Page 26 of A Lord Apart (The Way to a Lord's Heart 2)

Her face had grown softer as she spoke of her family. Daniel could imagine her as much younger, eagerly shouldering one responsibility after another.

“I liked keeping order, and I could usually find the information that was needed or a missing key or a correspondent’s address. Papa called me a marvel.”

Her gaze was far away. Obviously, she was remembering some of the happiest moments of her life. She’d been a different creature before her brother’s troubles engulfed her, Daniel concluded. He was moved by the picture of her basking in her father’s praise. A sharp pang of envy muddled the feeling.

“I learned from our man of business when he visited, and the tenants. After a while, I could explain the more complicated matters to Papa.” She looked up and seemed to recall her surroundings. Her expression shifted. “So, perhaps it’s fortunate I’m here,” she said briskly.

“It certainly is.”

The warmth in his voice startled them both. Emotion suffused the room, like mist drifting across the surface of a secluded lake. Daniel’s chest tightened. It was not harder to breathe. He was imagining that. Miss Pendleton had been speaking of other people, other places. Nothing to do with him. She’d be shocked to know what he was feeling. This…whatever it was, would be appreciated by no one. He knew that from long experience. Ancient resentments stirred; he squashed them. “I’ll go and give the orders about gathering papers,” he said.

“Yes.” As if she couldn’t sit still, Miss Pendleton rose and began picking up the papers that had flooded out of the wardrobe yesterday. “They should stack everything on the inner side of the parlor, away from the windows,” she said without looking up.

“Stack,” Daniel echoed. The word implied mountains of papers and was probably hideously accurate. He moved toward the door.

“So we can begin our files on the other side and keep everything straight.”

“I took your meaning,” he replied. He wasn’t dim, Daniel thought. On the contrary, he was very clever about some things. Obsessive sorting wasn’t a sign of intelligence. Look at squirrels. Resentment tried to rise in him again. There seemed to be quite a large amount of it, looming, powerful. Wanting nothing to do with the sensation, he stalked out. He would take his time speaking to his housekeeper, and he wouldn’t return until he was utterly composed.

When the door of the estate office opened sometime later, Penelope turned eagerly. “Look at this!” She held up a parchment she’d unearthed. Curlicues of antique writing adorned it. There was even a tiny illumination in one corner.

“Something about Rose Cottage?” Lord Whitfield asked.

“No. It’s a grant of advowson from 1634!”

“Advowson,” he repeated.

“The right to recommend a clergyman for a vacant post, or to appoint him. The latter, in this case.”

“Right. I knew that. Which living is it?”

She’d become so engrossed in the hunt that she’d forgotten the way he’d left, as if he couldn’t wait to be gone. Awkwardness flooded back when he looked at the parchment as if it was just a scrap of paper. Her fervor ebbed. “Why there was a two-hundred-year-old grant here in the desk I can’t imagine.”

“Can’t you?”

He had no reason to be distant. She hadn’t done anything. In fact, she was helping him. And herself, of course. How long would it take to find the information she wanted in this jumble? “You should keep current matters close at hand and store older documents elsewhere.”

“No doubt.”

Penelope stifled an urge to hit him. “That method is sensible, you see, because the older ones are needed less often.”

“Yes, Miss Pendleton, I do see. Anyone would. The idea is obvious.”

“And yet never used at Frithgerd, as far as I can see.”

“After an hour of rooting about.” Whitfield looked stung, which was curiously satisfying.

“Long enough to discover a complete lack of organization.”

He started to speak. Penelope braced for a setdown. Then he shrugged and gave her a rueful smile instead. “I know. Can a horror of paper be handed down in families, do you think?”

Penelope had to smile back. There was the charm again, flashing like a dark lantern flipped open in the night.

“There’s probably some Greek word for it. There generally is. Papyrophobia? The oddest fears are named in Greek. Were they pigeonhearted, do you think?”

“They won the Trojan War.”

He stared at her. She stared back. It was like looking into a mirror of feelings, Penelope thought. He looked startled and amused and speculative. Just as she did, she was certain. They shared a silent communion. Then he nodded. Acknowledgment or dismissal?

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