Free Smuggler's Lady by Jane Feather Page A

opinion.
    Damian was not amused. This covert incivility seemed to be a characteristic of Cornish servants. “Is Lady Blake at home?” he inquired, directing a flinty stare at this most unbutlerlike figure.
    â€œShe is not, sir,” he was informed.
    â€œWhen do you expect her?”
    â€œI couldn’t say, sir.”
    There seemed to be nothing for it but to leave his card, something he had hoped to avoid, having a strong suspicion that his quarry, once alerted, would attempt to elude him.
    â€œIt’s Lord Rutherford! I told you it was his horse, Theo.” Rob, preceded by a cocker spaniel pup with flying ears, catapulted into the hall. “Good day, sir. How do you do? This is my brother, Theo. We have been in the village, you know, down by the quay,” he added, as if the information were eagerly sought. “Have you come to call?”
    â€œThat was my intention,” Damian agreed. “But I understand your sister is not at home.” He nodded at Theo, who was gazing wide-eyed at his lordship’s cravat, the set of his coat, the snug fit of the buckskin britches across powerful thighs.
    â€œIs—is your coat made by Weston, sir?” Theo stammered.
    â€œAs it happens. But you should not stare so. It shows a sad lack of sophistication.” Lord Rutherford did not consider the snub to be particularly severe, but clearly its recipient was unaccustomed to any form of set-down for he flushed with mortification and began to stammer an apology.
    â€œOh, do not be in such a taking, Theo,” Rob advised. “It only makes you look silly. His lordship did not mean to be unkind, did you, sir?”
    Damian found himself hastening to assure them both that nothing had been further from his mind. He had not, in fact, intended to be unkind but had responded automatically to what at first sight struck him as ill-bred scrutiny. He looked again at the two boys, noting their resemblance to their sister and the very clear fragility of the older’s dignity. It brought a stab of youthful remembrance and, anxious to make amends, he smiled. The smile was returned with instant trust and warmth, and his lordship felt absurdly relieved that his flash of irritation had not irretrievably blotted his copybook.
    â€œMerrie is only in the stables,” Rob was saying. “She will be back soon, will she not, Seecombe?”
    â€œI couldn’t say, Master Rob,” the manservant replied repressively. “Not being party to her ladyship’s plans.” With that, he returned to the servants’ quarters.
    â€œThat’s such fustian!” Rob looked after him indignantly. “Merrie always tells Seecombe when she is coming back and where she is going. Do you think he can think Merrie would not care to see you, Lord Rutherford?”
    â€œI wish you would learn to hold your tongue occasionally.” Theo, his composure recovered, rebuked his young brother sharply. “I cannot imagine what Lord Rutherford must think. Will you step into the parlor, sir? I will send someone to fetch my sister.”
    â€œBut she will be back shortly,” Rob protested. “And who will you send?”
    â€œYou,” Theo hissed in an undertone.
    Damian stepped through the door Theo held for him, wondering if at any minute he would be required to separate the warring brothers.
    â€œGo and tell Merrie that Lord Rutherford is here, Rob,” Theo instructed.
    â€œBut she is probably on her way back. She only went to talk to the farrier about Jen’s canker, and I saw him leave above ten minutes ago.”
    â€œShe will like to know that she has a visitor,” his brother said, looking daggers.
    â€œOh.” Comprehension dawned on Rob’s open countenance. “You mean that she might wish to change her dress when she knows that Lord Rutherford has come to pay a call?”
    Rutherford began to examine his surroundings with an appearance of overpowering