Julia London 4 Book Bundle (16 page)

“What have you
done
, milady?”

“I have cut my hair,” her ladyship responded matter-of-factly.

“Buttery?”

Lady Albright smiled cheerfully. “I thought it would be a nice change. I’ve had that hair all my life, you know.”

Polly’s jaw dropped. And then she noticed what her mistress was wearing and actually stumbled backward, quite certain she was apoplectic.
“Trousers?”
she gasped.

Lady Albright nodded. “They are perfect for riding.”

“You intend to
wear
them?”

Another smiling nod. “I am quite determined to ride, actually. It’s a glorious day and I haven’t been on the back of a horse in over a month, I’d wager. Do you like to ride, Polly?”

No, she did not. And if she did, she most certainly would not like it in trousers! She shook her head, afraid to speak.

“Really? I adore it!” Lady Albright said in a singsong voice, and disappeared into the dressing room again. When her ladyship came strolling out a few moments later, Polly felt the apoplexy coming on. Her mistress still wore the trousers that fit her too snugly, and had added a man’s waistcoat over the lawn shirt she had gotten from God knew where. Polly, who had served the daughters of the late Lord Albright, was certain about one thing: It was the height of impropriety for her mistress to wear those clothes. She was also certain it was
her duty to warn her ladyship of the error in her decision.

Squaring her broad shoulders, she planted her hands on her hips. “Lady Albright, I would be remiss in my service to you if I did not point out that it is not quite seemly for women to be seen running about in”—she could hardly spit out the word—
“trousers.”

Lady Albright blinked her big green eyes. “No?”

Polly fiercely shook her head.

“I see,” her ladyship mused, tapping a finger against her cheek. “Well then, I suppose I shouldn’t leave the estate,” she said, and with a grin, walked to the corridor door.

Polly took several frantic steps after her. “B-but the estate is rather large, milady. What about the
tenants!
” she cried as Lady Albright walked out of the room.

Lady Albright paused in the corridor, pondering that. “You are absolutely right!” she said after a moment. Polly’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I should have introduced myself to them long ago. Thank you for that kind reminder; I shall meet every last one of them today, you have my word,” she said, and with a jaunty wave disappeared from view, leaving Polly gaping at the open door.

Polly wasn’t the only one who thought the mistress had lost her mind. Max came flying across the marble foyer, stumbling to a halt next to Polly, who was peering out the front door and wringing her big hands.
“Disaster!”
he whispered frantically.

“I’ll say,” Polly muttered, her gaze riveted on something outside.

“I might very well lose my post!” Max whispered, and looked furtively over his shoulder as he grasped Polly’s arm.

Polly snorted and shook him off. “What are you rattling about?” she muttered angrily.

“Early this morning her ladyship said she intended
to cut a pattern for a gown, and I thought nothing of it, but why should I? She
is
the mistress of this house, is she not? Oh Lord, oh Lord, I saw her enter the library, and I thought to say something, but I didn’t! It’s not my
place
, do you hear me? And … and I saw no harm in it, truly I did not! Yet I can scarcely believe it, even though I saw it with my own eyes!” he continued madly.

With an impatient roll of her eyes, Polly huffed, “I’ve no idea what you are going on about, but—”

“She moved his papers!”

Polly stopped and looked fully at the little man. “Papers!
What
papers?” she snapped.

“
All
of them!” Max squeaked, sounding as if he might weep at any moment. “He had the accounts all there on the table, spread out, arranged by date. They go back
years
, I tell you! And she … she
moved
them!”

“So she moved them!” Polly said, and jerked her gaze outside once again.

“No, no, you don’t understand. She not only moved them, she
rearranged
them! His lordship had … had sorted them and very carefully arranged them so that he might follow the income against expenditures!” Max wailed, his hands waving furiously as he tried to depict just how carefully they had been arranged. “God help us all, because she took papers out of their leather bindings, she stacked them willy-nilly on chairs and the floor! She even”—his voice dropped so that it was almost inaudible—“she even used the back of one page to
mark some figures!
Heaven help me, he will have my head, I am quite certain!”

