Scandal And Miss Markham. Janice PrestonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter One

      Thea’s head snapped up at the sound of wheels crunching across the gravel outside Stourwell Court.

      Daniel!

      Hope erupted through her...it had been five days since her brother had gone out one day and not returned. She leapt to her feet and hurried to the salon window. A glimpse of a curricle drawn by a pair of blacks set her heart racing, and she flung her embroidery aside, gathered her skirts and ran for the door. Across the hall and through the front door she sped.

      Please. Let it be him.

      Doubts nipped at her as she sprinted down the steps to the now stationary conveyance, but she ignored them. She could not bear to let that prayer of hope fizzle and die. She shut her mind against the evidence of her eyes as she reached the foot of the steps and hurried to the curricle.

      ‘Daniel—’

      Her eyes met those of the driver—a stranger—and she skidded to a halt, gravel spinning from beneath her feet.

      ‘Who are you? Where is Daniel?’ She raked the driver with her eyes and then switched her gaze to the horses. ‘Those are his—’

      Her jaw snapped shut and her cheeks scorched. ‘Oh!’ Those doubts had caught up with her and knocked her flat. She bit her lip as sick disappointment flooded her, followed by the fear that had dogged her ever since her brother had failed to come home.

      ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I mistook your horses for those of my brother’s but I see, upon closer examination, they are not his.’

      They were a pair of blacks, yes, but of far superior quality to Daniel’s, and a groom—another stranger—perched on the back of the curricle. And besides...

      Fool! Daniel didn’t even take his curricle. He was on horseback.

      And that had been her one ray of hope in this desperate mess, one that she clung to with all her heart: her brother had ridden away and not returned, but neither had Bullet, his grey gelding, whose homing instinct was powerful and who in the past had often carried his foxed rider safely home after a night spent drinking. Thankfully, though, Daniel had soon outgrown that wild behaviour.

      And now Thea clung to her belief that whilst Bullet was missing, there was still hope.

      The stranger appraised her with raised brows and she scowled back at him, irritated by the amused curl of his lips. She quashed the tug of attraction she recognised deep in her core. It was a very long time since she had allowed herself to be attracted to any man.

      ‘Your brother being Mr Daniel Markham?’

      His voice was deep and cultured—that of a gentleman born. Thea had been subjected to enough elocution lessons to recognise that aristocratic drawl. She studied the driver, from the brim of his tall beaver hat to the toes of his shiny boots. What business could a man like this have with Daniel? Suspicions swirled. Did this stranger have something to do with Daniel’s disappearance? Daniel had been troubled before he disappeared, that much she did know. But, unusually, he had refused to confide in her.

      ‘He is,’ she said. ‘And you are?’

      He frowned, clearly put out by such a brusque demand. Well, Thea had more pressing concerns than a strange gentleman’s sense of his own importance.

      ‘I am Lord Vernon Beauchamp, here to speak to your brother.’

      ‘A lord? What on earth do you want with Daniel?’

      A muscle leapt at the side of his jaw. ‘Bickling, hold the horses.’

      He tied off the reins and the groom jumped down and ran to the horses’ heads. Lord Vernon Beauchamp climbed in a leisurely fashion from his curricle and walked across the gravel to Thea, not stopping until he was so close he towered over her, radiating confidence and power. Thea set her jaw and stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated even though his commanding air and his raw masculinity rattled her from her head to her toes.

      ‘I suggest that is a matter between your brother and me, madam. Am I to understand he is not here?’

      ‘No, he is not.’

      She glanced back at the house. No sign of her mother. Good...no doubt she was with Papa; she often read to him in the morning after he awoke. Heaven knew how much longer Thea could protect them from knowing the full truth of Daniel’s absence. She looked up at Lord Vernon.

      ‘If it concerns Stour Crystal, I assure you that I am perfectly able either to assist you myself, or to refer any query to the appropriate individual at the manufactory.’

      ‘Stour Crystal?’ Lord Vernon surveyed the frontage of Stourwell Court before looking back along the carriageway, to the wrought-iron entrance gates in the distance. Thea bridled as she fancied she detected a slight curl of his upper lip as he stripped off his driving gloves. ‘Your family manufacture lead-crystal glassware?’

      ‘We do.’

      And I am proud of it.

      Her father had built the business from scratch, manufacturing some of the finest quality cut lead crystal in the land. His Lordship might have been born into the aristocracy but that did not give him the right to look down upon her. But with that defiant pride came the realisation that she had not offered her visitor the customary hospitality due a visitor. She had allowed her disappointment he was not Daniel to override her manners and that would surely only add to his lordship’s low impression of her and her family. She bit back any further comment and moved away from Lord Vernon to smooth her hand over the haunch of the nearest horse. She smiled at the groom.

      ‘He is hot,’ she said, ‘and you must be tired and in need of refreshment.’ After the heavy rains of a week ago, the weather had turned unseasonably warm. ‘Take the horses around the back—you will see the way to the stable yard and you may care for them there. Come to the kitchen afterwards. Cook will give you some food and something to drink.’

      The groom waited until his master gave him permission—granted by a flick of the head—to proceed before leading the horses away. Lord Vernon, a look of irritation on his face, swished his driving gloves against his palm. No doubt he was unhappy at his groom and horses’ needs being considered before his own: yet more evidence of his sense of entitlement. Mentally, Thea shrugged but she took care to conceal her scorn. She had neither the strength nor the heart to engage in a verbal sparring session.

      ‘You, too, must be weary, my lord. Shall we continue this discussion indoors?’

      As the scrunch of hooves faded, his lordship inscribed an arc through the air with his arm and then bowed.

      ‘After