Madeline did have doubts, severe doubts that any male-oriented household could cope with their wholly unexpected and unprecedented demands, but by the time Gasthorpe showed her into a simply furnished but exceptionally neat and comfortable room, indicated his arrangements with a decorous nod and begged her to ask for anything he’d failed to provide, every last one had been swept away.

“No, indeed.” Tired eyes taking in the fine linen nightshirt laid upon the bed—a man’s but perfectly serviceable in her present straits—and the towel and washbasin with its matching pitcher steaming, the single candle alight on the dresser, she could feel her muscles unknotting. “Thank you—you’ve done excellently. This is more than I expected.”

“If I might suggest, ma’am, if you leave your gown outside the door, I’ll have the maid from next door freshen it for you.”

She felt silly tears prickle at the back of her eyes as she turned to the dapper little man who was so patently delighted to be of service. “Thank you, I will. You’ve been exceptionally kind.”

He smiled and bowed his way out of the door, closing it gently behind him. Madeline sighed, then smothered a yawn.

Ten minutes later, washed and clean, with her hair a loose veil about her head and shoulders, she was sound asleep between the crisp sheets.

Gervase stood in the doorway and considered the sight. She’d blown out the candle but faint light washed the room; by its soft glow he could see that the tension of the day, the tightness about her eyes and lips, had faded.

The observation calmed some restless, primal part of him. He considered the bed—its less-than-adequate width—then with an inward sigh turned away. Shutting the door silently, he made for the bedchamber across the landing.

Gasthorpe had served them tea and crumpets in the library while their rooms were being prepared. When Madeline had retired, Gervase had remained to write notes—calls to action—only two, so it hadn’t taken long.

Gasthorpe had verified that of all the club’s members, only Christian Allardyce was still in town—the others had retired to their country estates for the summer and weren’t expected to reappear in London, at least not within the next few days.

Ben’s fate would be sealed by then; they’d either find him within the first two days, or they likely never would.

Going into his room, closing the door, Gervase forcefully put that thought out of his mind, and concentrated, instead, on how to locate Ben.

Shrugging off his coat, unbuttoning his cuffs, he grimaced. Gasthorpe had his two notes; they’d be delivered with the dawn. The only thing left that he, Gervase, could presently do to improve their chances of finding Ben was to pray that the

second gentleman he’d informed hadn’t yet left London.

Chapter 17

As Gervase had expected, Christian was the first to answer his summons. Gasthorpe roused him at nine o’clock with the news that the marquess had arrived and was waiting for him at the breakfast table.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Gervase splashed water over his face, then swiftly shaved and dressed, giving thanks for the marvel that was Gasthorpe; aside from providing the razor, a newly purchased brush, cravat, and shirt, the majordomo had worked wonders with his travel-worn coat and breeches and his boots shone. At least he no longer looked like he’d just ridden in from the Russian Steppes.

Exiting his room, he paused, considering the door across the landing. Crossing silently to it, he opened it and looked in; Madeline was still sound asleep, the covers over her shoulder, her hair a red-gold mane spread across the pillow. Contradictory impulses clashed; one part of him wanted to leave her there, recuperating in peace, yet she would expect to be included in any councils concerning Ben’s fate, and had every right to be present.

Inwardly sighing, he crossed soft-footed to the bed. Brushing back her hair, he bent and placed a kiss on her cheek. As she roused, murmured, then turned to him, he trailed his lips across to meet hers. A gentle, undemanding kiss. Then he lifted his head, watched her blink awake.

She focused on him, then glanced around. “Oh.” Shuffling onto one elbow, she looked at the window. “What’s the time?”

“Nine o’clock. Christian Allardyce is downstairs at the breakfast table. Join us when you’re ready.”

“Yes, of course.” She started struggling up.

He turned to the door, and discovered a little maid hovering, hand raised, frozen; she’d been about to knock, then had seen him.

He smiled, nodded the maid in, saying to Madeline as he continued to the door, “Assistance has arrived. She’s even brought a fresh gown.”

“What…?”

Reaching the door, he glanced back to find Madeline staring in disbelief at the maid, who was carrying not only a gown but linen, brushes and pins.

Shutting her open mouth, Madeline looked at him as if for explanation.

“The wonders of Gasthorpe.” With a grin, he saluted her and left, closing the door.

He sobered as he went down the stairs.

Christian Allardyce, Marquess of Dearne, was sitting at one end of the breakfast table attending to a sizable serving of ham and eggs. He looked up as Gervase entered. “Excellent. I’m all agog. I was going to come up and demand instant explanations, but Gasthorpe warned me there was a lady on the premises.” Christian raised his brows. “So what’s afoot?”

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Bastion Club Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net