Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(14)

She swallowed. “Yes?”

“Ah.” He stood at last, and she saw that he was only a few inches taller than she. “I’m William Albright, the Earl of Angrove.”

Belatedly she dipped into a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She didn’t tack on Father, because she suspected it wouldn’t be welcome from “the other one.”

“You do resemble Joanna.” He examined her with what looked like dispassion. “No wonder Martha thought you might be Cecilia.”

Might? Everyone else seemed certain she was Cecilia.

Mary felt sweat start on the small of her back. Did the earl himself think she was an impostor?

He rounded the desk. “I suppose I must call you Cecilia.”

“Only if you wish,” Mary murmured, trying—and probably failing—not to sound sarcastic.

If the earl noticed her tone, he made no indication. “I find it difficult to believe the baby survived.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Oh, I know that Martha held out hope, but I never did. It’s been twenty years, after all.”

Mary wasn’t entirely certain what to reply to this. At last she settled on, “I’m surprised as well.”

He grunted. “Blackwell found you in a bookshop, did he?”

She nodded.

“I understand that you were a maidservant in Lord Caire’s household. Were you treated well?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Lady Caire has always been the kindest and most loving of mistresses. I really couldn’t have hoped for a better position.”

“Good. Good. Yes, well…,” the earl replied, trailing off. He glanced at his desk. “I’m afraid I still have letters to write. As a rule I dislike being disturbed before six of the clock.”

“I-I’m sorry to have interrupted you.” She pressed her fingernails into her palms to keep from displaying disappointment at his cool dismissal. “I was on my way to the sitting room, but I’m not sure exactly where it is.”

He nodded and strode toward the door behind her.

She turned and saw a large mirror framed in fantastic gilt curls hanging beside the door.

They were both reflected in it.

The earl paused. “See here.” He gestured to their reflections. “You have the look not only of Joanna but of myself.”

He was right. Mary caught her breath as she gazed at the mirror. Her eyes were the same shape and color as the earl’s. What was more, her high forehead and rounded chin were his, as was her straight nose.

The earl said thoughtfully, “You have the Albright eyes, same as my father and his father before him. Breeds true in our family, make no mistake.”

Our family. Mary caught her breath at the words.

“You’re an Albright all right,” he continued carelessly. “The only question is whether or not you’re Cecilia Albright.” He went to the doorway and gestured down the hall. “Continue that way. The last door in the corridor leads to the gray sitting room.”

With that he reentered his study and shut the door.

Mary inhaled shakily and started down the hallway again. What did the earl mean that she was an Albright but possibly not Cecilia? Were there other missing Albrights?

And more importantly, if he decided she wasn’t Cecilia, would he toss her back out again?

Was all this upheaval for naught?

The hallway was lined on one side with windows that overlooked the road at the front of the house. As Mary passed one she looked down and saw Lord Blackwell dismounting from his chestnut mare. She slowed to watch as he walked to the mare’s head, catching her bridle and murmuring something to her. His raven’s-wing head was bent to the mare, and the horse swiveled her ears as if she were listening to what he said.

His movements were sure and gentle, his broad hand stroking the glossy neck. He chuckled when the horse tossed her head at him, and Mary knew:

Lord Blackwell loved that horse.

The thought sent a tickling feeling down her spine. Odd. She’d not considered him the sort of man to care so tenderly for an animal. He’d seemed vain and arrogant to her in the bookshop.

But she really didn’t know him, did she?

She wanted to know him. The realization was sudden and complete. She wanted to find out how the man stroking his mare so tenderly could be the same one who deliberately provoked her into wild emotion.

He glanced up then, as if he’d heard her thoughts, and when he stilled, she knew he’d seen her watching him from the window. He swept her a low bow, and she fought back a smile while at the same time her cheeks warmed.

Shaking her head, Mary turned from the window and continued to the sitting room.

She paused before she entered to run a calming hand down her skirts. Then she opened the door.

The room was obviously called the gray sitting room due to the color of the walls and chairs, both in a calming dove gray accented by white and dark blue. In the middle of the room Lady Angrove and the marchioness sat side by side on a settee, with Jo in a chair nearby.

“Oh, Cece, there you are!” Jo exclaimed. Her sister beamed and stood up to take her hands. “You took so long to come down that I vow I began to believe you were lost.”

“I’m afraid I was,” Mary replied. “I had to get directions from the earl.”

Jo’s eyes widened. “You met Father?”