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“What on earth?” he said. “You have a trained bear?”
She smiled at his confusion. Dolly was the largest mastiff ever bred in the Evendale Valley. Her massive head reached above Gwen’s waist, and, at nearly two hundred pounds, she outweighed her mistress by over sixty.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” Gwen said. “I’d leave now if I were you.”
Dolly let out a bark, deep and demanding, and he took a step back.
“I fear I have two problems with leaving,” he said, and she was a little disappointed he didn’t sound more terrified. In fact, he didn’t sound like the vagrant she’d expected. His voice was educated, cultivated. And, if she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was amused.
“And what would those be?” she asked sweetly while Dolly growled and prowled closer to him.
“Your bear is standing between me and the door,” he replied. Then he turned his head to look at her. “And I own this house.”
The owner?
Gwen’s breath left her lungs in a rush. But it couldn’t be. They’d received no word, seen no one at the gate. Two months had gone by since Colonel Umbrey, the previous owner, had passed on, and they’d only just heard the estate had been sold.
“Prove it,” she challenged.
He sketched her a bow that made Dolly pull up with a grunt of surprise.
“Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, baronet, of Blackcliff Hall,” he said, “at your service. And you would be?”
“Unconvinced,” Gwen said. “Dolly, come!”
The mastiff edged around him and pressed herself against Gwen’s side. Now that her pulse was calming, Gwen felt every bruise along her backside. She’d have to use some of her mother’s liniment tonight. Leaning into the dog’s strength, Gwen crossed to the table in front of the bow window, where she’d set and hooded her lantern on arrival to avoid detection. As she opened the hood, she turned and let light flood the space.
Oh, but he was a handsome one! Raven-haired, square-jawed, with features clean and firm. She couldn’t be sure of the color of his eyes—blue like her father’s? Brown like hers? Green?—but they were deep set and narrowed now as he considered her.
What did he see? A slip of a woman with untamable auburn curls and a pert nose? She was certain she didn’t look like the respectable daughter of the estate’s former steward. The brown cloak was slipping off the shoulders of her green wool gown, and both were wrinkled from her collision with the floor.
On the other hand, she could well believe he was the master of the house. His navy coat was cut to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders, and his fawn trousers hugged muscular thighs. The lantern light glinted off the gold filigree buttons on his satin-striped waistcoat, and a gemstone winked from the hopelessly rumpled folds of his snowy cravat.
Oh, Lord, what have I done!
“If you could provide proof of your identity, sir,” she said, knowing her voice sounded decidedly fainter, “I would be pleased to welcome you properly to Blackcliff Hall.”
Sir Trevor’s mouth curved up in a smile that was perilously close to a smirk. “My papers are upstairs. Do you trust me to fetch them, or would you and your bear like to accompany me?”
She probably should, just in case he was lying and had friends or a pistol waiting. After all, she had seen a light moving in the house earlier. That’s why she’d come up to investigate with Dolly.
The house had been broken into three times in the past two months. Her father would find a door left swinging or a window wide open on his rounds about the estate. She’d helped him inventory the rooms each time, but they’d never been able to determine that anything had been taken or even disturbed.
Vagrants, Mr. Casperson the constable was sure, although the look he directed toward her father was knowing. He suspected Horace Allbridge of neglecting his duty, either by failing to protect the property he currently served as caretaker or by siphoning off its treasures, selling them himself and blaming mysterious others.
Gwen bristled just thinking about the unfair accusation. Help me, Lord. Help me show them how wrong they are.
“I’d be delighted to wait here,” she said.
He snapped her a bow and strode from the room. Gwen followed him to the door and watched as he started up the stairs, which squeaked at the fall of his high black boots.
It seemed the master of Blackcliff had arrived at last. But would he be the man Gwen had prayed for?
Chapter Two
The moment Sir Trevor turned the corner for the upper floor, Gwen burst into action. She tugged the carpet back into place where their struggle had creased it, then pulled off her cloak and used it to wipe the dust from the side tables and mantel. She shook out the dust in the dining room (time later to clean that) and left the cloak out of sight on the embroidered seat of one of the mahogany chairs.
Returning to the withdrawing room, she picked up the sword he’d left lying on the carpet and was surprised to find that it looked familiar. Had he taken it from the ancient armor upstairs? Wrinkling her nose, she tucked it into a corner to return later.
