Page 48 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

A siren’s song.

“Well?”

Stonehaven sounded agitated, which was hardly a wonder after another day in the carriage, but Bea knew it was not that which put the edge on his demand.

As the carriage wound its way up the endless driveway, the building loomed before them, looking to her inexperienced eye more like a palace than a home.

“It’s… remarkable,” she said, gathering her courage.

It was just a house, she reminded herself.

A very big house, certainly, likely with as many staff as there were residents of the entirety of Little Valentine.

Well, and had she not organised many events with her father and sisters over the years for those residents?

Had she not smoothed over ruffled feathers and settled disputes?

Not as often as Clemmie, admittedly, but that did not mean that she could not do so.

“Don’t be frightened.”

She turned to look at Stonehaven, touched as he reached for her hand and squeezed it.

The harsh lines of his face were set with tiredness and anxiety.

Not all of that anxiety was for her, she realised.

He was afraid. Afraid he could not manage as he once had, that he had lost his authority along with his sight.

Bea’s heart went out to him. How could she reassure him?

Glancing at her father, who sat opposite, doing his best to pretend he wasn’t there, she sent a silent plea for help.

The reverend smiled and gave her a wink.

“You heard his lordship, Bea. There is no need to look so daunted. I know it will be a challenge for you, but Stonehaven will look after you while you find your feet.”

Oh. Thank you, Papa! She returned a look of profound gratitude as she saw his words register with Stonehaven. He sat up straighter, an air of command settling around him.

“Are you scared, love?” he asked her gently.

“A little, yes,” she admitted, seeing his protective instincts flare at once.

“No one will be unkind to you, that much I promise, else they’ll have me to answer to.

Mrs Jennings is the housekeeper, a no-nonsense lady she is, but she’s kind and will be so pleased to see me married she’ll likely fall to her knees in gratitude when she meets you.

Whately is butler and seems a starchy fellow at first glance, but he’s really not, and Cook is a marvel.

She’s been here since I was a lad. Mrs Pinchine, she’s called, but everyone calls her Pinny.

She makes the most delicious suet puddings, nothing better on a cold day… .”

Bea listened as he described the staff and the house, his voice becoming warmer and surer as he spoke.

It seemed as if he was dispersing ghosts, reminding himself of the people he knew, who knew and esteemed him as a man of honour, as a capable man who would not allow such a setback to diminish him.

“Well, here we are, then,” he said as the carriage rolled to a halt.

A liveried footman leapt to open the door, and Bea really did quail as she saw the entire staff lined up in neat rows on the front steps.

“Mercy me, there must be over a hundred people there,” she whispered.

“It’s all right,” Stonehaven said stoutly. “Give me a moment to get out,” he added, climbing down from the carriage with care, but more agility than she had seen in the past days.

Bea smiled, knowing he was more concerned about her now than how he appeared before his staff. George was there at once, having travelled with the driver of the second carriage that had brought Anne and Izzy, so Stonehaven wasn’t too crowded, which seemed to make travelling worse for him.

Stonehaven straightened, stick in one hand as he held the other out to Bea. “Come, my love. I’ve got you,” he said quietly.

Bea stepped down, aware of the staff’s interested gazes as they got their first glimpse of their new mistress. She knew Stonehaven had sent a messenger ahead of them to warn them he would no longer be arriving at the estate alone.

The housekeeper came forward at once, dipping a low curtsey.

“My lord, on behalf of all the staff at Haven House, might I say how sorry we were to hear of your accident, but how glad we were to discover you were so greatly recovered, and bringing your betrothed home with you. If I might be so bold, we would all like to wish you much happiness.”

“You may, Mrs Jennings, I thank you for your kind words,” Stonehaven replied. “Now, might I make known to you my future marchioness, Miss Beatrice Honeywell.”

There was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice, which made Bea’s throat feel tight, but she greeted the housekeeper calmly, relieved by the warmth and genuine pleasure the woman seemed to take in meeting her.

Next was Whately, a tall fellow with neat greying hair and a lined complexion, whose stern exterior seemed little more than skin deep, for his face cracked into a broad smile as Stonehaven reached out to shake his hand.

“Well done, my lord,” he said in an undertone. “Well done indeed.”

