She wasn’t convinced it was a good idea, but unable to think of any solid grounds on which to resist, she allowed him to hand her down, then conduct her up the steps.
A very large butler opened the door, his expression benevolent. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Hammer.” Michael handed her over the threshold. “This is Mrs. Sutcliffe. We’ll be staying for the next week or so while we attend to a number of matters.”
“Mrs. Sutcliffe.” Hammer bowed low; his voice was as deep as he was large. “If there’s anything you require, you have only to ring. It will be our pleasure to serve you.”
Caro smiled charmingly; regardless of her reservations, she wouldn’t allow them to show. “Thank you, Hammer.” She waved at the carriage. “I’m afraid I’ve saddled you with rather a lot of luggage.”
“It’s of no moment, ma’am—we’ll have it up in your room in no time.” Hammer glanced at Michael. “Mrs. Logan thought the Green Room would be suitable.”
Mentally locating that room in the huge house, Michael nodded. “An excellent choice. I’m sure Mrs. Sutcliffe will be comfortable there.”
“Indeed.” Caro caught his eye, tried to see past his mask to what was going on in his head—and failed. She turned to Hammer. “My maid’s name is Fenella—she’s fluent in English. If you could show her my room, I’ll be up shortly to bathe and change for dinner.”
Hammer bowed. Inclining her head gracefully, Caro turned to Michael and slid her hand onto his arm. “Now you had better present me to your grandfather.”
Michael led her toward the library, his grandfather’s sanctum. “You have met him, haven’t you?”
“Years ago—I’m not sure he’d remember. It was at some Foreign Office function.”
“He’ll remember.” Michael felt sure of that.
“Ah—Mrs. Sutcliffe!” Magnus boomed the instant Caro entered. “Do forgive me for not rising—demmed gout, y’know. It’s a trial.” Seated in a huge wing chair angled before the empty hearth, his swaddled foot propped on a stool, Magnus fixed her with a sharp, shrewd blue gaze as she walked across the room to greet him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, m’dear.”
He held out a hand; determinedly serene and unshakable, she placed her fingers in it and curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to renew our acquaintance, sir.”
Magnus glanced at Michael, his gaze, shaded by thick overhanging brows, penetrating. Meeting that searching glance, Michael merely smiled.
Clasping her hand, Magnus patted it lightly. “My grandson tells me we’re to have the pleasure of your company for a week or so.”
Releasing her, he sat back in his chair, his attention fixing on her.
She inclined her head. “If you’re so disposed, of course.”
A fleeting smile touched Magnus’s lips. “My dear, I’m an ancient, and only too thrilled to have my declining years enlivened by the presence of wit and beauty.”
She had to smile. “In that case”—sweeping her skirts about her, she sat on the chaise—“I’ll be delighted to accept and enjoy your hospitality.”
Magnus studied her,
taking in her self-confidence, her calm, unruffled serenity, then he grinned. “Right then, now we’ve got the social niceties out of the way, what’s this all about, heh?”
He glanced at Michael. Pointedly, Michael looked at her.
Understanding that he was leaving the decision to include Magnus entirely to her, she realized with faint astonishment that since they’d resolved to come to London, she hadn’t had time to dwell on their reasons.
Refocusing on Magnus, considering his vast experience, she met his gaze. “Someone, it seems, is not well disposed toward my continuing existence.”
Magnus’s brows lowered; after a moment he barked, “Why?”
“That,” she informed him, pulling off her gloves, “is what we’ve come to London to discover.”
Between them, she and Michael explained; it was reassuring to find Magnus reacting much as they had. His experience of their world was profound; if he thought as they did, they were most likely correct.
Later that night, when Fenella had finally left her, Caro stood before the window in the elegant bedchamber decorated in shades of green, and looked out as the night wrapped London in its sultry arms. So different from the country, yet she was equally at home here, the constant if dim sounds of nighttime activity as familiar as the deep stillness of the countryside.
After speaking with Magnus, she’d retired to bathe and refresh herself, then they’d dined in semiformal state. Later, in the drawing room, with Magnus nodding in acquiescence, she and Michael had made plans to retrieve Camden’s papers and her copy of Camden’s will from Half Moon Street; she’d agreed that the mansion in Upper Grosvenor Street, under the constant eye of Magnus’s considerable staff and with the old gentleman himself almost always present, would be a safer repository than the uninhabited Half Moon Street residence.