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Having been the youngest of seven children
born to a baronet of little consequence, Mrs. Bolton had rather
bizarrely managed to convince herself that she was gentry of great
importance. Everyone was used to her, of course. Dr. Bolton
indulged her because it was less painful for his ears and head.
Mariah constantly butted heads with her but even she was tiring of
the tantrums and so usually just said nothing, for the sake of
peace.

Lillianne, however, Mariah's younger sister,
was unfortunately an almost exact replica of their mother.

She joined in the remonstrations now with
ill-concealed relish.

"Mother is quite right, Mariah," she sniffed,
her perfectly coifed chestnut curls bouncing with each curt nod.
"Why, people already think it bizarre that you help out in Papa's
little shop."

It was a testament to how little time Lilly
spent in reality that she referred to the surgery and apothecary as
a "little shop."

"Nobody seems to mind when I am assisting
them."

"Yes, well. Sick people are as uncaring as
they are disgusting. But you may rest assured that once they are
recovered they are very much aware of how unorthodox this all
is."

"Too true," chimed in Mrs. Bolton, not to be
outdone in sheer idiocy. "Do you know how much we've had to spend
on new gowns and such just to stop the rumours of our financial
ruin?"

"If you keep spending so frivolously it won't
be a rumour," said Mariah and then immediately regretted it as it
set off a bout of wailing and whining that even their dog ran away
from.

Mariah's father, who had up to this point
remained sensibly silent, cleared his throat then cleared it again
louder before finally resorting to a near coughing fit to get the
ladies to listen to him.

"My dear," he began in a soothing tone, "I
appreciate your concerns and they are valid."

He shot a warning look at Mariah's very
unladylike snort.

"However, consider if Mariah had said no. The
whole village would be aware that she had refused to help the new
arrivals, the very wealthy new arrivals I might add. And, that she
had embarrassed the
vicar
of all people, for not adhering to
his recommendation."

The tears abruptly stopped, not that they
were real to begin with.

"Oh, my dear you're right. Oh, how
wonderful."

This was a quick turnaround, even for her
mother.

Mariah glanced at Lilly and saw that she was
just as confused.

"Lillianne, you must go with your
sister."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You must go with your sister to Greywood
Manor. If what I hear about Mr. Greywood is true, he is not only
rich but single."

"Ah, I see," said Lillianne with a smile.

"Well I don't," said Mariah.

"Mariah, dear, I have long given up hope of
you using your natural beauty to your advantage. No doubt you will
have your head buried in books and other nonsense for the entire
time that you are there. Thankfully," she went on loudly to drown
out Maria's sudden objections, "your sister was not only graced
with beauty but with a healthy desire for a good match. Something
you are sadly lacking."

"I fail to see what this has to do with my
working in the library, Mother. I can't just–"

"It has
everything
to do with it.
Lilly will go to assist you."

"What?" shouted Lilly, horrified at the mere
thought.

"Calm down, dearest. You're not going to
actually work for Heaven's sake. But you will be there to keep the
gentleman company whilst Mariah breaks her neck trying to heft
books about the place."

Mariah thought that her mother didn't have to
sound quite so happy at the idea of her breaking her neck.

"A wonderful plan, Mother. Except for one
thing. Mr. Haverton won't be at the house whilst I am there."

The atmosphere changed immediately from one
of scheming joy to fury.

"What do you mean?" her mother asked through
clenched teeth.

"I mean, he won't be there. I am to prepare
the library and be gone
before
the family's arrival."

"Well you must wait longer to do it, is all,"
said Lilly, but Mariah could see that her mother, whose ears were
razor sharp when she thought she was either getting gossip or
information she could use to her advantage, had heard "the
family."

"Family?" she questioned.

"Family," confirmed Mariah.

"He has a family?"

"Oh yes, a huge one," Mariah lied gaily.
"Children coming out of his ears and no doubt his wife is as
beautiful as she is – er, fertile."

"Mariah!" her mother admonished but Mariah
could see her heart wasn't in it. Her dreams had just been
shattered. The fact that they were only about two minutes long
wouldn't matter a jot to her mother.

"Ah, well. Try not to be too disappointed,
Lil, I'm sure you'll manage just fine with the suitors you're
already in possession of."

"You're not going."

Now it was Mariah's turn to stare in
astonishment at her mother.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are not going," her mother enunciated
each word carefully.

"Of course I'm going. You heard Papa just now
about the vicar and the gossip."

"Yes, I did. And he makes a good point. But
if there are no opportunities for you or your sister, I fail to see
the benefit."

Mariah could not believe what she was hearing
but she knew that this was a delicate situation and one which
required careful handling.

"The benefit, mother, is that I will do such
a good job with the library that Mr. Haverton is sure to be pleased
and call on me to thank me."

Mariah saw no sense in informing her mother
that it sounded like the man wouldn't know manners if they ran over
him with a chaise and four.

"Then, not only will you be the first
acquaintance of his in the entire village, excluding Mr. Yates and
Mr. Thompson but—"

"Who is Mr. Thompson?" enquired Lilly
suddenly, possibly sensing fresh meat.

"The solicitor who has lived in the village
since before you were born," said Mariah. "Honestly Lilly, how can
you not know him?"

Lilly shrugged and went back to her dinner,
once again uninterested in the conversation.

"As I was saying Mama, we would be the first
family to know him. And from what Mrs. Yates said about his desire
to be sociable, we will quite possibly be the only family to know
him."

Mariah waited with bated breath for her
mother to weigh up her words.

Finally, Mrs. Bolton sighed and said; "Very
well. I do not suppose you can back out now that you've
agreed."

