Cousin Adelaide snorted.
Imogen sipped her tea. He was behaving quite true to the character she had assigned him. Women needed men to keep them in line. She did not answer him. Neither did Aunt Lavinia.
“As I thought,” he said curtly. “No upper limit has been set. No plan has been made. And so I must learn to share my drawing room and perhaps my dining room and library and private apartments with a growing number of unappealing felines and canines, mustn’t I?”
“The second housekeeper’s room has been set up for them, Cousin Percy,” Aunt Lavinia said.
“With bars on the windows and doors?” he asked. “And are they always kept there? When they do not escape in a body, that is, and find more comfortable accommodation here? And how does the second housekeeper like sharing her room with them?”
“There is no second housekeeper,” she said. “I am not sure there ever has been. I certainly do not remember any such person. There are no bars on the windows. And they cannot stay there all the time. They need exercise. And affection.”
He looked back down at Hector.
“Affection,” he said, disgust clear in his tone. But the dog took one step forward and rested his chin on the earl’s thigh. It was the first time to Imogen’s knowledge that Hector had voluntarily touched any human. He obviously was not a very discerning dog. The earl addressed him sternly. “You are not planning to become attached to me, are you? You may forget it without further ado if you are. You would get nothing whatsoever in return. Pleading looks do nothing for me. I do not have a soft female heart.”
“Now there is a surprise,” Cousin Adelaide rumbled into her teacup.
The earl removed Hector’s chin from his leg after rubbing his fingers over the dog’s one whole ear for a few moments, and got to his feet.
“We will discuss the matter further, ma’am,” he said, looking down upon Aunt Lavinia. “I will not have Hardford Hall turned into an animal refuge, even in my absence. And if there is some other chair lurking in a little-used room or tucked away somewhere in an attic that is more comfortable than the one on which I have been sitting, almost any other chair, in fact, I would be much obliged to you if it could be fetched to replace this one before I am required to sit here again. Perhaps you would pass on my compliments to the cook on the superior quality of the scones. I shall see you all again at dinner. Cousin Lavinia? Cousin Imogen? Mrs. Ferby?”
He bowed to each of them and left the room.
Hector whined once and lay down close to the vacated chair.
“God’s gift to the female half of the species,” Cousin Adelaide said.
“I suppose he is right, though,” Aunt Lavinia said with a heavy sigh. “We women are impractical because we have hearts. Not that men do not, but they feel things differently. They do not feel the suffering around them, or, if they do, they know how to harden their hearts when it has nothing to do with them.”
“The Earl of Hardford,” Imogen said, “is definitely a man without a heart, Aunt Lavinia. I would be willing to take an oath on it. He is an ill-humored man who thinks no one will notice his nastiness if he turns on a bit of charm when it suits him.”
She hated to find herself in agreement with Cousin Adelaide, but that man had severely ruffled her feathers. His charm was skin-deep at best, and it was a thin skin.
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Lavinia said, taking another scone. “I would not say that, Imogen.”
“I would,” her cousin said.
4
The earl’s apartments, as might have been expected, had the place of honor at the center front of the upper story of the house. They afforded the best view of any room—a panoramic prospect across lawns and flower beds to a band of gorse bushes and cliffs and the sea below stretching to infinity. It was a truly magnificent sight.
It turned Percy’s knees weak with sheer terror.
His bedchamber was also damp, he discovered the first night when he lay down upon noticeably soggy sheets. The housekeeper was horrified and mystified and apologetic. She had checked the sheets with her own hands before they were put upon his bed, she assured his lordship, and so had her ladyship. But damp they now were, and she could not deny the evidence when confronted with it.
“Perhaps,” Percy suggested, “it is the mattress itself that is damp.”
Mattress and sheets and blankets were changed by one hefty footman and an army of maids, all of whom had no doubt been rousted out of their beds so that their master might sleep without drowning.