“No, it wasn’t.” His face grew serious. “Miss Ambrose, I’m a little embarrassed to ask you, but I hope I did not leave bruises on your waist.”
“You did,” she replied, feeling warmth on her own face. “I put it down to your determination to get me down the stairs in a strange house.”
He sat back. “This isn’t shaping up to be much of a Christmas, is it?”
It seemed a strange remark, one that required a light reply. “No, indeed,” she said. “I mean, you were planning to spend it in the City, weren’t you, going over legal briefs, or . . .”
“Depositions, my dear, depositions,” he corrected. “And now we have cranky children on our hands, and a broken house.”
How quickly he seemed to have included her in the family. “You needn’t try to appeal to my better nature,” she teased. “I will stay for the duration, bruises or not. Only give me my orders and tell me what you want done here today.”
“That is more like it!” he said. He stood up and stretched. “Let Mrs. Grey be your guide. I am certain there is enough cleaning here to keep the children busy. If they complain, remind them that the servants are involved at the hall.”
“Very well.” Cecilia stood next to him, noting that she came up only to his shoulder. “Perhaps you could take David with you to York, Lord Trevor,” she suggested. “He so misses his mother, and he told me that he has already had the measles.”
Lord Trevor shook his head. “I dare not, Miss Ambrose. What I did not tell anyone last night was that the letter was from their mother, and not my brother Hugo, who is ill from the measles himself. I am riding to York most specifically to see how he does.”
“Oh, my!” Cecilia exclaimed. “Is his life in danger?”
Lord Trevor shrugged. “That is the principal reason I’m leaving here as soon as possible, and without the encumbrance of a little boy, who would only be anxious.”
“I promise to keep everyone quite busy here,” she assured him.
“Excellent!” He stretched again, and then placed his hand briefly upon her shoulder. “Don’t allow any of the children near the manor, either, if you please,” he said, his voice quite serious. “I do not trust the timbers in that old place yet, not without an engineer to check it for soundness. The servants will bring over whatever clothing and books are needed.” He wrinkled his nose. “And it will all smell of smoke.”
He stopped in the doorway, and put his hand to his forehead. “Hell’s bells, Miss Ambrose! Do excuse that. . . . I don’t see how we can possibly have that annual dinner and dance on Christmas Eve.”
“A dinner!” she exclaimed.
“It is the neighborhood’s crowning event, which I have managed to avoid for years.” He rubbed his eye. “My sister-in-law used to trot out all the local beauties and try to convince them that I was a worthy catch.” He shuddered elaborately, to her amusement. “Maybe that is why I have never stayed for Christmas. No, the dinner must be cancelled. I will retrieve the guest list from the manor, and you can assign the imperious Janet the task of written apology to all concerned.” He started for the door.
“Or I can go get the list while you bathe.”
“No!”
His vehemence startled her. Before she should assure him that she didn’t mind a return to the manor, he stood in front of the parlor door, as though to bar her way. “Miss Ambrose, I’d really rather no one from this house went to the manor. The soot is a trial, and the smoke quite clogs the throat.”
“Very well, then,” she agreed, gratified not a little by his concern. “I’m hardly a shrinking violet, my lord,” she murmured.
He smiled at her, and she could have laughed at the effect of very white teeth in a black face. “Well, then, you may get your list, once you have bathed,” she said, acutely aware that she had no business telling the second son of a marquis what to do.
“What a nag you are, Miss Ambrose,” he told her. He turned toward the hall. “I will wash and then get the list. If that does not meet with your whole approval, let me know now.”
She laughed, quite at ease again. “And comb your hair, too! My father used to tell me that if you can’t be a good example, you can always be a bad one.” Lord, what am I saying? she asked herself.
Lord Trevor seemed to think it completely normal. He nodded to her, and winked. In another moment she heard him whistling on the stairs.
She was finishing her eggs and toast in the breakfast room when Lord Trevor came into the room. He lofted the guest list at her, and it glided to her plate. He then leaned against the sideboard with the bacon platter in his hand and ate from it.