“Well, Mrs Sanders says he creeps about at all odd times of the night.”
“Does he?” Did the housekeeper prowl the corridors while they slept?
“She’s seen him in the garden and sneaking out of the drawing room.”
“Lord Randall hates keeping country hours,” Lydia said as they trudged through long grass and ferns that were now a burnt shade of orange. “No doubt he was hunting out the port decanter.”
“Hmm. And he does wear funny clothes. The last time he came to visit, his waistcoat matched the dining room curtains.”
Lydia suppressed a chuckle. “Lord Randall is an avid follower of fashion.” And consequently, blended in rather well with the soft furnishings.
“Only those with a muddy brain follow the herd. That’s what my mother used to say.”
“Some people find that being part of such a creative group makes them feel important.” Lydia wanted to say that Randall was shallow, that it was a sorry state of affairs if a man’s only achievement was his wardrobe.
“I used to have a dress made out of an old bedspread,” Ada said with a sigh. “I yawned every time I wore the ugly thing. Maybe that’s why Lord Randall can’t sleep. Curtains are only useful at night.”
Despite her anxiety at being late, Lydia couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think the less said about Lord Randall’s sleeping habits, the better.”
A brief silence ensued, only broken by the snapping of twigs underfoot as they moved hastily onwards.
“Are you sure we’re going the right way, miss?” Ada’s voice held a nervous edge. “Isn’t this the way to the stones?”
“Yes, we?
??re meeting Lord Greystone there.”
Ada gasped and came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, miss, there’s only one reason why the devil would want to meet you there. Only one reason indeed.”
Set in a circle with a sacrificial altar in the centre, Lydia had heard many stories about the giant stones. Tales of witchcraft and sorcery were rife.
“I asked Lord Greystone to meet us there,” Lydia said, tugging Ada by the hand, “so that I might accompany him when he visits the tenants. You must trust me, Ada. There is nothing to fear.”
Ada nibbled on her bottom lip, her gaze shifted left and right and then with some reluctance she followed Lydia towards the stone circle. “Mrs Cotton came here to collect mushrooms once and was sick for a week—a witch’s curse she said.”
Oh, merciful Lord. Mrs Cotton spoke gibberish. There was only one witch in Cuckfield, and she ruled Dunnam Park.
“She probably picked the wrong ones. You know how her eyesight fails her. Besides, we’re meeting a Greystone, and you know what that means.”
Ada gulped. “Wh-what does it mean, miss?”
Lydia hadn’t a clue. “Legend has it that Greystone blood can ward off an evil attack. The men are said to have a strength that defies the odds.” That was not a lie. The current lord most definitely had a powerful presence. “The stones are a blessing, not a curse.”
Furrows appeared on Ada’s brows. “But you said the big brute Seth met in Cuckfield wasn’t Lord Greystone.”
“The brute is his friend, Mr Drake.” Lydia didn’t dare mention his given name. “Lord Greystone possesses a strength of character that supersedes the need for brawn and muscle.” Although his athletic physique was by no means lacking.
Lydia caught herself. Had she just paid Lord Greystone a compliment?
“But let us not speak of it now,” Lydia added as they approached the giant boulders to find the gentleman in question, hands cupped behind his head, lying stretched out on the sacrificial stone.
As they crept closer, Ada stiffened at Lydia’s side. For Lydia, the sight of the relaxed masculine figure had the opposite effect. Every muscle grew flimsy and feeble. Like a restless bird, her heart took flight.
Lydia cleared her throat in the hope of gaining his attention.
Greystone did not move, did not say a word.
They crept closer still. The lord’s eyes were closed. He wore the same grey coat as the previous evening but now with dark blue breeches and matching waistcoat. No doubt the plain material was easy to carry in a saddlebag. Lydia couldn’t help but stare at his full lips and the cleft in his chin that gave him a roguish air. The absence of a hat drew her gaze to the copper tones in his dark wind-tousled locks.