“No,” said Polly, solemnly shaking her head. She stepped aside so that Max could see what attracted her attention. “He will have
her
head, and I am quite fearful for her!” Max turned to see what Polly was watching. To his utter amazement, Lady Albright rode by. Astride. Wearing trousers.

Atop
Thunder.

No one, not even the stable master was allowed to ride Thunder. That stallion was the earl’s pride and joy,
and there was not a person in his employ who did not know the horse was almost sacred.

Max groaned. “Oh dear. And I really thought so very highly of her,” he said sadly, and he and Polly stood side by side, watching her until she had disappeared over a crest, shaking their heads in unison.

     
W
HAT IN THE
hell was the matter with everyone?

Adrian glanced irritably at a footman who was trying very hard to blend into the wall as he passed him in the expansive foyer. He wouldn’t have thought much of it, except that Mrs. Dismuke had quickly disappeared into Lilliana’s room when she had seen him in the corridor, and Max had definitely changed course and ducked into a seldom-used parlor when he had rounded the corner on his way to the library.

The servants were acting as if he had suddenly sprouted horns, and he’d be damned if he knew what had brought that on. Never mind that now, he thought testily as he walked to the library. He had work to do—an idea had come to him this morning. Archie was exceedingly proud of the gazebo he had built at Kealing Park, but it was rather small. He would build a larger one, a monument to the beauty of Longbridge. And he had a brilliant idea how to pay for it. Adrian walked across the library threshold and glanced at the table where the account books for the last ten years had been carefully laid out.

He could not believe what he was seeing.

He shook his head, then stared at the table, trying to fathom it. The account books, so painstakingly arranged so that he could follow expenditures, investments, and revenues through the years, were strewn over two chairs, an ottoman, and the floor. They were stacked haphazardly, papers sticking out of the leather bindings every which way. His pulse began to beat at a clip and he walked to the bellpull, yanking so hard that he almost ripped it from its fastenings. Then he waited, glaring at the table, until Max appeared, looking quite pale.

“Max, do come inside,” Adrian said evenly, and strolled toward the table where he had made extensive notes on the accounts. “Do you notice anything unusual in this room?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

“Ah. Well. Yes, my lord,” Max mumbled.

Adrian turned halfway to look at him over his shoulder. “Really? And what would that be?”

Max’s thin face took on an almost purple caste. “The … the account books, my lord. It would appear they have been … ah, moved.”

“Yes, it would seem so,” Adrian said amicably. “And why is that?”

“I … I don’t know, my lord,” Max squeaked.

“Don’t you? As you are charged with the task of keeping my house in a reasonable semblance of order, might you offer
any
explanation?” Adrian asked, turning to face his suddenly meek butler.

“Umm … No,” Max muttered, clearing his throat, and shifting his gaze to the hearth.

Adrian shoved an impatient hand through his hair. “Max, what in God’s name would possess you—”

“Not
me
, my lord! I beg you do not force me to say more,” he said, and clasped his hands together so tightly that it looked as if they might explode.

“Not you? Then who in the hell would you suggest? That timid little maid who is almost too frightened to touch anything?”

“I am begging you, my lord—”

“
What
in the hell is the matter with you?” Adrian angrily demanded.

“It was Lady Albright!” Max cried, and immediately winced, dropping his head in shame.

Thunderstruck, Adrian gaped at him.
“Who?”

“On my honor, I have no idea why, except that she said they seemed like a lot of musty old books, and she needed the table to cut a pattern for a new gown—”

“A
gown
?” he all but bellowed.

Max nodded his head furiously and gulped a deep breath. “It was a pattern her mother sent all the way from Bath! And she, ah, she needed a
large
table, and, well, it
is
a large table. But I never thought she would
touch
them, no, no, I never thought that! And then, I thought
surely
she would ask if she couldn’t find paper, but she is obviously the industrious sort, because she used … she used …” Max paused and stuck a finger under his collar and tugged anxiously.

“Go on,” Adrian said flatly, his pulse now pounding soundly at his neck and temples.

“She … she used a page from the account books to write some figures. Year 1829, I believe,” he muttered miserably.

