Page 24 of A Lord Apart (The Way to a Lord's Heart 2)

“And I get no sense of deception from her,” Macklin agreed. “She has no reason to trust us, however.”

Daniel didn’t like that idea either. “She will once she gets to know me. Us. She’s going to help me organize the family papers.”

“Really?” Macklin raised his eyebrows.

“We both want information about Rose Cottage.” He refused to give up his plan. “There’s nothing in Frithgerd’s records to threaten the government. Rent rolls and deeds pose no danger.”

“No. But she may bring trouble with her.”

“Then we must help!” Daniel interrupted, swept by a fierce, protective anger. “My father—your old friend—left her a home. He would have wanted that.”

“Mystery upon mystery,” replied Macklin. “It’s all very odd. We must feel our way.”

Should they need a way into the government, there was no better man than Macklin, Daniel thought. They wouldn’t, of course. Penelope Pendleton was an innocent. But once again, he was glad of Macklin’s unexpected presence in his house.

Six

When Penelope entered Frithgerd the following afternoon, she was buzzing with anticipation. For as long as she could remember, she’d loved putting things to rights, bringing order to unproductive chaos, and ideally learning things as she worked. She’d discovered her talents alongside her father in his estate office. Fed by his praise for her efforts, her knack for organization had grown into a true skill. She knew how to do this, and she was good at it. One of the many strains of the last year had been having nothing to do. All the tasks that had brought her satisfaction had been taken away. But now she was being called into action again. And more. At Frithgerd, at any moment, she might turn over a page and solve the puzzle of her legacy.

The fact that Lord Whitfield would be working at her side had nothing to do with her excitement, she told herself. Well, next to nothing. Or nothing to the point. Hehadtrusted her, as no one had done for a long time. She paused briefly to savor that fact. The look on his face when he’d assured her that she was needed had nearly made her cry.

The footman who was escorting her looked back over his shoulder.

Penelope started walking again. Thankfully, she’d resisted tears. What would Lord Whitfield have thought? And she expected he’d be more of a hindrance than a help in the actual task. The state of his records showed that he had no gift for organization. Yet her pulse sped up when she was admitted to the estate office and found him waiting there.

His smile lit his blunt-featured face. He looked wholeheartedly glad to see her. When had she last received such a welcome?

“Good day, Miss Pendleton. I’ve ordered tea and a plate of muffins to ease our labors.” He indicated a tray, set atop a stack of papers as there was no clear spot for it. “Are you fond of muffins?”

Penelope felt her own smile spread over her face. She could sit down with him and drink tea and learn more about his history and opinions. She could laugh perhaps, or make him laugh. She could even flirt a little, as she’d done as a girl. Even though she was a girl no longer, irrespective of age. “Is there jam?”

“Assuredly there is jam.” Whitfield glanced at the footman as the servant went out. “Leave the door open, Ned,” he added.

The viscount was treating her as if she had a social position to lose. And with that courtesy, Penelope was reminded that she didn’t. She had no family, no true friends, no standing. And she mustn’t imagine that Lord Whitfield’s politeness and curiosity about Rose Cottage changed anything fundamental in her life. Far better to concentrate on the task at hand and find her pleasure there. “We should get started,” she said.

“Drudgery first, muffins later?” he replied wryly.

She wouldn’t have predicted it after their first meeting, but he had a beguiling charm—the sort you might not discover until you were waltzing with him, his dark eyes inches away, his hand warm on your back. Which she would never get to do, Penelope told herself severely. Why was she thinking of such a thing? What had become of her fabled concentration? “It’s best to take a systematic approach,” she said. “As a first step, we should be certain that all the records in the house are here.”

Lord Whitfield looked around the cluttered office. “You want more than this?”

“It isn’t a case of wanting.” Penelope felt a curious catch in her chest on that last word. How long had it been since she had been allowed to want? She turned to the wardrobe with its cascade of documents. “It’s so we can do a thorough job. There’s nothing worse than putting things into perfect order, and then coming upon a pile that was left out.”

“I can think of a few worse things,” he replied, smiling again to show it was a joke.

Ignoring the yearning of her heart, Penelope said, “From what I’ve seen, I suspect your records may have been scattered about the house.”

“We found an old deed in the epergne on the dining room table.”

Penelope laughed. “So you should have the house gone over and all the papers brought here.”

“We’ll be buried in fusty old documents!” Whitfield shook his head. “And I’m not going to be popular with my housekeeper.”

“You may be surprised. If you tell her you’re going to put it all in order and be rid of the clutter, I expect she’ll be delighted.”

“It’s true she’s wanted to clear out some bits. I couldn’t let her throw anything away until I looked at it.”

“You see.”

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