One Week as Lovers Read Free

housekeeper, and the rents were just enough to support the nominal upkeep. No thought required.
    But of course, it was deeper than that. He did not like to think about his time here because that led to other memories, other histories…. It was a testimony to just how desperate he’d been to escape London that he’d given no thought to the demons that might be exhumed here.
    I am a man now , he told himself as he shifted in the hard seat. Not a boy to run from nightmares .
    Just as anger began to rise like bile in Lancaster’s throat, the coachman shouted something and the carriage began to slow. They’d arrived. Old Mrs. Pell would be out to greet him in a matter of moments.
    For the first time since he’d departed, it occurred to him that Mrs. Pell would be grieving. Cynthia Merrithorpe had spent hours in her kitchen every day. Sometimes it had seemed as if she’d spent more time in his family’s home than her own. If she hadn’t been following Lancaster around the estate, then she’d been in the servants’ quarters, trailing after Mrs. Pell like a shadow. Poor woman probably felt as if she’d lost a daughter.
    The carriage slowed to a stop, sliding a little before the coachman controlled it. Within seconds, the door opened to a blast of rain; clearly Jackson didn’t want to remain in the sleet any longer than necessary.
    “Looks dark, milord. No one about.”
    “Lovely. Well, I’ll let myself in, Jackson. You get the horses settled, then come ’round the kitchen for something hot.”
    “Yes, sir. My thanks, sir.”
    Lancaster steeled himself against the shock of the frozen rain before he stepped to the ground and dashed toward the wide front doors. He made it to the faint shelter of the doorway, but Jackson was pulling away before Lancaster realized the doors were bolted tight against him.
    “Christ.” A niggling suspicion that had begun to bounce around his head suddenly became solid and real. Beeks had neglected to inform Mrs. Pell that the viscount would soon be in residence. He could only hope that the housekeeper hadn’t decided to take this week to visit her younger sister in Leeds.
    “Well, there’s no help for it,” he muttered, and stepped back out into the deluge. By the time he made it around the square bulk of the manor, he was soaked through and half numb with cold. But the knob of the kitchen door turned easily in his hand, and then he was rushing into warmth and glowing light.
    “Adam,” a familiar voice called from the darkness of a short hallway, “if you’re dripping rain all over my floor, you’d best be planning to clean it up. I’ll not—”
    When Mrs. Pell stepped into the kitchen, she looked up and gasped in surprise. Her shock did not turn to horror until Lancaster spoke.
    “Good evening, Mrs. Pell. It seems my man in London has neglected to inform you of my imminent arrival. But here I am, all the same.”
    “Nick?” she whispered, causing a little shock to course through his veins. No one had called him Nick in years.
    “Yes, it’s me. Nick. Returned from the—” He caught himself just in time, and cleared his throat. “I apologize for catching you unawares, Mrs. Pell. I know the past two weeks must have been difficult for you, and now I have come to add to it.”
    She’d yet to recover; her lips were still parted in shock, her skin pale, and he’d begun to fear she’d simply fall over, though she looked as sturdy as ever. The laugh lines around her eyes had deepened certainly, her hair had gone grayer, but she wasn’t as old as he’d remembered. Youth had a way of inflating age, it seemed. “Mrs. Pell?”
    She blinked, and that finally seemed to release her from her trance. “Milord,” she gasped, and fell into a slow curtsy. “Milord, I apologize. Please forgive me. I—Let me put the water on for tea, and then I’ll open the library for you, if that will do for a few moments. I’ll need to make up your bed and…”
    “I’m sure the library sofa