A Regency Officer's Wedding: The Admiral's Penniless Bride / Marrying the Royal Marine. Carla Kelly

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       Chapter Eight

      ‘Thirty years, and no one from this neighbourhood has ever visited,’ the admiral murmured as they left the Brustein manor. He looked back at the house to Jacob, who stood in the door. ‘I have to wonder now what revelations are waiting for us at our other nearest neighbour’s domain.’ He patted her hand, which was crooked in his arm. ‘You’re a good girl, Sophie.’

      ‘I am as shocked as you,’ she said. ‘Such a nice old couple.’ She looked ahead to the much more substantial estate barely peeking through the foliage. ‘Who lives here?’

      ‘We will probably be above ourselves here, so mind your manners,’ he teased. ‘The estate agent told me Lord Brimley resides here through the summer. He is a marquis, no less.’ Bright stopped. ‘The name rings a bell with me, but I cannot remember why. Brimley. Brimley. Perhaps we shall see. Are you game for another house?’

      She nodded. ‘This is certainly more enjoyable than trying to avoid staring at walls in our…your…house.’

      He started walking again, then gave her a sidelong look. ‘You were right the first time, Sophie. For all its warts, it is our house.’

      I wish I felt that way, but you are kind, she told herself. She wished her face did not feel so hot. Hopefully, the admiral would overlook her embarrassment. ‘That notion will take some getting used to.’

      ‘Indeed it will.’ He sighed. ‘And we are no further along towards solving the dilemma of finding mechanics to remodel.’

      ‘And paint,’ she added. ‘Gallons of paint.’

      He chuckled and tucked her arm closer. ‘Paint, aye. If I were on my flagship, I would bark a few orders to my captain, and he would pass my bark down the chain of command until—presto!—it was painted.’

      Lord Brimley’s estate loomed larger than life, compared to the more modest Brustein manor. They walked slowly down his lane, admiring the faux-Italian ruin that looked as though it had been there since the Italian Renaissance. ‘D’ye think Michelangelo did a ceiling inside the gazebo?’

      She nudged him. ‘You know he did not!’

      ‘Rafael, then. Perhaps Titian?’

      ‘Oh, you try me!’

      He laughed and tucked her hand closer. ‘Let us behave ourselves.’ He leaned down to whisper in her ear as they climbed the shallow steps to the magnificent door. ‘Now if this is a house of the first stare, the butler will open the door even before we… Ah.’

      Sally couldn’t remember when she had seen so much dignity in a black suit. Instinctively, she hung back on the last step, but the admiral pulled her up with him.

      ‘I am Admiral Sir Charles Bright, recently retired,’ her husband said, not in the least intimidated by the splendour before him. ‘This is my wife, and we have come calling upon Lord Brimley. I have recently purchased the Hudley estate, which abuts this one.’

      The butler ushered them in, but did not close the door behind him, as if there was some doubt they would be staying long. Bright gave her a sidelong wink, which sorely tried her.

      ‘I will see if Lord Brimley is receiving callers,’ the butler said. He hesitated one slight moment, as if wondering whether to usher them into an antechamber, at the very least. He must have decided against it. He unbent enough for a short bow and turned smartly on his heel.

      ‘We don’t rate the sitting room,’ the admiral whispered. ‘I think mentioning “Hudley estate” might have been my first mistake. Perhaps I should have added that Penelope and Odysseus are no longer in heat at the front entrance.’

      Sally gasped and laughed out loud. ‘Admiral Bright, I cannot take you anywhere!’

      He merely smiled. ‘Madam wife, I am a pig in a poke. I thought it best not to mention the fact until after our wedding. Imagine what surprises await you.’

      She would have returned a sharp rejoinder, except the butler returned and indicated in his princely way that they should make themselves comfortable in the sitting room.

      ‘Our fortunes seem to be shifting ever so slightly,’ Bright murmured when the butler left them alone there. ‘Brimley. I wish I could remember.’

      They waited a long while, long enough for Sally to overcome her terrors and walk around the room, admiring the fine paintings. When the admiral began sneaking looks at his timepiece, the door opened to admit Lord Brimley himself. She glanced at her husband, but saw no recognition in his eyes.

      ‘I am Brimley,’ the man said, inclining his head towards them. ‘Admiral Bright, accept my condolences in the СКАЧАТЬ