still not convinced wasn’t also a little unhinged. Intelligence and madness often went hand in hand.
‘Does it matter, as long as we offer you fair price? You can’t possibly live here.’
Her mouth flattened and a light entered her eyes that in a man would have conveyed a distinct physical menace. Perhaps he had misstepped.
‘Do you hear that, Jackson? Here is another man who has an opinion about what I can and cannot do.’
The giant clucked his tongue.
‘I heard, miss. Shame.’
Alan tried not to smile.
‘I dare say now you are going to tell me the last fool who dared do so is buried under the floorboards?’
‘No, but I am very tempted to be able to tell the next fool precisely that. The door is behind you, sir.’
‘Do you really think you could carry out that threat? Or is it just a variation on the age-old cry of the spoilt heiress when her will is thwarted?’
‘You keep a civil tongue in your head around Miss Lily,’ the giant rumbled behind him.
‘Jackson, no!’ she cried out as a bulky hand settled on Alan’s shoulder.
Alan turned in time to intercept the anvil-sized fist heading his way. It wasn’t hard to dodge and the counterblow he delivered to the giant’s solar plexus was more by way of a warning than an attempt to do damage. But clearly this Jackson was in no mood to heed warnings. Even less did he appear to appreciate being tripped and sent sprawling on to the pile of books.
‘Careful of the books,’ the girl cried out with a great deal more concern for them than for her protector. The giant grunted, stood up, dusted himself off, smiled and lunged.
Alan did not in the least mind brawling. He and his friends often indulged in sparring either in the accepted mode at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon or in the much less respectable tavern yards and village greens occasionally set aside for such sport. This giant clearly also appreciated the fancy, but despite, or perhaps because of, his size, he was used to winning by force majeure rather than by skill and it was no great stretch of Alan’s skill to avoid or deflect most of his blows. He was just beginning to enjoy himself and was even considering offering the giant a pause so they could both take off their coats and make the most of this opportunity for some sport when the door opened and an elderly woman entered the library. But her shriek, either of shock or outrage, wasn’t enough to stop Alan’s fist from making contact with the giant’s face.
‘Alan Piers Cavendish Rothwell! What on earth is the meaning of this?’
Luckily the giant fell back under the blow and conveniently tripped over the books again, because the sight of his grandmother dealt Alan the stunning blow his opponent had failed to deliver.
Though they were a mere mile from his childhood home, the last person he had expected to see in the doorway of Hollywell’s library was Lady Jezebel Ravenscar, the only woman on earth he could safely say he despised and who fully reciprocated his disdain and had done so ever since he could remember. The only person whom he disliked more was her thankfully defunct husband, his grandfather and the late and most unlamented Lord Ravenscar.
Before he could absorb and adjust to this ill-fated turn of events, the girl spoke.
‘You needn’t have come, Lady Ravenscar. I merely wanted to see the place before returning to the Hall. Here, Jackson, put your head back and hold this to your nose.’ She wadded up a handkerchief and handed it to the giant.
Alan had no idea what connection existed between his grandmother and this young woman, but he could have told her there was no possible way his grandmother would let her off so lightly. He was right. Lady Ravenscar turned her unsympathetic dark eyes to the young woman.
‘When George Coachman told me you had directed your groom to stop at Hollywell on your way back from Keynsham, I instructed him to come here immediately. While you are a guest in my home, Miss Wallace, you are under my care and that means you cannot dash about the countryside unaccompanied as your departed parents clearly allowed. At the very least you should have taken your maid. You are no longer in the wilds of Brazil or Zanzibar or Timbuktu or wherever—’
‘You were right the first time. Brazil,’ the girl interrupted, her hands clasped in front of her in a parody of the obedient schoolgirl.
‘Brazil. Yes. Well, this is England and young women do not...’
‘Breathe without permission. Yes, I know. My schoolmistresses were very clear about what young women can and cannot do in English society and the latter list is leagues longer than the former. I even started writing them down in a journal. It is a marvel that any of our beleaguered species can still place one foot before the other of our own volition. My parents did me a grave disservice by raising me to be independent and an even graver disservice by dying before I was old enough for people to no longer care that I was.’
She bent to pick up the book Alan had dropped during the brawl and handed it to him.
‘This is yours, I believe. I would have given it to you anyway. There was no need to break poor Jackson’s nose.’
He shoved the book into his coat pocket, keeping a wary eye on his grandmother.
‘It isn’t broken.’
‘Just drew my cork, miss,’ Jackson mumbled behind the handkerchief. ‘Thought you were a toff. You’ll not get over my guard so easy a second time.’
The girl correctly interpreted Alan’s expression.
‘Don’t encourage him, Jackson. This is my house now and I won’t have you silly men brawling in it. There is enough disarray here as it is. If you want to beat each other senseless, kindly step outside.’
‘It’s not your house till after probate,’ Alan couldn’t resist pointing out. ‘We will contact you presently about the sale.’
‘Enough of this,’ Lady Ravenscar announced, ramming her cane into the floor with as much force as the girl had smashed the mace into the worn floorboards. ‘What is all this about a sale? And where are you going, Alan?’
‘Back to Hades, Jezebel. You needn’t worry I was thinking of contaminating the hallowed grounds of the Hall with my presence. That’s the beauty of your husband forcing my father to break the entail. Believe me, I am as glad to be shot of the Hall as you are of me.’
‘Nanny Brisbane is ill. I dare say if you are already in the vicinity, she would be grateful if you would show a modicum of respect and visit her.’ Lady Ravenscar’s tones were dismissive, but she didn’t move from her position in the doorway. She didn’t have to because he stopped in his tracks. Once again she had dealt him a very effective blow.
‘Nanny Brisbane is ill?’
The girl glanced from him to his grandmother, her brow furrowed.
‘Are you the rakehell?’
‘Lily Wallace!’ Lady Ravenscar all but bellowed and the girl shrugged.
‘Sorry, the black sheep. Mrs Brisbane contracted the fever as well, but she is mending. Still, she would likely be happy for a visit, unless you mean to scowl at her like that and go around bashing things. You can’t possibly be her Master Alan, you don’t look in the least like the miniature of you and Catherine she keeps on her mantel, but then those are never very good likenesses.’
Alan abandoned the effort to determine if she was mad or not and moved towards the door again.
‘I will see Nanny before I continue to Bristol.’
Lady Ravenscar hesitated and then moved aside to let him pass.
‘Catherine and Nicola would no doubt expect you to pay your respects as well.’
He didn’t stop.
‘I don’t need lessons from you on family