Page 15 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
“Do you have any pets?” she asked.
“I have my horses,” he said at once, a fond smile crossing his face. “Two mares for the hunt, and a stallion to ride around the estate.”
“Oh.” Eleanor said briefly. She was about to elaborate on her answer when he gestured at the window.
“Look. You can see the church tower. We’ll be nearing Ramsgate town soon. Then it’s another two miles until we reach the estate.”
“Oh?” She craned her neck, staring out of the window. There was indeed a church spire, tall and dark, like a smudge on the green hills in the background. As they neared it, the shape of it became clearer along with some surrounding buildings. She held her breath. Soon, they would approach Ramsgate House.
“There!” Sebastian commented, making her jump. She’d been staring out of the window, watching the green trees race past the coach, and his comment startled her out of her more relaxed thoughts.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I can see Ramsgate House. There it is,” he added, pointing out of the window on his side. Eleanor craned her neck, staring out. She couldn’t see it yet, sitting facing with her back to the coach-driver while he sat forward. As she watched, the outline of a house appeared. She stared.
Built on a slight rise, surrounded by woodlands, the house was pale sandstone and it stood out against the green fields around it. She gazed over at it. As they approached, the details became more apparent. She could see scrollwork and gables and she drew in a breath. It was beautiful. Imposing, old and beautiful.
“It’s lovely,” she murmured.
“I’m glad you think so.” He sounded sincere as the coach turned and they went up a long drive covered in white gravel. The coach-wheels crunched on it; the hoof-beats audible now as they slowed.
Eleanor drew a breath. They were nearing the house. She stared up at it, heart thudding. It was tall, three floors, with a slate roof and a stern, traditional feel to it.
She looked around. The garden stretched out around them, all tall, leafy oak trees, the leaves turning rich red and gold. The lawns were still green, and a box hedge flanked what she guessed was the water-garden. As they stopped outside the manor house, she frowned.
“No flowers?” she asked. The flowerbed in front of the house was entirely green and leafy—bushes and small shrubs flanked the house, but, where her house was surrounded by late-flowering roses and lavender, there were not any flowers to see.
He smiled. “No. Are you fond of flowers?” He jumped down, lifting a hand to help her out.
“Is there any woman who is not fond of flowers?” she asked a little teasingly.
He grinned. “No. But then, I have already seen you are a most unusual woman.”
Eleanor went red. Her heart flooded with warmth. His low voice wassoft, and his gaze was admiring.
“Here,” he said, taking her hand. “Let me help you.”
“I thank you,” she murmured, looking down at his glovedhand. She placed her fingers gently in it and he closed his grip, helping her down. She felt a flush creep through her body, heating every inch of her and making her fingers tingle.
She jumped down, jarring her feet on the hard ground. He held her hand to steady her.
“Thank you,” she murmured again, feeling awkward. He was standing very close indeed. She looked into his eyes. That dark gaze was fixed on hers.
She looked hastily away.
“My father will be delighted,” Lord Glenfield continued. “I trust he has arrived ahead of us—he traveled in the Landau after all.”
“He likely has,” Eleanor murmured, but Lord Glenfield was already striding up the stairs and she doubted he had heard her.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted the butler as the door opened almost instantly. “Is my father here?”
“He arrived twenty minutes ago. He is resting in the drawing room, my lord. Welcome,” the butler added, bowing to Lord Glenfield and to Eleanor. Eleanor swallowed through a tight throat.
“Thank you,” she murmured as the butler took her cloak. She was here now. She was Lady Glenfield.
It made no sense.
She walked up the stairs, gazing wide-eyed at the house around her. The entrance-way was similar to that at Woodford House—marble tiles, a sweeping staircase leading up to the first floor, a high ceiling. The scale of it was much larger, though. Ramsgate House was built on an entirely different scale, clearly built in a much earlier century. It had been refurbished several times, she guessed, and the current appearance was pleasant and stylish.
