“Yes, but I have the reins.”
The comment took a moment to sink in, then she relaxed. She looked at him. “You haven’t driven me anywhere before.”
He shrugged. “There hasn’t until now been a need.”
But today was different; he wanted her to himself, free of her family. When she first crossed the threshold of his house, he wanted to be with her, just her and him alone, without any distractions. He wanted to have that minute to himself; he refused to waste any time wondering why.
Luckily, she accepted his comment without question; relaxing a trifle more, she looked around as he took her deeper into the heart of Mayfair.
The moment, when it came, was as simple and as private as he’d wished; only Hungerford was there, holding the door as, his hand at her elbow, Tony guided her into his front hall.
She glanced at Hungerford, nodded, and smiled, then looked up, ahead, and around, and paused, stopped.
Hungerford closed the door, but hung back in the shadows. There was no footman hovering in the hall, no one else to intrude.
Pivoting, she looked around; Tony wondered how she would see it, how she would react to his home.
After a moment, she met his gaze. She sensed his waiting, and smiled. “It’s much less intimidating than I’d imagined.” Her smile deepened, softened; she glanced around again. “More comfortable. I can see people here—children…it’s a welcoming house.”
Her relief was transparent. It warmed him, eased a small knot of trepidation he hadn’t until then acknowledged he carried. Joining her, he took her hand. “This is Hungerford. He’s the ultimate authority here.”
Hungerford approached and bowed low. “At your service, ma’am. Should you need anything—anything at all—we are at your disposal.”
“Thank you.”
Hungerford stepped back.
Tony gestured to the drawing-room door. “I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Swithins, the housekeeper, later—she can show you the rooms they’ve prepared. But first, come and meet Miranda.”
Buoyed by her impression of the hall, Alicia went forward eagerly. Entering the drawing room, she glanced around—and was again struck by the house’s warmth. Without consciously considering it, she’d been expecting a house like him, coolly, austerely elegant, but that wasn’t the pervading atmosphere here. The furniture was not new, far from it; every piece looked antique, lovingly polished, the tapestry and brocade upholstery and hangings carrying the rich, jeweled tones of a bygone age.
An age that had valued comfort and convenience as well as luxury, that had expected pleasure and enjoyment to be part of daily life. Hedonistic, but rich, warm, and very much alive.
Like the bright-eyed lady rising from a chair by the hearth. She came forward, smiling widely, hands extended.
“My dear Mrs. Carrington—Alicia—I may call you Alicia, may I not? I’m Miranda, as Tony’s doubtless told you. Welcome to Torrington House—may your stay be long and happy.”
Miranda’s smile was winning; effervescent laughter lurked in her blue eyes. Alicia gave her her hands, smiled back. “Thank you. I hope you won’t be too inconvenienced by our descent.”
“Oh, I certainly won’t be, and I doubt anyone could inconvenience Hungerford—he’s terrifyingly efficient— all the staff are.” Miranda looked at Tony. “You may take yourself off—we want to talk, and we’ll do so much more readily without you. I’ll take Alicia to meet Mrs. Swithins, so you’re relieved on that score, too.”
Alicia barely smothered a laugh. She glanced at Tony, saw chagrin briefly flare in his eyes as he sent Miranda a sharp glance, then he turned to her. “I’ll send the carriage around for your family.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
He hesitated, then, reluctant to the last, nodded and left them.
“Now!” Miranda turned to her, curiosity and delight in her face. “You must tell me all about your family—you have three brothers and a sister, that’s all Tony’s told me.” Waving her to a chair, Miranda resumed her seat.
Alicia sank into the velvet comfort of an armchair, felt a solid sense of safety and security reach for her and wrap her about. Meeting Miranda’s expectant gaze, she smiled and assembled her thoughts.
By the time Hungerford brought in the tea tray and she and Miranda had shared a pot, they’d progressed from acquaintances to friends, to newly found bosom-bows. The fictitious nature of her widowhood notwithstanding, they shared many interests—family, country pursuits, household management, and social necessity.
Miranda sent for her daughters; the girls arrived and made their curtsies, then asked polite but curious questions about her brothers. Alicia answered, inwardly heaving a sigh of relief; the girls were well-brought-up, well-bred young ladies, but not in the least sweet, retiring, or weak. They would, indeed, give her brothers pause.
Then it was time to meet Mrs. Swithins and look around the rooms before the others arrived. After performing the introductions, Miranda hung back, letting the housekeeper, a woman of considerable age but imposing presence, softened by a twinkle in her eye, guide Alicia through the house.
“We thought your young brothers would be most comfortable up here, ma’am.” Mrs. Swithins led the way into the schoolroom; she waved to rooms opening off the central room. “There’s three beds in the long room, and two in the next, so they can sleep together or separate if they wish.” She smiled at Alicia. “We weren’t sure, so both rooms are prepared.”