Rapture Becomes Her by Shirlee Busbee

said idly, but the expression in his azure eyes was anything but idle. “A sprite and an Amazon,” he continued. “Which one has caught your fancy?”
    “Neither,” Barnaby replied, tucking in his shirt. “Considering the situation, offering them shelter seemed the gentlemanly thing to do.”
    “And that’s all that prompted your actions? Politeness?” Barnaby grinned at him. “Why, what else could it have been?”
    Lamb snorted and handed him a freshly laundered cravat. “There is certainly a bevy of females in your life lately. First those Gilbert women and now these two damsels.”
    “Happenstance. But don’t forget I owe the Gilberts a huge debt. Not only for nursing me, but now they’ve helped me recover Blazer.”
    Watching critically as Barnaby hastily tied his cravat in a simple arrangement, Lamb asked, “Do you believe this Faith’s story? That she just happened to find your horse in the hands of a horse trader?”
    Barnaby glanced over his shoulder. “It makes sense. I think whoever tried to murder me sold Blazer at a bargain price to the horse trader. And I don’t doubt that my gig is in various pieces scattered between here and London or has been repainted and refurbished and is being driven around London by a new owner thrilled with the exceptional buy he made. So to answer your question, yes, I believe Faith’s story.” His eyes gleamed. “You’ve not yet had the privilege of meeting any of the Gilberts. I think you will find Mrs. Gilbert, er, impressive and her daughters charming.”
    “You trust them?”
    Barnaby nodded as he sat down and began pulling on a pair of gleaming black boots. “I do.” Standing up, he shrugged into the bottle-green jacket with brass buttons that Lamb handed him. “And since you seem to doubt my judgment,” he added with a grin, “you should meet them and form your own opinion.”
    Following Barnaby as he walked from the room Lamb muttered, “I intend to do just that.”
     
    The previous squire and the seventh viscount had been good friends and both Anne and Emily had been frequent visitors to Windmere. Aware of the many grand rooms housed within the huge mansion and despite having repaired the worst of the damage from their ordeal, feeling worn and bedraggled, both ladies were relieved when Peckham showed them into the morning room.
    A cheery fire burned on the old brick hearth and the soft shades of the rugs and chintz-covered furnishings created a cozy atmosphere. A teapot and a silver urn full of hot coffee sat at one end of the golden oak sideboard and several plates covered with a variety of meats, cheese, breads, pickles and relishes were laid out along its length. An oyster stew prepared for milord’s return this evening filled a big tureen at the opposite end of the sideboard.
    Peckham hovered over them. After seating them at the table and pouring cups of coffee, he filled two bowls of oyster stew and placed them with a flourish before the women. Without asking their preferences, he piled two plates high with items from the sideboard and set them on the table.
    He would have continued to wait on them, but longing to be left alone, Emily said firmly, “Thank you. We can see to ourselves.”
    He bowed and murmured, “If you are sure . . . ?”
    “No, thank you,” Anne said politely. “We’ll be fine.” After he left the two women exchanged glances. “I must say, he seems very . . . efficient, ” Anne said kindly.
    “I much preferred Bissell,” Emily said, taking a sip of coffee.
    “He is a dear man, isn’t he?” Anne said. “I still don’t understand why Mathew thought he should be replaced after his great-uncle died. I would have thought that should have been the new heir’s decision.”
    “You forget—Mathew thought he was the heir. And it wasn’t Mathew who suggested that Bissell retire—it was Thomas.”
    Anne frowned slightly. “Isn’t Thomas the middle brother? Or is he the youngest one? They all look so much alike I