A Kiss from the Heart Read Free Page A

my Lord, as I next have to visit Sir George Whitby – his ulcer has been giving him trouble again!”
    He bowed and left the room. The Earl did not see him out. Instead, he walked to the window and gazed out over the manicured garden.
    â€˜Sir George!’ he murmured to himself. ‘I should have asked the doctor not to mention Papa’s death to him as it should be one of the family who breaks the news.’
    He rubbed his brows and yawned. That would have to wait until later. Right now he was feeling so exhausted he could barely stand.
    He was overwhelmed at the thought that he was now the Earl and responsible for not only Ledbury Hall and the estate, but also the family house in Brook Street and the castles in Ireland and Scotland.
    â€˜I must not think about it now, otherwise I shall die!’ he told himself, as he dragged himself upstairs.
    He did not care to admit that even though he was now a man of the world, he was ill equipped to deal with the burden that had just fallen on his shoulders.
    Monkhouse, his valet, was waiting for him with hot water and clean clothes.
    â€œI shall sleep for a few hours,” he told him, as the valet helped him out of his filthy garments.
    His head had barely hit his pillow before his eyes closed and he passed into a deep slumber, the prospect of being the new Earl pushed as far from his mind as possible.
    *
    The new Earl of Templeton slept much longer than he had intended.
    For a moment when he was awakened, he could not remember where he was. And then, it hit him. He was back home at Ledbury Hall and his father had died.
    It seemed like an utter nightmare.
    It was inconceivable that his father was no longer alive. Who was going to run the estate?
    The old Earl had displayed a laissez-faire attitude to the notion of imbuing his eldest son with a sense of the responsibility that the title carried.
    â€œOh, there is plenty of time for all that – you must enjoy yourself while you can,” he had often said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
    In truth everyone believed that he would go on forever, not least of all himself with the result that now his father had gone, he was as helpless as a kitten.
    Pushing this problem to the back of his mind once more, the Earl ran a hand through his thick black hair and swung his legs out of bed.
    â€œMy Lord?”
    As if by magic, Monkhouse appeared in the door of the room.
    â€œWould you care for luncheon?”
    â€œLuncheon?” he exclaimed, peering at the clock on the mantelpiece.
    â€œIt’s half-past one, my Lord.”
    â€œGoodness! I had not thought to sleep for so long!”
    He leapt up and allowed Monkhouse to lead him to the bathroom.
    Unlike many other ancient castles and halls, the old Earl had been most progressive in his thinking and had completed a great deal of modernisation at the Hall.
    Inspired by a visit to Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, he had installed the same deep baths with running water that he had seen at Queen Victoria’s mansion.
    Sometime later, clad only in a towel, the Earl sat in the stiff-backed armchair while Monkhouse shaved him. It felt good to be rid of his journey’s filth at last.
    Once he had finished dressing he almost felt like a new man. He strode over to the looking glass and coolly regarded his reflection.
    The firm jaw was much like his father’s whilst the cool blue eyes were inherited from his mother. The thick eyebrows were straight and neat and his nose was strong and aquiline.
    It was a handsome face, but one that wore the cares of the world.
    â€œPlease bring me devilled kidneys, kedgeree, toast and Dundee marmalade, Monkhouse,” he ordered, feeling shocked at the weary expression that had greeted his gaze.
    â€œVery good, my Lord.”
    Monkhouse reflected that this was a very different young gentleman to the one who had left five years earlier.
    â€˜He has seen death and destruction,’ he pondered. ‘And how