Page 44 of The Jewels of Halstead Manor (Ladies of Devon 1)

She trekked behind the castle and across a field cut low and well maintained. It had become obvious that the earl did not shirk his duties. He might be a hermit in some sense of the word, but he thoroughly cared for the grounds and castle, and if that was any sign, most likely his tenants and lands as well. Even the west wing, which appeared to be unused for the most part, was clean and dust free.

Halfway to the stable entrance, Giulia halted. The earl strode out of the large open doors and directly toward her. He was watching the oncoming storm with an equally alarming expression on his wrinkled features and she thought that perhaps confronting the man head on was not the wisest course of action.

Lord Hart glanced down before she could retreat and found her staring. He stopped a few yards in front of her and scowled. His cool gray eyes were lit from the sunlight and sent her back to the last time she had looked into her father’s lifeless eyes. She faltered, losing her ability to speak. She missed her father so much, it physically hurt.

Looking into his eyes on the face of her uncle was an odd combination of pain and pleasure that she simultaneously shied away from and wished she could hold onto all in the same breath. The earl cleared his throat and pulled her out of her reverie.

“Right,” she said, straightening her spine. It gave her another inch or so of height; she would take all the help she could get. “Good day, Uncle. I wanted to apologize for my outburst last evening. It was disrespectful, and as a guest at your table I should not have raised my voice in such a way.” She swallowed. “I merely request some notice if you are going to choose to send me away.”

He grunted and began to walk past her.

“My lord,” she called, “while I enjoy the grunts you so often deliver in lieu of words, I must request a response at this time.”

He paused and turned to face her slowly, his long white hair fluttering slightly in the wind. She clenched her hands into fists, her nails biting into the flesh of her palms as she held her tongue.

“Nicholas has not recovered fully,” he said.

Giulia stood still, waiting for the earl to continue, but her waiting was in vain. “And I take that to mean that you do not wish me gone yet?”

There was a flicker of something in his scowl, and she wondered if it was caused by amusement or irritation. “You may take my words any way you wish. You have made an agreement and I expect you to fulfill your side of the bargain.”

“Very well, my lord. And shall I take my dinners in my room?” she challenged.

He held her gaze. “You regret what you have said so I see no need to prolong this ordeal. You may continue to take your meals in the dining room.”

“You misunderstood. I do not regret what I said, only my delivery.”

“Oh?” The earl faced her fully, his gaze flicking over her with haughty arrogance.

She forced her shoulders back even farther and tilted her chin up. “I think I have been punished enough for your dislike of my father, who, I must remind you, I am not. And I refuse to continue eating in a room where I am cast into exile at the end of a table the size of Scotland and utterly ignored.”

The earl scrutinized her face, another twitch marring his own. She would have assumed it to be irritation, yet he was not shaking, turning red, or any of the other signs that showed concealed anger. “You will continue to eat in the dining room,” he announced before turning and fleeing to the castle, his stride long and quick.

As a person who had been given an inordinate amount of independence for the majority of her life, Giulia was not one to take demands easily. She bristled at the authority Lord Hart delivered, but something in her gut told her not to fight him on this.

He had looked at her face. He’d actually looked into her eyes. In her opinion, that was progress.

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