Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

John didn't want to go. He wanted a nice long look into the carriage even though a blind man would know exactly what was going on. He was being small and nosy, and enjoy­ing it immensely. He sighed.

"Go!"

Nicholas straightened Rosalind's gown, her bonnet, lightly touched his fingertip to her mouth, still open in sur­prise, and wondered if he could have her in his bed in under five minutes.

"Goodness," she said and lightly touched her fingertips to her mouth.

"I plan to treat you to the unexpected for the next thirty years. What do you think?"

She looked up at him through her lashes. "Perhaps I'll have some unexpected surprises for you too, Nicholas."

His eyes nearly crossed. He lifted her down from the car­riage and walked beside her up the foot-worn stone steps. "You're ignorant," he said, not looking at her. "You don't know a blessed thing, much less anything about surprises."

"Aunt Sophie gave me a book. With pictures. She said they're not as explicit as the naked statues at Northcliffe Hail, which I was never allowed to see, by the way, but in- formative enough."

"You will show me this book."

She gave him a wicked smile.

Block said to him without preamble, "It is not all a disas­ter, my lord. There are a few of us who have stuck and will continue to stick. As will Mr. Pritchard, who is sleeping in the entrance hall to guard us."

28

She blinked at the instant change in her new husband. He now looked suddenly hard, ready to fight. He looked danger­ous. She'd swear his eyes had darkened to black, but his voice was calm, low. "Peter is guarding you? What the devil is going on here, Block?"

"I did not mean to overly alarm you, my lord."

"Ah, so I take it that rats are racing through the kitchen? Perhaps smoke is billowing out of the bedchamber fire­place? Oh, yes, Block, this is my new wife, Lady Mountjoy. Rosalind, this is Block. He was with my grandfather for twenty years. To the best of my knowledge, Block has never encountered a problem he couldn't resolve."

Rosalind smiled at the old man, who looked ancient as the single pine tree whose gnarly branches waved against the second story of the house. He walked right up to her, eyed her briefly, then said close to Nicholas's ear, "It is not rats or smoke, my lord, it is the return of the old earl. No, no, don't think for a moment he is displeased. He appears quite happy that you are wed and that you and your new wife are here at

Wyverly. Since he has never presented himself before, I must assume it is because you have wed and returned home.

"We have heard him singing at the top of his lungs, and laughing, and banging into things, as if he were blind and couldn't see that the old Indian chest was right in front of him. He told me I had at least seven more years before I de­parted to the hereafter. I told him it wasn't enough years but he told me to get hold of myself, that I would be older than he was when I finally croaked it. Unfortunately, he wasn't specific about my final destination. He sang it all in rhymes that were not at all felicitous."

"I see," Nicholas said slowly, eyeing Block, whose ex­pression never changed, remaining aloof, only a slight tic at the corner of his left eye. "Well, then, since my grandfather is singing because her ladyship is here now, he is bound to sing even louder when he meets her."

"I would, were I he," Block said, and gave her a formal bow and a smile that showed a near full mouth of beautiful teeth. "It is a pleasure, my lady. Welcome to Wyverly Chase. If it would please you, my lady, I will also sing to you. I would accompany myself on the pianoforte. Do you like rousing Scottish tunes? Do you know, his old lordship doesn't ever sing Scottish duties."

Rosalind was charmed even though she didn't have the slightest idea what was going on. There was a ghost singing in the house? Nicholas's grandfather?

She smiled at Block. "I should love to hear you sing, Block." She noticed the old man's linen was as white as the cumulus clouds overhead, his black suit such a shiny black she could see herself. She said, "Willicombe, our butler in Lon­don, has always wished for his trousers and coat to be shiny like yours, Block, but has never managed results such as yours. Perhaps you could write to him and tell him how it is done?"

"I have done nothing, my lady," Block said. "These clothes are as ancient as the Moorish tiles in the bathing closet. What you see is the high shine of honest age. How I enjoy viewing my noble countenance when I chance to gaze down at my sleeve, and thus have refused new clothes. Our laundress knows how to brush them just so, so they remain shiny. Do not be alarmed. I assure you that no

moths hunker down in my seams, my lady."

"Thank you, Block. I will communicate with Willicombe and tell him to simply refuse all new clothes. So our laun­dress hasn't left?"

"She and her assistant are too far away from the library to hear the old earl sing and bang into furniture. Cook tells me that as long as she feeds Mrs. Bates and Chloe her excellent stuffed chicken necks, they will be content to remain and wash and iron."

Nicholas heard Peter Pritchard's deep melodic voice. "The old earl was singing a moment ago in the library, my lord. Earlier in the day I believe he was reading. If you would care to assure him that you and your new wife are home to re­main, perhaps he will depart the premises and continue on to the heavenly climes."

Block said, "Perhaps it is the possibility of traveling in the other direction that keeps him earthbound."

Rosalind looked from one face to the next. She stared at Peter Pritchard. "What does he sing, Mr. Pritchard?"

"Ditties, my lady. At least they sound like something a man might sing while striding a ship deck."