Chapter Two

“Almost there, Stanley,” Aaron Thompson said, patting the old dog who sat by him in the carriage seat—a rented carriage for now, though Aaron knew he’d surely have use of multiple carriages soon. The dog continued to shiver even though Aaron had draped two blankets over the poor thing. Yes, Stanley was old, and yes, Aaron was taking his pet to Banfield Estate.

The news of the death of Bartholomew Thompson, Earl of Banfield, had been shocking. First, the man was not yet thirty, and second, it meant that Aaron had apparently inherited an earldom. If his parents were still alive, he could imagine that his father would laugh with mirth and his mother would weep with joy. But neither of his parents was alive, and his sister had married several years ago and had established a home of her own.

Stanley lifted his scruffy head and whimpered.

“Getting hungry, boy?” Aaron asked. He wasn’t exactly sure what type of dog Stanley was. He’d been a ball of fur and energy when Aaron had first spotted him outside his London office. The young pup had been friendly, but also hungry. Aaron had started feeding him, and after a week or so, he’d brought the pup home.

Aaron hadn’t planned on setting off today, but someone in his office had mentioned that it was cold enough to snow overnight. It would be impossible to travel for the next few days if it snowed. So Aaron had gathered up his things, set off for home, finished packing, and hired a carriage.

The carriage slowed, and Aaron looked out the window, past the driving rain to the three-story mansion looming at the end of the lane. He’d seen a drawing once of Banfield Estate, but had never seen it in person. And seeing it now made this transition all the more real. Aaron was a man of business, yes, and could balance any ledger set before him, but how was he going to manage farms and tenants and . . . Lady Celia?

He wished his mother were still alive because she would have known how to advise him on managing a young girl. He guessed her to be close to her coming out. Who would handle those sorts of matters? As distasteful as it sounded, Aaron would have to appeal to one of Lady Celia’s female relatives.

Aaron certainly wasn’t going to take up the Banfield residence in London and escort the young lady between balls. Although he knew the expectations of his new station in life would require vast changes to his activities, the thought of stepping into a ballroom made his stomach roil. But he was only focusing on one step at a time. And the next step was to get in out of the rain and find Stanley a proper meal.

The carriage came to a stop, and a moment later, the door was opened by the hired driver—a service that Aaron wasn’t used to and wondered if he ever would be.

The driver then proceeded to unload and carry Aaron’s single trunk to the front of the house and up the wide stone steps. As if on cue, the front door opened, and there stood a gray-haired man in a dark suit—clearly the butler.

“Come on, Stanley,” Aaron said, ushering the dog out of the carriage.

The dog moved slowly. He was probably stiff just as Aaron was from the long, jolting ride. But the rain encouraged the dog to move a bit faster, and by the time they reached the front door, Aaron was only spotted with drops.

“Welcome, sir,” the man at the door said. “I’m Mr. Garner, butler here at Banfield.”

Aaron held out his hand to shake the butler’s, and although the man looked surprised, he shook Aaron’s hand.

“And this is Mrs. March, our housekeeper.”

Aaron focused next on a middle-aged woman whose hair was about the same mottled gray as Stanley’s fur. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. March.”

She curtseyed. Heavens. He’d never been curtseyed to before.

He reached to pick up the trunk at the front door, but Mr. Garner stepped forward. “I will take that for you, Lord Banfield.”

Lord Banfield. That was his new title, Aaron knew, but it was strange to hear someone actually say it.

Mr. Garner reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out some money to tip the driver of the carriage.

“I was about to do that,” Aaron protested, but his words died out when Mr. Garner flashed him an incredulous look.

So Aaron stopped talking and let Mr. Garner handle whatever it was that butlers did.

“Lord Banfield,” Mr. Garner said. “Did you come alone or is your valet bringing the rest of your luggage?”

Aaron blinked. “This is all my luggage, and I do not have a valet.”

Mr. Garner exchanged glances with the housekeeper. She stepped forward. “We can procure one right away. An earl needs a valet.”

Although she didn’t speak any criticisms, he caught her quick perusal of his attire and the slight tightening of her mouth.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I would appreciate your help in finding a valet.” He’d never had use for a valet, but he knew running an earldom would have different expectations from the life of a mere accountant. “Might I ask if there’s something I can feed Stanley?”

Her thin brows lifted. “Stanley.” Then her gaze lowered to the dog on the floor. “Oh, the dog.”

“He’s a friendly thing, but getting on in years,” Aaron said. “His old bones don’t like the cold.”

For the first time since Aaron’s arrival, Mrs. March’s face softened into an almost-smile. “I understand.” She bent and patted Stanley’s head. “Follow me, dog. I’ve got some scraps and a nice fire in the kitchen.”

“Uh, Mrs. March?” Aaron said. “Once he’s fed, can you bring him to the . . . library?” He looked past her, not sure about the layout of the house. Surely there was a library in a place this massive. And Aaron would definitely feel right at home in a room full of books.

But when he again looked at Mrs. March, he found that she was staring at him, her eyes rounded.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, wondering what sort of blunder he’d made.

“The dog had better stay out of the main rooms. Lady Celia would not want—” She cut herself off.

Aaron blinked. “Does Lady Celia not like dogs?”

“I don’t rightly know,” Mrs. March said, her tone lowering. “She is quite fastidious though. I’m not sure she’d approve of a dog in the library.”

Aaron wasn’t sure he’d heard right. How much power did a young girl have over a seasoned housekeeper?

“Is she allergic to dogs?”

Mrs. March’s brow furrowed. “Not that I know of. I’ve seen her pet the neighbor’s dog before.”

“Very well, then,” Aaron said. “Bring Stanley into the library when he’s had something to eat.”

Mrs. March’s face pinked, and she again curtseyed. “As you wish, my lord.”

After he watched Mrs. March head for what must be the kitchen area, Aaron looked about. Mr. Garner had disappeared upstairs someplace, presumably to whichever bedroom Aaron was meant to occupy.

Aaron walked through the great hall. Doors on the right led to a parlor, its fire quite cheery. He continued, passing another room—a music room by the looks of it—then he arrived at a very respectable library.

In fact, it was the nicest library he’d ever been in. He walked into the room and spun slowly around, taking it all in. Bookcases rose to the ceiling, and Aaron knew that he could never read so many books in his entire lifetime, even if he started this very moment.

Then a movement at the door caught his attention. A woman stood in the shadow of the doorframe, her russet dress nearly blending in with the woodwork. But nothing else of her blended in. For one thing, her hair was the brightest red he’d ever seen, and second, her eyes were a startling blue. The look on her face, though, was beyond description.

If he was not mistaken, this woman wished him anywhere but here.