Page 7 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
The rich blue of her gown had turned her eyes, her changeable eyes, from gray to blue. She was more beautiful than ever she’d been as a girl. He’d wanted to take her in, all of her.
There’d be time for that. She’d been defensive, as well she might be given the possibility of that new will.
It was instinctive to take her side, and perhaps incautious until he knew more.
The butler stopped and opened an ornate painted door, and he stepped into a generously proportioned sitting room. Through an inside door, he caught the eye of a liveried male servant, who put aside a stack of shirts and hurried out to present himself.
“This is Clive, my lord,” Adwick said. “One of our footmen. I’ve assigned him to assist you until your, er, valet arrives. He is unpacking your trunk.”
“Thank you,” Graeme said. “That’s helpful. At present, I have no valet. Perhaps Clive could fulfill that duty in the interim.”
The butler blinked and then went on. “Your rooms have a bathing chamber. If you wish, Clive will draw your bath and assist you with shaving.”
A bath. The third in four days and much needed. A bath would rid him of the smell of horse and ease a few persistent aches in his posterior.
“I do wish. Thank you, Adwick.”
“I’ll send up a tray while you wait.” Adwick excused himself and left.
“A bathing chamber,” Graeme mused, looking around at the mahogany furnishings.
“The chamber is straight through here, my lord.” Clive motioned toward the room where he’d been working. “The water is heating.”
He’d seen some elaborate bathing suites in his travels but had seldom had a chance to avail himself of them, especially during his last assignment.
“By all means, lead on.” He entered another elegantly furnished room, the bedchamber. The carpets and curtains looked new. The furniture, if not new, had been reupholstered and the wood polished to a reflective gleam.
“I didn’t realize the accommodations of Chilcombe House would be so modern,” he said.
“Her ladyship had the bathing chamber put in when the structural repairs were starting, before the old earl’s death, and then she refurbished this suite for good measure.”
“Refurbished? What? Everything is new?”
Clive paused, expressionless. His tone had been approving; now he looked as though he thought he might have said too much.
“It’s nicely done,” Graeme said. “Do go on.”
“Yes, well, my lord, her ladyship took great care with the repairs and the decorating. Everything is new—that is, the carpets and curtains and upholstery. The furniture is original.” He paused for a breath. “Except for the bed. This one is new. She ordered the old one to be carried out and burned.”
“Did she indeed,” Graeme said.
Clive sent him a look, nodded, then dropped his gaze.
There’d been admiration for the countess in that description of the refurbishing and more than a note of approval about the bed.
“By your leave, my lord, I’ll go and check that the water is hot.”
At the writing table in her bedchamber, Blythe sealed the letter to Mr. Stockwell, the land steward at Risley Manor, and rang for a servant.
Adwick appeared carrying a salver piled with letters. “The footman has returned with notes from Mivart’s and the estate agent,” he said. “And some other mail has arrived for you.”
“That is quite a lot of letters.”
“Most of these are for his lordship. Two are for you,” he added, handing them over.
“Indeed.” Blythe choked back a laugh. Word had traveled fast. Invitations were pouring in from the curious and the mamas with marriageable daughters. Or perhaps the responsible papas. They would want to make sure the new earl was not as disreputable as the old one.
She accepted her correspondence and glanced quickly at the note from Mivart’s—yes, they could accommodate her ladyship. The estate agent’s note was equally short. He would see her the following morning.