But the sword wasn’t the only thing that needed returning. She located the shepherd statue rolled against the wall and went to right it. The soft white marble glowed with life; she could feel the shepherd’s vigilance in guarding his sheep, his eyes narrowed into the distance, one hand against his brow, the other gripping his staff.
I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep and am known of mine.
She smiled at the familiar verse, but her smile quickly faded into a frown. Why had Sir Trevor moved it to the center of the withdrawing room, where she’d seen it when she’d arrived earlier? He could hardly be redecorating so soon. And if he was, he wasn’t very practical. Why would he want to trip over a statue every time he crossed the room?
She picked it up and nearly tripped herself. Sir Trevor must be as strong as he looked, for she had trouble carrying it back to the entry hall. Dolly padded alongside her, pink tongue lolling out crookedly from her heavy jowls, her breath coming in huffs of delight to be up and moving.
“We must make a better impression on him,” Gwen told her as she returned to the withdrawing room. She snatched the tinderbox from the mantel and set about lighting the brass lamps that rested here and there among the tables. The light gleamed off the heavy oak paneling that ran through the house and veined the ceilings and stairwells. Blackcliff Hall could be warm and welcoming, solid and safe. She had to show him that.
“This is what Father needs,” she said to Dolly, “to serve a respectable master in a respectable position. That ought to get his mind off his troubles.”
Of course, it wouldn’t hurt if she looked a bit more respectable herself, she realized. She paused to pin back her wayward curls into the bun at the top of her head, straighten her white lace collar and smooth the wrinkles in her green wool gown.
Goodness, were her fingers trembling? She mustn’t show how much Sir Trevor’s arrival meant to her and her father. From this moment forward, she vowed, the new master of Blackcliff would be met with nothing but pleasantries. She was standing by the hearth with a smile on her face, Dolly lying calmly at her feet, when Sir Trevor strode back in a moment later.
He pulled up short and gaped at her. She knew admiration when she saw it, and she couldn’t help the satisfaction that shot through her.
“Pardon me, madam,” he said, quirking a smile, “but there was a miscreant here with a pet bear a few moments ago. Do you know where they went?”
“La, but I’m sure they’re miles away,” Gwen answered, grin forming at his teasing tone. Then she dipped a curtsy. “Miss Gwendolyn Allbridge, sir. My father and I reside in your gatehouse. And this is Dolly.”
The mastiff’s tail thumped twice, and Dolly raised her dark head to gaze at him, jowls widening in a grin.
He bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Dolly, Miss Allbridge. May I ask how you came to be in my house this fine evening?”
His voice was more curious than accusing. “My father has been acting as caretaker while the house went through Probate and was sold,” she explained. “Dolly and I spied your light when we were walking and came to investigate.”
He raised a brow. “Your father must be infirm, then.”
Gwen stiffened. “Not at all! Who told you that?”
“No one.” He crossed to her side and stood towering over her. Her head fit under his arm. She ought to feel menaced, but, with him smiling down at her, she felt as protected as when Dolly pressed close to her side.
“I stopped at the gatehouse when I arrived this evening,” he said. “No one answered the bell. And your father saw fit to send you when there was a stranger in the house. Naturally I assumed he must be ill.”
“My father was…unavailable earlier,” Gwen replied, hoping he wouldn’t ask the reason. It had only been a few cups tonight, far less than the bottles he’d downed shortly after Mother had died. “I was out with Dolly checking the grounds for the night, or I would have answered the bell myself.”
He frowned. “You serve as night watchman, as well?”
Night watchman, nurse, gardener and cook, but she could hardly tell him all that without making her father sound like a laggard. “Only when my father is unavailable, I assure you.”
He glanced around the room. “And who serves as maid?”
Not her, and for that he should be thankful. With the lamps lit, she could see streaks of dust crossing the fine grain of the wood where she’d missed spots in her hurry. “The staff were all let go when Colonel Umbrey, the previous owner, died. His heir chose to sell the estate, and we couldn’t know when someone would purchase it.”
His gaze speared her. His eyes were green, a light shade like the creamy jade Colonel Umbrey had brought back from his travels in India and the Orient. “And you’ve never heard of Holland covers?”
