LITMIR.BIZ

       December 1813

      Adam Royston St Vire, Viscount Graystone and heir to the Earl of Portmaine, squeezed the bridge of his nose and once more applied himself to the column of figures in the dusty old ledger. Again his vision blurred. The linenfold panelling darkened by age, the dingy carpet and old oak furniture seemed to swallow what little winter sunshine filtered through the library’s mullioned window. Perhaps another candle would help.

      Stiff from the lack of warmth in this benighted old manor house, despite the blazing fire he’d lit, he arched his back and stretched his cramped hand. The ledgers told a sorry tale. Old Cousin Josiah had neglected Thornton for years. A large investment was needed to bring it up to scratch and even then… Portmaine had no need of such a drain on its coffers. A quick sale was what he would recommend to his father.

      He rubbed at his nape. Paperwork. He hated it.

      The old restlessness seized him. He eyed the brandy bottle he’d picked up with other supplies on his way through the local village the previous day. Brandy would not help him complete his task more quickly, even if it did dull his urge to move on. His duty, to his father and to the estate, required that he finish this up before going home for Christmas.

      The thought of home, of being the subject of sympathetic eyes and concerned faces, made his stomach curl in on itself. Worse yet would be the matchmaking efforts made by his mother. She’d written, warning him of the young lady and her family invited for the holidays. He didn’t blame his mother for her stratagems to see him leg-shackled once more. She didn’t understand that he was perfectly content to leave the business of providing the next Portmaine heir to one of his younger brothers. Marriage was out of the question.

      Damn it all, he did not want to think about his dead wife. It hurt too much. Especially at this time of year. Marion had loved Christmas. She’d loved life. And had he been a better husband, paid attention to his duty, she would have lived to enjoy this one.

      Anger and regret churned vilely in his stomach. It always did when he allowed thoughts of Marion to slip into his mind. His fingers clenched around his pen. The urge to hurl it across the room had his hand trembling. He dipped it in the inkwell instead, forcing his mind back to Sir Josiah’s account books.

      Figures never let him down. They always did exactly as required. If they weren’t right, they could be fixed. Unlike people. He peered at the crabbed line of explanations beside each number and grimaced. At least the mess Cousin Josiah had left him provided a reasonable excuse to put off his return to Portmaine for a few days longer. He began tallying the column again.

      ‘You do it,’ a high-pitched voice said right outside the window that looked over the sweep of drive.

      ‘No, you. It was your idea. And you are the oldest.’

      Female voices of the cultured sort. Too young to pose any sort of matrimonial threat, thank the sweet heavens.

      The doorbell clanged.

      He ignored it. Since Josiah’s servants had been pensioned off—all but the stable boy—and Adam had sent his own man home for the holidays, there was no one to answer the door. He certainly wasn’t expecting visitors. The solicitor who had given him the key had asked if Adam wanted to hire a housekeeper or some such from the nearby village, but he’d declined, given the shortness of his planned stay.

      The doorbell pealed again. Not deterred, then. He sighed, rose to his feet and headed into the chilly cave of the entrance hall. He pulled the door open at the same moment the taller of two young females reached for the bell. She lurched into his belly with a cry of alarm.

      He steadied her, set her back on her feet and glared down. ‘What do you want?’

      The smaller child disappeared behind her elder, peeping out and up at him with large blue eyes framed by pale lashes.

      The elder, a rosy-cheeked brunette with her chin lost in a blue knitted scarf, whom he judged to be about the age of ten, put mittened hands on small hips. ‘We want to see his lordship.’ Her breath puffed out from her lips in a frosty mist.

      How had they discovered his presence at Thornton House? He glared harder. ‘And who is it who wants to see his lordship?’ he growled.

      The little one disappeared again, but the older girl drew herself up straight like a soldier on parade. He couldn’t help but admire her fortitude. There wasn’t a groom in his stables who didn’t falter when he was in what they called one of his moods.

      ‘I am Miss Lucy Melford, and this is my sister, Diana.’ She spoke carefully, as if she had learned the words by rote yet needed to think about them. ‘We wish to see Lord Graystone on a very important matter, if you would be pleased to announce us.’

      An odd feeling rose in his throat. His lips twitched with the urge to smile at this small package of self-importance. She reminded him of his sisters at that age, appearing as brave as lions when they were terrified. He hunkered down, bringing himself to eye level with the imperious little baggage. ‘His lordship isn’t at home.’

      Miss Melford turned to her sibling. ‘They say that when they don’t want to see anyone.’

      Miss Diana whispered from her place of safety, ‘I told you we shouldn’t come.’

      Adam couldn’t resist. ‘Why did you?’

      The elder young lady regarded him thoughtfully, probably trying to decide if he was an ally or a foe. ‘We have an important question to ask.’

      ‘Lucy! Diana!’ a breathless female voice called out.

      Adam rose to his six foot four inches and regarded the third female hurrying up his drive towards him. An adult female in a drab-looking pelisse of some indeterminate brown colour and a faded black bonnet, which was about all he could see of her as she watched where she placed her feet on the snow-covered drive. Amusement fled. Gads, he should have known little girls would come accompanied by older versions. Governesses and mothers and such. Dangerous territory for a man alone, single and planning to stay that way.

      He began to close the door as she arrived alongside the children.

      The governess, or whatever she was, looked up, a frown on her face. ‘Girls. I told you not to bother his lordship.’

      Adam’s breath caught in his throat. Because she was…so unexpectedly young. No one would describe her face, with cheeks deliciously flushed by the chill December

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