Free Amanda Scott by Lord Greyfalcon’s Reward

erected by one of our ancestors, Sir Robert Jensen, during a brief lull in the Wars of the Roses. Since there is no record, despite his knighthood, of his ever having served either York or Lancaster, one must assume that he kept himself to himself as much as it was possible at that time to do so. There were extensive alterations made during the time of Elizabeth and James the First, so one must assume that Sir Thomas Jensen, whose badge is to be seen above the arch of the gateway, must have been in royal favor then. But that was a peaceful time in Oxfordshire, so—”
    “I did not request a history lesson, Miss Jensen-Graham,” Greyfalcon said absently. He was watching now out his own window as the chaise drew into the courtyard and pulled up before the narrow stone stairway leading into the hall. One side of the courtyard was occupied by a row of buildings built by Sir Thomas to connect the gatehouse with the parlor, but the other side was occupied primarily by her father’s library, and she knew that he would most likely be disturbed by the noise of their arrival and look out his window, so she took no exception to Greyfalcon’s tone; indeed, she wished only that he would open the chaise door, so that she might get into the house before her father took it into his head to come to greet them.
    Instead, to her dismay, when the front door opened, Lord Arthur himself appeared upon the threshold.
    Greyfalcon did open the door then, opened it and jumped down, letting down the steps himself, then reaching to take her hand. His eyes gleamed a little as his gaze met hers, and Sylvia knew at once that trouble loomed ahead.
    “Hallo, Sylvia, pleasant journey?” Lord Arthur called out as he moved down the steps to greet them. “Greyfalcon, that you? Never thought she’d do the thing.”
    Greyfalcon’s teeth grated together as he replied, “I’d like a word with you, Lord Arthur. At once, if you please.”
    “To be sure, lad. I suppose you’ll be wanting to know just how things are fixed. Thought I’d be hearing from you long before this, if you want the truth of the matter.”
    “Oh, I want the truth, all right,” Greyfalcon said grimly, with a look at Sylvia, who still waited with one foot on the step of the carriage for him to help her down. “I want to hear from your own lips just how you had the impudence to think you might address public letters to my creditors and how you dared to send copies of those letters to me by your daughter’s hand.”
    “Eh, what’s this? Letters?” Lord Arthur looked hard at his daughter, who suddenly wished she were the type of young woman who could faint dead away at a gentleman’s feet. “What letters, Sylvia? What is Greyfalcon talking about?”
    Greyfalcon, too, looked at Sylvia, and the look in his eyes gave her to understand that fainting would not be good enough, that the only thing that would save her now was a magic wand, one that would transport her to another land, a land where gentlemen did not exist and could not enter.
    She swallowed carefully, holding Greyfalcon’s gaze with her own. “His lordship is tired, Papa. We have had a long journey, and I am persuaded that he is longing for his dinner and his bed. You can discuss all this with him another time. Thank you so much, my lord,” she added, holding out her hand to him, “for seeing me safely home again.”
    “Why, you’re most welcome, Miss Jensen-Graham,” said Greyfalcon suavely, ignoring her hand as he grasped her firmly about the waist and lifted her down from the chaise to stand beside him, “but I am in no great hurry. Indeed, I believe that your father and I have much to discuss.”
    “No, please, you must—”
    “Don’t be daft, Sylvia,” cut in Lord Arthur sharply. “You can’t just send the man off dry, and if I’m not mistaken, there is something very much amiss here. What was that you said about a letter to your creditors, lad? I’ll swear an oath I know not what your meaning may