Free Silver Splendor by Olivia Drake Page A

dishonor.’”
    Lord Nicholas inquired politely, “You read Latin?”
    Her father squared his shoulders. “A word or two,” he said curtly.
    “Don’t be so modest, Papa.” Hugging his arm, Elizabeth looked at the earl. “My father is an instructor of Latin, mathematics as well. For many years he taught at a boys’ academy in New York.”
    “What brings you to London, then?” Lord Nicholas asked.
    “Papa grew up in England. He wanted me to see all the museums and art treasures here.”
    “I see.”
    Lord Nicholas shot her a keen look that made her stomach clench. She was still wondering at the meaning of his scrutiny when he turned and strode up the steps. As they followed his tall, dignified figure, Cicely tipped her pert nose and said, “Well, if I have anything to say on the matter, you’ll stay for a long, long time. This household needs some livening up.”
    At the door stood a beanpole of a man in tails and a black tie. “Hello,” Elizabeth said, smiling.
    The cadaverous butler lifted his graying brows and looked down his long nose at her. Suddenly she saw herself through his critical eyes: the old fashioned mulberry gown and unstyled hair. She regarded him with a twinge of amusement. Apparently she didn’t fit the usual mold of noble guests who entered this hallowed establishment.
    Cicely breezed inside and dropped her soiled reticule on the azure silk seat of a chair. “Good evening, Peebles.”
    “Lady Cicely!” That austerity of countenance dissolved into relief. “Praise heaven, you’re here. Her ladyship was about to organize a search party.”
    “Oh, don’t be silly, Peebles.”
    “Is my aunt at home?” the earl asked, handing his top hat and gloves to the manservant.
    “Yes, my lord. In her rooms, I believe. She’s been in quite a state since Miss Eversham returned without Lady Cicely.”
    “Oh, pooh. You needn’t carry on so. I was only gone a few hours.”
    “A few hours too many,” Lord Nicholas said, shooting a severe look at his sister.
    Cicely meekly ducked her head, but not before Elizabeth caught the twinkle of unrepentant mischief in those lapis lazuli eyes.
    To Peebles, he said, “Tell my aunt I wish to have a word with her in the drawing room.”
    “Very well, my lord.” The butler bowed, then stepped stiffly away.
    “This way, if you please,” said the earl.
    Without a backward glance he strode across the vast foyer, Cicely at his heels. Elizabeth accepted her father’s arm and followed, their footsteps echoing on the gleaming white marble floor. She marveled at the balanced beauty of the room. Twin stairways curved like a horseshoe, joining at the second floor, then continuing in a dizzying spiral to the third story. She longed to stop and study the gilt-framed paintings that embellished the walls. The few elegant chairs looked as though no one had ever sat in them. Even the air smelled immaculate, redolent of beeswax and brass polish and linseed oil. Absorbing the luxury, she wondered what the earl had thought of her cramped lodging house.
    They entered a long drawing room hung with draperies of pale green brocade. A gentle hiss came from fan shaped gas sconces. Furnishings of mahogany and walnut formed precise groupings atop the Persian carpets. Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn to the extravagant ceiling with its garlands and medallions, then down again, to a stunning mantelpiece of pale marble veined with gray.
    She stroked the smooth stone, tracing the carved simplicity of the columns. “Lovely,” she murmured. “It looks like a Robert Adam design.”
    “It is,” Lord Nicholas stated, coming to stand alongside her. “He was commissioned by my great grandfather to do the interior of the house. That’s the second earl’s portrait above the mantel.”
    Elizabeth lifted her eyes to the aristocratically handsome gentleman clad in old fashioned knee breeches. “It’s a Reynolds, isn’t it?” she asked, reverently studying the fluid elegance of the brush