Page 9 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 2
The big red-haired man at the top of the stairs finally turned away, and Paulette remembered to breathe.
“Close your mouth,” Mabel whispered.
She clamped her mouth shut, praying the pounding she heard in her own ears would be inaudible to the others, or at least attributed to the quick journey and impending grief.
He was here, blast it, and who the devil was he? And why was he visiting the bedside of Lord Shaldon?
And why was she acting as silly as Mabel?
A shiver went through her. From this vantage point he loomed like a giant. And this time, he’d made a thorough inspection of her person. But he’d caught himself at the end and put back all of her clothing.
She shook her head. This was all Mabel’s fault, planting the seed that had set Paulette stewing about him for the last part of the journey. Well-dressed he was, in quality cloth, with a frock coat well fitted on those shoulders which—her heart skipped another beat—were quite the most massive she’d ever seen. Even bigger than the smith’s.
But no tradesman she knew of wore that sort of clothing. Perhaps he was a solicitor or surgeon. Yes, that would explain it.
She took in another sharp breath. Perhaps he was some friend of Shaldon’s, someone who had served the Earl as her papa had.
The ancient housekeeper came out to greet them and soothe Mrs. Everly’s grumblings.
Mrs. Everly would calm soon enough when Paulette packed her off to her sister. If travel by dog cart was offensive, well, lucky for everyone, Mrs. Everly, wasn’t making the return trip.
“Paulette, you must retire.” Mrs. Everly’s voice finally intruded. “They’ll bring a tray to your room. You must refresh yourself and change before you see his lordship. You must make a respectable—”
“No.” She’d been bullied, and ignored, and talked down to enough. Lord Shaldon had not answered any one of her many letters, except to dodge and offer platitudes through some man of business. He was not allowed to go to his death without answering some questions.
She marched to the staircase, and Mrs. Everly moaned.
Footsteps scurried, and a maid, as small as herself, came up beside her.
Paulette kept walking, eying the girl. She was far too tiny to stop an unruly lady. If they wished to stop her, they would need to set the footman on her, and they wouldn’t dare.
“If you will not show me the way to his lordship’s chamber,” she said to the maid, “I’ll find it myself.”
Though it had been years since her only visit, she had a memory of Cransdall’s layout. All she need do was follow the halls until she stumbled over a train of hushed servants moving in and out of his lordship’s sickroom.
“Yes, miss. I’ve no doubt you would be able to,” the maid whispered. “Lord Bakeley and the doctor are with his lordship, and his other son has just arrived. His daughter has been notified but I’m not sure she’ll reach here in time.”
Paulette stopped. “Charles ishere?”
She’d met Charley, Shaldon’s younger son, on her disastrous visit, and like Bakeley he’d taken a brotherly pity on her. Not enough pity to write to her or to make the few hours’ ride to visit her when he was in the country. The last she’d heard, Charley was in Egypt, or Paris, or Vienna, or some other exciting environ following in his father’s footsteps.
The maid’s eyes went wide and her pale cheeks bloomed pink, a wholly English rosiness that Paulette could never hope to achieve.
The girl ducked her head, probably realizing she had overstepped, imparting information that was too much like gossip.
“Miss, I’m new here. I don’t know the brother’s name, but he’s just gone up the stairs ahead of us.”
Paulette’s skin buzzed. The man she’d met on the road had just gone up the stairs. The flaming-haired giant who’d ogled her was not one of Shaldon’s operatives, nor was he a solicitor, or physician, or a respectable gentleman. He was Shaldon’s son, but not a son she’d ever heard about.
He must be, he had to be, a by-blow.
She felt her face heat and then a niggling chill swept through her. Perhaps Shaldon had others. Perhaps…
No. No, no, no. She was the beloved daughter of Paul and Sela Heardwyn. She picked up her skirts and continued on.
The footman deliveredBink to the sickroom door and vanished. Before he could knock, the door flew open.
