The Convenient Arrangement (3 page)

It was impossible both to imagine her here and to wend his way through the jumble.

As she edged toward the door that must lead to the sitting room, Lady Fanning held her gown close to her, offering him a beguiling view. Again he looked hastily away. He yelped when his shin struck something that had been hidden under one of the suits of armor. Bending, he lifted the cracked hilt of what once must have been a broadsword. He set it on the windowsill.

“Mayhap it would look better in the bear's claw,” suggested Lady Fanning.

“What?”

She smiled as she slipped, with an ease he could not copy, past the tables to the doorway. “It would be interesting to invite your guests up here and surprise them with a bear armed with a broadsword.”

“I have no intention of entertaining here.”

“No?” She stared at him with as much amazement as if he had just announced he had been named the next king. “Do you plan to pay only a brief call here?”

“No, I plan to live here.”

“All alone?”

He smiled. “From what I saw in the foyer, Moorsea Manor need never worry about a dearth of people.”

“But this is such a large house. It would hold many guests for a hunt gathering or simply an assembly here in daisyville.”

“I enjoy my own company, madam.”

“And no one else's?” She shook her head as she ran her fingers along the bear's upraised front paw. “I swear I would go quite mad if I were not surrounded by friends and gaiety.” Throwing out her hands, she said, “My dear Lord Moorsea, this house is made for entertaining.”

“I doubt that. My uncle seldom, as I understand it, received anyone here.” When she opened her mouth to retort, he edged past her into the large room. “I mean to say, this is much better.”

Lorenzo heard her soft gasp when she stepped into the room. He shared her incredulity, for the room was twice the size of the spacious foyer below. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, and others were stuck out in the middle of the floor. It was the largest book-room he had ever seen, and each shelf was stacked, to overflowing in places where books had fallen to the floor, with books and papers and bric-a-brac. This changed his plans. First he would explore this splendid room, then he would acquaint himself with the rest of the house.

Looking up, he saw the ceiling vanished into the shadows that claimed everything beyond the fire someone had thoughtfully laid on the hearth and the single candle that was set on a table between two chairs. Even from where he stood, he could see the chairs were well-worn. He hoped that was a sign of their comfort. One for him to sit upon, the other to balance his feet on while he worked on his writing. That would be just perfect, he decided, as he set his small bag on the floor beside one.

“Quite miserly with the light, I see,” Lady Fanning said as she picked up the candle and walked to view the rest of the room. She called, “David?”

“I doubt you will find the boy lurking in a library when it is too dark to read.” Lorenzo smiled up at the stacks of books, lying at every angle on the shelves reaching to the ceiling. A man could spend a lifetime trying to read all of them.

He took one from the nearest shelf and open it, tilting the pages toward the fire so he might read the letters printed upon them. He chuckled. He had a fool's own good fortune, for the book was poetry. Scanning the French and then the English translation, he closed it, his nose wrinkling with disgust. He had no use for Marquis de la Cour's sickish-sweet love poems. He set it back on the shelf and reached for another.

“How dare you!”

He turned as Lady Fanning surged around the end of the shelf as if she had been shot at him in a flurry of fireworks. Frowning, he wondered what he had done to disturb her now when, in truth, she was the one disturbing him in his own home.

“How dare I—?”

Her hand striking his cheek echoed through the room. As he stared at her, too stunned to speak, she cried, “Curse you, Lorenzo Wolfe.”

Two

Lorenzo put his hand on his stinging cheek and bit back the retort he could not let ring in a lady's ears. “Madam, I have no idea what—”

“Better acquainted?” Lady Fanning sniffed in outrage. “I should have listened to my better sense and stayed downstairs until David was found.”

“I do not understand what you are babbling about.”

“Babbling?” Her finger trembled as she pointed to the end of the bookcase where she had gone to explore. “You expect me to believe that after—after—”

“After what?” He was trying to be reasonable, but he was hungry and his head had been aching even before she struck him.

