Page 35 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
He shrugged off her curiosity. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”
“Ah.”
When she said nothing more, he snapped, “Can you lend me one or not?”
“I’ll take one to your room after I leave here.” She hesitated, then softened her tone. “I know we all joke about it, Oliver, but the truth is . . . well, Rockton isn’t you, no matter what Jarret and Gabe claim. As with Foxmoor and Kirkwood, there are a few similarities, nothing more. I named him after you because I thought it might make you laugh.” Her eyes twinkled. “And you do so adore being thought a wicked scoundrel.”
“Iama wicked scoundrel,” he drawled, “in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Whatever you say.” She turned for the door again. “Butyou really must get that poor woman some clothes. She can’t keep wearing that dreadful gown.”
“I know. I don’t suppose she could wear some of yours?”
Minerva laughed. “Since I’m half a foot taller and not as buxom as her, that would be difficult. And Celia is far thinner than she.” She mused a moment. “It will cost a fortune to dress her properly. Perhaps if you ask Gran—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then your only choice is the secondhand shops. The clothes will be outdated, but she’s American. Everyone expects them to dress in older fashions.”
“Excellent idea, thanks. I’ll take care of it when we go into town tomorrow.”
“You might want to visit a carpenter, too. The servants’ stairs badly need repair, now that we’re in residence again. Someone is sure to fall right through if it isn’t done soon.”
“I know. Ramsden mentioned it a week ago. I already told him to hire that fellow over in Richmond who repaired the pantry floor.”
“And did our steward also tell you that the tenant farmers want to meet with you about the spring planting?”
“He wrote me about it, yes. I’ll do it this week.”
“Also, the windows in the drawing room—”
“Already taken care of, Minerva.” He eyed her closely. “Since when do you care what happens to the house?”
“Since when doyou?” she countered.
A scowl knit his brow. “Since I found myself forced to live here again.” When her gaze turned speculative, he added bitterly, “But don’t think it means anything. Imerely don’t like drafts, or servants falling and breaking their ankles, making them incapable of serving me.”
“I understand completely.” Her gaze held a decided glint of mischief. “Youare,after all, an unrepentant and thoroughly irresponsible rogue.”
“Something it would behoove you not to forget,” he growled, unnerved by her refusal to take him seriously.
“How can I forget it when you work so hard to remind us of it?”
“Damn it, Minerva—”
“I know, I know. You’re my scary big brother, and all that.” She waggled her fingers. “I’m off to bed. Don’t get into too much trouble before morning.”
As she sauntered out laughing, he couldn’t prevent the smile tugging at his lips. God help any man who tried to make Minerva submit to his will. She would eat him alive and lick her fingers afterward.
But what she’d said did remind him—he needed to go over the ledgers before he met with the tenants. He walked into the hall, then paused as laughter came from his brothers in the card room. His responsibilities tugged him the other way, toward his study and the waiting ledgers.
He tensed. This was how it began. First, he’d handle a few small matters, then he’d take on more and more, until one day the house and all it stood for would have him in its grip, and he would become like Father, willing to do anything, marry anyone, to keep the blasted estate going.
No, damn it! He wouldn’t let the ghosts of Halstead Hall drag him where he didn’t want to be. The ledgerscould wait until tomorrow. A night of drinking and cards lay before him, and it was exactly what he needed.
Then Gran’s words rose unbidden from his memory.
You’re better than this aimless life you lead.
