“I used to,” he said with a sigh, the bleakness in his gaze touching her heart.
The revelation of his parents’ untimely demise highlighted that there was more to his abandonment of his responsibilities at Clifton Heights than she’d realized.
Accustomed to Frame’s efficiency, Susan was embarrassed for Halliwell when he was obliged to knock more than once on his own front door to gain admittance. When a butler finally appeared, he seemed not to instantly recognize his master. His hesitation in acknowledging them with a perfunctory bow was intolerable.
“Andrews,” Halliwell hissed by way of introduction as he ushered Susan and Rebecca inside. “My butler. Another symptom of the problem, as you see.”
Judging by the scowl on Andrews’ ill-shaven face, Susan could readily see he was not a trained butler. He’d made no effort to greet them or take cloaks and gloves.
She had just untied the laces of her cloak when Halliwell abruptly unfurled it from her shoulders and practically shoved it at Andrews. “See that chambers are prepared for Lady Susan and Mrs. Waterman,” he said as he repeated the performance with Rebecca’s garment. “The ladies and I will take tea in the drawing room.”
Andrews eyed Susan with disdain, clearly assuming she was no lady.
“Lady Susan Crompton,” she declared with as much snobbery as she could infuse into her voice. “Of the Farnworth Cromptons.”
It was unclear if the name meant anything to the servant, but at least he averted his cheeky gaze.
Following Halliwell’s lead, she slowly peeled off her gloves and held them out for the butler to take. She wasn’t surprised the scowling fellow couldn’t meet her gaze as he bundled up all the outwear and strode off.
Susan took the opportunity to look around the huge foyer. Many of the statues were missing limbs that probably weren’t supposed to be missing. Cracks had spread like spiders’ webs across the plastered walls and ceiling. Dust motes hung in the air, some clinging to long, stringy cobwebs. The odor of damp was pervasive. Most of the candelabra were without candles. Dead roses lay curled up in tarnished bowls long since gone dry.
Shock paled Rebecca’s countenance.
How Halliwell ran his household was none of Susan’s business, yet she couldn’t keep silent. The neglect was heartbreaking. “This must have been a grand house at one time.”
His arm tensed as he escorted her into the drawing room. “It was, when my parents were alive. My mother loved this house.”
“You miss them,” she replied as she sat on a sofa that had seen better days. The striped fabric had faded to a degree that it was impossible to discern the original colors. Stuffing poked through several slits in the padded arms. She tried valiantly not to let him see she’d noticed.
Rebecca opted for an upholstered armchair that looked to be in slightly better repair.
“I found it impossible to live here after they died,” Halliwell admitted.
Susan suspected he hadn’t confessed that to anyone before. “You were lonely.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Actually, I found I preferred the life in London.”
She’d seen a glimpse of the grief-stricken young man he must have been, but his clenched jaw made it clear he already regretted letting his visitors see his vulnerability. Perhaps it was time to move to a safer topic. “And you embarked on breeding horses.”
*
Every muscle inGriff’s body tensed. He’d let down his guard. It was dangerous to forget the rules of this game. No emotional involvement. Susan must never think she’d reached his heart.
In truth, seeing the wretched state of his home through her eyes made it seem even worse. He’d deliberately ignored deficiencies he was noticing now. “I’ll speak to the housekeeper about replacing the candles,” he said lamely.
She worried her bottom lip, clearly of a mind to voice an opinion. That shouldn’t surprise him. On the other hand, she was trying valiantly to overlook the state of the sofa—another shortcoming he hadn’t noticed. “I could speak to her, if you wish,” she offered. “Sometimes, a woman’s requests carry more weight with staff.”
He ought to reject the offer. Only the mistress of the house normally instructed servants. However, neither Andrews nor Mrs. Brass had paid heed to his orders. He’d like to see them ignore the redoubtable Susan Crompton’s “requests”! “I couldn’t impose,” he replied, knowing full well she would insist.
“I insist,” she declared, squaring her shoulders. “It seems to me your staff is shirking its duties.”
He hid his amusement. She was in her element. Reminding people of their duty was her forte! In fact, with her breasts thrust out, she looked rather like he imagined Boadicea before a battle. Strong, determined, magnificent in her fury. The vision stirred surprisingly strong interest in his sac. He ought to rein in his body’s reaction, although it might make his feigned attraction seem more real to her.
Showdown
Rebecca chattered nervouslyas they waited and waited for breakfast to be served the following morning. Eyeing the empty sideboard in the morning room, Susan couldn’t contain her annoyance when Halliwell entered. By the looks of things, he’d tied his own cravat and the beige frock coat only emphasized his pallor. He looked like he’d slept as badly as she had, though she’d wager he hadn’t dreamed of galloping across desert sands, hair flying free…
“Before you ask,” she declared, determined to drag her thoughts away from the recurring erotic dreams of Griffith Halliwell. “The mattress is lumpy. There was no water in the ewer, and the linens haven’t been aired in…forever!”