Page 24 of A Stroke of Luck
Zara put down the weathered canvas bag of her belongings with what she hoped was a show of nonchalance and began removing her tattered gloves. “Kindly have one of the maids take our things upstairs. Any of the bedchambers will do for tonight.On the morrow, we can choose our permanent quarters. Hot water for baths would be welcome as well.” Ignoring the butler’s feeble attempt to speak up, she gave an airy wave. “And please have tea brought around right away. It has been a long journey and we are quite famished.”
“B-but, miss.” Confusion caused the man’s normally stoic features to crumple in dismay. “The new baron is already in residence.”
“Like hell he is,” she whispered under her breath.
The butler’s face spasmed.
“We shall wait in here,” she continued, choosing the first room on her left. It was a spacious sitting room, with a large sofa and several upholstered chairs set around a hearth of carved limestone. The furnishings were a bit spartan, the dark colors and fabrics suited to a masculine taste. And yet, even though the empty grate looked as though it had not seen a fire in ages and the telltale scatterings of dust revealed a haphazard sort of housekeeping, Zara immediately felt … at home.
“Er, yes, miss.” Tugging at the high fold of his collar, the butler turned and hastily retreated down the hallway.
Her lips gave a wry twitch on spotting the bag left abandoned on the slate tiles. “I do hope he remembers the tea,” she murmured to her brothers. “Otherwise, Nonny, you may have to consider hiring new staff.”
Perry grinned and made a choking sound as he drew a finger across his neck. “Off with his head! That’s how a noble Spartan would handle a disobedient servant.”
“The laws of classical Greece were somewhat different from those of modern England,” grinned Nonny. “I expect I shall only be allowed to lop off an ear.”
Zara smiled as well, relieved to see their plucky spirits remained undaunted. She wished, however, that her own show of blithe humor was not merely a mask for deeper misgivings.Despite her earlier air of assurance, she was not quite as sure of herself as she appeared. Though she had tried not to dwell overly on it, she imagined her actions could conceivably result in a number of unpleasant consequences—from being bodily ejected from the premises to having the local magistrate lock them up in the gaol them for trespassing.
Drawing in a deep breath, she tried not to flinch at the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Her ladyship will be with you shortly.” It was only a young maid, her lowered lashes not quite hiding a gleam of curiosity over the new arrivals as she delivered the terse message.
A low rumble sounded in Zara’s stomach on noting that words were the only thing the servant was delivering. Swallowing a pang of hunger, she forced her mind from thoughts of fragrant oolong to careful consideration of the oblique reference.
To which ladyship was the maid referring?
With a quirk of her lips, Zara realized as her eyes strayed around the room that she knew precious little about her father’s branch of the family tree.
Nonny seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Is that Father’s cousin?” he asked, his gaze coming to rest on a portrait above the mahogany desk. There was a certain limpid slackness about the gentleman’s mouth and eyes that hinted at a tendency toward dissolute behavior, but the smile was friendly and long lines of the face and crook of the aquiline nose had a poignant familiarity to them.
“I imagine so,” she answered, then moved closer to inspect the inscription on the gilt frame. “Yes, it is Aubrey Greeley. He bears a striking resemblance to?—”
A whoosh of silks interrupted her words. “Donottouch the canvas if you please.” The implication seemed to be that Zarawas about to grab it from the wall and stuff it down her bodice. “It is a very valuable painting.”
“I do not doubt it.” Zara somehow managed to answer with a cool composure. “Gainsborough is certainly considered one of the preeminent portrait painters of the past century.” She tilted her head and pretended to study the work a moment longer. “This is a fine example of his later brushwork. Though I must confess, I tend to prefer his landscapes.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, then a tight-lipped silence as the speaker seemed unsure as to how to reply.
Zara turned to meet the glowering gaze of an older lady whose short stature and wide girth immediately brought to mind a barrel of McTavish’s Bruichladdich brew. It was obvious that a great deal of effort had been put into denying the realities of the mirror—the greying hair was done up in an elaborate style more befitting a Diamond of the First Water, and the expensive silk gown, with its tiered flounces and overskirt of fine sarcenet, seemed an overly fussy choice for a country afternoon. Still, all the finery could not disguise the unfortunate resemblance to a hogshead.
The first impression was only reinforced by a closer study of the scowling face. Layers of rouge and powder could not cover up the hardened squint of the brown eyes or the lines of a perpetual frown that were etched around the corners of her thinned mouth.
Zara gave an inward sigh. Though she suspected as much from the letter in her pocket, it appeared the lady before her was truly as wooden and unyielding as an iron-banded cask of oak.
“Hmmph.” With a moue of distaste, her adversary settled herself into one of the chairs. “Who do you think you are, gel?” she demanded without preamble. “Storming into this house unannounced and uninvited?”
Zara’s lips formed a small smile. “Did the butler not inform you of our identity? We shall have to see that the staff receives better training. In the meantime, allow me to introduce the new Baron Kenworth.” She gave a wave of her hand at Nonny who, to his credit, inclined a polite bow. ”I am his sister, and Master Perseus is our younger brother.” A pause. “And you are?”
The other lady was so taken aback by the question that she didn’t think to demur. “I am Lady Farrington,” she said stiffly. “Great aunt to the duke. And I assure you, he will, as a concerned relative, use his considerable power to see that all this nonsense is quickly resolved.”
Good Lord, not another dratted duke to trouble their lives!
Pushing such disquieting thoughts aside, Zara went on. “As to our arrival, I was unaware that the baron needed an invitation to enter his own home.” After a fraction of a pause, she couldn’t resist adding, “Speaking of which, who invitedyouhere?”
The sputtering took several moments to get under control. “Invited me! Why, you … you …” Lady Farrington’s face was now purpling with outrage, making Zara wonder whether she should ring for a maid and some vinaigrette. “It is my grandson, the Honourable Harold Greeley, and not some ragamuffin come lately to these shores, who haslegitimateclaim to the title and lands,” she cried. “Why, I have a good mind to have you and your scheming siblings tossed out on your ear.”
Anger at the implied insult to the union of her parents goaded Zara into losing what remained of her temper. Heedless of the consequences, she replied with equal heat. “Ha! By whom? If you are so certain our claim is fraudulent, your highly-paid lackeys would have flaunted the proof of it long ago.”
