Page 9 of The Recluse and the Runaway

“Well, sir, it’s a very nice house, not that I’ve seen much of it. Only the kitchen and Mrs. O’s room and Cook’s room, and the Great Hall, where we’re to celebrate tomorrow night.”

“It needs work, I fear—the worst being the closed section.” He guided her along garden paths and indicated a section of the wall with scaffolding going all the way to the roof. One window on the second floor was broken, and the tattered ends of a curtain flapped in the wind. “It’s badly damaged and unsafe at the moment, but men from the village will come to repair the roof after Christmas, and then I’ll have the floors replaced.”

“That sounds very good, sir,” she said politely, wondering why he was telling her all this.

“The rest of the house needs refurbishing almost everywhere,” he said. “The uncle from whom I inherited it let it all go—the house, the outbuildings, even the village, I’m sorry to say—but I plan to set everything to rights.” He smiled down at her. “What this house needs now is a mistress. Do you agree?”

Why ask her? She was about to leave. Not only that, the thought of Sir Rupert belonging to some unknown woman made her sad. No, it annoyed her. She rarely let herself be annoyed, for it was hard to control her unruly tongue if she did.

“I expect that’s so, sir, but I’m sure I don’t know why you have brought up such a subject with me.” Which was probably impertinent, but at least she’d controlled her irritation.

And then she didn’t. “Do you habitually ask your servants’ advice on such a personal matter?” she snapped.

He chuckled; not offended, then. She hadn’t seen him take offense at anything so far. “I don’t need to, for they say exactly what they think—such as that I need a wife—and although I don’t always wish to hear what they say, I know they mean well.”

There. He didn’t want a wife. Or a mistress, evidently, for which she should be grateful.

“How unusual,” she said. “My St—” Drat. “I was taught that servants should be silent and wellnigh invisible.”

“Bosh,” he said. “Whoever taught you was a snobbish, inconsiderate fool.”

Nell giggled, trying to imagine how Stepmother would take that. Fortunately, she would never meet Sir Rupert.

“In any event, you’re not really a servant. You’re a lady.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he put up a hand to forestall her. “You may have worked as a servant—in fact, your skill in the kitchen makes it clear that you have—but you were born a lady.”

“Oh, dear,” Nell murmured, “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do. You shall walk with me, and we’ll talk.” With a gesture, he invited her to take his arm. She did so automatically, although she had rarely walked on the arm of a gentleman since the death of her father. How disconcerting—she feared she was blushing—yet how lovely to be treated like the lady she was. Or used to be.

Oh, why must he try to pry her secrets from her? Why couldn’t she be allowed to enjoy these two days, and then leave?

They meandered through a gate, past the stables and an apple orchard, and onto a footpath that led into a wood. “It’s quicker to the village this way. The groom and my manservant and I shall come here later as well, to fetch the Yule log, and to cut holly and ivy, and also mistletoe—can’t allow the apple trees to have too much, so in order to get Christmas kisses, we’re also helping the orchard.”

He grinned, and she blushed. Would she be lucky enough to get a Christmas kiss from him? One needn’t be wife or mistress for that.

“This evening, we’ll all decorate together,” he said.

“How lovely,” she said, “almost like a family.” Ah, good, a safe subject. “Do you have family, sir? Sisters and brothers? Cousins? Do your parents still live?”

“My father died some years ago, and my mother bides with my sister in Leicestershire. My other sister married a Scot and lives in a castle. You’d like her, I think—she’s very down-to-earth. In fact, you’d like them all. My only brother died in infancy. You?”

How to put this so it wasn’t a lie? “I am my parents’ only offspring. My mother died when I was a child, and my father about five years ago.” There—that avoided mentioning the stepsisters.

“Perhaps some day you shall meet my family,” he said.

“That’s not likely, sir, as I shall leave in only a few days.”

“True, but one never knows. Perhaps you need not leave at all.”

She, halted, removed her hand from his arm, and stood away. A chilly breeze nipped at her. She hadn’t noticed it while walking close beside him. She forced herself to frown. “Sir Rupert, I must leave!”

His gaze was warm and kind. “Nell, it is obvious that you are running away from someone, or something, or both.”

She bit her lip hard and said nothing.

He patted her hand and tucked it once again on his arm. “Surely I can protect you from whomever or whatever that is.”