Free White Regency 03 - White Knight by Jaclyn Reding Page B

touched by it. You’ve met
Lady Eleanor?”
    Grace smiled. “Oh, yes, and I like
her very much.”
    “Ah, such a sweet child she is, Lady
Eleanor, so very different in temperament from the others. She is a true
blessing and so dear to your husband the marquess. Without her, I should think
his lordship would have—”
    “That will do, Mrs. Stone.”
    The housekeeper turned wide eyes across
the room, staring with obvious dismay at the doorway where Ambrose had suddenly
appeared. The butler’s face was fixed most unhappily.
    “His lordship has asked me to inform
Lady Knighton that dinner is ready to be served in the dining hall.” He
looked to Grace. “Mrs. Stone can see to the further unpacking of your
things, my lady.”
    His manner was insolent, yet polite enough
to avoid any suggestion of insubordination. From Mrs. Stone’s expression,
though, it was easy to see she was terrified of the man, a terror that was
obviously rooted in years of experience.
    “Thank you, Ambrose,” Grace
said. “You may tell his lordship I will be down shortly.”
    The butler remained at the door. “I
am to show you to the dining hall now, my lady.” His eyes settled
on her. “His lordship requests it.”
    While she would have preferred having Mrs.
Stone direct her belowstairs, Grace didn’t wish to be the cause of any unneeded
trouble for the housekeeper. Thus she decided to go with the stoic Ambrose,
although she wasn’t much pleased about it. She didn’t like him, not at all, and
she sensed he didn’t much care for her either.
    “Very well. Mrs. Stone, if it
wouldn’t be too much trouble, I should like to have a bath before going to bed
to wash away the dust from our journey.”
    “Indeed, my lady, I will have the
bath ready for you when you finish.” Mrs. Stone dipped into a curtsey,
smiling despite Ambrose’s sullen frown.
    Grace walked in silence behind the butler
along the darkened corridors she had just come through. The only light came
from the single candlestick Ambrose carried before him. In his company, the
house had grown even gloomier than before, like a lowering stormcloud on an
already overcast day. He said nothing to her except to give a warning to her to
watch her step once as they turned. Even then he seemed to have spoken more out
of custom than any concern for her. When they reached the stairs to descend to
the lower floor, Grace finally spoke out.
    “Ambrose, a moment if you will.”
    He stopped, turning to regard her.
    “I hope you will not fault Mrs. Stone
for my curiosity earlier. It was I who initiated the conversation you
overheard, not she.”
    The butler’s face took on a ghoulish
quality in the light from his candle, the sharp angles of his face more
pronounced. “I am aware of that, madam, and I see no reason to discuss the
matter further with Mrs. Stone. However, in the future, should you have any
questions that concern either the marquess or the members of his family, I feel
certain that his lordship would prefer that you direct them to him rather than
the servants. We of the household are not privy to anything more than
conjecture about the events of the past.”
    “Indeed, Ambrose. However, may I
remind you that his lordship’s family is now also my family as well?”
    The butler looked at her a long moment.
Finally he said, “Of course, my lady.” He then turned without another
word and continued down the shadowed stairwell.
    They walked for some time, past suits of
armor and ancient objects of weaponry that glimmered with a sinister cast in
the candlelight. Hoping to ease the direction of her thoughts, Grace found
herself wondering wryly how many heads had been lopped off by the various
instruments of torture they passed—and if any of them had been newly wedded
Westover brides.
    They arrived at an arched double doorway
and the butler stepped aside, allowing her to precede him. Grace found herself
at the entrance to a vast chamber set with a long polished table that