Page 46 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
The steward approached from the far end of the hall, his posture composed, though his timing was less than ideal.
Maxwell slowed. “What is it?”
“A message for you, sir, from the steward at Broadmoor Hall,” the man said, inclining his head. “He requested your presence at once. Some tenancy issues have befallen the estate. I have gone ahead and made arrangements for you, Your Grace. The carriage is standing by to arrive before midday.”
Maxwell regarded him briefly, the information settling into place with little resistance. “Does Her Grace know?”
“No, Your Grace. The letter only came this morning. It was addressed to me with just a short note at the end?—
Maxwell took the note that the man extended toward him and read quickly. “Yes, I see. I will have to leave at once.”
There was a pause, as though the steward considered whether to say more, then thought better of it. “Very good, Your Grace. I will prepare your luggage. The carriage will be here at midday.”
Maxwell inclined his head once, then continued on without further comment.
Christ, I need to tell her.
The closer he came to the drawing room, the more pronounced the disturbance became. Laughter, again. A lighter voice rising above the others, followed by another, and then a third, all speaking in quick succession, their words overlapping in a way that made it difficult to distinguish one from the next.
He reached the doorway and stopped.
For a moment, he simply observed. Arabella sat near the center of the room, her posture relaxed in a way he had not yet seen within his house. There was color in her expression, a brightness that seemed to animate every movement. Across from her sat Gwen, her attention divided between the conversation and the small child in Jane’s arms.
Jane held the boy with visible care, her hands positioned as though she feared the slightest misstep might cause harm. “I am quite certain I am not doing this correctly,” she was saying, her voice carrying a hint of nervous laughter.
“You are doing perfectly well,” Gwen replied, though her tone held a note of gentle amusement. “He is far sturdier than he appears.”
Cissie, meanwhile, had positioned herself near the settee, her focus entirely claimed by Poppet, who lay stretched along the cushion with evident satisfaction.
“She prefers this spot,” Gwen continued, leaning slightly to demonstrate. “Just behind the ear. Like so.”
Poppet responded with an immediate, pleased purr.
Arabella laughed.
It was a lovely and unguarded sound.
Maxwell stepped into the room then, and the effect was immediate.
Arabella turned first. The shift in her expression was unmistakable, the color rising swiftly to her cheeks as her gaze met his. For a brief moment, she held his eyes, then looked away, her composure altered in a way that did not escape him.
The memory of the previous night settled more firmly into place.
Maxwell felt, with quiet certainty, that he understood the cause.
Jane’s reaction followed, her posture stiffening slightly as she adjusted her hold on the child, her gaze lowering in clear deference. Cissie, too, drew back a fraction, her hand still resting against Poppet’s fur, though her attention jumped at once.
Only Gwen remained unchanged.
“Your Grace,” she said, her tone warm but composed. “You join us at last.”
Maxwell inclined his head. “Mrs. Whitcombe.”
“You must forgive us,” she continued, glancing briefly at the others. “We have imposed upon your household rather early in the day.”
“It appears so,” he said.
There was no censure in his tone, though the observation stood plainly enough.
