Page 20 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“Has my grandmother sat down to dinner yet?” he asked the footman in the same imperious tones he’d used at the brothel.
“No, milord.”
“Good. Go tell Cook there will be three more for dinner.”
Maria clung to Oliver’s arm, feeling all at sea. It wasn’t as if she’d never had servants. After Papa began doing well, he’d hired a few, but he hadn’t dressed them in matching livery. These servants fluttered about them, taking her redingote and the men’s coats and hats as if it were an honor to serve “his lordship.” It unnerved her. Especially with Oliver glowering at them.
The archway she and Oliver walked through led them into a stone courtyard surrounded on four sides by walls punctuated with other doors. He took them across the cobblestones to yet another heavy oak door, which opened ahead of them. It made her feel like royalty being escorted through a palace.
Then they passed into a large room of such stunning aspect that she caught her breath. “This is the great hall,” Oliver explained. “It’s rather frighteningly medieval looking.”
“I think it’s beautiful.”
“Gran loves it. It’s her favorite room in the place.”
Maria could well understand why. Two scarred marble fireplaces broke up the vast expanse of one oak-paneled wall, and well-worn benches ran along the other. But it was the Jacobean oak screen spanning the end of the room—twenty feet high and wide enough to accommodate two doors—that captured her attention. It was carved with fantastical creatures and coats of arms. At the top, near the plasterwork ceiling with its own intricate designs, was a breathtaking latticework.
She was so captivated by the screen that she didn’t notice what lay at the other end of the room until a voice calledout from behind them, “I see you managed to arrive in time for dinner, Oliver.”
As she and Oliver turned toward the voice, she spotted the elaborately carved, painted, and gilded staircase that rose above the ancient entrance hall. With its paint rubbed off in places, it looked older than America itself, yet sturdy enough to easily hold the five people descending it.
At the head of them, clinging to the arm of a lovely young woman, was a gray-haired lady whose eyes surveyed Maria with sharp interest. Behind them descended two young men and another young lady, all of whom looked uneasy.
“Good evening, everyone,” Oliver said, his voice cool. “May I introduce my fiancée? This is Miss Maria Butterfield and her cousin, Mr. Frederick . . .”
Maria realized he didn’t know Freddy’s surname. “Dunse,” she murmured.
His startled gaze flew to her. “Seriously?”
She nodded.
“Mr. Frederick Dunse,” he announced.
Behind them, she heard Freddy mutter a curse. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was glaring at one and all as if daring them to laugh or make some joke.
“Maria,” Oliver said, “these are my brothers, Lord Jarret and Lord Gabriel. My sisters, Lady Minerva and Lady Celia. And my grandmother, Mrs. Hester Plumtree.”
His siblings murmured greetings. The older woman cast Maria a nod, though her eyes fixed on Maria’s shamelessly cheap and low-cut gown. “How interesting to make your acquaintance, Miss Butterfield.”
That was the understatement of all time. “I’m honored to meet you, madam.” Maria hoped that was right. And why was his grandmother called “Mrs.” when the rest were called “lord” and “lady”?
“Maria and her cousin are American,” Oliver went on smoothly. “We only met recently—it’s been something of a whirlwind courtship.” He squeezed her hand. “Hasn’t it, my dear?”
“Very whirlwind,” she replied, not sure what he wanted her to say.
“Since her lodgings are less than adequate, I invited her and her cousin to stay here.” He offered the words like a challenge. “She’ll be living here after the wedding anyway, and we do have plenty of room.”
Maria nearly choked onthat,and it roused a chuckle from one of the other men that was swiftly quelled by a glance from Mrs. Plumtree.
When his grandmother returned her gaze to Maria, a strange light gleamed in her eyes, and Maria prepared herself for anything. This battle was being waged with weapons beyond her ken.
So she was surprised when the woman advanced down a few more steps and said, “I’ll have the Royal Suite prepared for our guests, if that’s acceptable.”
“I don’t know why you bother to ask my opinion,” Oliver said, his voice steely. “You’ve clearly moved your entire household in here without my knowledge or approval.”
“If you’re all to marry in the next year, you can’t look like paupers.”
“And appearances are everything, aren’t they?” he shot back.
