den in the middle of winter. Never mind that he’d been hibernating for the better part of seven years.
“Is the carriage ready?” he demanded once he’d managed to secure all the buttons and shoved a hat down on top of his head. He could hear the temper simmering in his voice and he knew it was being ill-directed, but Mr. Corish didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. It was what made him such a great – and aggravating – valet.
Leo honestly didn’t know why the beleaguered servant hadn’t quit months ago. God knew he had an endless supply of reasons. But for reasons that mystified Mr. Corish continued to remain despite the poor treatment he suffered, making him the only constant in Leo’s life since the loss of Heather and Henry.
Sometimes Leo wondered if he wasn’t such a bastard to his valet because he was trying to push him away. If Mr. Corish left, then he’d be surrounded by strangers. Strangers who wouldn’t ask him if he’d eaten dinner, or changed his clothes, or make a tsking sound under their breath when he refused a shave. If Mr. Corish left, then there’d be no one in the house who cared for him.
Which was exactly what he wanted.
More than that, it was what he deserved.
His wife and child were gone. If his valet knew what was good for him he would leave too. Everyone else he cared about already had. What was one more loss on a burning heap of anguish and despair?
“The carriage is waiting as we speak, my lord.” Oblivious to the dark turn his employer’s thoughts had taken, Mr. Corish walked to the door and pulled it open with hardly a whisper of sound.
From outside came the patter of rain as it struck the top of the carriage, and the distant rumble of thunder from a storm slowly closing in. Pulling the collar of his coat close to his neck, Leo gave the valet a curt nod before he strode out of the house, down the stone walkway, and through the gate.
The ride to Lord and Lady Galveston’s residence was a short one. Large and stately and glowing from the dozens of candles placed in every window, the grand manor sat back from the street behind a towering wrought iron gate. There was a long spiraling line of vehicles waiting to be admitted, everyone wanting to get as close as possible due to the wet weather. Leo’s surpassed them all, and belatedly he wished he’d thought to cover the Winchester coat of arms when he saw more than one head turn as his team of horses trotted briskly up the drive.
The town coach rolled to a halt at the base of a long set of marble steps and the two footmen who had been clinging to the back quickly jumped off. Light spilled into the carriage when the door was opened, causing Leo to blink and a throw hand up in front of his face as he sat immobile on the edge of his seat, his limbs frozen at the enormity of the task that laid before him.
“My lord?” said one of the footman, obviously uncertain what to do, and for a moment Leo was tempted to tell him to shut the door and return home. He didn’t belong here, in this glittering celebration of the wealthy and powerful. Whatever Helena had planned for him, it was never going to work. He was a broken thing. A discarded thing. And broken, discarded things did best when they stayed in the bottom of whatever chest they’d been carelessly thrown into.
“Should I…close the door, my lord?” the footman ventured hesitantly. Gritting his teeth, Leo braced his hands on either side of the narrow frame and jumped down, skipping the set of wooden steps that had been placed out for him and landing on the ground with a wet crunch of gravel. He may have been a broken, discarded thing, but he’d be damned if he was ever called a coward.
He’d buried his wife and son. Surely, he could manage a simple ball.
“Have the carriage brought around to the back,” he ordered, his gaze on the steps. “I don’t know yet what time I’ll be departing, but I want you to be ready whenever I choose to leave.”
“Of course, my lord. Right away, my lord.” The footmen jumped back onto the carriage and it rolled away, leaving Leo alone with a hundred pairs of eyes at his back and hundreds