Page 13 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Easing in a breath, she went on. “Had I known your arrival would be so soon, I would have already been gone.”
“Is there no dower house? Until the business of the will is settled… for heaven’s sake, Blythe, if you must leave, why not return to Risley Manor?”
Archie had made great use of the Risley Manor dower house before moving his beastly activities to the north wing of the manor. If she were the earl, both dwellings would be torn down.
“This is your home now. I will not spend a single night under the roof of an unmarried man. I bid you adieu, Lord Chilcombe.”
“No.” He repeated, his jaw locked. “You will, of course, stay here.”
Speechless with anger, she struggled for words.
“What’s needed,” he said, “is a chaperone. I’ll take rooms at an inn until you can search out some older relation.”
Her only older relation was Great-Aunt Winifred, and the old besom had cut ties after she’d paid a call at Risley Manor, and Archie had invited his nurse to join them for tea.
“It will have to be one of your relations,” she said. “I have none handy.”
“What of Cousin Freddy’s widow? She must be forty if she’s a day.”
“If you’ll recall, that particular wife died quite some time ago. The current widow is not yet two and twenty.”
Though, come to think of it, Melusine Blatchfield’s presence would be perfect revenge on this managing earl.
“It may be indelicate to mention,” she said, pausing to adjust her bonnet, “but Freddy’s widow would very much like to have a title. Countess would work quite well. She’s young enough to bear many children, though she’s only managed to produce daughters so far. Invite her here, if you dare. Perhaps her mother could come along and chaperone your courtship of her.”
Graeme blinked and pressed his lips together.
“I say!” a man bellowed from the doorway. “ Ain’t this Lady Chilcombe’s house? Why is this cheeky chap sending my hack away with my trunk still atop it? Put the case there, if you please.”
A scrawny fellow in regimentals directed the earl’s footman to place a scratched, battered trunk on the tile next to Blythe’s more elegant luggage.
Tall, sandy-haired, and lean—far too thin, actually—the visitor turned a bright grin on her and opened his arms. “What kind of welcome is this, Blythy?”
Will. Will was here. She hadn’t seen him in years.
Moisture welled in her eyes and throat, and she heard Graeme’s indrawn breath. Nudging the pompous prig out of the way, she walked into the welcoming arms, feeling… safe, protected, for the first time in ages.
“Will,” she said pulling back to examine him. He seemed to have grown taller since his last leave and was far too careworn for his age, but mischief gleamed in his eyes, like it had in the old days when the brat had pulled pranks on her. “Has the army not been feeding you?”
“Arrgh. Aye, feeding me bullets and plague, and a few poisoned spears on the side. I just landed at Deal two days ago, and lucky I was to find transport. Who’s this fellow?” he added in a stage whisper.
Heavens. Will and Graeme might have arrived on the same ship. She was glad that they hadn’t.
“I may ask the same about you.” Graeme’s smooth tone would cut butter but the stony look in his eyes told her what he was thinking.
She swallowed a defiant chuckle. “My lord,” she said, “may I introduce Captain Willis Lynford? Will, this is Graeme Blatchfield, the Earl of Chilcombe, who like you, has only just arrived in town.”
“The new earl? I thought you wrote that he’d be arriving in… Beg pardon. Er, pleased to meet you. I suppose I’d best look for a bed elsewhere.” Will’s eyes narrowed. “I say, are you living here, Blythe?”
“No,” she said, and at the same time Graeme said, “Yes.”
She locked eyes with him, furious at the cool, knowing look he sent back. “I’m leaving,” she said.
“She’s staying, Captain Lynford.”
Will took a step forward. “I say, sir. Just what are your intentions toward my sister?”
Blythe sighed. She’d kept her letters to Will cheerful, omitting her marital trials. It seemed the rumors had reached him anyway.