Adrian glared at him for a long moment before turning and walking slowly to the window. He took several steadying breaths.
Deep
breaths. All right, all right, the Princess of the Grange obviously did not know what she was doing. It wasn’t as if he had explained to her the work he was doing here. It was an honest mistake. He and Max would simply put them back together. How long could it possibly take? A few hours? A bloody
week
? Damnation! “Have Lady Albright sent in,” he ground out.

“Um, I beg your pardon, my lord, but she has gone out.”

Gone out. Well, then, he would wait until she returned. In the meantime he would leave things as they were and use her carelessness to make a point. “Leave things as they are,” he said gruffly, and pivoting on his
heel, quit the library, striding past his butler without looking at him.

A ride. A nice long ride to calm him down a bit, he decided, and walked swiftly to the foyer, gesturing to the footman for his coat and gloves. The footman eyed him warily as he timidly handed him his gloves. With an impatient roll of his eyes, Adrian stalked out of the house, bound for the stables.

As he stepped into the paddock, he noticed two young grooms suddenly scamper around the corner of the stable, disappearing from view. Dear God, what did they think, that he would beat her for moving some account books? What sort of man did they take him for? Irritated, he marched into the stable, spying Mr. Bottoms before the stable master saw him. The moment he caught sight of his employer, he nervously dropped the bucket he held.

“Saddle Thunder,” Adrian barked, and began walking toward the largest stall at the very end of the row. Mr. Bottoms did not move, and seemed paralyzed. “Well? What are you waiting for?” Adrian snapped, his patience wearing very thin, and glanced at Thunder’s stall.

His horse had been stolen!

A rush of panic gripped him, and he jerked around toward Bottoms, who was trembling so badly that the bucket he had just retrieved was about to shake loose from his hands again. “What has happened? Where is Thunder?” he exploded.

“Ah … Lady Albright, my lord,” the stable master gasped.

Speechless. He was totally, utterly speechless.
“Lady Albright?”
he roared.

“She said you gave her leave!” he cried, and dropped the bucket. “I thought … I mean, I suggested she take the mare, but she was rather insistent, my lord. She promised me!” he frantically added, and quickly bent to retrieve the bucket.

“Promised you?” Adrian choked out. “Promised you
what?”

“That you said she may have whatever she fancied,” he said, and nervously swiped his arm across his forehead. “Including Thunder,” he mumbled miserably.

Deep breaths, he reminded himself. She was on Thunder. Good God, that foolish little idiot could get herself killed! “Did it occur to you that she might not be able to handle Thunder?” he ground out.

Bottoms paled. “Aye, my lord. But she had begun to saddle him herself, and what was I to do? She … she seemed all right, on my honor she did,” he said, his voice pleading.

Now
what in the hell was he to do? “Saddle the mare,” Adrian snapped, and whirled around, glaring out the door. That parish princess, that Thief-of-Stallions would be very,
very
sorry indeed that she had pulled such a childish, foolish stunt. For all he knew, she had already broken her silly neck. What was she thinking? Of course he had given her leave to do whatever she wanted, but he had thought she might at least use a bit of common sense! What was in a woman’s mind? Hell, it hardly mattered, because—

A thought suddenly struck him, and slowly he folded his arms across his chest, quietly seething. Was it possible that the little featherbrain was still pouting about something? Was she
trying
to anger him? Well, the evil country bumpkin had succeeded admirably. Lord help her when he found her scrawny little hide!

He glared at Bottoms as he swept up onto the mare, demanded to know which direction she had taken, and sent the horse galloping after her.

His humor did not improve, given that he had quite a time finding the little wretch. Several of the tenants had seen her, beaming with idiotic grins as they pointed in the direction she had ridden. What a darling, some of them said. A darling all right, he thought, still seething. A darling of the devil!

He was on the verge of giving up and assembling a
search party—convinced the stallion had killed her by now—when he saw Thunder grazing peacefully under a tree. He jerked the mare hard right and galloped across the field. As he neared his horse he could see the banks of a small stream. A young man—a boy, really—was lying on his woolen riding coat next to the stream, his feet crossed at the ankles, his arms pillowing his head.