were missing from the roof at the back of the house, the stonework at the front was also in need of attention and there were weeds growing in several places about the foundations. The gardens that surrounded the house seemed to be well tended, but Giles had noted that several trees had toppled over in the woods at the back of the house, and the lake was also in need of clearing of the debris that had accumulated from the past winter. And they were only the things that Giles had noted at first glance; there were sure to be others he had not had the chance to see as yet.
They would no doubt confirm that things here were as dire as his sister Phaedra had warned they were. Something which did not please Giles at all, if it meant he would have to prolong his stay here …
Lumsden—the butler who had been with the Montague family for more years than Giles could remember—opened the front door as he reached the top step. ‘Master Giles!’ His mouth gaped open in surprise. ‘I mean, Lord Giles,’ he corrected as he obviously recovered his usual calm equilibrium. ‘We had not been told to expect you.’
‘I did not send word of my coming,’ Giles assured as he strode past the older man and into the house.
It was almost ten months since Giles had last stepped through this doorway, on the occasion of Edward’s funeral, and whilst the inside of the house was as clean and neat as it had ever been—Mrs Stratton, Giles knew, would allow nothing less from her household staff!—there was nevertheless an air of emptiness about it, of a house that no longer felt like a home.
An emptiness that Giles had expected—and so determinedly avoided these past nine months.
His mouth tightened as he turned back to hand the butler his hat and riding crop before shrugging off his outer coat. ‘My father is in his rooms in the east wing?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Lumsden’s seriousness of tone somehow managed to convey so much more than was said in those three words. ‘I will go and enquire of Smithins if he considers His Grace well enough to receive you—’
‘No need, Lumsden,’ Giles dismissed airily. ‘I am sure I will be able to judge that for myself once I have seen my father.’
‘But—’
‘What is it, Lumsden?’ He frowned his irritation with this further delay, anxious now to see his father for himself, so that he might best decide what needed to be done here in order that he might leave again as soon as was possible.
The butler looked uncomfortable. ‘Smithins has issued orders that no one is allowed to see His Grace without his permission.’
Giles raised autocratic brows. ‘Am I to understand that my father’s valet now says who is and is not to visit him?’ He conveyed his incredulity in his tone.
‘I believe that sums up the situation very well, my lord, yes.’ The butler looked even more uncomfortable.
‘We shall see about that!’ Giles assured determinedly. ‘If you could organise a decanter of brandy brought into us, Lumsden, I would be most obliged?’
The elderly man straightened with renewed purpose. ‘Certainly, my lord.’
Giles turned with that same sense of purpose, his expression grim as he strode through to his father’s suite of rooms in the east wing of the house, more than ready to do battle with the man who was employed to be his father’s valet and not his jailer!
‘His Grace will be overjoyed, I am sure.’ Mr Seagrove beamed approvingly, having just been informed by Lily that Lord Giles Montague was returned to Castonbury Park, after all.
There was no answering pleasure in Lily’s face as she sat across the dinner table from her father in the small family dining room at the vicarage. ‘No doubt,’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘Would you care for more potatoes, Father?’ She held up the dish temptingly in the hopes of changing the conversation from the subject of the hateful Giles Montague, knowing full well that the creamy vegetable was one of her father’s weaknesses.
‘Thank you, Lily.’ He nodded distractedly as she spooned the potatoes onto this plate before replacing the bowl on the table, a worried frown marring his usually smooth brow. ‘I trust you and Lord Giles had a pleasant conversation together?’
She gave that earlier conversation some thought. ‘I believe I can say that I succeeded in being as polite to Lord Giles as he was to me,’ she finally replied carefully.
‘That is good.’ The vicar nodded, apparently unaware of the true meaning of Lily’s reply. ‘However, I think it best if we both call at the Park tomorrow morning to pay our formal respects.’
Lily felt her heart sink. ‘Oh, must I come too? I have several calls to make in the morning, Father. Mrs Jenkins and her new baby, and the youngest Hurst boy’s leg is in need of—’
‘Yes, yes, I appreciate that you are very busy about the parish, Lily.’ Mr Seagrove beamed his approval of the care and attention she had given to his parishioners since the death of his wife five years ago. ‘But His Grace is my patron, after all, and it would seem rude if we did not both call upon his heir.’
Lily could appreciate the logic of her father’s argument; Mr Seagrove’s tenure in Castonbury, although of long duration, was nevertheless still dependent upon the Duke of Rothermere’s goodwill. She just wished she did not have to see Lord Giles Montague again quite so soon. She had no wish to see that unpleasant man ever again, if truth be told! Though Lily knew it would never do for her father to suspect such a thing, which meant Lily had no choice but to accept she was to accompany her father to the Park tomorrow morning and make polite conversation with Lord Giles Montague.
‘It is good to see you again, Mr Seagrove.’ Lord Giles smiled with genuine warmth as he strode forcefully into the elegant salon where they waited.
Lily was momentarily taken aback by the change wrought on that haughty gentleman’s countenance when he smiled down at her father as the two men greeted each other; those grey eyes had softened to the warmth of a dove’s wing, laughter lines grooved into those hard and chiselled cheeks, his teeth appearing very white and even between the relaxed line of sculpted lips. Even the bruising on his jaw could not succeed in detracting from his pleasant demeanour.
Indeed, for those few brief moments Giles Montague looked almost … rakishly handsome, Lily realised in surprise. A rakish handsomeness, his sister Phaedra had confided to Lily, he had reputedly taken full advantage of these past months in London!
‘And Miss Seagrove.’ Lord Giles turned to bow, the genuine warmth of the smile he had given her father fading to be replaced by one of mocking humour. ‘I had not expected to see you again quite so soon.’
‘My lord.’ She met that gaze coolly as she curtseyed, her best peach-coloured bonnet covering the darkness of her curls today, a perfect match for the high-waisted gown she usually wore to church on a Sunday, her cream lace gloves upon her hands.
Mr Seagrove had been born the fourth son of a country squire, and so possessed a small private income to go with the stipend he received yearly from the Duke of Rothermere, but even so Lily possessed only half a dozen gowns, gowns she made for herself after acquiring the material from an establishment in the village. Unfortunately only three of the gowns Lily owned were fashionable enough, and of a quality, to wear out in company; including the gown Lily had been wearing yesterday, Giles Montague had already seen two of those gowns.
Which was a very strange thought for her to have—was
