course you may accompany me.” She inhaled. The last thing she wished to ever do was insult him and there was no graceful way to refuse.
He nodded, his jaw flexing.
Their plates were cleared by a manservant she had not seen previously. She took the opportunity to attempt to regain a calm demeanor. But she was convinced that she must seek out a physician the moment she returned to town, as something was wrong with her heart. It kept beating far too rapidly.
Dessert was served. Blanche knew she could not manage a single bite and Sir Rex pushed his plate aside. He said, “Have you many suitors?”
Briefly, the question surprised her. “I have two hundred and twenty-eight.”
His surprise was comical. “You are in jest!”
“Unfortunately, no, I am not.” She smiled. “A shocking number, don’t you think?”
His stare intensified. “A very shocking number,” he said. And then he turned to his wine.
Blanche wondered what he was really thinking.
He lifted his long, dark lashes and pierced her with his stare. “Is there anyone you admire?”
Her heart skipped. For one moment, it was hard to speak. “No, not really.”
He smiled grimly. “I am sure the right prospect will appear.”
She avoided his eyes, trying to hold at bay an image of gleaming, wet muscle, bulging arms and an expression of rapture. “Yes, that is what I am hoping.”
BLANCHE LEANED FORWARD as her coach turned onto the road marked Penthwaithe. It was the following morning, an hour before noon. She had left Sir Rex alone downstairs after supper, wondering if he intended to imbibe alone, and worrying if that was how he spent his evenings. And the moment she had climbed into bed, never mind that it was only nine o’clock, exhaustion had claimed her. She thought about her enigmatic host, recalled the tryst she had witnessed and fell promptly asleep. She slept deeply and peacefully and had awoken only with Meg’s encouragement.
Sir Rex had not joined her for breakfast. She had learned he was busy with his grooms, apparently dealing with his horses. And he was not sharing her coach now. He was riding astride.
Blanche hadn’t realized a man with half of a leg could ride astride, but she had hid her amazement and pretended his behavior was routine. She had quickly discovered that he rode with great skill, as if a part of his horse, carrying a cane where his right calf should have been. But of course, every cavalryman was required to attend the riding academy before ever gaining admission into the service.
Now, she felt some trepidation. The highway had been rutted, but this road had severe holes and was strewn with rocks, some of such significance her coachman began to weave amongst them. Blanche wondered at the lack of upkeep, glancing now at the moors. She saw not a single grazing cow or sheep.
She glanced toward Sir Rex, who rode abreast of the carriage. His crutch had been folded in on hinges, and hung from a hook on his saddle. He rode with extreme ease, his mount a huge, magnificent beast. It was obvious he was a master horseman; she remained very impressed. Worse, that odd flutter remained in her chest.
He glanced her way, his expression somber. Blanche knew he did not care for the maintenance of the road.
Now, however, she saw some buildings on the right. As her coach came closer, she saw that they were mere stone shells, having been gutted long ago, but whether by fire or the elements and lack of care, she did not know.
It was beginning to appear that Sir Rex was right and Penthwaithe might be in a state of severe disrepair. The plan had been for her to holiday at the estate. But her plans might well be in jeopardy—and she was not ready to go back to London and face her horde of suitors. Blanche hesitated, aware that she could not impose upon her host for much longer, especially after the tryst she had witnessed.
“The manor lies ahead,” he called to her.
Blanche poked her head entirely out of the carriage window to glimpse it. She saw a square stucco building, plain and unimpressive in appearance, unadorned by trees, hedges or ivy. A small water fountain graced the courtyard, but it was not functioning. A small stone building was in the distance, probably serving as a stable. Now she saw some sheep grazing behind the barn, and two very thin cows appeared, wandering into the front yard. Blanche suddenly saw a pair of young boys, one hauling a bucket, the other carrying a basket. They were barefoot, their pants too short, and they went into the house.
Penthwaithe was not a thriving estate. The contrast to Land’s End was glaring. Worse, she did not have to step inside the manor house to know she was not going to stay there.
Her coach halted. Blanche waited for her footman and alighted, joining Sir Rex, who had dismounted and was glancing around. From the front courtyard, she could see piles of animal droppings everywhere and a cart left almost in the path leading to the front door. Scum adorned the water in the fountain. Not only was it stagnant, the statue of a fish from which the fountain should have run was seriously broken. She saw a sparse vegetable garden on her left. She grimaced. How had Father left the estate in such a condition? Her father was meticulous when it came to attending to his property. She couldn’t believe he would allow tenants to stay on if they cared so little for the manor.
Sir Rex swung over. “You will not be staying here.” He was firm.
Blanche continued to grimace. “Obviously not.” She hesitated. “I had no idea…this is terrible.”
“It is slovenly,” he said abruptly. “The estate is not my affair, but had I tenants such as these, I would terminate the lease.”
Blanche hesitated. She thought about the two small barefoot boys.
His stare was unwavering. “You have had a long journey from town. You may stay on at Land’s End as long as it suits you.”
She was very surprised. “I can hardly impose upon you.”
“Why not?”
And before she could react, he swung rapidly to the front door. As he knocked, Blanche followed and paused beside him.
A nursing woman opened the door. Her eyes widened.
“This is Lady Harrington,” Sir Rex said firmly. He didn’t look at the suckling infant. “I am Sir Rex de Warenne of Land’s End and Bodenick. Where is your husband?”
Terribly surprised, the woman removed the infant, closing up her dress. “He may be in the stable, or out in the fields, plowing.”
“Summon him, please. We wish a word.”
The woman turned. “James! Go get your father, now! Tell him a lord and lady are here. Hurry!”
Blanche was peering past Rex. She had seen such squalor in London. While working with the sisters of St. Anne’s, she had attended some very impoverished and ill women in their homes. But the manor looked as if it hadn’t been repaired or even cleaned in years. The wood floor in the entry and hall was coming up in sections, or missing entirely, there was very little furniture, and paint was peeling from the walls, which were blackened in some places. Blanche now saw two young girls and one of the boys she had seen earlier. The boy who had gone off to fetch his father
