Free Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick by Deb Marlowe

his sister. ‘Lady Ashton, I would be pleased to accompany you, to assist you with your project.’
    And to take the chance to discover just who Miss Chloe Hardwick truly was.

Chapter Four
    ‘A post from London, my lord.’ Billings hovered in the doorway to the workroom. ‘The messenger said it was urgent.’
    Braedon winced as he looked up from the rack and ruin of Hardwick’s desk. The constant pressure of his grinding jaw had given him a headache. ‘Does he wait for an answer?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    Impatient, he beckoned the man forwards. Billings, unable to hide his distaste, picked his way past stacked crates and piles of books and papers strewn on the floor. Braedon sighed. Hardwick had not been gone a month, but her well-ordered system and intricately organised process was disintegrating about his ears.
    ‘The completion of the wing is not progressing quite as smoothly since Hardwick left us, is it?’ Billings handed over the thick vellum and stared at the shambles of the desk. ‘Shall I send down a maid to assist you, my lord?’
    ‘No, no,’ Braedon refused irritably. ‘I shall set it all to rights, eventually.’ He was tired of hearing Hardwick’s name, weary of having to excise her from his thoughts. It was ridiculous to fixate on her now that she had gone. She’d been right under his nose for months and he’d barely allowed her to register on his mind. And why?
    Perhaps because he had known better.
    Yes, occasionally he had looked at her—like a man looks at a woman. But he had never really seen—never allowed himself to see. Because he had never wanted to view her as a person, and he could ill afford to frighten her away. He had needed her, damn it. Needed her to smooth the construction on his blasted wing. To put the last, elegant touches on his collection. To be his sounding board and the one person who shared his enthusiasms. He had needed her—and he had not allowed himself to think too deeply about the why of the thing.
    He paused, fingers poised to tear open the letter, and frowned up at Billings. ‘Do we not have another candidate for Hardwick’s replacement coming to interview today?’
    ‘We do, sir. Shall I place him in the library when he arrives?’
    ‘It would be best. I don’t wish to scare another off before we can even begin.’ The irritation simmering beneath his skin threatened to boil up again. ‘Does this one have any sort of credentials?’
    ‘A background in mining, I believe.’
    This time Braedon cursed out loud. Mining, land management, insurers. None of the men applying for Hardwick’s position knew the first damned thing about how to manage a collection like his. They had no knowledge, no reverence, no art in their souls—and he’d yet to find one of them who possessed Hardwick’s skills at managing men. He banged a fist on the desk, sending papers sliding in every direction. Damn it all to hell and back! He’d had the perfect assistant and now she was off in Town, organising parties.
    ‘Never mind all that!’ Brian Keller, his architect and builder, burst into the room. He pointed an accusing finger at the correspondence in Braedon’s hand. ‘There’s no time for it. I have urgent need of you.’
    Braedon frowned and brandished the letter. ‘You don’t even know what it is.’ Neither did he.
    ‘I don’t care. The stuccatore has quarrelled with one of the carpenters. I’ve tried to calm him, but he refuses to finish the decorative reliefs over the niches. You must come and be properly intimidating or this wing will never be done!’
    Happy for an excuse to push away from the desk, Braedon started around it. But something pulled him to an abrupt halt. He frowned at Keller. ‘Is that how Hardwick would have handled it?’
    ‘Lord, no.’ Keller frowned back.
    He waited.
    Keller cast helpless hands into the air. ‘I don’t know how she did it. She would have listened to them complain, just as I have, but somehow, in five minutes she’d have