Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“What do you mean about men being clods?”

He seamed his lips, shook his head. She could pull out his fingernails, but he wasn’t doing any explaining, particularly since he’d never meant to say it in the first place to a young lady who was as unbroken as a newly born filly. “Sex,” came out of his mouth, followed by, “It’s a fine art. Some men are too selfish or simply uninformed, well, never mind. Curse me again for opening my mouth. When you’re through with Delilah, Henry said Angela wanted us to know that Cook has outdone herself for lunch, though I have no idea why she would do that since every meal she’s prepared for us has been quite excellent.”

Hallie stared at him, swallowed, managed to get herself together and say, “She cooks for you.”

“What does that mean? No, don’t even think something so utterly ridiculous. She’s always cooked for the three of us.”

“Never mind. You’re quite conceited enough. Go away. I’m starving. What is she preparing?”

Jason looked blank. “I don’t know, I never asked. Normally she usually stands there, saying nothing at all, when I speak to her.”

Hallie snorted.

The shaved ham was lovely, sliced as thin as Cook’s at Northcliffe Hall, and so Jason told her after luncheon, only Mrs. Millsom didn’t thank him, simply continued silent, staring at him. He thanked her once more, and left the kitchen, shaking his head. The woman might be dim-witted, but she was magic with the cook pans.

Angela was taken aback when Petrie, voice rich and formal, announced a gentleman was here to see Miss Hallie.

She said, “This is odd. It can’t be any friends or relatives or they’d know she was likely at the stables. Hmm. Show this gentleman in, Petrie.”

A very handsome man indeed, Angela thought as the gentleman in question walked with a gentleman’s saunter into the drawing room. He paused a moment, stared all about before focusing his attention on the only occupant, namely Angela.

He sketched her an elegant bow. “Ma’am, I’m Lord Renfrew. I’m a special friend of Miss Carrick’s.”

Angela, who didn’t know a thing about Lord Renfrew’s nefarious marital schemes for Hallie, rose, her smile welcoming, and stretched her hand out to him.

Lord Renfrew took her hand, raised it to his lips. Ah, a very graceful gesture, Angela thought, feeling her heart trip for a moment. He must have met Hallie during her season. What a very lovely man indeed. Why had Hallie never mentioned him?

“Won’t you sit down, my lord? Hallie is riding, I believe.”

Lord Renfrew

eased his elegant self into a high-backed chair with lovely patterned brocade cushions. “I have been out of town, ma’am, and thus didn’t hear until I returned to London a short time ago that Miss Carrick had moved here to run a stud farm with a gentleman she met not two months ago. I cannot imagine her doing such a thing. Miss Carrick is a lady. Since you say she is riding, that rather puts a period to that ridiculous rumor, doesn’t it? A lady rides, after all.”

“Well, yes, of course a lady rides. Actually, though, my lord, there is much more than riding involved. Are you familiar with the Sherbrooke family?”

Lord Renfrew nodded, laid a graceful hand on the chair arm. “Certainly everyone in society knows the Sherbrookes, ma’am. However, this son, Jason Sherbrooke . . . I understand he’s not been in England for many years.”

“He’s home now. He’s here, to be more specific. He and Hallie are partners. I am her chaperone.”

“Chaperone? What is this? I don’t understand. This makes no sense.”

Angela said, “The reason they’re here together is because they both wanted Lyon’s Gate. Neither would sell out to the other. It’s a bit more complicated than that, naturally, but that’s the essence of it.” She paused a moment, then added, “Anyone in London could have told you that.”

“As I said, I did not believe it.” He looked around the drawing room. “This is a charming room, and the grounds and paddocks look prosperous, but still, why would Miss Carrick wish to own this particular property? It is not as grand as she is used to. You know she lived at Ravensworth Abbey for many years. Surely she wouldn’t be content coming so far down—” At that moment, Petrie, knowing the gentleman’s worth, wheeled in a fine old tea cart donated by Lady Lydia. Petrie’s entrance was a good thing, and Lord Renfrew realized it. He’d been unmeasured in his criticism of this undistinguished property that smelled of stables. He bowed his head and said nothing more.

What is all this about? Angela wondered as she gave him a cup of tea with three sugars, and two small cakes. She said, as she sipped her own tea, “During the mornings, Hallie and Jason are always working at the stables or exercising the horses.”

“Do you know when Hallie will be coming back to the house, ma’am?”

They both heard the front door open and close, and Hallie’s voice calling, “Martha! Come quickly, I’ve had a dreadful accident!”

“Oh dear.” Angela was on her feet and running. Lord Renfrew rose more slowly. His instincts were excellent. He waited, saying nothing. He heard a young girl say, “Heavenly groats, Miss Hallie—look at that tear. Petrie said the Dauntry mare was arriving this morning. Did the beast snag your skirt?”

“Her name’s Penelope and she’s fast.”

“I can fix it. Come along, Miss Hallie.”

Petrie said, “It’s a large tear, one more suited to the skills of a seamstress, not a poorly educated young lady’s maid who should, at best, be a tweeny.”