Ethan: Lord of Scandals (26 page)

Sara ignored the violin case but paused when they gained the stable yard. Full darkness had fallen, and the sleet had shifted to a thick, pretty snow.

“It was snowing over the South Downs,” Mr. Haddonfield said, “and here I thought April was fast approaching.”

“We get odd weather down here,” Sara replied. The bleakness was now audible in his lovely voice. “The Channel and the Solent and the time of year conspire to make it so. How is Lady Warne?”

“My grandmother continues in great good spirits. She anticipates the Season as if she were making her come out each and every year.”

Sara stopped and regarded Mr. Haddonfield by lantern light as snowflakes dusted his hair and eyelashes. He was a young man—a man in his prime, an earl’s son—and yet he sounded puzzled that anybody should enjoy the social whirl.

Three Springs tended to collect refugees, and perhaps another had found his way here. The thought was dangerous, suggesting Sara might have something in common with this handsome, wandering man who knew enough to get a violin out of the elements.

She pushed open the back door to the kitchen hallway, only to be greeted by Polly and Allie, holding hands, both in cloaks and boots, and blinking at Sara and her escort.

“Mama?” Allie dropped her aunt’s hand. “Who have you got there? He’s quite interesting.”

Allie
would want to paint him. Oh, bother. Bother, bother, bother.

“Allemande Hunt,” Sara said, trying for sternness, “you do not address a guest in such a fashion. Make your curtsey to Mr. Haddonfield and apologize for your manners.”

Allie complied, but she continued to stare at Mr. Haddonfield with a combination of girlish fascination and artistic assessment. A polite version of the same expression—minus the girlish fascination—graced Polly’s face.

“Polly Hunt.” Sara’s sister curtsied prettily. “And if you’ve been traveling in this weather, we’d best see to feeding you. I am Cook in this household, so you’ll please excuse me that I might be about my tasks.”

“I can manage on what’s available,” Mr. Haddonfield replied, offering Polly a smile all the more charming for the fatigue it conveyed. “And I’ve brought in some cooking spices. There’s a particular muffin recipe I’m partial to.”

“You make muffins?” Allie exclaimed. “You do, yourself?”

Sara braced herself to hear her daughter receive a much-deserved set down about children being seen and not heard, particularly the children of servants, but Mr. Haddonfield reached out and tapped Allie’s nose with one long, elegant finger.

“I make muffins, but I require the assistance of competent help, and I cannot possibly bother Miss Polly when she has the entire household to cook for. Perhaps I might prevail upon you, for you are obviously a discerning young lady.”

His countenance changed when he addressed the child. His eyes became clearer, and the smile dimmed to lurk around his mouth. He became not more charming, or not more charming in the way an adult woman might understand it, but… benevolent.

“Aunt Polly? Mama?” Allie turned her great green eyes on the adults. “May I? When Mr. Haddonfield bakes his muffins? May I help?”

Polly, as always, deferred to Sara on matters relating to Allie.

“You may,” Sara said, knowing it was the wrong decision. “Tonight our guest is cold, wet, hungry, and likely exhausted. We must allow him his comforts before imposing on him to teach you a muffin recipe.”

Though they had no real comforts to offer him, only the barest necessities, which added a dollop of embarrassment to Sara’s feelings toward him.

“Shall you take a tray?” Polly asked him. “You have to be famished.”

Mr. Haddonfield shrugged broad shoulders. “I can eat with the rest of the household. I don’t relish a solitary meal above stairs. Is supper served in here when Lady Warne is not in residence?”

“We eat in here,” Polly said. “We have two footmen-of-all-work, but they’ve gone into the village with Mr. North and will likely eat at the posting inn with him. The groom left at Yuletide to be with his parents over the winter but will be back when planting begins—we hope.”

“So I’m to have the company of three lovely ladies at my supper,” Mr. Haddonfield said. “I’d best get presentable then. I assume you keep country hours?”

“We do,” Sara replied, wondering how an earl’s son became presentable for eating with the servants in the kitchen. “By the time you’ve had your bath, Polly will have supper ready. Allie, you can take off your cloak and boots and help Aunt Polly while I show Mr. Haddonfield to his rooms.”

“Yes, Mama.” Allie’s tone was deferential, though her gaze still strayed speculatively to their guest. Sara could see her daughter taking him apart visually then adding his features back together, one pigment and line at a time. Polly was doing likewise, though she had of necessity grown better at hiding her skills.

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New
York
Times
and
USA
Today
bestselling author Grace Burrowes hit the bestseller lists with both her debut,
The
Heir
, and her second book in The Duke’s Obsession trilogy,
The
Soldier.
Both books received extensive praise and starred reviews from
Publishers
Weekly
and
Booklist
.
The
Heir
was also named a
Publishers
Weekly
Best Book of The Year, and
The
Soldier
was named a
Publishers
Weekly
Best Spring Romance. Her first story in the Windham sisters’ series—
Lady
Sophie’s Christmas Wish
—received the
RT
Reviewer’s Choice award for historical romance, was nominated for a RITA in the Regency category, and was a
New York Times
bestseller. She is hard at work on more stories for the Windham sisters, and has started a trilogy of Scottish Victorian romances, the first of which,
The
Bridegroom
Wore
Plaid,
was a
Publishers Weekly
Best Book of 2012.

Grace lives in rural Maryland and is a practicing attorney. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached through her website at
graceburrowes.com
.