Page 11 of His Scandal
Chapter 4
The next day, as the waterman rowed the wherry up to the dock at Thornton Manor, Alex felt the usual bitter mood steal over him. It didn’t help that he’d again had the feeling that someone had been following him in Southwark. He paid the waterman and walked up the long stone pathway, trying to force away the memories of being the master at Thornton.
He had not expected to like the hard work of running Spencer’s many estates scattered throughout England, but had discovered that the land and its upkeep interested him. With attempts at agricultural modernization, he’d affected so many lives for the better. He almost regretted the quiet satisfaction he’d achieved, for its absence disturbed him.
Alex opened up the main door of the house andstepped inside. Ah well, he had the rest of his life to accomplish something else. He’d get to it…eventually. For now he would visit his mother, who was soon to leave for the Isle of Wight for the birth of Spencer and Roselyn’s baby.
The hall of the house stretched to the second floor, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the raised voices of servants.
“Madre?”he yelled, knowing it would take too long to search for her.
He heard a gasp from a corridor to his right, and he turned to find a little maidservant steadying a tray filled with goblets and cakes.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, and enjoyed the maid’s blush.
“Lord Thornton—I mean, Sir Alexander,” she murmured, bobbing a little curtsy while still balancing the tray.
“You could tell it was me, eh?” he teased.
“Lord Thornton is on the island, sir, but surely ye knew that. Should I tell her ladyship ye’re here?”
“Are you heading her way?”
She bobbed again, and her linen cap dipped toward her eyes.
“Then I’ll just follow you.”
She almost scurried before him, as if he would trample on her heels. When they entered the withdrawing chamber, he came up short.
Sitting on a high-backed bench beside hismother was Lady Emmeline Prescott, dressed in a dark blue serviceable gown with fine, delicate lace at her throat. She was more than amply curved in all the usual places; in fact, she was downright lush—though he could tell she tried to tame her figure into submission with the usual feminine contraptions.
She glanced up at him; a spark of awareness took him by surprise. He was intrigued to see some of the color leave her face, as if she’d been discovered.
Which could only mean she was there to discover things about him.
As he swept his mother off the seat and into his arms, Emmeline leaned back, as if she were afraid to touch him. Hehadhandled her roughly last time, after all.
“Alexander!” his mother said, returning his hug and smiling at him.
He wondered if she would ever stop wearing black in mourning for his father.
“I thought I heard you bellowing in the hall,” she continued.
“’Twas me, I admit,Madre. Forgive me for startling your guest.”
“This is Lady Emmeline Prescott. Her mother was one of my few dear friends at court. Lady Emmeline, my son Alexander.”
“Lady Emmeline,” he said, bowing and bringing her hand to his lips. He thought she’d havecool hands, but they were very warm and soft, and ah, that blush did interesting things for her blue-green eyes. “We have met before.”
Emmeline’s wide, shocked eyes returned to his with alacrity, and he grinned, unable to stop himself from teasing her. Spinster sisters who kept him from winning a wager were a special irritant.
He did not ask her purpose at his home, merely waited and watched her squirm and cast her gaze away from him. He could see her intelligent mind wondering: would he tell his mother that he’d tumbled her onto his bed?
“Of course you would have met,” his mother said. “Have you been respectful to the young ladies at these parties you attend?”
“Always,Madre,” he answered easily.
He wanted to laugh when Emmeline’s eyes narrowed, but what could she say when her own behavior had been just as scandalous? He remembered her on her back amidst his blankets, warming his bed.
