sound of purity. Unblemished laughter.
If only she’d stepped into the opening so he could have seen her. He drew a fist up and put his elbow against the side of the carriage, feeling cramped in the close quarters, but still unable to put her from his mind.
At the soirées and society events he attended, he never paused to look at the innocent ones sheltered by the chaperons. Work did not stop because the sun set and the music started.
A smile might be halfway on his face, but he put it on much like he did his cravat. He preferred building an empire over having a nice bit of fluff hanging on his arm. The fluff was a weakness for a man who needed adoring eyes gazing up at him in order to build his image of himself.
Barrett closed his mind to the woman, moving his focus to how he would renovate Carson’s shop, thinking of the light fixtures, and updates to bring the business out of the seventeen hundreds.
As the carriage slowed at his home, he opened the door before the vehicle came to a complete stop, then jumped free in the last seconds of movement, letting the door swing behind him, knowing the driver would shut it if needed.
He bounded up the stairs to his chamber, forcing his mind to the world around him. In his room, he tossed his coat and upper garments on to the chair he used when donning his boots. The woman’s laughter returned to his memory. His trousers landed on the table that framed the foot of the bed. He stretched, head back, eyes closed, arms at his side, fists clenched, reliving each second of the moments she had stood outside the door.
A thump and crash switched his movements into action. He grabbed his dressing gown, throwing it on, the collar on one side folding under at his shoulder. He tied the sash as he rushed from the doorway and up the stairs to his father’s room.
Even in the darkness, the shape lying on the floor didn’t surprise him.
He reached down, fisted one hand on his father’s shirt, the other on the back of the loose trousers, and lifted the wiry shape almost without effort. He only stumbled when he put his bare foot down on a bottle.
In a few strides, he stood at the bedside, and tossed his father on to the bed.
Without turning, he acknowledged the footsteps he’d heard behind him. ‘Summers—somehow see he is bathed tomorrow. And air out this room, if possible.’
‘Yes.’ Summers sauntered to Barrett’s side. Neither man moved for a moment.
Barrett thought of the morning’s antics. He tilted his head up so he could watch the servant’s eyes. ‘Has the maid recovered?’
‘She’s fine. Just a fright. She understands.’
Summers, who only had two speeds—slow and blink-fast—was the only man who’d ever been close to besting Barrett in a brawl and it had taken Barrett longer to recover than he’d wished.
‘We can’t leave him alone any time at all. He’ll burn down the house or attack one of the smaller servants.’ Absently, Barrett clasped his left hand over his right fist, tracing the scars.
‘He was asleep when I left him with the maid.’ Summers had no emotion in his voice.
‘Or pretending...’ Barrett stopped. ‘If you absolutely must leave him in the future, make sure he has at least two people with him. You and I are the only ones to be allowed alone here. He’s stronger than he looks. Always has been.’
‘He’s begun to get loud. Shout out the window. The neighbours...’
‘Do the best you can. And don’t turn your back on him. Ever.’ Barrett felt the weight of his decision. The sensible thing would be to have his father confined. And he couldn’t understand why he didn’t do it. It wasn’t as if he particularly cared for the man.
‘For now, just let him be and keep the women away from him.’ He paused. ‘Go back to bed. I’ll sit with him for the rest of the night, but I doubt he’ll as much as roll over. He’ll be having pleasant dreams.’ Dreams of taking food from the mouths of others, perhaps. Or using a lit candle, planning to catch a dog’s fur on fire. He’d only tried that once, though. Barrett looked at the scar that ran along the side of his forefinger to his thumb and covered his first knuckle.
What other people considered nightmares, his father considered fairy tales.
‘A brandy before you retire, sir?’ Summers asked.
Barrett shook his head and ran one hand through his locks. Then he pulled out the collar bunched at his neck, straightening it. ‘Not if this is what it might do to me. If one of the maids is about, you might send her up with tea.’
He heard Summers leave, then Barrett turned, walked to the overstuffed chair, righted it and sat. He’d almost asked Summers to put a pillow over his father’s face. But he couldn’t say for certain Summers wouldn’t do it.
His thoughts drifted to the innocent laughter he’d heard earlier in the day. His brother would jest at him if Gavin knew he thought of the woman. Gavin had been right. The Carson daughter did pique Barrett’s interest. But no matter.
He closed his eyes, rested his head against the upholstery of the chair and imagined a world filled with the gentle laughter that he’d heard.
* * *
Annie raised her head at the sound of the knock. ‘Come in,’ she said, holding her place in the book.
Her father peered around the door. ‘Dearest, we’re going to have a guest and you’ll need to stay in the floor above this one.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Is my aunt bringing friends?’
‘No. This is a visitor. A man. I do business with him.’ Her father stood, feet planted, his voice persuasion soft.
‘A visitor? One?’ She stared at his face. ‘And I’m to move?’
Her father nodded, his jaw working sideways.
The rose room was empty. In fact, both of her sisters’ rooms were vacant. Honour was in Scotland and Laura had married a man who’d courted her through letters.
‘Besides, you are getting older now and it will be comfortable for you to have your own storey.’
‘I’m to stay above?’ She glanced at her book, not really seeing it, and then looked again at his face. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Very.’ He nodded, his lips thinning. ‘Our guest is a man. His father, the Viscount, is ill and our guest handles the duties for the family. I want you to stay from underfoot, Annie. While he’s here at least. We’ll be discussing important matters. You must not be a distraction for me.’ His face relaxed. ‘Please, dearest. He and I will be busy. He wants to change the chandlery shops. He thinks the improvements I planned are not the right ones.’
She paused, studying her father’s face. ‘He’s a viscount’s son?’
Her father kept his mouth closed while he gave a quick nod. ‘Yes. But not an important one.’
‘Not an important one?’ She leaned forward, trying to figure out what her father was thinking.
‘No. A title is not everything.’ He checked his pocket watch. ‘It’s a lot. But not everything.’
Annie opened her mouth. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that.’
‘Well, it’s not that I didn’t want your sisters to marry well. I admit it. I admit it freely. And I do want you to have the opportunity they squandered. But this man, well, he is not marriage minded.’
‘I’m not either.’
‘Bite your tongue.’ He put the watch back in his pocket, the chain dangling. ‘Marriage is everything. The right marriage is everything. And your sisters did not understand. You will do us all proud and wed someone who will bring respect to the family.’
He lowered his chin and looked at her as if looking down