He was just drawing his bath when the bell rang again. Grateful he hadn’t stripped to his drawers, Gerard climbed back to his small foyer.
A gnarled gnome of a man stood on the step. “The ladies said you might need a valet, my lord. The marquess has given me a reference.” He held out Rainford’s familiar stationery.
Gerard wanted to disabuse the ladies of that idiotic notion, but instinct said to read the reference first.
Lowell is a former batman, a crack shot, and saved the life of a friend. Hire him.
Gerard snorted at the peremptory command. Rain didn’t believe in long explanations. He’d hear the story later.
“Looks like you’re hired, Lowell. I don’t have much in the way of fine attire here, but I’m sure you’ll make yourself useful.”
Lowell relaxed his stiff stance. “Thank you, my lord. Shall I draw your bath and lay out your evening attire?”
“Aye, and you can tell me why the marquess has shown up at my door unannounced.” Gerard led him downstairs to show him the bath.
“There’s a tumult about missing heiresses and a reward but I’ve not heard more.” Lowell admired the bath and plumbing. “Heated water, amazing.”
“Thought Northumberland would be the wilderness, did you? I can use a shave and trim, if you’ve a talent for that.” Gerard generally wasn’t interested in gossip, but his mind chased around the news of a reward.
If a scoundrel had run off with an heiress, he could track him through Northumberland easily. He knew the land, knew all the innkeepers, as well as the railway men.
He also knew the only likely place for a runaway heiress anywhere about was Wystan.
Six
“No, I have no interest in meeting a marquess,” Iona assured Winifred when asked to join the company. She’d avoided meeting Rainford in his own home. Surely she could avoid it here. “I’d much rather put up the honey so the kitchen can concentrate on dinner.”
“Don’t be foolish, child. A lady in the kitchen will just fret them. If you don’t have a proper gown, I’m sure we can find one. We have wardrobes of—”
“Is it a requirement that I attend?” Iona held her voice steady and met Winifred’s gaze with the assurance she’d had to learn after her mother’s death.
The older woman refused to back down and lectured instead. “No, of course not, but sometimes, knowledge of the outside world is more important than hiding from it. I think Lady Alice brought enough crinoline for an entire household. I’ll ask her maid if there’s one you can borrow.” She swept off.
Iona didn’t want knowledge of the outside world if it meant exposing herself to it.
But the ladies asked very little of her. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to sit at a large table with a crowd of people. She’d simply perform her invisible act. Over the years, she had become very adept at not being seen.
She’d only packed one semi-decent dinner gown, made over from her one season in London. It wasn’t as if her stepfather entertained or that they’d had coins to buy better. She had vaguely hoped she might be able to buy a few stiff petticoats in a secondhand shop, but she hadn’t really needed a crinoline here. Few of the ladies were wealthy enough, or cared enough, to be fashionable.
But they did know how to put on a show, Iona learned when she joined the party gathering in the great hall.
She was wearing a modest gold-and-brown merino over the half-crinoline borrowed from Lady Alice. The gown was old-fashioned, without a bodice apron or train or even a modified bustle, but the colors suited her. She drew her best shawl over her nearly bare shoulders and stood in the shadows, admiring the colorful array of company. Her gold-threaded shawl and flowered coronet disguising her false chignon paled in comparison.
Even Iona knew most of the gowns sweeping about the hall were terribly out of date, but the rainbow of silky fabrics, swathes of lace, feathered hair ornaments, and puffs of curls adorned in diadems appeared the height of splendor to her rural eyes.
“Do we have any notion why Rainford is here?” Lady Alice asked, joining her in the dark corner.
Iona surreptitiously studied the lady. She looked wan but had rouged her cheeks and lips to give the appearance of health, despite the miscarriage.
“I thought he was simply visiting. Isn’t that done?” Iona found the tall, silver-blond, smartly tailored marquess in the hall’s center, surrounded by ladies.
“No one visits Northumberland if it can be avoided,” the lady said sourly. “I think I’ll find someone willing to offer me a ride anywhere else but here. Surely they must have a baggage cart.”
She drifted away in a cloud of French perfume, anxiety, and dissatisfaction. Iona felt rather sorry for her. Black was not the lady’s best color, and she did not seem to be mourning the loss of a child.
Iona entertained herself watching her new friends practice long-abandoned flirting skills with the marquess and cadre of young gentlemen. Like the earl, Rainford had assumed a courtesy title from his father and had little actual power beyond that of his wealth and connections. But society gravitated toward titles, wealth, and beauty. With his icy blond good-looks, the marquess possessed all three.
With twice as many women as men attending, there could be no formal pairing off into the dining room. When dinner was called, all precedence was abandoned under Malcolm insistence on equality. Iona drifted into the dining hall alone.
Winifred had obviously set the name cards, Iona decided, finding her name at the earl’s right hand at the head of the table. She cursed herself for not slipping in here earlier and rearranging the cards. She’d become accustomed to taking a seat in the middle and had simply assumed her anonymity would be honored. She glanced longingly at the epergne she preferred to hide behind.
“I have never understood how ladies arrange to have so much hair, but yours looks lovely tonight, Miss Malcolm.” Using formal address, the