“Certainly we’ve heard of covering the furniture when it’s unused,” Gwen said, trying not to sound defensive. Pleasantries, remember? It wouldn’t do to snap at her father’s new employer.
But he couldn’t know how hard she had to work to get anything done around here, the hours spent cajoling and encouraging for the least task. Ever since her mother had died a year ago, her father had lost all will to live. And losing the respect of the villagers hadn’t helped. Far too many things had changed at Blackcliff. What they needed was a little order.
“We were waiting to hear from the new master before giving the place a good cleaning,” she explained at his frown. “The solicitor only just reported that Blackcliff had been sold. We certainly didn’t expect you to arrive unannounced.”
“A gentleman shouldn’t need to announce his arrival when returning home,” he said, not unkindly, and handed her a leather-bound packet.
“Well, it is a new home for you,” Gwen pointed out, untying the ribbon that held the packet shut. “And we thought if you were going to make Blackcliff your home, you would arrive with more ceremony. Do you have a carriage somewhere? Luggage?”
“I rode,” he said, and nothing in his tone gave her any clue as to why or how long he intended to stay.
Did he live in the Evendale Valley, then, and it had been merely a short ride to reach the house? No, that voice belonged in a more sophisticated setting. Or was this only one of the many properties he must inspect over the course of a year?
Gwen glanced down at the parchment, hoping for a few answers to the questions she could not ask without seeming even more impertinent. She’d seen enough legal papers as she’d helped her father act as steward for the colonel to be able to locate the important details in the close-written document. She glanced up at him, blinking.
“You were awarded the estate for services to the Crown? Were you a soldier like Colonel Umbrey?”
He smiled, but the light didn’t reach his cool green eyes. “Nothing so dashing. I settled a thorny administrative matter, and the chief beneficiary saw fit to recommend me to the Prince and purchase an estate in thanks. I take it you’re satisfied that I’m the new owner.”
She could not see him sitting behind a desk, shuffling papers, fingers smeared with ink. Those large hands looked like they should be wielding a sword as they had been earlier or clutching the reins of a team of horses. Despite his title of baronet, Sir Trevor seemed far too healthy, too vital, to have spent his life either clerking or in idle pursuit of pleasure.
But the papers looked as legal as any she’d seen. She slipped them back into the leather covering.
“This all appears to be in order,” she replied, handing the packet to him. She squared her shoulders and gave him her most charming smile. “Welcome to Blackcliff Hall, Sir Trevor. I hope you will consider it your home and wish to spend your life here. Now let’s get you down to the George and see you settled.”
In the act of accepting the packet from her, Trevor paused. A singular woman. Energy glowed from her fiery hair to her creamy skin to the fluttering of her gloved hands. Her topics moved as rapidly as she did. “The George?” he asked.
“The George Inn. Fine establishment. Excellent cook. You’ll love it.” She slapped her thigh, and Dolly scrambled to her feet, nails clattering against the stone of the hearth.
Now that the lamps had been properly lit he could see the mastiff more clearly. Her body, dappled in streaks of dun and black, was thick and powerful, with a barrel chest and a solid column of a neck. Her muzzle was coal-black, and her jowls quivered in her eagerness to move. Intelligence sat in those big brown eyes, and he was certain loyalty filled her massive heart. He could only be thankful she was so well trained, for even his dull club of a sword would have been of little use against her had she chosen to attack him.
“There’s no need to go to an inn,” he said to Gwen, but she was already bustling about the room, retrieving her lantern, extinguishing the other lamps. Everything about her said determination, from the set of her pointed chin to the quick movements of her lithe body. She looked to be a few years younger than his thirty years, and he wondered why such a beautiful woman wasn’t married and instead prowling around his estate in the dark with only a great beast of a dog for company.
“There’s every need,” she assured him, retrieving her cloak and throwing it around her shoulders. He hadn’t noticed the streaks mottling the soft brown wool of the garment. Had he caused that when he’d knocked her down?
“You may not have had time to visit every room in the house,” she said, returning to his side, “but few are livable. The beds need airing, the lamps trimming and the pantry stocking.” She smiled at him. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you return tomorrow.”
From anyone else, the statement would have been laughable. He had looked in every room in the house earlier, and he knew how much work had to be done to make it a home. But, with the light shining in her deep brown eyes, her face turned up to his, he thought this woman could very well work miracles.
