Page 14 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“That would be lovely.” Turning in her seat, she took a glass of pale yellow liquid from the proffered tray.
“I heard there was an accident. Was anyone hurt?”
Marina took a sip of the cold drink. There must be an ice house on the estate. “A scaffolding was being raised, and it fell. One of the men suffered a sprained wrist.”
“Cook told me you helped the young man who was injured.”
“As anyone would do.” To change the subject, she said, “I need to go into the village tomorrow to purchase notebooks. Would you accompany me?”
“If Cook will let me,” Anne replied brightly, her cheeks flushed.
“I need a chaperone.” Marina put her glass down on a corner of the writing table and got to her feet. “I’ll discuss it with her right now.”
A few minutes later, it was settled that Anne would accompany Marina to the village. The women would travel in a pony cart that was available for her father’s use.
Tomorrow she would get her first sight of the village of Preston.
Chapter Seven
Preston encountered the pony cart on the track to the village while on his morning ride.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said, touching the brim of his hat in greeting.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Miss Davies was again wearing her glasses, her glorious hair covered by a huge poke bonnet.
The maid beside her mumbled ‘Good morning’ and looked down at the hands in her lap.
“There is a deep hole in the track some yards on. I’ll have it filled, but for now, be careful.”
“I am a competent driver,” Miss Davies replied, her chin raised. “The safety of the mare is my first concern, naturally.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from the maid. After what Grayson had told him of Miss Davies’ background, he wasn’t shocked by the young woman’s impertinence.
“That is good to know,” he responded shortly. “Good day.”
The day was already warm. In a few hours, it might well be rather hot. There was an unopened parasol on the bench next to Miss Davies, although she need not worry about her complexion while wearing such a large hat.
As he sat over a breakfast tray in the library, he halfheartedly glanced over the newspapers that had been sent from London.
He felt restless. The first few months back at the estate, he’d been overwhelmed with setting his accounts to rights. The financial disaster his steward had left him was resolved, and tenant concerns were being swiftly addressed. He’d thrown himself into estate business. Now that things were quieting down, he needed another project to keep him occupied.
A servant entered the room with a silver salver, a single letter upon it.
It was from his aunt, his father’s only sibling who had never been an admirer of his mother, although she had visited Barton Hall to console him after his mother’s death. Being a woman, she hadn’t been allowed at the graveside service.
Dear heaven! The woman was coming to Barton Hall. She was concerned about his being all alone in the big house. He’d never been a prolific correspondent, and now he wished he’d informed his aunt of the work underway at the hall. Although he doubted anything could dissuade her from visiting him once her mind was made up to do so.
A light knock sounded at the open library door, and the architect looked in.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Good morning, Sir Joseph.” He waved a hand at the pair of leather armchairs in front of his large mahogany desk, and the architect took a seat. “I must speak with you about an unknown guest in the hall. Could any of your workers be residing in the house overnight?”
“It wouldn’t be unheard of, Your Grace, but usually only occurs when the house is unoccupied during a restoration. I will speak with the foremen about the matter.”
He replied, “The cupboard where bedding was found will be locked at night. With only myself and the housekeeper living in the house, I haven’t seen the need to have a footman on duty at night. It is time I have one patrol the ground floor. You may tactfully mention that fact to the laborers.”
“Very good. An excellent idea.”
