A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(66)

“By the miller’s pond.”

Soren nodded and took a step as if to go off in the direction of the stables, but then stopped. “The dogs are here.” As if knowing he spoke of them, the hounds milling about came to attention, their tails wagging.

“Toby used them for the past two days. They did not pick up a scent so he’s left them here. He said they were becoming more trouble than help. It doesn’t seem possible that they’d not find any trace of a wee lad,” Elliot said.

“A wee lad who is a heathen,” Arabella answered. “Tell them, my lord. Reassure them. Your son was raised in the woods. It is his natural habitat.”

Cassandra never wanted Soren to have cause to look at her the way he did his mother in that moment. She was surprised the woman could stand the force of that single glare. It would have cut her in two.

But when he spoke, his voice was controlled. “My son does know his way through the woods. It will be what saves him.” He turned and took steps through the crowd to a path leading around the house but then stopped. He looked to Cassandra as if just remembering she was there.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I must go.”

“Yes, you must,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. Find Logan.”

He nodded, distracted, but then said, “Mother, help my wife settle in, or is that too much to expect of you, either?”

Her answer was a thin smile.

“I’ll be fine,” Cassandra informed. “You go.”

Soren set off running toward the stables.

Elliot looked to the servants. “Here now, back to our work. Susan, come with me and let us properly greet our lady.”

A young maid with fresh good looks and chestnut hair tucked neatly away under her mobcap followed in his wake as he approached Cassandra. He bowed. “My lady, it is unfortunate that we have not been able to greet you properly. I’m Elliot, my lord’s butler. I’ve served his family for two generations. I’m proud to be of service to you.”

“Thank you, Elliot,” Cassandra said. “This news upon my lord’s return is very upsetting. He was most anxious to see his son.” It certainly had rattled her.

“Aye, my lady, we’ve been distraught.”

Arabella hadn’t been.

In fact, she was no longer at the doorway. Apparently, she saw no reason to welcome Cassandra.

“You will see to the driver?” Cassandra asked Elliot. She didn’t have any money.

Before the butler could answer, the driver said, “Don’t worry yourself, my lady. The horses and I need a rest before we return. I’ll settle with Lord Dewsberry after he finds his child.”

“Thank you.” To the butler, she said, “You’ll ensure the driver is treated well. Now, please, show me into the house and then do what you can for my lord.”

It was the right sentiment. Elliot gave a nod as if he thought she was a game one. Cassandra recalled now how everyone had an opinion in Cornwall, from the fishwife to the highest lord, and approval was always good. “This is Susan,” he said. “She’ll be your maid and see you settled in as our lord requested.”

Susan bobbed a curtsey. She shook a little as she did it, as if she feared doing it right. “My lady.”

“Thank you, Susan.” Cassandra kept her voice low and warm. “You have served a lady before?”

“No, my lady.”

“It is of little import. We will do fine,” Cassandra assured her, and was rewarded with a shy smile that was quickly schooled away as if she’d been warned about proper manners.

Another servant approached. By the keys hanging from a cord tied to the waist of her brown day dress with its high neckline, she had to be the housekeeper. Elliot introduced them. “This is Mrs. Branwell.”

Mrs. Branwell’s curtsey was more relaxed. “My lady. Welcome to Pentreath. If there is anything you wish to know about the house, I am at your service.”

“Thank you. I’m well aware that we arrived at a critical time. I, too, wish to find my lord’s son. Go on, Elliot, do what you must to help the search. Mrs. Branwell, Susan, show me to my rooms. I would appreciate a tour of the house, but let us wait for that until things are settled.”

“Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Branwell said. She was a good and officious housekeeper. Did they come in any other form? “Please, follow me. Susan, you as well.”

“I will have a lad bring your luggage to you, my lady,” Elliot said.

Before she followed Mrs. Branwell, Cassandra said, “One moment.” She reached into the post chaise for the Maria Edgeworth book. She’d lost one book in a coach and she didn’t wish to lose another.

They entered the house. Two of the hounds started to follow but stopped at the door. “They won’t come in, my lady,” Mrs. Branwell said. “Unless Lord Dewsberry allows them in.”

“Does he do that?”

“Lord Dewsberry is fond of dogs.” There was a beat and then she said, “His mother is not.”

Cassandra could have guessed that answer.

The floor of the main hall was stone with a leaping stag carved into it. The stag of the Yorks. Cassandra had always heard of it but had not thought to see it.

The walls were a deep red with white wainscoting that needed a coat of paint. A display of polearms with different hatchet heads and long, sometimes carved poles lined the walls. It was an impressive entrance.