The Lie and the Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

however, she had to make certain there would be no objection.
    She glanced at Sir Barty as he shoved his arm out the carriage window, waving to people on the street, jolly and relieved to be home again. While that month ticked down, she would concentrate on making Sir Barty happy. Making his life easier, and making a life for herself here.
    A strange echo filled her chest, as if there were something askew underneath her skin. As if something were amiss.
    Then she realized what it had been.
    The windmill. It hadn’t been spinning. Even on a day like today, with a strong, steady breeze pushing the new wheat in waves across the hillside, the sails stayed dormant.
    There was something utterly sad about a windmill that didn’t spin, she thought. It would live its life ultimately unfulfilled.

    WHILE LETICIA WAS quite decided that she would warm to Lincolnshire, she was beginning to worry that Lincolnshire—more specifically, Helmsley—might not warm to her.
    Her troubles began—and some might say ended—with Margaret Babcock.
    Less than an hour after rolling past the red brick windmill with the white sails, Sir Barty’s carriage pulled up in front of Bluestone Manor.
    It was of a respectable size—larger than her sister’s home, Puffington Arms. And more graceful too—taking its name from the blue-tinted granite that made up the facade of the house. There were lovely grounds with some of the most abundant flowers and trees she’d ever seen—a worrying sight.
    But what Leticia couldn’t see from the drive were any servants.
    No retinue of housemaids. No liveried men or stable hands coming up to take the reins of the carriage. No one at all.
    â€œWhere is everyone?” Leticia asked as Sir Barty handed her down to the drive. “Your housekeeper, butler, and whatnot?” Oh Lord, he did have a housekeeper, didn’t he? “And your daughter, Margaret?”
    Sir Barty snorted. “I never have them stand on ceremony when I come home. Everyone gathered around in a half circle, waiting to be inspected? Makes no sense to me—better to let them go about their business.”
    To Leticia’s mind, waiting on Sir Barty was their business, but instead of arguing the point, she simply shrugged and said lightly, “You are likely correct, darling, but I would have thought they would have wished to greet me—this first time, at least.”
    â€œAh, well as to that—” Sir Barty’s bushy brow came down so far it almost touched his mustache. “They do not know of your arrival.”
    â€œThey . . . do not know?”
    â€œIt seemed silly to write. After all, we came straight from Paris—we would have likely beaten home any letter I might have sent.”
    â€œYes, but”—she blinked in astonishment—“does that mean that they do not know about me at all? They do not know that you are bringing home a fiancée?”
    Sir Barty bit his lower lip. “I suppose they do not. Ah well—we shall take care of introductions in no time. Hello?” he called out, opening the front door of the manor himself. “We are home!”
    The bustle that she had been expecting when they drew up finally occurred, with a gray-haired man emerging from the butler’s pantry next to the front door, obviously having been startled awake. He was quickly followed by two stout-looking maids peering over the banister from above and squeaking, “Lord! Sir Barty’s back! Oh sir, forgive us! Quick, run and tell Mrs. Dillon!”
    Soon after that, a bevy of footmen, maids, and kitchen staff amassed in the front hall, making such a ruckus that Leticia knew it was exactly how Sir Barty expected (and wished) to be greeted.
    â€œSir, we did not expect you for several weeks hence,” the old butler admonished, and Leticia had to bite her tongue.
    â€œNow, now, Jameson, has anything burned down? Fallen apart? Gone one