“It’s not his stomach I’m worried about, miss. I’m worried he’s going to pounce on you and gobble you whole.”
“Pounce on me?” Lydia said a little too loudly. An image of Lord Greystone nibbling and sucking her neck flashed into her mind. “How many times must I tell you?” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Just because he spent time abroad does not mean he’s a savage. Those stories of cannibals are spread merely as an excuse to invade the colonies.”
“Mrs Cotton said her husband’s ship once ran aground, and they took shelter on an island. Every night a man went missing. They found one on a roasting spit burnt to a crisp.”
Lydia sighed. “Regardless what Mrs Cotton said, his lordship is not after eating me.”
Ada frowned. “Then why does he look at you in that odd way?”
“Maybe he’s not looking at me at all. Maybe after a month at sea, he is simply dreaming of cherry pie.”
Ada pursed her lips as she considered the comment. “Happen you’re right. He licked his lips ten times or more when you were speaking.”
“Is everything all right?” the man in question called out behind them.
“Yes,” Lydia said a little breathlessly. “We were just debating the merits of cherry pie.”
Lord Greystone quickened his pace and sidled up beside them. “How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I have a particular fondness for cherries.” He glanced up at her bonnet again. “The mere sight of them rouses a hunger like no other.”
Lydia noted the ravenous look in Greystone’s eyes. “So you are in need of sustenance?”
“My dear Miss Lovell, I cannot think of a time when I have been so famished.”
Chapter Seven
They visited three more tenants after Mrs Guthrie. Each cottage came with its problems—broken windows, missing tiles, damp walls. The neglect went beyond the five years Miles had been away, beyond his mother’s attempt to manage the estate.
Gilligan was not the only one to blame.
Miles had borne witness to his father’s culpability. Within days of his wife producing an heir, his father abandoned his family to reside in London, close to the theatre where his mistress graced the stage. And other than odd irregular visits to the manor, there he remained. Miles’ mother had tried her best to maintain things but was just as starved of funds as the poor tenants.
But his parents were dead. And now the blame lay firmly upon his shoulders. They were broad enough to bear the weight of responsibility, broad enough so he might stand strong and begin to right the wrongs of the past.
“We’ll cross the field as it will save the twenty-minute walk,” Miss Lovell said, drawing Miles out of his thoughts. She stood at the stile, her attention flitting between the cottage in the distance and some boys climbing trees in the adjacent field. “But I should warn you. You’ll not get a warm welcome here.”
Her tone lacked the heavy contempt that clung to her words at their first meeting. Now, he heard a hint of compassion, not only for the tenants but surprisingly for him.
“As master of Greystone Manor I have failed these people, and so must deal with their hostility not hide from it.” Miles climbed the stile and offered his hand. “Allow me to assist you.”
Miss Lovell and her maid exchanged nervous glances. They looked at him, at his ungloved hand, and then at each other.
“Having witnessed the dilapidated state of the cottages, I feel like the worst of scoundrels,” he said. It was true. The crippling sense of inadequacy left a dull ache in his chest. “Please allow me to play the gentleman at least once today.”
A faint smile caught on Miss Lovell’s lips. “Ada will go first.” She ushered her maid forward, but the girl refused to budge. “I think we’ve established that Lord Greystone is not the devil.”
With bulging eyes, the maid stared at his hand as if it were the claw of a two-headed beast. “But he’s not w-wearing gloves, miss.”
Miss Lovell sighed. “Lord Greystone will cup your elbow.”
The lady met his gaze. She said nothing, but he could read the unspoken words in her dazzling blue eyes. She cared for the maid and begged him silently to tread carefully with the delicate servant.
Miles held out his arm as one would if hunting with a hawk. “Hold on to my arm if you need to steady your balance.”
The maid swallowed. Muttering to herself, she stepped forward and clambered over the stile, caught her foot on the top rung, flew forward and knocked Miles to the ground.