seeing as it came out of his land.’
‘Miss Nithercott is a historian.’
‘An antiquarian, actually. Historians tend to learn about the past from books, whereas antiquarians learn about it by excavating it from the ground.’ Miss Nithercott beamed at his sister. ‘Historians tend to look down on antiquarians because we get our hands dirty.’ She held them up for inspection apologetically and he watched his sister obviously focus on the lack of ring on her wedding finger. ‘Hence the breeches.’
‘I should imagine it’s near impossible to dig a hole in a dress. Or wearing any jewellery.’ Subtlety had never been Eleanor’s forte. Max made a point of not looking at her hand and instead noticed she was only wearing one earring. Lord only knew what that was about.
‘Miss Nithercott has been digging here for years.’ Best to clarify exactly where her interest lay before his sister’s vivid imagination ran away with her. ‘I apparently inherited her along with the house.’
‘Even more fascinating...’ She shot Max another knowing look. ‘Do you live close by, Miss Nithercott?’
‘Just across the parkland to the west.’
‘How convenient... Alone?’ Strangling was too humane for Eleanor. Too swift.
‘Yes. Nowadays. But I used to live there with my father. He was an academic. A proper historian who preferred his books to my artefacts.’
‘And speaking of artefacts...’ Max snatched the bracelet out of Eleanor’s fingers and thrust it at her. ‘I fear we are keeping you from studying this one, Miss Nithercott.’
Max watched hurt skitter across her features, then embarrassment as she hastily stood. Both made him feel wretched for being the cause, but it couldn’t be helped. Better to send her packing before the dreaded tea tray arrived and his sister found a million other ways to ask her if she had a man in her life and then follow it by unsubtly suggesting she might consider him. If she were desperate.
‘Yes... Of course.’ He hated the false smile she pasted on her face for his benefit, when whichever way you looked at it he had just been hideously rude. ‘I shall leave the pair of you to catch up. It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Baxter.’
‘And you, too, Miss Nithercott.’ His sister made no secret of the fact she was heartily unimpressed with him by over-pronouncing her consonants. ‘I do hope we meet again.’
As he rose to see her out, and to apologise for the clumsy way he was practically throwing her out, she waved him away. ‘Please do not trouble yourself, Lord Rivenhall. I know perfectly well where the door is.’ Was that censure? ‘You have pointed me in its direction often enough.’ Apparently it was, although he could hardly blame her as he heartily deserved it.
Eleanor waited until Miss Nithercott’s delectable bottom disappeared down the hallway—or rather out of his straining peripheral vision. ‘I see your manners and surly, belligerent disposition have not improved in the last few weeks Max! You embarrassed the poor thing!’
‘You were about to ask if she was engaged.’
‘I was about to do no such thing. I was simply being friendly. Something which wouldn’t hurt you to attempt on occasion.’ The rattle of the tea tray made her pause and they both sat in tense silence while the butler took his own sweet time to deposit it on the table.
‘Why are you here, Eleanor?’
‘I wanted to reassure myself you were settling in. It has been three weeks and you haven’t written. Not even to inform me you arrived safely.’
‘You know I hate writing letters.’
‘A single, curt sentence would have sufficed!’ She inhaled and exhaled slowly, something she did nowadays only to him whenever her temper was close to the surface and she wanted to soften her tone. Max hated that she still felt the need to coddle him. ‘I have been worried about you. You left so abruptly.’
‘I needed to get away. A change of scenery.’ His sister’s well-meant fussing and the London house had suffocated him. That morning’s newspaper story had been the last straw. ‘As you can see, I am perfectly well.’
‘Physically, perhaps...’
‘Not again, Eleanor!’ Immediately Max shot to his