Chapter 9

April 21st, 1810

I was pouring over the Hall's account books my steward had prepared for me. The task was wearisome but necessary. I longed to have a distraction, something that could take my mind off my concerns. Sir Lionel Huntington had written to say he would be visiting again this afternoon to discuss the future of his daughter, Cordelia. While I am ready to take a bride, I'm not sure she is the one for me. Sir Lionel was apparently determined to see his daughter become the Countess of Weymouth. The chit is pretty enough. Honey-blond hair and hazel eyes. But there is a coldness to Miss Huntington's demeanor and presence that unnerves me. What's more, her family bears a rather dark history, one that I fear I cannot completely overlook. They are descendents of a woman who was accused of witchcraft in Lancashire. She was proven innocent, but I cannot help but wonder still Does darkness run through the veins of her female lineage? Sometimes I see Miss Huntington's eyes gleam in a way that makes me wonder and worry.

A light rap on my study door disturbed my thoughts.

"Enter," I called out.

My butler, Mr. Shrewsbury, poked his gray-haired head around the edge of the door.

"The new innkeeper, Mr. Braxton, is here to see you my lord. I have put him and his daughter in the red drawing room."

"Thank you, Shrewsbury." Relief poured through me.

Finally, an excuse to escape the accounts. I am interested in meeting Mr. Braxton. Since he is a new resident to the town, it is important that I meet with the man and establish good relations with him.

I pushed back my chair and stood, checking my appearance. My trousers were clean, my waistcoat unwrinkled, a veritable miracle given that I'd spent the last few hours slumped over my desk during my labors. With a hasty hand run through my hair, I was satisfied I looked suitable for company and headed toward the drawing room.

It is my favorite room, one full of light and color. It boasts of a fair amount of books and paintings of my family from years before. A pair of love seats face each other with a small table next to each where a tea tray could be placed for visitors. When I entered, I found Mr. Braxton perched on one of the two love seats. A maid set a tray of tea and biscuits on the table next to him.

"My lord!" Braxton got to his feet immediately, a genuine smile on his face. With ruddy cheeks and a muscled figure barely concealed by his tailored waistcoat, Braxton was a fit and amiable man.

"Welcome to my home, Mr. Braxton. I am delighted you were able to come and meet with me." I immediately sought out the man's daughter, expecting a plump, whey-faced creature. The woman stood in the far corner with her back to me as she admired my books.

My first thought was how lovely her figure was. When she turned to face me, my heart stopped. The world came to an abrupt halt. I couldn't breathe. She was so beautiful, something deep in my chest began to hurt. There was a fire in her eyes and warmth in her smile. The blush in her cheeks was becoming, and the dark curls that framed her face accented her creamy skin. I was lost to her in that moment. I wondered if I could ever want another woman except her.

"My lord." Miss Braxton's voice was husky and a little breathless, as though she was reacting to me much in the same way I reacted to her. I hoped so. I did not wish to be the only one so completely affected.

"Miss Braxton, it is a pleasure." I strode up to her and bent over the hand she offered hesitantly. I pressed a kiss to her skin. The scent of rosewater filled my nose. The delicate perfume was a perfect accent to the woman who wore it.

"Thank you for extending an offer to visit." Mr. Braxton appeared at his daughter's side, reminding me that Miss Braxton and I were not alone, no matter how much I might wish we were.

"Of course. Please sit." I gestured to the settees, and we all took our seats.

I spent the next hour conversing with Braxton about Weymouth and how best to settle in with the local folk. Unlike many of the other inns in the county, Braxton's accommodations were of a higher quality, and many aristocrats would likely wish to stay at the new inn as they passed through on their way to the other parts of England. Despite the conversation distracting me, I managed to keep my eyes on Miss Braxton. I relished the way she kept glancing at my books with keen interest. I suspected she must be a lady who enjoyed reading and wasn't merely a fair-faced creature with no real thoughts in her head. Women with no interests and no intellectual pursuits held no appeal for me.

As the conversation came to its natural end, I bid my guests good-bye with the invitation for them to return on the morrow for dinner. As I watched Miss Braxton and her father depart, a piece of my soul seemed to separate from my body and accompany her home. I had never felt such a kindred spirit in anyone, man or woman. Come the morrow, I knew I would be desperate for a glimpse of her. Dinner could not come soon enough.