Parfit Knight by Stella Riley

the dark eyes. ‘On the
other hand, she has nothing against the poetry of Herbert and
positively enjoys Milton. We’ve had Paradise Lost twice.’
    ‘All of it?’
asked his lordship weakly.
    ‘ All of
it. Also A Pilgrim’s Progress . We did start on some of
Donne’s verse but, despite being in Holy Orders, his work came as a
terrible shock to poor Rebecca and we had to set it aside in favour
of a book of sermons.’
    Amberley ran
his fingers along a row of leather-bound volumes, noting that all
the titles she had mentioned were present, along with a good many
others, most of them patently unread. He said, ‘What shall it be
then?’
    ‘Really?’ She
was suddenly eager. ‘Anything?’
    ‘Anything.’
    ‘You’re sure
you don’t mind?’
    ‘Quite sure.
Choose.’
    ‘Oh. It’s so
difficult! There’s Tom Jones or Wishart’s Life of
Montrose that Philip promised to read to me but never did or --
‘ She stopped, clasping her hands together. ‘No. I know. Please
will you read The Castle of Otranto ?’
    ‘Horry
Walpole?’ he laughed, pulling the volume from the shelf.
‘Seriously? You surprise me.’
    ‘Why?’
    He shrugged. ‘I
haven’t read it myself but I’m told it’s a piece of spine-chilling
nonsense.’
    ‘Exactly. Evil
villains, horrible apparitions and blood.’ She shuddered with
delicious anticipation. ‘Wonderful!’
    ‘Fine.’ Amused,
Amberley sat down and opened the book at the first page. ‘But don’t
blame me if you have nightmares.’
    They read it in
instalments, often late into the evening beside the fire and, after
the first few chapters, Rosalind took to curling up beside him on
the sofa in order to grip his hand at all the most ghoulish bits.
On one occasion, Amberley almost asked how being scared silly was
enjoyable … and then realised that, of course, it was – but not
necessarily solely due to Horace Walpole.
    *
    With Chard
healing nicely above stairs nursed by Mrs Reed and attendance on
his master required only three times each day, Saunders found
himself with very little to do and resigned himself to a period of
rare inactivity. His fifteen years with the Marquis had covered
everything from the boisterousness of army life and a number of mad
escapades abroad, to the courts of Paris and London, but never once
in all that time had he been bored. Excited, over-worked,
entertained, annoyed and occasionally scared out of his wits – but
never bored. And strangely, despite his expectations, he was not
bored now.
    Since the
butler was the only member of the household whose status could be
said to match that of his lordship’s valet, it was only natural
that Saunders should be invited into Lawson’s inner sanctum on
terms of equality. Within two days a curious friendship had sprung
up between them in which little was said but much understood; and,
within three, Saunders had absorbed the full measure of the manor’s
mood.
    Between a
gentleman’s gentleman and a dignified butler, both of unimpeachable
professionalism, the question of gossip was unthinkable - so while
Saunders confined himself to the perfectly proper indications of
Lord Amberley’s wealth and position, Lawson made no attempt to
enquire further. But it speedily became plain to the valet that,
apparently on no greater recommendation than his personal charm,
the Marquis was favourably regarded by everyone in the house – not
excepting the scullery-maid who was unlikely ever to have clapped
eyes on him. Even the fearsome Mrs Reed, after a confidential word
from Lawson, had lowered her defences and grudgingly admitted that
his lordship’s frivolous manner concealed a surprising degree of
proper feeling and that he appeared to have done her darling
nothing but good. And eventually, in a flash of dazzling insight,
Saunders realised what was behind it all.
    The entire
staff of Oakleigh Manor were romantically united in the belief
that, though there could not be a man who was wholly worthy
of their beloved