“After I saw
that!
I have no idea what kind of woman you think me to be, but I can assure you, I am a lady come in hose and shod.”

“Lady Fanning, I have not intimated otherwise.”

“Intimated?” Her laugh was sharp. With fear? He could not understand why, when he had been the pattern-card of propriety, save when he had taken her arm to halt her from storming up the stairs. “Odd that you should choose that word.”

“Mayhap I would not have chosen it if I had any idea what in the blazes you are prattling on and on about.”

Her chin lowered a finger's breadth. Confusion filled her voice. “Are you asking me to believe you are unaware of what is on the other side of this bookcase?”

He did not answer. Reaching through the thick fringe on her shawl to take her gently by the arm that was holding the candle, he steered her around the end of the shelves before she could fire another demure hit at him. She pulled her arm away, but he grasped the candle before she could walk away to leave him in the dark.

In disbelief, he stared at the grand bed set behind the bookshelves. It must be of an age with the house, for its tester was hung by silken cords from the ceiling. The bed curtains were open. The headboard, that was carved with leaping stags and a unicorn, came alive as the candlelight skimmed across it.

“Now I know why you have been lurking in the country,” Lady Fanning said coldly. “No decent woman would allow herself to be alone in your company. If you think that you can lure me up here and—”

“Lady Fanning,” he said, glad the shadows hid his smile which she was sure to misinterpret, “you must recall several things. First, the whole of this household could burst upon this room at any moment with the tidings that your nephew has been found. Secondly, I am, in spite of your low opinion of me, a gentleman, a fact that is generally known. Lastly, as I informed you in the foyer below, I have only arrived for the first time at Moorsea Manor. I have no knowledge of what is in any of these rooms.”

She wrapped her arms and that ridiculous shawl even more tightly around her. “I am not interested in listening to your explanations and apology here. We must speak of this elsewhere.”

“Nonsense.” He pulled the curtains on the imposing bed and walked to the hearth. He looked back, sure she would follow instead of huddling in the darkness. He was right, but she kept more than an arm's length between them and looked anxiously toward the door. “You cannot leave here until you learn where your nephew might be.” Turning the two chairs so they faced the fire, he said, “Please sit.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Very well, but only this once.”

A chilly prescience filtered through him, but he could not pounce on each word she spoke. She was quite distraught, and he must treat her with extraordinary gentleness until her nephew was found. He did hope it would be quite soon. He had not realized how exhausted he was from the trip to Moorsea Manor until they chanced upon that bed. He could use a long nap and a longer night's sleep.

“Lady Fanning—”

“I would as lief you call me Valeria.”

Lorenzo wanted to ask her why she offered that familiarity when she had accused him, but moments ago, of heinous motives. When he noted how wan she appeared in the candlelight, he silenced the question and said, “As you wish, Valeria.”

“Thank you … Lorenzo.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I would like to say—”

“So here you are.” Another feminine voice, this one not as melodic as Valeria's, came from near the door.

Lorenzo stared at the woman entering the room. The lamp she carried lit her face, making it a macabre mask. As she walked closer, he saw that she was not young. Her face, which once might have been lovely, now resembled the crags on the sea cliffs beyond Wolfe Abbey, worn by time and falling from its former glory. Her gown, even though made of fine fabric, was worn thin and of a style last popular almost thirty years before.

He glanced at Valeria, but she shrugged. For the first time, he wondered how long Valeria had been at the house before he arrived. She seemed as unfamiliar with it as he was.

“You must be the boy,” the old woman said as she strode toward them. A cane was hooked over her wrist, but she did not use it.

“The boy we are seeking is—”

She interrupted Lorenzo, “Not the youngster, the boy.”

Although he was not quite certain what she meant, he decided to fall back on formality. It might serve him until he could figure out even one of the peculiar denizens of this manor house. “Lorenzo Wolfe, madam.” When she held out her hand, freeing it from the heavy lace edging of her sleeve, he bowed over it. “A pleasure.”

