Page 2 of The Lord Next Door
She passed the home of the Earl of Banstead, right next door to hers. The house lived under a cloud of scandal many years old, but one that Victoria had been deemed too young to hear about. She’d given up questioning her housekeeper about the servants’ gossip years before.
She couldn’t imagine that Tom still lived there—surely she would have had some word from him.
She came to a stop and stared up at the huge town house with its gleaming windows and impressive entranceway. Was the answer to her problems in there?
But she had never been an impulsive woman, so she resumed walking home to help Mrs. Wayneflete with dinner—and came up short before she reached her property. The idea rolling around in her mind was so wildly impulsive that she felt the need to give in to it immediately, before she could change her mind. Her heart pounded, her gloves dampened with perspiration. Was Tom the answer to her prayers?
Would he marry her?
Oh, what was she thinking? A kind man like him, twenty-six years of age, would surely be married already. That was probably why he’d stopped writing to her. He’d met a girl and—
But what if he wasn’t married? Victoria could be a servant’s wife. She’d become quite the frugal housekeeper, and she knew she could be content with Tom. She hadn’t wanted to marry. It had been too difficult to flirt with men. Since she loved nothing better than to be alone with her music or her needlework, she had thought that would content her. It had been a relief when her mother had given up on marriage plans for her, when her father’s disapproving looks had turned to indifference. He had always made sure Victoria knew it would be difficult to find a husband for her.
But now marriage might be the only answer. Could this actually work? Could she save her mother—and herself?
She marched up to the Banstead front door and knocked before she could change her mind. Too late, she realized she should have gone around to the servants’ entrance in the back. But someone was already opening the door.
An imposing butler, wearing black livery and a white wig, bowed to her. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon. Forgive my impertinence, but I am looking for a manservant who once worked for you—and might still work for you, of course.”
The butler stepped aside, and she entered the two-story entrance hall. A graceful marble staircase curved up one wall, a corridor led to the rear of the home, and several closed doors hid other rooms.
The butler studied her. “The servant’s name, miss?”
“I never knew his last name,” she said, “but his mother was once the cook here. The boy’s name was Tom, and he would be twenty-six years old by now.”
“Miss, I have been with the earl for nearly thirty years, and I can assure you that—”
A door suddenly opened, and a tall man stepped into the hall, quite taking her breath away with the power of his presence. He was dressed in somber colors with the most expensive fabric and cut. He had dark brown hair, cut close to his head as if to hide wayward curls he couldn’t control. Though some might not call him handsome, his face with its intimidating cheekbones and dark, heavy brows was definitely striking. But it was his eyes that had unnerved her. They were the palest blue, frosty with intelligence, a winter glance in springtime.
He studied her more intently than any man had the right to do to a stranger. She lifted her chin and tried to appear calm, when inside her every insecurity was bubbling to the surface.
The man turned to his butler. “I’ll handle this, Smith.”
“Very good, my lord.” After giving a bow, Smith left the entrance hall and motioned the footman to leave with him.
This could not be the earl, who Victoria knew was an elderly man, so it must be his son. She’d always gotten the impression from Tom that the young viscount was often away at school, for he seemed to have not overly influenced the household. Unless he was part of the scandal…
“I am Viscount Thurlow. And you are…”
Memories came flooding back of countless parties where she stuttered talking to every man, but she forced them away. She wasn’t that girl anymore. “Miss Victoria Shelby, my lord. I live next door.”
“I know the family name.”
“You do?”
“You live next door,” he said dryly.
She tried to smile. “Oh yes, of course. My lord, I am looking for—”
“A servant named Tom,” he interrupted. “I overheard.”
“Does he still live here? If not, perhaps I could speak with your steward for a forwarding address.”
His examination made her feel uncomfortable and even annoyed.
“Miss Shelby, there is no other way to say this except to be blunt. I’m Tom.”
