anything else I can get you, my lord?”
    “Not unless you can produce your mistress.”
    “Oh no, sir. Miss Selena’s at the harvest and my lady’s took a salve to Miss Pauley’s cookmaid as burned her hand. My lady’s better nor any ‘pothercary. Excuse me, my lord. Mrs. Tooting said to come straight back.”
    So Miss Selena had gone to watch the reapers, had she? She had not even the excuse of a prior social engagement to plead for her absence. My lord sank his teeth into the sticky lardycake, full of plump raisins, as if he were a mastiff and the sweetmeat Miss Whitton's ankle.
     
    Chapter 4
     
    By the time Selena returned from the fields, her headache was back in full force. The dust raised by the reapers had, as usual, made her sneeze till her nose and eyes were red; Peter had fallen over and scratched his hands; and a gypsy had come to blows with one of the locals, leading to the premature departure of all the itinerants.
    “Good riddance,” Jem had snorted, but John Peabody had cocked a weather eye at the sky and muttered