Free Midnight at Mallyncourt by Jennifer Wilde Page A

disappointed, then delighted. Slapping his knee lustily, he let out another hoarse cackle.
    â€œI like you, girl. You’ve got spunk! Vanessa, now, she indulges my every whim. Flirts with me. Teases me. Loves to humor me. You’re not about to, I can see that right now. Refreshing, most refreshing! Maybe Edward wasn’t such a fool after all.”
    â€œDo you enjoy being a terror?” I inquired.
    â€œLove every minute of it,” he admitted. “I see it won’t work with you, though. Damme! You’re exactly what this place needs! You and I are going to be friends , Jenny!”
    â€œIndeed?”
    He nodded, and once more I was reminded of a mischievous child, a little boy with a bright new plaything. That ruined, sunken face with its beak nose and thin lips looked almost youthful with the damp silver locks plastered across the forehead, the dark brown eyes twinkling merrily. He wrapped the crimson silk robe closer about him and settled the quilt more snugly over his legs. The dogs came out, two of them snuggling in his lap, the third resting languorously at his feet. Lord Mallyn and I took stock of each other. He was an outrageous old fraud, but I found myself warming to him just the same.
    â€œYou’re going to need a friend, too,” he said.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYou’ve stepped into a hornet’s nest, you know. Edward probably didn’t bother to warn you. The others—they’re gonna hate you. Lyman. Vanessa. Lyman’s set on inheriting the estate, thought he had it neatly sewn up, as he knew I wouldn’t leave it to a bachelor. Then Edward showed up with you . Lyman’s right back where he was to begin with. Most frustrating for him, poor fellow—” He shook his head, apparently forlorn, and then his thin mouth spread into another grin. “No, lass, they’re not going to take you to their hearts, not at all.”
    â€œI’m sure I’ll manage,” I said calmly.
    â€œI’m sure you will, too! Edward’s chances of inheriting have just increased by a good fifty per cent.”
    â€œYou love pitting them against one another, don’t you?”
    He nodded, still grinning. “Rascals, both of ‘em. Lyman’s a damned hard worker—the whole county respects him. He manages the estate far better than I ever did, though of course I’d never let him think that. Works like a farm hand himself, Lyman does, loves the soil. He’s always pestering me to make even more improvements, introduce new methods, plant experimental crops. He’s a deserving lad, but, unfortunately, as surly as a bear, hotheaded—can’t see myself leaving the estate to him! ”
    â€œAnd Edward?” I inquired.
    â€œHe’s just as bad,” the old man said, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Cold as an iceberg, that one, unfeeling. Elegant, polished, a gentleman worthy of a fine old house like Mallyncourt, but no fire, no feeling! Sometimes I wish he had some of Lyman’s hot blood, wish he’d let loose and fight with me, but no, he’s always controlled. He knows how to get around me, he thinks, thinks he has me fooled, thinks he’s the favored one just because the two of us don’t have shouting matches like Lyman and I do.”
    If he hoped to rile me by criticizing Edward, he was mistaken. Lord Mallyn’s opinion of his nephew could hardly be lower than my own. I stood up, my emerald satin skirts rustling, and calmly informed him that I had best go on down to the drawing room. The old man looked disappointed, but he looked tired, too, his face sagging, weary lines about those remarkable eyes. The conversation and his virulent outburst at the footman had taken their toll, his vivacity ebbing away. Leaning back against the cushions, idly stroking one of the dogs, he looked up at me, frail, withered, but still curiously majestic. In his youth, he must have been a dynamo, I reflected. Even