Stonehaven chuckled. “I know it. Luckily for me, I saw her before the accident. Thought her far out of my reach, too. Reckon she feels sorry for me,” he added with a grin that clearly expressed he thought nothing of the sort.

“Lawrence,” Bea chided him, embarrassed.

Pinny seemed a dear creature, if rather overwhelmed by Stonehaven’s fondness for her in front of his wife–to-be. She blushed, giving her face a rosy countenance like a ripe apple, and scolded her employer for dealing in Spanish coin.

“Nonsense, just give us one of your famous suet puddings and Miss Honeywell and the rest of our guests will be as enamoured of you as I am.”

Pinny buried her face in her apron, too flustered to reply.

The introductions seemed to go on forever, but finally Bea had greeted everyone and looked across at Stonehaven to see him grey with fatigue.

“I am quite exhausted,” she said quietly. “Please, might we have a rest before we see any more of the house? It’s all rather overwhelming.”

Stonehaven nodded, his relief palpable. “I’d be glad to,” he admitted. “I’ll have Mrs Jennings show you to your room. George will see to me.”

Bea nodded, only relaxing when she watched George escort Stonehaven into his rooms, certain he would get the rest he required.

Stonehaven smoothed his hand over his face. “You give an excellent shave, George. Where did you learn such a skill? Not the same as shaving yourself, I know.”

“When my father was dying. Proud fellow, he was. Didn’t like being unshaven, so I helped him for the last months of his life. He went to his maker as smart as he did when he went to church. Made it easier to bear.” “I’m sorry. You must have been close.”

“Aye. He was a good man.”

“You’re lucky. Mine was a brute. Not that I’m complaining. I’ve other compensations.”

George chuckled. “Reckon so, my lord.”

“How do I look?” he asked, tugging at his waistcoat.

“Fine as fivepence,” George said, sounding pleased with himself.

Stonehaven grinned. Whilst George professed to have no knowledge of clothes, he took instruction remarkably well and Stonehaven knew what went with what well enough.

The dark blue coat he wore was one he’d always felt suited him, and the buff-coloured waistcoat was simple but elegant.

His neckcloth was another matter. George had no idea how to tie it, so Stonehaven really would have to engage a valet, but in the meantime, he had not made too much of a mull of it himself.

Hopefully, someone would put him to rights if he had, though the idea was rather mortifying.

“Right. Away you go, then, George. You’ll be wanting some dinner, I’ll warrant. Pinny will see to you. I’ll join the others. You said Miss Honeywell had discovered the music room?”

“Yes, my lord, but… alone?” George replied, aghast.

A thrill of fear slid down Stonehaven’s spine, but he nodded.

“It’s my house. Lived here all my life. I know my way about blindfolded, I reckon,” he said casually, which was far from the truth, but he felt sure he could manage the main part of the house.

He really had lived here all his life, after all, and remembered it well.

Providing he did not go exploring, he’d be fine.

“I don’t know, Lord Stonehaven, perhaps—”

“Stop fussing,” Stonehaven said, a touch of irritation creeping into his voice as his own nerves quailed. He did not wish to be too afraid to move about here alone, and he was not about to be a prisoner in his own home. “I’ll be fine, George, I promise,” he added soothingly.

George sighed. “On your head be it,” he grumbled. “But there’s no need to run before you can walk. There’s nowt to prove.”

“Oh, but there is,” Stonehaven said firmly. “I’ll see you later.”

“Right you are,” George said glumly, and Stonehaven waited until he was gone.

Taking a deep breath, Stonehaven firmed his grip on the stick George had made him and walked across to the door.

He discovered he’d missed it by about two feet, but that seemed a minor error as the room was large.

He opened the door, stepped out, and was assailed by the scent of beeswax polish, the astringent tang of vinegar, and the acrid odour of old chimney soot as a draught whistled from the large windows to his left.

He wrinkled his nose, never having remarked such powerful scents before in his own home. It was disconcerting.

He took a few steps forward, startled by the loudness of his boots on the polished wood, the way the sound reverberated, enlarged by the vast space and high ceilings. Intimidated, he stepped back again, reassured to discover the wall was still at his back.

“Courage, Stonehaven,” he told himself crossly, and turned to the right.