Free My Lady Smuggler by Margaret Bennett

asked, “Have you had any luck finding the identity of the young lad?”
    Melvyrn shook his head.  “There’s a connection I think between the lad and Ashford Hall, for the lad bears a striking resemblance to Miss Wensley.  Perhaps you could ask around, find out if Lord Wensley or one of his ancestors strayed from home.”
    “What’s the lad’s name?”
    “Good question, and one I wish I could answer.  Tolly calls him Ros and keeps the lad close by, coddles him, and won’t let me near him.  Maybe I’ll learn something useful visiting the Hall,” Melvyrn said thoughtfully.

 
***  Chapter 7  ***
    Several hours later, riding up Ashford Hall’s land, Melvyrn thought of Miss Wensley’s less than enthusiastic acceptance when he’d asked to call on her.  Her response definitely wasn’t what he was used to among London’s fashionable debutantes, and he wondered why she was so intent on snubbing him.   He rode Hector up to the Hall’s wide front steps and waited for several minutes, expecting to see a footman come and take his mount.  Finally, he stopped an old man coming around the side of the house.  As Melvyrn handed Hector’s reins over to the old groom he asked, “Are you the head groom?”
    “I am,” the old man said.  “Name’s Thomas, milord.”
    Glancing back toward the stables, Melvyrn asked, “Have you no help?”
    Appearing reluctant to answer, Thomas said, “Don’t need any.”  Before Melvyrn could ask another question, he led Hector down the drive toward the stables.
    As Melvyrn mounted the steps, the door was opened by an elderly butler, who upon learning the Earl’s purpose led him into the cool interior of the main hall.  After taking his hat and gloves, the butler showed Melvyrn into a bright drawing room decorated in mellow tones of yellows and greens and announced, “Miss Wensley will be with you shortly, my lord.”
    Minutes later, Miss Wensley , soberly dressed in a dark blue gown with her hair pulled back in a bun, entered with a smile which did not reach her stormy slate blue eyes.  “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said with a quick curtsey.  Behind her carrying a sampler and workbag was an attractive, older woman in a plain gray gown with a white lacy fichu, whom Miss Wensley introduced as her chaperone, Mrs. Boroughs.
    Melvyrn met Mrs. Boroughs’s steady blue gaze and warm smile and bowed.  “A pleasure, my lord.”  She curtsied and said, “I will sit by the window where the light is better to work on my embroidery, if you don’t mind?” 
    Miss Wensley took a seat on the yellow and green chintz settee and gestured for him to take a chair across from her.  “May I offer you some tea, or would you prefer something stronger?”
    “Tea will be fine,” he said just as the door opened and the butler rolled in a tea cart.  Either they had been waiting for him, which he doubted, or Miss Wensley was in the habit of taking tea around this time.
    After sampling a scrumptious shortbread cake and taking some tea, he asked, “I hope I am not taking you away from anything?”  When she gave him a questioning look, he continued.  “Forgive me for noticing, but your gown suggests you were not expecting visitors.”  It may have been unkind of him. However, he had told her that he would be calling today and she had acquiesced, however reluctantly.
    Looking down, she had the grace to blush as she plucked at the pleats in her serviceable gown.  When her eyes met his again, she said, “I was working on the accounts and lost track of time.  Also, we are a small community, and so I seldom have visitors.”
    “You work along side your man of business?” he asked, now even more curious about this petite young woman.
    “My father never employed one, so neither have I.  I am also blessed with exceptional tenants, relieving me of land management.  So you see, it is quite a n unexceptional task.”
    “But an exceptional one for a young lady,” he said.