Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,54

how much of that was real and how much pretense to ease the sting of his actions? She might be tilting at windmills and be as helpless as Tunning inferred.

She leaned back in her chair. She was tired, and a replay of that awful interview was not conducive to creating peace of mind. A wry smile twisted her mouth then crumbled into a tremulous frown. Life had not been fair to her since she was five, why should it change now?

Because I wish it to!

She lowered her head into her hands as a slow trailing of tears slid down her cheeks despite her determined silent protest against them.

St. Ryne stopped mid-stride when he saw his Bess. She jumped from her chair, his name a bare breath of air on her lips. She quickly flicked a tear from her cheek but not before he noted its course and a similar track on the other cheek. He continued forward to grab her hands and guide her around the desk, his warm smile offering humor and friendship. Elizabeth eyed him warily.

“Bess, what is this?” he asked, searching her face carefully.

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “Nothing, my lord, I assure you. It is merely fatigue’s cruel gesture, womanly nonsense.”

She withdrew her hands, a mantle of coldly formal reserve settling over her. She glided past him to sit stiffly erect in a chair by the fire. “We were not expecting you.” Suddenly seeing St. Ryne rocked her senses. She drew a steadying breath. “I’m afraid there is still much to do here. We are not yet prepared to provide all the comforts you would wish.”

St. Ryne looked quizzically at the stiff little marionette Elizabeth had become. “What do I care of comforts? As it is, my dear, you have already wrought miracles.” He took the chair opposite her.

Elizabeth refused to look directly at him, her eyes focused just to the side of his head. “The dining room and hall are complete save for draperies and upholstery,” she recited colorlessly. “I am assured the drawing room will be completed tomorrow. I had a bedroom for your use prepared in the event of your return but have not as yet ordered new fabrics for its refurbishment. The grounds have been manicured, though perhaps not perfectly, but this will do until spring. I took the liberty of cleaning out the stable and laying fresh straw. You are correct, it is a ramshackle structure but one, I surmise, which must see us through this winter. I have begun the process of engaging servants; however, it is a slow project. It appears there is considerable hesitation amongst the people here to work at Larchside on other than a contract basis. So far I have engaged the services of a cook, a chambermaid, and a footman.”

“We don’t have a footman any longer.”

“What?” Elizabeth’s head snapped around in surprise.

St. Ryne’s mouth quirked sideways then he struggled to adopt a tone as formal as her own though his eyes danced. “At least, I don’t think we do. It does depend on what Grigs says.” That caught her attention quickly enough, he thought.

“Who is Grigs? What are you talking about?”

“About Thomas, the young man you engaged as a footman. He’s horse mad, did you know? I’m giving him a chance to be a groom if Grigs, my head groom, approves him for training. Grigs should be here within the hour along with Mr. Cranston.”

“Mr. Cranston?” she returned feebly, knowing somehow she’d lost her advantage.

“My valet. Have you found a suitable lady’s maid yet?”

“No, though tomorrow I interview Ivy Murchison, a young woman who, Mary tells me, is quite clever with her hands and eager to enter the profession,” she said, dazed.

“Who is Mary?”

Elizabeth struggled to recapture her reserve. “Our new cook. It has been through her good offices that I have even been able to hire anyone.”

A mock grimace crossed St. Ryne’s face. “My stomach recalls only too well other meals served here. Can this Mary truly cook?”

“Excellently. That does remind me, I must tell her to expect one more for dinner.” She rose regally from her chair. “You must want to freshen up before dinner. I will have Atheridge conduct you to your chamber.” She glanced at the large clock on the mantle as she pulled the bell. “We keep country hours here. Dinner will be served in one hour.”

Elizabeth’s determined wintry disposition effectively cooled St. Ryne’s homecoming enthusiasm and convinced him his road would be rougher to travel than he had imagined. Rather