With that, the earl turned back to his papers. Letting his grin widen, Christian rose and crossed to the bellpull, having achieved exactly what he’d intended when he’d arrived.
He waited until he was walking down a corridor from the gallery in the majestic Hightsbury’s wake to ask, “Hightsbury, have you or any of the other staff seen Lord Justin recently?”
The tension that instantly infused the butler’s already rigid spine was answer enough.
Halting beside a door, Hightsbury set it wide, revealing a comfortable bedchamber. He fixed his gaze on a point above Christian’s head—no mean feat—and replied, “No, my lord. We haven’t seen Lord Justin for some time.”
“I see.” Christian nodded amiably and walked into the room.
“I’ll have your bag brought up immediately, my lord.”
Walking to the wide window, Christian looked down, then glanced back and smiled. “Thank you, Hightsbury. I believe I’ll go for a walk around the grounds until it’s time to dress.”
That news did not make Hightsbury happy; the struggle he waged to find some acceptable way to dissuade Christian—a marquess—from a perfectly acceptable pastime showed in his face. Eventually accepting that there was nothing he could do, he bowed low. “As you wish, my lord.”
Christian watched as Hightsbury departed, pulling the door closed behind him. Brows rising, he turned back to the window and looked out on the extensive gardens and, beyond that, the even more extensive park that he now recalled surrounded the priory. “You’re here somewhere, Justin—the question is where.”
He started his search in the stables, using the excuse of checking on his valuable pair to confirm that Justin hadn’t left his precious horses—apparently his sole tonnish vice—or his curricle in the care of his father’s stableman.
Christian wasn’t surprised to discover that he hadn’t; that would have been foolish, and Justin was no fool.
Nevertheless, judging from the head stableman’s dark looks, Justin and his horses were not far away.
Leaving the stables, Christian walked toward the house, studying it from the rear. It w
as not a true Elizabethan manor, lacking the classic E shape. Instead it had many and varied wings and additions, making it difficult to be sure, once inside, just where in the structure one was.
Lots of unexpected rooms tucked here and there in which to hide.
And that wasn’t taking into account priest holes and the like.
Resigned, Christian strolled slowly around the house, taking note of every window. Most on the first floor—all the bedchambers and apartments—had their curtains drawn to preserve the furnishings inside from the sun. He located only two sets of uncurtained windows on that level—those of the bedchamber he’d been given, and a set at one end of a short wing, no doubt the earl’s apartments.
On the second floor, some windows were curtained, others not. He would have to check the rooms on that floor. Many of the uncurtained rooms might be empty, stripped of furnishings, yet others…
He changed direction and headed for the house. The attic rooms, above the second floor, were universally uncurtained, but they would be servants’ quarters, nurseries and the like; aside from all else, he didn’t like his chances of finding his way through the maze that was certain to exist up there.
Going in through the open front door, he climbed the main staircase to the second floor and, taking due note of landmarks so he wouldn’t get lost, started to work his way through the rooms.
It didn’t take long to realize the staff were keeping a eye on him. A procession of maids with empty chamber pots, footmen with extra tapers, and in one case an empty coal shuttle, all passing him on the way to nowhere in particular, was a fairly clear sign. At first he considered it encouraging, but as the minutes passed, he realized that they were more curious than concerned.
The conclusion was obvious: Justin wasn’t inside the house, or at least not on the second floor.
Quitting that field, he started down a secondary stair. Glancing out of the landing window, he saw a conglomeration of buildings tucked away behind a stand of mature trees. The buildings—barns and similar structures, most likely the home farm—weren’t visible from the house except from certain vantage points.
Continuing down the stairs, he strode outside. As a landowner himself, he could always ask intelligent questions about crops and yields.
But it soon became apparent from the amused gleam in the farmer’s eyes that Justin wasn’t cowering in any barn, or anywhere else amid the farm buildings. As for the farmhouse itself, Christian couldn’t stand upright inside without constantly dodging beams, and if anything, Justin was a touch taller.
Accepting defeat for the moment, Christian headed back to the main house. Despite his lack of success, he remained convinced—increasingly so—that Justin was somewhere on the priory lands.
Twilight was spreading its subtle fingers across the landscape when he reached the house and entered through the garden hall. The instant he turned into the corridor that joined the front hall, he heard Letitia’s voice.
“How long has he been here?”
Out of habit, he’d been walking silently. He halted and listened.
“He arrived this afternoon, my lady,” Hightsbury replied.