It could be worse.
“That’s something, I suppose.”
“Any idea how it started?”
“It could have been anything. A spark from a fireplace. An untended lamp.” Win shrugged. “I daresay we’ll probably never really know.”
“How are Uncle Roland and Aunt Margaret?”
“Bearing up. Mother is made of much sterner stuff than I had imagined. She and I insisted Father rest. I sent them to the dower house.” Win managed a slight smile. “It is testament to the serious nature of the day that Mother did not protest, although it was all she could do to make Father leave.”
“How is he?” Gray’s worried gaze searched Win’s.
“As well as can be expected, I suppose. He’s getting older and all this . . .” Win’s throat tightened. He shook his head, turned and stepped outside.
Gray followed him. His parents had died when he was very young, and Win’s parents had raised him as their own. Even though Gray had left England for more than a decade, he was still Win’s closest friend and very much his brother. Gray grabbed his cousin’s arm. “Win.”
“He’s tired, Gray, that’s all.” Win blew a long, weary breath. “We’re all tired.”
“I hope he looks better than you do.” Gray studied him closely. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”
“I can’t imagine why.” He glanced down. His clothes were filthy; there was a tear in his coat sleeve and a nasty burn on the back of his hand. Odd, he hadn’t even noticed it.
“So . . .” Gray looked back at the house. “What happens now?”
“There’s nothing more to be done today. I have men here who will stay the night and make certain the fire does not reignite. Tomorrow, we’ll assess the east and west wings to determine the damage. Hopefully, it’s minimal.” It could be worse, the refrain echoed in his head. He ignored it. “For now, most of the servants have family in the village they can stay with. Mother, Father and I will stay in the dower house, along with whatever servants need a bed. It will be overly crowded but we shall make do, at least for tonight.”
“Prescott will love that.” Gray smiled. “He’s never approved of making do.”
Even the thought of their eminently proper butler making do in tight quarters with the Earl and Countess of Fairborough failed to ease Win’s mood. “Will you be going back to London tonight?”
“Absolutely not.” Indignation sounded in Gray’s voice. “I know I haven’t lived here for years, but this is still my home, Win. I intend to stay right here for as long as you and Uncle Roland and Aunt Margaret need me. And, given the looks of it, that will be for some time.”
“The dower house is already overcrowded,” Win said wryly.
“I’ll stay the night at Millworth Manor.” He paused. “Aunt Margaret and Uncle Roland would probably be more comfortable there as well, as would you. And it’s only a half an hour carriage drive from here.”
“That is something to consider for tomorrow, but as for tonight, we’ll stay here. I’m not sure I could drag Father away as it is.” Win gestured at the destruction. “I don’t know that he’s really accepted all this.”
It wasn’t easy to watch your heritage—the house that had served as your family’s home for nearly three centuries as well as all those treasures one didn’t realize were treasures until they were gone—go up in smoke. Win had known, in a rational sense, that his father was growing older, but he hadn’t really seemed at all aged until Win had seen the fire reflected in the older man’s eyes. And the sorrow. Win had known as well that one day he would be the next Earl of Fairborough, but last night that inevitable inheritance was for the first time very real and all too close.
He shoved the thought aside. Father was in good health and there was no need borrowing trouble. They had enough already.
“Have you accepted all this?”
“I don’t know.” Win’s gaze drifted over the house once again. The overcast skies only added to the dreary scene. It was as if all color had vanished from the world, leaving everything gray and black and dull and dingy. He wasn’t entirely certain it hadn’t all been a dreadful dream brought on by something he’d eaten that disagreed with him or some odd story he’d read that lingered in the back of his mind. “I shall have to, I suppose.” He glanced at his cousin. “Have you?”
Gray stared at the house for a long moment. “I was able to prepare myself, I suppose, after I received your telegram. Waiting for the next train and the hour-long trip here, I had the time to imagine the worst and ready myself.”
Win started down the drive toward the dower house. “You should see Mother and Father. They’ll be pleased that you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Gray took a last look at Fairborough Hall, then shook his head and joined his cousin. “It could have been much worse, I suppose.”
“That’s what I keep thinking.”
A crash sounded behind them, reverberating through the air and the ground beneath their feet. The two men swiveled back and stared at the house. A cloud of ash and dust hung in the air directly above the mid-portion of the building. Win winced.
Gray’s eyes widened. “What on earth was that?”
“I’m fairly certain that,” Win said with a weary sigh, “was the roof.”
Yes, indeed it could have been worse.
And now, it was.
Chapter 1
Three weeks later ...
“. . . and you will not believe what I was told about Lady . . .” Mrs. Bianca Roberts continued without so much as a pause for breath. And why should she? The latest on-dit about Lady Whoever-she-was-talking-about-now was entirely too tasty to keep to herself.
Under other circumstances, Miranda, Lady Garret, would be alternately amused or annoyed at her inability to get a word in. Today, she appreciated her sister’s ramblings. She had entirely too much on her mind to pay any attention at all, and Bianca’s enthusiastic and incessant chatter made it unnecessary to do so. All Bianca really required in terms of a response was the occasional nod or a murmur of surprise or a clucking of the tongue. In the last year or so, Miranda had become quite adept at it. It did seem she did some of her best thinking when Bianca was confident she had her rapt attention.
“. . . can imagine my surprise, of course. Particularly when I heard, from a quite reliable source mind you, that she had had quite enough . . .”
Miranda sipped her tea and smiled with encouragement. She had long gotten over this particular deception. It did no real harm and kept her sister from prying too deeply into Miranda’s activities. Activities she would much prefer to keep private. Who knew how her family—especially her brothers—might react? The Hadley-Attwaters considered themselves a fairly proper family.
Adrian, of course, would be most disapproving. Her oldest brother and the current Earl of Waterston was a great stickler for propriety even if, on occasion, he could also be most surprising. Miranda suspected that was due to the influence of his wife, Evelyn. Still, one couldn’t count on most surprising. Her next older brother, Hugh, was a barrister and, as such, all too cognizant of proper behavior. Her remaining brother, Sebastian, who had always flouted tradition in his own life, might well be her greatest ally given his wife, Veronica’s outspoken tendencies and penchant for support of various rights for women. Although, on the other hand, what one overlooked in one’s wife, one might not accept in one’s sister.
As for the female members of the family, one never quite knew on which side of a debate her mother and her oldest sister, Diana, would fall. Mother could be startlingly progressive when she wished to be, and Diana had always had an independent nature. Even so, this was not the sort of thing with which one wanted to test. Bianca might think it rather exciting, but she had never been particularly good at keeping a secret. Precisely why Miranda had gone to great pains not to reveal so much as a hint of her activities. There was nothing Bianca liked better than ferreting out secrets. Her cousin, Portia, who was as much a sister as Diana and Bianca, would certainly be shocked. Why, it was one thing for a lady to dabble in the arts or to take up the cause of charitable works, and quite another to become involved in business. This simply wasn’t the sort of thing a Hadley-Attwater did.