grace. “Sir, I asked her before Mr. Heaney arrived. He’s a good sort, but I thought she would be more apt to tell another woman first.”
While working under Mac, he’d had friends who had been hurt by men—young women and men alike. They’d possessed similar tells as Miss Doyle’s. Reticence paired with an insistence that they could be independent.
That was how you met Lord Valencourt’s brother, he reminded himself, not allowing his mind to shy away from the truth. Mac had procured His Grace a companion, and it was that companion who’d finally threatened to try extorting the duke. It was a wonder it had never happened to His Grace before.
All Charles said to Harriet was, “Thank you for the tea.”
She nodded and slipped out.
He said to Nigel, “We will make sure nothing happens to her.”
After taking a sip of his tea, Nigel said, “I am happy we found her.”
“Happy?”
“You seem very… invested.” Nigel was being careful with his words.
“I am. But so are you. It is the decent thing to do—make sure she is safe—and not just because she was on my property.”
The words sounded very strange, indeed. He held property and a small inheritance.
Under other circumstances, he might try to see it as a Christmas gift of a sort.
After meeting Mr. Lester, he was now no longer sure what had transpired to lead to his birth. If he was not told outright, he was sure it would bother him for some time to come. But at the moment, he supposed that it was more useful to try to reimagine himself as someone with more than just a room to his name. And leave things at that.
When Miss Doyle had slumped nearly onto his lap, he’d told Mr. Lester to summon anyone he deemed able to examine her. While Mr. Lester sent Harriet for an apothecary called Mr. Heaney, Charles and Nigel made Miss Doyle comfortable in an attic room. Harriet dressed her in one of her night rails.
“Yes,” said Nigel. “But I don’t look at her like you do.”
“Don’t be so silly. This isn’t one of your novels,” said Charles. He drank from his cup, wishing it was enlivened by some of the local whisky. “I’ve known her all of, what, several hours? Not counting the time she’s been unconscious.”
“Sometimes the heart knows what we want before we know what we want.”
“My heart knows it’s going back to London when this has settled down. I won’t stay in Ullinn House.” He gave a tight laugh. “What would there be for me to do?”
“Here? Very little.”
“What, then?”
“There’s always Glasgow. With me. Managing the warehouse.”
“I have work.”
Nigel fell silent.
Charles felt that was wise. Even if what he was suggesting was true, it was far too complex for the orderly, calm way in which he tried to live his life. He desired Miss Doyle but, for now, he needed to make sure she did not come to harm.
After going to Ullinn House on his own for a quick look at whether what Miss Doyle had said about it being sound was true, Charles found himself there for over two hours. The day became dark before he realized how much time had passed.
She appeared to be right. There would still be the matter of finding people to help him make it ready for three people to stay, even briefly. As he went from room to room, he found much was intact and present. It was all simply dusty and needed a good airing.
The more he considered it, the more he thought staying with Mr. Lester would be the far better option.
He was about to enter his father’s library when the sound of boots in the corridor below caught his attention.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was proud that he’d even entered the house alone, given that it still looked haunted and he could not shake the sense that it held secrets. His brief time in the kitchen had been a prelude to the weight that seemed to drape over him the further he explored.
He had been correct. It was not a very big house. What it had in abundance was aura.
Or ghosts.
Charles waited as the boots came up the stairs.
It was Mr. Lester’s face, not a ghost’s, that appeared in the doorway.
Chapter Eleven
She ought not to feel impatient just because Mr. Mason was not there when she awoke. Or a few hours later after a kind apothecary had left. Mr. Maclean was there to keep her company, but