Page 8 of Betrayal from Beyond
Niall pursed his lips. Stayme had told him something similar when he was younger. And those words had been on his mind on the day he wedded Kara. He’d pledged himself to her that day. But he’d also made a promise to himself—that he would keep her and their loved ones safe.
As Stayme said, he meant to keep all the vows he’d made that day.
Chapter Two
Kara managed toget a great deal done, both with Turner and with Moseman, the man who acted as her right hand in running the businesses and factories she’d inherited from her father. She had a lovely luncheon with him and his family, then managed to convince them to stay after Niall and Harold returned with Lord Stayme in tow.
They shared news, much laughter, and a little gossip. Miss Harriett Moseman, as predicted, adored her Frenchparfum, and continued to practice her fledgling skills at flirtation upon Niall. He bore it well and treated her gently. After a sumptuous afternoon tea, the Mosemans departed, and Stayme went upstairs to his rooms to rest. Kara went looking for Niall, but couldn’t find him, not in the house or even out at his forge.
“Turner, have you seen Niall?” she asked when she returned.
“No, Your Grace, but I heard Crewe mention that the duke went out for a walk.”
“Oh,” Kara said, surprised. “Very well, then. It gives us a chance to chat, doesn’t it? Will you join me in the ivory sitting room?”
“Of course.”
They settled into the little room that she’d always regarded as a combination of office and private retreat. She poured a snifter of brandy for Turner and a bit for herself. Turner sighed as he sank into the plush leather chair. Kara got comfortable on thesettee and smiled at him over the top of her glass. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”
Her butler, friend, and assistant permitted himself a rare, conspiratorial grin. “So it is.” He took a long drink. “But on the whole, I prefer these times.” He raised his brows. “You are not nearly so lonely now as you were back then.”
“I may have felt lonely at times, but I was neveralone,” she said fiercely. “I always had you.”
“And so you always shall.” He lifted his glass.
“Who could have predicted such a turn of events?” she marveled.
“No one,” he said with firm decisiveness. “There could have been no prediction of such a tangled path.”
“It ended well, in any case—and that’s my romantic life sorted. Now, what of yours? I trust you had the chance to spend a little more time with Mrs. Canning while we were gone?” Turner’s affection for the housekeeper of nearby Wood Rose Abbey—and hers for him—was the stuff of much local gossip.
“We spent an appropriate amount of time together, as we always do,” he answered primly.
“But Turner, we’ve all grown busier over the last couple of years—”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Nor would I, but I would never wish to take away your personal time.” At his stubborn look, she changed topics. “How is Tom coming along as underbutler?”
“The young man is learning. He is enthusiastic. It was a good idea to promote him.”
“Excellent. You are satisfied, then?” She knew he would understand all that she was asking.
“In every way,” he said gently.
“Good.” She sighed in relief and leaned back against the cushions. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Karalet her mind roam back over the day. “Did you think Niall looked a little…tense this afternoon?” she asked suddenly.
Turner thought it over. “No. Not that I noticed.”
“Hmm. Good, then.”
A smile played at the corner of the butler’s mouth. “Perhaps he is just loath to give up the relaxation and ease of your travels.”
Kara fought back a blush. “Perhaps.” She thought about it. “I know how to fix that. Will you have the fires lit in my laboratory tomorrow morning and have our breakfast served out there? Just the two of us? He always enjoys that.”
“Of course.”
“I haven’t even set foot in the lab since we returned. Has Harold made any progress on the Green Man?” She and her ward had dreamed up the design of the automaton after Harold found a Green Man sculpted into a fountain at their new estate in Scotland.
