Emily Hendrickson Read Online Free Page A

his study to stare down at the crisp sheet of cream paper. A roguish smile lit his face. Sitting down, he pulled out a piece of his own writing paper to compose his acceptance.
    Dipping his pen into the inkpot, he thought for a moment before beginning to write. When finished he read the words aloud, satisfied that they conveyed no more than he wished. He sealed it with a blob of red wax. It did not say precisely when he would arrive on his own doorstep. After all, his household was to be ready for him at any time.
    That knotty problem solved, he went to his bedroom and, with the help of his valet, Colyer, he dressed for dinner. At the same time he informed Colyer that they would be removing to the country estate in a few days’ time.
    “Pack enough for a few weeks. I have no idea how long this business will take down there.”
    Never mind that the estate was north of London. One always spoke of London as being up and anywhere else as being down. It had been that way as long as he could remember, and likely would remain so.
    He went off to his engagement in a high state of anticipation, his lips curved into a genuine smile of satisfaction. Not even the vapid conversation of the young woman who was his dinner partner dimmed his feeling of pleasure at his coming confrontation. He would succeed. That girl would go. He’d see to it.
    * * * *
    Drusilla brought the post to her ladyship, where she was seated in her favorite chair by the drawing room fire.
    “Here you are, dear ma’am. There looks to be acceptances to your birthday party.”
    “Hmm. I recognize Adrian’s writing on this letter.” She broke the seal, bits of red wax falling into her lap.
    Drusilla waited while the older lady read. Then she thrust the letter into Drusilla’s hands. “Read it and see what you make of it.”
    Drusilla did as instructed. “Mother, dear, I look forward to celebrating your birthday with you. I will contrive to arrive in good time.”
    Silence reigned for a few moments.
    “Well, other than he says he is coming, we are given no date for his arrival.”
    Tapping the note against the arm of her chair, Drusilla considered his words. “I wonder if he thinks to catch us out? I believe I will go to his room at once to make certain all is in order. I’d not have him complaining that things are not done right.”
    Lady Brentford gave her a quizzical look, then nodded. “I suspect you have the right of it, my dear.”
    Drusilla checked to see her employer had all she wished before seeking out Mrs. Simpson.
    “Lawks, if it wouldn’t be just like his lordship to pop up when least expected. We had best air his room and see to the dusting. I’ll send the maid up when she is finished with the dining room.”
    “I believe I shall inspect it for myself.” Drusilla exchanged a significant look with the housekeeper. “Perhaps if all is not to his liking he will blame me, and I’d not have that!”
    “As if anyone could find fault with you, Miss Drusilla. The things you do here!”
    After offering a pleased smile, Drusilla left the housekeeper’s room to find her way to the one designated as belonging to Lord Brentford.
    Throwing open the door to the suite belonging to the marquess, she began a meticulous inspection. The writing desk was fine, she checked the fireplace, and made certain that the windows gleamed in the May sun. She could visualize a fine gentleman in here, relaxing before his fire, enjoying a glass of wine before going down to dinner.
    At last, content the room was as it should be, she went to the adjacent bedroom. The four-poster was intimidating, very masculine in its cream and deep blue damask bed hangings. There was a crown atop the canopy, and she fancied it well became the lofty gentleman who had such regal notions.
    The bed linen was reasonably fresh, lavender scent still lingering in it. She was able to report all was well when she returned to her mistress.
    “I imagined it would be, my dear. Do not worry so.