Excerpt of Cadenza by Stella Riley

EXCERPT FROM CADENZA For the space of a heartbeat, the long-lashed green eyes flicked to her face before going back to studying the carpet. He said, 'I don't keep a carriage.'

That possibility hadn't previously occurred to Arabella. On
the other hand, she suspected that if Lord Chalfont had come
to Newark himself, she might currently be on her way back to
Yorkshire. Annoyance began tugging at the edges of her
mind. Forcing herself to ignore it, she said pleasantly, 'I
understand you have only recently inherited your title, my
lord.'

'Six months ago,' said Julian, managing not to add, Six months and a bloody lifetime. 'The estate has been … neglected.'

A maid came in and set a tureen of soup on the table.
Casting a brief yet oddly indulgent glance at the earl, she
said, 'Milord, ma'am … if you'd like to be seated, I'll serve.'

Remembering just in time that he was supposed to pull out a chair for his guest, Julian did so before walking the length of the table to take his own place. The maid ladled soup into bowls and offered each of them the basket of rolls, saying cheerfully, 'Fresh-baked this afternoon, sir.' 'Yes. Thank you … er … Rose?' 'Violet, sir,' corrected the girl. And on her way from the room, sounding as if she wanted to pat him on the shoulder, 'Now, you just have that while it's hot. I'll bring the beef when you're ready.'

Silence fell again. They ate – or at least, Arabella did.
The earl, so far as she could see, spent the time stirring
his soup and reducing the bread to crumbs. He still didn't
look at her. Finally, laying down her spoon and letting
irritation get the upper hand, she said, 'I'm not a
basilisk, you know.'

Julian's eyes flew to hers and the spoon slipped from his
grasp, sending soup splashing on to his fingers. 'I beg your
pardon?'

'I said I'm not a basilisk – or a Gorgon or Medusa – or any
of those things in mythology one can't look in the eye
without dire consequences.' She offered him a cool smile.
'I just thought I'd mention it.'

Colour crept across his cheekbones and, picking up his
napkin, he concentrated on wiping soup from his hand.
'Forgive me. I didn't mean to be rude.'

Light finally dawned. Eyes widening in fascination, Arabella thought, He's shy. Painfully, miserably shy. Oh dear. She said quietly, 'Of course not. It's a bit difficult isn't it – sitting down to dine with a complete stranger?'

'Yes.' Janet had told him he must get to know Mistress
Marsden. He just wished she'd also told him how he was
supposed to do it. 'Yes, it is.'

'I daresay you have a lot of questions.' She smiled
encouragingly. 'Under the circumstances, it would be amazing
if you didn't – so ask them, by all means.'

God, he thought dismally. There are probably a dozen things I ought to ask but I've no idea what they are. Staring into the soup, he muttered, 'I haven't thought about it.'

'Oh. Well perhaps we might try it the other way around.
Since I'm here to oversee your household and your children,
I shall need to understand your exact requirements.'

Not having any requirements, exact or otherwise, Julian
temporised.

'I'll trust your judgement.'

Arabella didn't find that helpful but could hardly say so.
Fortunately, Violet replacing the soup with beef and an
array of vegetables temporarily suspended the need for
conversation. However, as soon as they were alone again, she
persevered.

'Perhaps you could tell me a bit about the children?'

'Such as what?'

'Well … how long is it since your wife died?'

'Wife?' For the first time she had his whole attention. 'What wife? I've never been married. What on earth made you think --?'

'The fact that you have three children,' cut in Arabella
acidly, before she saw both the alternative explanation and
the pit yawning at her feet. 'Oh. I see. They – they're --'

'Not mine,' blurted Julian. 'Illegitimate, yes … but not mine.'