Anger and resentment surged up to breach the surface. “Just leave me the hell alone,” he said striding from the room. Crossing the hall to his study, he slammed the door to stress his point.
Years of frustration always found an opportunity for release and his housekeeper knew to ignore his temper; she knew not to take offence at his churlish manner.
/> He flung himself into the chair, let out an exasperated growl loud enough to rattle the shutters, before closing his eyes. When he opened them, his gaze flew to the sketch of Evelyn Bromwell. Jumping up, he charged over to the easel and ripped the paper from the wooden clamp. The urge to tear it to shreds almost overtook the need to treasure it, to preserve it.
He didn’t need to be reminded of his humanity, of all that he had lost.
But what if the tenderness expressed in her face was the only thing creating the warmth in his chest?
What if he couldn’t recapture the likeness?
Alexander moved towards the desk, unlocked the top drawer and with careful fingers placed the sketch inside. Even after he’d locked it and relaxed back in the chair, Evelyn Bromwell continued to haunt his thoughts.
A strange sense of foreboding fell over him when he thought of her alone with Mr. Sutherby. Perhaps he could wait until nightfall and wander over to Mytton Grange. It would not be a social call. An hour or so hiding outside would give him an opportunity to study the situation, to discover if Evelyn Bromwell had accepted the hand of such an insipid gentleman. He may even uncover what secrets the Sutherbys were hiding.
Chapter 7
When the mantle clock struck nine, Alexander’s impatience could no longer be tempered. Since making the decision to investigate the Sutherbys house, he had struggled to focus on anything else, and his constant pacing had created a clean pathway on the dusty floor.
Mytton Grange was a manor house situated two miles north of Stony Cross. There were no tenant cottages, the only ones having been sold when the owner moved to Italy.
The quickest route took Alexander down to the fork at the end of the lane, to follow the road leading past the coaching inn before branching back up through the forest. The stone bridge crossing the river was in dire need of repair, but he navigated his way across the crumbling arch before climbing the stile bordering the manor.
The wind had settled, the night dry, the sky clear.
Drawn to the orange glow emanating from the tall window, he crossed the grass and peered inside to find Miss Bromwell, Mr. Sutherby, and his sister, seated around the fire.
A smoky haze hung heavily in the room, and Alexander plastered his back to the wall when Mr. Sutherby darted over to the window and yanked up the sash.
“I’ll have to get a boy to climb the chimney,” he said giving a small cough before sucking in the fresh air. “You’d have thought the agent would have had them cleaned out.”
Recalling Sutherby’s mass of golden hair, Alexander imagined shoving the gentleman up there in the hope the soot choked him.
“I’ll go and find some water,” Miss Bromwell said. He identified her assertive tone easily. “It’s best we put the fire out before the whole stack goes up.”
When she left the room, Charlotte Sutherby came to stand near the window and said with some impatience, “Well, have you asked her?”
Mr. Sutherby sighed. “No. I’ve not had a chance. When I asked to speak to her alone, she made an excuse about needing to settle her aunt. I get the sense she’s avoiding me.”
“Perhaps she’s ill. She hardly ate a thing at dinner. It can’t be anything else as she seemed quite taken with you when we were in London.”
“What if we made a mistake in coming here?”
“You needed to place a little distance between you. It wouldn’t do to make it too easy. Besides, a well-kept house such as this speaks volumes when one is considering marriage.”
Alexander suppressed a snort. If that were true, there wasn’t a woman in all of Christendom who’d consent to marry him.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Miss Sutherby continued as the door opened and Miss Bromwell returned. “What a gem you are, Evelyn, you’ve found Thomas. Throw the whole bucket on the fire, Thomas, before we’re smothered in a thick blanket of smoke.”
Alexander heard the flames crackle and sizzle in protest.
“Let us vacate this room,” Mr. Sutherby said. “We could retire to the library, and you could read to us, Charlotte.”
“Shall I light the fire in the library, sir?”
“No, no. Best not light a thing until they’ve all been swept out. And I suggest you leave this window open for an hour or two.”
“Forgive me,” Miss Bromwell interjected and he could hear the nervous hitch in her voice. He should have insisted they stay at Stony Cross. He should never have let her leave with Sutherby. “I think I’ll retire for the evening. It’s been a long day, and I still feel exhausted after the accident.”