Worth: Lord Of Reckoning by Grace Burrowes

Author:Grace Burrowes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2014-05-06T21:00:00+00:00

* * *

“You have a caller, sir.” Not Carl, but Jeff the cousin who shared porter duties, disturbed Worth’s breakfast and eliminated the likelihood he could linger until Wyeth appeared.

Well, damn and blast.

“Where did you put him?”

Over at the sideboard, the footman’s gaze slid away.

“He were that dusty, sir. I put him in the second parlor. Tea tray’s on its way.”

“Have a tray sent up to Mrs. Wyeth, too, would you? The commotion last night likely set her schedule on its head.”

“Mrs. Wyeth is in the gardens, sir. She’s been up since the moon set. Said the flowers needed freshening in the boo-kays.”

“Then take the tray to the gardens.”

Just like that, Worth’s staff was smirking again, staring at the ceiling or out the window.

“Fired without a character, you lot.” He glared at both Jeff and the footman minding the sideboard, and for good measure at the scullery maid bringing up a fresh tea service. “Make sure it’s a substantial tray, not merely tea and scones.”

“Yes, sir.” In unison, but to Worth’s ears, their subservience had a tell-tale singsong mocking quality. Wyeth would not have countenanced such cheek.

Except, she did. However she ruled, it wasn’t with an iron hand. Nobody at Trysting was in fear for their position, and nobody slacked. Worth approved of that. He did not approve of tenants reeking of the barnyard who came calling by dawn’s early light to disturb a man bent on serious domestic campaigning.

Unless that tenant was this Hunter fellow, the one who had had the gall to intimate to Jacaranda she might be an object of gossip.

“Now see here,” Worth began, sailing into the unprepossessing parlor only to stop in his tracks. “Hess?”

“You recognize me,” Worth’s guest said. “I’m encouraged.” He held out a deliberate hand.

With equal deliberation, Worth put his hand in his brother’s and shook, civilly, all the while repressing an urge to smile from ear to ear. Such an urge was not born of sense or logic. Hess had stabbed Worth in the back as cruelly as one sibling could betray another, and all the shared boyhood years before that one gesture couldn’t wipe out the circumstances of their parting.

“I’m glad you’ve safely arrived.” Worth could say that honestly, so he did. “Will your coaches be following?”

“No coaches,” Hess replied. “My bags should have arrived, but I’m traveling alone to make better time.”

“You want to return to Grampion before harvest, perhaps, or simply wanted this errand completed.” Worth had not made this remark a question, though he’d meant to—hadn’t he?

In the space of a sentence, the chasm between them loomed wider and colder. All it had taken was a few words tossed on years of near silence and some bitter history.

“I wanted to assure myself Yolanda is well. The school sent an alarming report, full of implications and innuendo. Then too, I would like to make Avery’s acquaintance. You did intend to tell me about her?”

“I sent a note.” Worth was saved from truly bickering by the arrival of the ubiquitous tea tray.

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