Rules of Attraction Read Free

by the massive pile of granite that rose so abruptly out of the ground. Somehow she'd been transported back in time and even now drove up to a castle that looked no different than it had in medieval times, when the windows had been nothing more than slits and every feature had been designed with defense in mind.
    "Almost seven hundred years old, parts o' it. Many a child born here, many a life snuffed." Alfred turned and looked at Hannah, and his rheumy eyes shone moist and morose. "Good fortune t' ye, miss."
    A door opened and a large square of light shone out, and against it she saw silhouetted several shapes, four male, one female.
    A woman's voice blending a faint Lancashire burr with gentility, called, "Did ye get her, Alfred?"
    "Aye."
    "About time. The master's been fretting this last hour."
    The female and three of the males, two with lanterns, hurried toward the cart, the female burbling with speech. "Miss Setterington? I'm Mrs. Judith Trenchard, and I beg yer pardon for the mode of yer transport. There was a… misunderstanding."
    A misunderstanding? How interesting.
    "I hope ye haven't been inconvenienced," Mrs. Trenchard said.
    "Not at all." A footman placed a step for Hannah and helped her from her seat and onto the ground. "But I would beg for a maid to brush out my clothing."
    As the footmen lifted their lanterns, dismay showed on Mrs. Trenchard's plump, lined face. She carried perhaps sixty-five years, and she exuded an air of competence and energy that contrasted with her apologies and confession of error. "I'll certainly assign you a maid. Come in before the damp settles into your bones."
    Too late, it appeared. As Hannah stepped across the threshold into a dim cavern, she shivered, then found she couldn't stop.
    Mrs. Trenchard clucked. "Billie, bring Miss Setterington a blanket. Aye, miss, 'tis an evil night to be out. I don't know what those new-fashioned railroads are thinking, to deliver at such an hour. Mark my words, they'll never catch on in Lancashire if they continue with such wrong-headed behavior. Thank you, Billie." Wrapping Hannah in the warm, clean wool spread, she hurried her toward the stone stairs that wound upward. "The master's waiting for ye."
    Mrs. Trenchard was taller than Hannah, an unusually great height for a woman, and heavy-boned and broad-beamed. She clattered as she walked, the iron ring at her belt full of the keys that were the badge of her station. In her clasp Hannah felt like a leaf swept along in a great and powerful wind. "I'd like to freshen up first," Hannah said.
    "Ah, no. We don't keep the master waiting here." Mrs. Trenchard sounded quite stern. "He's not as dread as they say, but severe and likes his way. I don't cross him and ye're already past the time he expected ye."
    Hannah wanted to point out that that wasn't her fault.
    But Mrs. Trenchard talked on as she pushed Hannah up the stairs. "The master wants to change the entrance so that guests enter a foyer on the second level. The kitchen's no way for visitors to first see Raeburn, and this stairway is so old and worn 'tis easy to take a tumble. In fact, the previous lord… but no matter." Stopping in the middle of the stairway, she leaned against the wall and, grimacing, held her side.
    Looking down the spiral of stone steps, Hannah was alarmed. Taking Mrs. Trenchard's arm, she asked, "Are you ill?"
    "Nonsense." Mrs. Trenchard shook her off and pushed her along once more. "Never been ill a day in my life. Hardy stock, that's me. My mother passed on just five years ago at the great age of eighty-nine." She pointed toward the glow of light from above. "Now, once ye're out of the kitchens, it's a beautiful house."
    Hannah nodded. Perhaps Mrs. Trenchard had just had a bad day. Certainly she seemed strong enough.
    "After the old lord died, the next two masters started fixing up the place and the last master, rest his soul, even put in stoves that heat twice as well as a fireplace. This lord was busy when he got the