Buried Secrets Read Free

the ground ahead of him. Dismounting, he scooped up the small object.
    To his surprise, it appeared to be an ornamental comb, such as a woman would use to catch up her hair. The sparkle had been a shaft of moonlight reflecting from one of the tiny gems that adorned it. On closer inspection, it was apparent that the comb had not lain long in its present position. It was smooth and bore no traces of dirt. In fact, Cord could swear a trace of warmth from its wearer lingered in his fingers.
    Could it belong to the rider who had passed by here just a few moments ago? The rider was a woman? Well, well, he mused, his little mystery was becoming more fascinating by the minute. He would certainly lose no time in ascertaining the identity of the female who rode the contours of his estate in such an unseemly fashion.
    Clambering atop his mount once more, he came soon to the yew alley that led to the manor’s great front door. He wielded the knocker absently, and the door swung open at once to reveal two figures, apparently awaiting him in some dudgeon.
    “Hopkins!” exclaimed Cord. “When did you assume butler duties? At any rate, I’m glad you arrived in such a timely fashion. Hullo, Moresby,” he said to the butler, who was engaged in wresting the door handle from his valet.
    “Yes, sir,” replied Hopkins, releasing the handle to usher Cord ceremoniously into the house. “I arrived several hours ago, and I have made everything ready for you to assume residence here. You will find your bed made up and a nice fire burning in your chambers.”
    “Actually, sir,” Moresby said in a testy voice, “the staff has maintained the house in accordance with your direction since you became its owner. When we were apprised of your imminent arrival, it was necessary merely to remove the covers from the furniture. Mrs. Moresby, of course, has placed flowers in all the rooms and has prepared a small nuncheon for you—in the library, also with a nice fire burning. We had no need”— he paused to cast an austere glance in Hopkins’s direction— “of further direction.”
    Cord smiled placatingly. “Thank you, Moresby, I knew you would manage everything.” He turned to Hopkins with another, equally ingratiating grin. “And thank you, Hopkins. If you will return upstairs, I’ll be up presently.”
    With a lofty bow, Hopkins turned and moved up the staircase, the picture of complacent dignity. Cord glanced around the manor’s main hall. The house was, perhaps, not what he would have chosen for himself, had he decided to take up permanent residence in the country, for it was heavily baronial in style. The hall was hung with weighty tapestries and strewn with the requisite suits of armor and the occasional halberd on the walls. It was a pleasant abode, however, comfortable and spacious, and Cord found himself looking forward to a brief stay. The operative word, he supposed, was “brief.” His thoughts returned to the inescapable knowledge that he was mad to have come. Still, he was resolved not to be caught in parson’s mousetrap—at least, not yet—and particularly if Corisande Brant was to be his trap mate.
    His reflections continued in this vein, even as he consumed the cold collation provided for him by Mrs. Moresby. The library was warm and comfortable, furnished with upholstered chairs so large one could take up housekeeping in them. Even so, the silence, to a dedicated city dweller, was oppressive. The only sounds to be heard were the clink of silver on china and the crackling of a brisk blaze in the hearth.
    Cord sighed. He was not given to ruralizing. He agreed with Dr. Johnson’s famous sentiment that he who tired of London was tired of life. He enjoyed the companionship of friends, the entertainment to be found in Town, even the endless, frivolous round of socializing that comprised life in the ton. On the other hand, he mused, a little rustication might do him good. He had discovered within him recently a certain