Mistress - Amanda Quick [51]
“He had the look of a secretary or a man of affairs.”
Amelia hesitated. “No doubt that is because he is a man of affairs. Are you certain you won’t have some tea, my lord?”
“No, thank you.” Marcus perused the titles of some of the volumes on the library shelves. Such respected and oft-reprinted works on classical architecture as Desgodetz’s Les Edifices Antiques de Rome and Langley’s Ancient Architecture Restored & Improved sat side by side with Hope’s Household Furniture and Decoration and Halfpenny’s The Art of Sound Building. “How long have you lived with your cousin, Miss Farley?”
“Nearly five years.” Amelia spoke cautiously, as if weighing every word.
“You lived with her while her husband was alive, then?” Marcus said easily.
“Ah, yes. Yes, I did.”
“I have a vague recollection of having known a Bright family at one time.” Marcus paused briefly as though reflecting on a very distant memory. “From the Lake District, I believe.”
Amelia scowled. “I doubt if there is any connection. Mrs. Bright’s husband had no relatives in the Lake District.”
“Then he must have been connected to the Yorkshire Brights,” Marcus said smoothly.
“No,” Amelia said swiftly. “They were a Devon family.”
“I see. I knew some Devon Brights. They lived near Plymouth.”
“There is no connection, then,” Amelia assured him. “Mr. Bright’s people were from the northern part.”
“Barnstaple, then.”
“No, Deepford,” Amelia said quickly. “A very tiny village.”
“I do not believe I know it.”
Amelia looked relieved to hear that. “The Deepford Brights were a very small family,” she said in a determinedly chatty manner. “Mr. Bright was the last of his line.”
“How unfortunate. Then there are no heirs?”
“No.”
“Are you enjoying London, Miss Farley?”
“I find it very interesting.” Amelia looked almost pathetically grateful for a change of topic. “Quite educational.”
“Very different from the country.”
“Indeed.”
“I take it that you and Mrs. Bright were not able to come to Town very often while Mr. Bright was alive?”
“Mr. Bright was infirm. He did not care to travel.”
“I see.” This was not getting him anywhere, Marcus decided. He would have to try a different tack. “Perhaps I’ll have some tea, after all.”
Amelia jumped to her feet. “I’ll ask Mrs. Shaw to bring a fresh pot.”
Silence descended on the library as Marcus and Amelia waited for the tea to be brought in.
When it arrived, Marcus accepted a cup, picked it up, and paced to the window beside Iphiginia’s desk. He studied the sunny street scene.
“A fine day for an outing.” Marcus surreptitiously tilted his cup and casually spilled tea on a copy of the Morning Post which was lying on the end of the desk.
“Oh, dear,” Amelia gasped.
“Damnation. How very clumsy of me.”
Amelia started to her feet. “It will mar the wood.”
“Fetch your housekeeper,” Marcus ordered in the tone of voice he reserved for those occasions when he wanted instant obedience. It always seemed to work and he had grown to expect the results he invariably got. Except with Iphiginia, he reflected wryly. She was not very good at following orders.
“I’ll call Mrs. Shaw.” Amelia hurried toward the door.
Marcus yanked a large handkerchief out of his pocket and began blotting up the tea. “I do not believe there will be any great harm done if you hurry.”
“I hope not.” Amelia threw him a disapproving look over her shoulder. “Iphiginia is very fond of that desk. Her father designed it.” She opened the door. “Mrs. Shaw? Please come quickly. Some tea has been spilled.”
Marcus casually lifted the edge of the pattern book and glanced at the top sheet of foolscap. He realized that he was looking at what appeared to be an architectural elevation for a row of town houses. The words “Bright Place” were inscribed beneath the picture.
He lowered the pattern book back into place just as Amelia turned around.
“Mrs. Shaw is on her way,” Amelia said.
“I believe I have blotted up most of the tea. The newspaper has absorbed the rest.” Marcus folded his tea-stained handkerchief.
Mrs. Shaw bustled into the room. She carried a cloth in one hand.