Calder Promise by Janet Dailey

with it.”
    Tara regarded him with utter amazement. “Your announcement has been such a surprise that the proper way to address you has completely flown from my mind. Is it ‘Your Lordship’?”
    “Sebastian will do,” he replied.
    “That’s good to hear,” Boone stated, “considering our country successfully fought a war to rid ourselves of such pointless necessities.”
    Laura noticed the hard gleam of challenge in Boone’s eyes and knew he regarded Sebastian as a rival. With some justification, she was forced to admit.
    “Ah yes, the rebellion of the colonies,” Sebastian murmured with a touch of drollery. “Fortunately, that war was over some time ago.” He extended a hand. “Welcome to Crawford Hall, Mr. Rutledge.”
    “Thank you.” Boone briefly grasped his hand, his fingers automatically tightening in a show of strength.
    If Sebastian felt any pain, he didn’t show it, and he turned to Max, again offering his hand. “And I welcome you as well, Mr. Rutledge.”
    “Better make it Max.” He released Sebastian’s hand almost before his fingers closed around it. “It will be too confusing this weekend if you persist in calling us both Mr. Rutledge. First names will be easier.”
    “I agree.” Sebastian nodded, then swept all of them with a glance. “Why don’t we go inside and I’ll show you to your rooms? No doubt you would welcome the opportunity to freshen up after your drive. Ladies.” He gestured for Laura and Tara to lead the way, then addressed Max. “As you will note, the steps have a side ramp that will accommodate your wheelchair. I’ll have my man Grizwold see that your luggage is delivered to your rooms.”
    Once inside, Laura managed no more than a quick glance around the stone-floored entryway with its heavy woodwork before her attention was claimed by a young, ruddy-cheeked man, not much more than thirty, clad in a dark suit and tie.
    “Good afternoon, ladies.” He greeted them with a half-bow, his smile pleasant but reserved.
    “You must be Grizwold,” Laura guessed.
    “Indeed I am,” he acknowledged, all but clicking his heels.
    “I assume you are the butler,” she further surmised.
    “I have been trained as one,” he stated as the rest of the party arrived in the entrance hall.
    “Here at Crawford Hall, Grizwold’s duties tend to go beyond the scope of a butler,” Sebastian inserted, making it clear he had overheard part of their conversation. “Obviously we no longer have the large staff that once ran the place. But you may be interested to know that he represents the fifth generation of Grizwolds to work here.”
    “It sounds like the Triple C,” Laura remarked, shooting a quick glance at Tara, then explaining, “Most of the people who work at the ranch today are descendants of the original ranch hands.”
    “And the tradition continues,” Sebastian murmured on a thoughtful note, then pulled himself back to the present. “I promised to direct you to your rooms. Grizwold, will you show Mr. Rutledge to the lift? It’s an old and noisy contraption,” he said to Max, “but I assure you it is in excellent working order.”
    “This way, sir.” Grizwold gestured to a wide hall, one of several that branched off the entryway.
    Manipulating the control stick, Max sent the chair rolling in that direction, trailed by his burly valet.
    “We’ll take the stairs,” Sebastian said and led the way to the massive staircase that swept up to the second floor. Built of oak, it had been darkly stained, and time had deepened its color to a blacker shade of brown.
    Laura trailed a hold along the railing, its wood satin-smooth to the touch, evidence of the many hands that had made use of its support over the years. As she climbed the steps, she lifted her gaze to the smattering of old tapestries and gilt-framed paintings that adorned the walls of the second-floor landing.
    “The house is much larger than it appeared from the outside,” Tara remarked. “When was it