“I’d prefer to stay here,” he said, and even he could hear how stubborn he sounded.
Her smile turned kind. “Now, now,” she said, laying her free hand on his arm with a grip that was firmer than he would have guessed from the size of her, “we must make sure you have a pleasant evening. I’m certain you’d prefer a good bed tonight and a nice warm dinner. You cannot possibly get that here. Why should you settle for less than the best? Where’s your horse?”
She was tugging him toward the entryway, and Trevor followed, feeling as if he’d been snatched up in the middle of a storm. “He’s in the stable.”
She tsked. “I’m surprised we had feed for him. I’ll see to that, as well. Or rather, my father will. He’s very good at making sure all the master’s needs are met.” She cast him a glance out of the corners of her eyes. “He was the steward before Colonel Umbrey died. Did they tell you that when they awarded you the place?”
“No,” Trevor said as she released him to hustle to the front door, the dog trotting obediently at her side. “I assumed the estate came adequately staffed. But I’m used to roughing it. I assure you I’ll be fine here tonight.”
“Nonsense. We can’t have the new master living in anything less than comfort.” She paused to smile back at him, and the look tugged at his heart as surely as her hand had tugged at his arm. Was this how Greek sailors felt in the myth of the siren? Her beauty and enthusiasm called to him, but he had a feeling they’d lead him far from his intended course.
“You’re not going to give me a moment’s peace until I’ve agreed to this, are you?” he asked, certain he knew the answer.
Her dark eyes crinkled up as if she was laughing inside. “Why, Sir Trevor, I simply want to make sure you are well taken care of. My father would insist on nothing less.”
He was beginning to think her father was at home, hiding from her determination. If anyone insisted on anything in that house, he was certain he was looking at her.
“And will your father be here to greet me in the morning?” he countered.
Her smile widened. “I guarantee it. I’m certain once you see the estate in the morning light, you’ll be pleased to call it yours. Would you prefer to ride to the village or shall we walk? It isn’t far.”
He didn’t like losing, even an argument, but he had to agree with her that the house needed work before it would be comfortable.
He wasn’t sure why that so disappointed him. He’d decided on the way north that he would only use the place for the income it could provide. He’d never intended to make it home. Home was London, the social whirl, the acquaintances he’d made in school and afterward. The sooner he could settle his affairs in Blackcliff Hall, the sooner he could return.
“I’ll ride,” he said, striding for the door. “That is, if the groom can be bothered to saddle my horse.”
“I’m afraid the groom gave notice ages ago,” she said in that calm, conciliatory voice. She followed him out the door, the mastiff bounding down the stone steps ahead of them while she turned to lock the door. “Colonel Umbrey decided he was too old to move from the Hall and sold his carriage and horses.”
Was that what would become of him if he stayed? Would he grow to be a fat, complacent old man with no interest in even making the short ride into town?
“Then the fellow who’s staying in the stables,” Trevor all but snapped.
She handed him the ornate brass key, which weighed more heavily than it should in his hand. “No one lives at the estate except me and my father, Sir Trevor.”
He stared at her, feeling as if her great bear of a dog had sat on his chest. “Then who on earth took charge of my horse?”
Chapter Three
Lord, please protect his horse!
Gwen threw up the prayer as she led Sir Trevor around the side of the house and through a door in the stone wall for the stables. She could tell the animal meant a great deal to him. In the light of her lantern, his face was tight, his jaw hard. His long legs ate up the ground as they crossed the garden at the back of the house. She had to scurry to keep up.
Dolly obviously thought it was as great game, this rush through the growing dark, the garden silent around them. She bounded alongside Sir Trevor, veering off from time to time into the shadows to snuff at something under the weed-choked plants. Sir Trevor, on the other hand, had his eyes narrowed in such a fierce look that Gwen could only pray the person who’d taken charge of his horse was either a highly competent stranger looking for work, or was miles away by now.
“We’ve had a little trouble with vagrants,” she offered as they approached the long, two-story building of dark stone at the back of the garden. “Nothing’s been stolen, mind you. I’m sure it’s just men out of work, on their way to the next village and needing a place to stay the night.”
“And a horse to ride,” he said, voice as tight as his look.
Lord, not his horse! She needed Sir Trevor to love the place; she needed him to want to stay. It was the only way to save the village.
