What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(42)
They worked tirelessly in the attic. Colin set the paintings of his grandparents aside, along with one of his father. Angeline found one of him holding a puppy. “I love this one of you.”
“Ah, Spotty,” he said. “He was a good dog.”
“How old were you in this portrait?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can tell it is you.”
“No, you cannot,” he said.
“Of course I can. I would know those curls anywhere.”
He laughed. “I used to go along for the shooting with my father and grandfather. Spotty would fetch any birds they hit, which wasn’t very often. Our fathers are truly the worst shots in England.”
She laughed. “Was there a portrait of your parents?”
“These are the only ones I’ve found. The others are probably stored at Deerfield.”
He’d saved only a few items in one trunk, including the correspondence they’d forgotten to take yesterday after their heated exchange.
He opened another trunk and said little as he piled crates high with pewter dishes, clocks, bottles, candles, sheets, brushes, shaving accoutrements, soap, and old clothing. There was more, but it all seemed like a blur to her. The detritus of another lifetime filled the room.
When Agnes entered the attic much later, Angeline stood and realized her arms were a bit sore from the work. She removed her gloves and addressed Agnes. “Have you finished cleaning the furnishings in the bedchambers?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You might as well take your meal with John.”
“I took the liberty earlier. Didn’t want to disturb you, my lady.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Agnes.”
“If it pleases you, I’d be glad to test the range in the fireplace. I found sand for the floor.”
Angeline blinked. “Sand?”
“Yes, my lady. It’s for catching any sparks and preventing fires.”
She was a scullery maid and would know such things. Angeline looked at Colin. “Do you have any reservations?”
He opened another trunk. “Agnes, I presume you have experience?”
“Yes, my lord. It’s my job to start the fire in the kitchen and fireplaces at Deerfield.”
Colin dusted his hands. “Ring the bell if there’s a problem, even a minor one. Safety first.”
“Yes, my lord.” She bobbed a curtsy and left.
“That will save us the bother of bringing Cook here,” Angeline said.
Colin took out his watch. “It’s after two o’clock. You must be starving.”
She smiled. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, this is hard work,” he said. “I fear this is a fool’s errand.”
“I disagree,” she said. “You found portraits, and the items in the crates will find good homes. We will find the miniature. It’s bound to be here somewhere.”
His smile faded. “There are only two trunks left.”
She must keep positive for his sake. “Well, we just haven’t rummaged in the right trunk yet.”
He sighed. “Let’s repair to the breakfast parlor. I don’t want you to swoon from hunger.”
She scoffed. “I’ve never swooned in my life, and I do not plan to start now.”
He put his hands on his hips. “And deprive me of rescuing you?”
“No doubt it has escaped your notice, but I’m not one of those dainty, petite ladies. You’re likely to put your back out.”
A devilish gleam entered his eyes as he advanced on her. “You think I’m too weak to pick you up?”
“Do not be ridiculous.”
“You say that frequently,” he said, cornering her.
“Stop that nonsense. I’m hungry.”
He caught her by the waist. She squeaked when he put her over his shoulder. “Put me down.”
“Say please.”
“I’m going to kick you. One…two…”
Her feet hit the floor. She adjusted her bodice and shook her finger. “You will not do that again.”
“By now you should know better than to challenge me.”
“You had better keep an eye over your shoulder. I intend to get even.”
He laughed and led her downstairs to the breakfast parlor. She realized he’d managed to charm her, and she thought how easily she could develop tender feelings for him. In the process, she would look very much the pathetic spinster. No matter what had happened to her, she still had her pride, and she refused to be the object of anyone’s pity.
After they finished their meal, she realized his earlier good mood had disappeared.
“Colin, don’t worry. We will find the miniature.”
“Even if we do, it won’t change anything. Sommerall will pass out of my family.”
“Do you want to visit your mother’s resting place now?”
“No.”
“Perhaps tomorrow?” she said.
“Tomorrow I will give my father notice to sell.”
“You can’t give up,” she said. “You negotiated for six more weeks.”
He sighed. “It won’t change anything,” he said.
His shoulders were slumped and his expression was dispirited. Part of her wanted to encourage him to do everything in his power to retain Sommerall, but he clearly wanted to be done with it forever. She feared he would regret giving up, but it was his decision, not hers.