“Pretty manners. Not that I would expect less from Francis's nephew. I must say that I am glad you are finally here to take care of all of us in this house. The house needs its master.” She rested her hand on the back of Valeria's chair and peered at Valeria who drew back from her. “Your wife?”

“No.”

“Your convenient?”

“No!” gasped Valeria before he could reply.

He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled coolly at Valeria who had the decency to look embarrassed by her outburst. At least, she shared one opinion with him. The sooner their lives separated again, the better it would be for all concerned.

The old woman chuckled, the sound oddly lyrical when it came out of that ruined face. “Be careful how you speak, young lady. Such fervor often reveals more than one would hope.”

“This is Lady Fanning,” Lorenzo said quietly. “She and I have just met. She is a guest at this hour at Moorsea Manor.” He glanced away from the sudden consternation on Valeria's face as she glanced up at him. One problem at a time, and right now this old woman seemed to be the more pressing one. “And you are?”

“Nina Urquhart.” She gave him a wicked grin and poked him in the belly with the cane. “I see your curiosity, my boy, so I will tell you that the late lord was my dear, dear friend.”

Valeria pressed her lips together to keep from smiling as Lorenzo stared in dismay at the old woman. Lorenzo looked like a country parson confronting the devil, shocked, horrified, and yet somehow fascinated by the whole. If David were not missing and if the circumstances had not been so intolerable, she doubted if she could have kept from laughing right out loud.

She was impressed when Lorenzo bowed his head again and said evenly, “Forgive me, madam, for being unfamiliar with you and the rest of this household. My uncle and I were not well acquainted.”

“You mean,” corrected Miss Urquhart, “that you never saw the man.” She shook her head as she eyed him up and down. “Too bad. I think you would have enjoyed each other's company far more than you can guess. I suspect you would have found you are two of a kind. I was watching you from the doorway. You seemed delighted with this library. He was, too. We spent many exciting, exhilarating hours here among these bookshelves.”

Valeria could not silence her gasp. When the old woman looked down at her, she tried to regain her composure. Lorenzo was wearing that disconcerted expression again, and Miss Urquhart was grinning. Caught between the two of them, she thought it best to be silent.

Miss Urquhart patted her shoulder companionably. “Do not let your mind take you where you should not go, my lady. Saw you give Lord Moorsea here a facer when you thought he had enticed you here for a tryst, but that bed is not here for the reasons you both clearly think. Francis had that bed brought down here when his old legs could no longer manage the stairs. He could not bear to be far from his beloved books.”

“That I can understand,” Lorenzo replied.

“I thought you might when I saw those heavy boxes on the back of your carriage.” Her dark eyes twinkled beneath her gray hair as she poked the bag by his chair.

He shoved it back out of her reach with his foot, but she would not be denied. Bending, she snatched it with surprising speed. She snapped it open and pawed within it.

Lorenzo plucked it from her hands. “The items within are private, Miss Urquhart.”

Valeria's curiosity was aroused. She heard the crackle of paper, but could not see within the bag. What might Lorenzo have brought with him? A copy of the will to prove his claim? Absurd. No one would deny him this house when it was rightfully his.

“More books?” the old woman asked. “I saw the like of your book boxes on the back of Francis's carriage any time he left the manor to …”

Valeria pulled back again as the old woman suddenly bent and put her face right in hers. “Is something wrong?” she asked, wondering if Miss Urquhart had an empty garret.

“You are Valeria!” gasped the old woman.

“Yes.”

“I thought I recognized you from the miniature that Francis used to carry about. It is long past time that you came to call here at Moorsea Manor.” She straightened and stared at Lorenzo again. “Odd that you should choose this time to pay us a call here, child.” Not giving anyone a chance to reply, she continued to mumble to herself as she went toward the door, “Odd. Most odd.”

Valeria had no chance to compose her thoughts before Lorenzo asked, “How does she know you? Have you met her before?”

“No, this is the first I have ever seen her.”