Mariah thanked her profusely and pretended to
believe that the decision was based on a magnanimous nature and not
a desire to have one up on Mrs. Callahan and the other town
gossips.

With the matter settled, Mariah quickly
changed the subject just in case her mother suddenly changed her
mind again. But thankfully, there was no reversal of the
decision.

As Mariah readied herself for bed that night,
she did not even attempt to still the butterflies of excitement in
her stomach.

For once, she would be doing something
exciting and adventurous all by herself. She could not wait.

Mariah pulled her
woollen
cloak more firmly around her shoulders and hunched
over against the biting December wind.

Her father's gig was extremely handy for
traversing the often bumpy country roads surrounding their village.
But it was no use against the inclement weather of a Lancashire
winter.

Her mother had almost had a fit of the
vapours that morning when Mariah announced she would go alone to
the Manor.

Mariah had managed to calm her down with
careful explanations that it was only servants at the house at
present; they all knew her anyway so her reputation wasn't in any
danger and, mostly, by slipping something into her teacup, though
Mariah did not confess to this.

It was nothing dangerous. Just enough to make
her happily drowsy until Mariah made her escape.

As she crested a small hill, Mariah pulled to
a halt.

There it was. Greywood Manor.

The house was a magnificent structure of
stone brought up from London, if the gossips were correct. The
baron who had commissioned it wanted it to stand out next to the
local yellow brick. And stand out it did.

It was made of a grey stone but rather than
seem dull, it was so large and beautifully situated that the stone
could never have looked anything less than beautiful.

The grounds surrounding the manor house were
nowhere near as extensive as those of the estates close by but they
were vast and verdant, the evergreens lushly dark against the cool
winter sky.

Even if she hadn't been lucky enough to be
working in the library, Mariah would have been ecstatic to be here
and made a promise to herself to explore every inch of land when
she had a break to do so.

But right now, time was ticking. She had
risen at first light, determined to finish before Mr. Haverton
arrived.

Mariah was difficult to intimidate but Mrs.
Yates' description of her mysterious employer left her feeling that
she would rather not meet him until she absolutely had to. And
certainly not before she had done an excellent job with the
library.

Pulling up to the front of the magnificent
house, Mariah looked up and spotted a groom coming towards her.

She could not see the man's features from
this distance, but good heavens, he looked to be a fine specimen of
manhood indeed!

His gait was strong and sure and he was tall,
so very tall.

Mariah wasn't exactly tiny and in actual fact
was rather taller than a lot of the men her age in the village. But
this giant of a man would surely tower over her.

And his shoulders! Mariah's mouth dried up as
she took in the breadth of his shoulders and her eyes raked
greedily over the rest of him.

His clothing was dark and nondescript,
although, she admitted to herself, he wasn't in the usual attire of
a groom. In fact, he was ever so well dressed for a groom but he
certainly wasn't dressed as a gentleman.

Curious. Obviously the servants dressed a lot
better in the South than they did up here.

She was not complaining however, not when the
clothes gave her a wonderful few of his broad torso, tapering down
to a slim waist and legs that looked mouth-wateringly muscular in
his tight black breeches.

She was a veritable hussy! Never had she so
scandalously studied a man's form.

The heat of embarrassment and — admittedly —
excitement rose to stain her cheeks.

He was closer now and stopped still, staring
up at her. And now that she could see his face, the air left her
body in one, giant whoosh.

Good God. The man was utterly gorgeous.

Mariah's breath hitched as she returned the
man's curious gaze with a, frankly, lascivious one of her own.

His hair, which was currently being ruffled
by the cold winter wind, a wind that she was now extremely envious
of, was dark, almost black, but with touches of chestnut. And his
eyes. His eyes were the exact colour of hot, dark chocolate. They
made her think of indulgence and luxury and sin so bad that she'd
likely give old Mr. Yates an apoplectic fit were she to confess it
to him.

This would not do! This was a distraction she
did not need.

She was here to do a job and it was a mammoth
task by any standards. She did not need to be distracted by grooms
and thoughts of rolling about in the stables.

She needed to maintain her distance from the
servants so that she could go about her business and get out of
here before the master of the house arrived.

So, shaking her head a little to clear her
less than pure thoughts, Mariah summoned her most haughty smile.
Being the daughter of a snobbish Bolton did have its uses after
all.

"Ah, good morning," she said, keeping her
tone brisk and trying to ignore her insane desire to lick his
strong neck. Never before had she wanted to lick another human
being. It was most disconcerting. "I am come to work on the
library. You may take the horse and gig round to the stables. I
shall find my way there when I am finished for the day."

She stepped down from the gig, grabbing her
reticule on the way. Turning, she made sure not to stand close
enough to smell him because if he smelled good well, her horse
would witness something that no innocent horse should ever see.

"Here you go," she said jovially, though
still a little coolly, there was no need to be rude after all. She
thrust the reigns into his hands, making sure not to make contact
with his skin.

Glancing down she saw that his hands were as
large and strong as the rest of him. They did not even look
work-worn.

Hands, she decided, were underrated. More
people should take about their beauty.

He still hadn't spoken, and Mariah wondered,
with his devilishly dark looks, if he could understand her.

If he hailed from some hot, exotic country
she'd probably faint on the spot.

"Run along then," she encouraged and made a
walking motion with her gloved hand.

He frowned at her hands, then at the
reigns.

Hmm. Perhaps he was a little slow on the
uptake. Bless him.

Mariah smiled encouragingly and then, because
he seemed so confused, she reached out and patted him on the head.
She reached up, rather. His head was quite high up.

"I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job," she
said kindly then turned and marched up the front steps of the
house.

He was terribly handsome, but the poor man
obviously struggled with basic understanding. Well, she could never
take advantage of such a vulnerable person.