was being ridiculous. So what if Mr. Runyon was a bit of
a dandy? A cultured man, like Mr. Runyon, paid attention to his
appearance. He did not have the unearthly male beauty, or the sense of
exotic danger that clung to Lord Reynolds, but that did not detract from his
masculinity. Alexandra gave Mr. Runyon’s styled hair another glance and
sighed. She really must quit thinking of Lord Reynolds and comparing the
two men. She had Helmsby Abbey to save. The attractions of a rake
were something she could ill afford.
“As you can probably tell, or smell in
this case, my chef has prepared an outstanding dinner for you this
evening.” He held out his glass for the butler to refill. “I found
Henri quite by accident, cooking in the villa of an impoverished nobleman’s
family in Tuscany. He was about to return to France, since the family could
no longer afford to keep a chef of Henri’s talent. Apparently their
daughter,” Mr. Runyon frowned, “was promised to a wealthy suitor. But the
girl preferred to run away with the estate’s groom. Much to her family’s
horror. The family was counting on the marriage to rescue them from dire
straits.”
“How sad. Did they ever see
their daughter again?” Alexandra asked.
“Alas, no. The daughter was found
dead of a broken neck shortly after she fled her family. The groom
disappeared. The authorities assume he murdered her.” Mr. Runyon
shook his head sadly. “I did what I could to help the old man. In
fact, several of the statues you admired were from his private
collection. I purchased them from him. Paid way too much I’m
afraid.” His smooth brow wrinkled in consternation. “I wish I could
have helped them more. But I did manage to rescue Henri and his marvelous
way with Cornish game hens.” He waved a hand at the tall
butler. “Hobson, please ask Henri if dinner is ready. I cannot have Miss
Dunforth wasting away!”
What a nice man! Alexandra felt the
flash of guilt again. She would make it up to him. She would assist
him in his search for a bride once her uncle’s guardianship ended and Helmsby
Abbey safely in her hands.
Hobson emerged from the shadows by the open
parlor door and nodded respectfully to her host. He turned, staring
at Alexandra. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“That will be all, Hobson, until you call
us for dinner.” Mr. Runyon said softly, though his voice held a hint of
steel.
The butler twitched. He lowered his eyes
to the floor and shuffled from the room.
“Hobson is a decent enough butler,” Mr.
Runyon explained, “but I keep him mostly out of pity. He’s quite simple,
you see.” Mr. Runyon tapped his temple with a finger. “I need to
constantly remind him of his manners. Sometimes he forgets his
status. He is one of life’s unfortunates.”
“Your care of others is apparent in all
you do, Mr. Runyon.” Alexandra took a sip of sherry, letting the cherry
taste slide down her throat. “It speaks well of you to offer such charity
to others.”
Uncle Oliver chuckled from his position
by the fireplace.
Mr. Runyon shot him an ill-concealed look
of dislike.
Uncle Oliver grinned into the
fireplace. Obnoxiously merry this evening, she expected that he was
simply anticipating shoveling a five-course dinner into his mouth.
Alexandra envisioned him choking on the game hen. That would
certainly solve her problems quickly. Odious Oliver grunted, rubbing his
stomach in anticipation.
Mr. Runyon sighed. He threw a look
of disgust in her uncle’s direction.
She knew exactly how he felt.
“I try to be of a service to others when
I can, Miss Dunforth. Especially those less fortunate than myself.”
Alexandra nodded and took another sip of
sherry as she surveyed the room. The art, paintings and knickknacks on display
were all lovely and expensive. She and Mr. Runyon sat on finely
made Chippendale furniture, easy to
a dandy? A cultured man, like Mr. Runyon, paid attention to his
appearance. He did not have the unearthly male beauty, or the sense of
exotic danger that clung to Lord Reynolds, but that did not detract from his
masculinity. Alexandra gave Mr. Runyon’s styled hair another glance and
sighed. She really must quit thinking of Lord Reynolds and comparing the
two men. She had Helmsby Abbey to save. The attractions of a rake
were something she could ill afford.
“As you can probably tell, or smell in
this case, my chef has prepared an outstanding dinner for you this
evening.” He held out his glass for the butler to refill. “I found
Henri quite by accident, cooking in the villa of an impoverished nobleman’s
family in Tuscany. He was about to return to France, since the family could
no longer afford to keep a chef of Henri’s talent. Apparently their
daughter,” Mr. Runyon frowned, “was promised to a wealthy suitor. But the
girl preferred to run away with the estate’s groom. Much to her family’s
horror. The family was counting on the marriage to rescue them from dire
straits.”
“How sad. Did they ever see
their daughter again?” Alexandra asked.
“Alas, no. The daughter was found
dead of a broken neck shortly after she fled her family. The groom
disappeared. The authorities assume he murdered her.” Mr. Runyon
shook his head sadly. “I did what I could to help the old man. In
fact, several of the statues you admired were from his private
collection. I purchased them from him. Paid way too much I’m
afraid.” His smooth brow wrinkled in consternation. “I wish I could
have helped them more. But I did manage to rescue Henri and his marvelous
way with Cornish game hens.” He waved a hand at the tall
butler. “Hobson, please ask Henri if dinner is ready. I cannot have Miss
Dunforth wasting away!”
What a nice man! Alexandra felt the
flash of guilt again. She would make it up to him. She would assist
him in his search for a bride once her uncle’s guardianship ended and Helmsby
Abbey safely in her hands.
Hobson emerged from the shadows by the open
parlor door and nodded respectfully to her host. He turned, staring
at Alexandra. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“That will be all, Hobson, until you call
us for dinner.” Mr. Runyon said softly, though his voice held a hint of
steel.
The butler twitched. He lowered his eyes
to the floor and shuffled from the room.
“Hobson is a decent enough butler,” Mr.
Runyon explained, “but I keep him mostly out of pity. He’s quite simple,
you see.” Mr. Runyon tapped his temple with a finger. “I need to
constantly remind him of his manners. Sometimes he forgets his
status. He is one of life’s unfortunates.”
“Your care of others is apparent in all
you do, Mr. Runyon.” Alexandra took a sip of sherry, letting the cherry
taste slide down her throat. “It speaks well of you to offer such charity
to others.”
Uncle Oliver chuckled from his position
by the fireplace.
Mr. Runyon shot him an ill-concealed look
of dislike.
Uncle Oliver grinned into the
fireplace. Obnoxiously merry this evening, she expected that he was
simply anticipating shoveling a five-course dinner into his mouth.
Alexandra envisioned him choking on the game hen. That would
certainly solve her problems quickly. Odious Oliver grunted, rubbing his
stomach in anticipation.
Mr. Runyon sighed. He threw a look
of disgust in her uncle’s direction.
She knew exactly how he felt.
“I try to be of a service to others when
I can, Miss Dunforth. Especially those less fortunate than myself.”
Alexandra nodded and took another sip of
sherry as she surveyed the room. The art, paintings and knickknacks on display
were all lovely and expensive. She and Mr. Runyon sat on finely
made Chippendale furniture, easy to
Similar Books
