Married to the Viscount by Sabrina Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page B

could only stare after him in complete confusion. She would never understand that man and his intense looks.
    Nor did the stiff-lipped butler enlighten her any about hismaster as he led the way to her quarters. She did try to get him talking as they climbed a grand staircase whose massive steps were all of white marble—marble, for heaven’s sake! But conversing with guests about his employer was apparently not something an English butler condescended to do, and Mr. McFee’s one-word replies soon discouraged her from continuing.
    Instead she tried to get a good look inside the rooms they passed, but it was too dark. A profusion of expensive beeswax candles in the staircases and halls, however, illuminated gilded mirrors hanging on the hall walls and polished rosewood console tables bordering massive mahogany doors. Velvet-cushioned chairs that looked fit for only the most refined of bottoms dotted the stair landings. Then there were the ornate cornices, medallions in relief, delicately ornamented fanlights, and…
    Heavenly day. In her youth, when they’d had money, Papa’s house had been considered fairly grand by Philadelphia standards. Compared to this, it had been a hovel.
    It was almost a relief to reach the end of a fourth-floor hall and have Mr. McFee usher her into a spacious but simply furnished bedchamber where she wasn’t reminded of her own foolishness in not realizing from the beginning what a vast gulf lay between her and his lordship.
    Mrs. Graham faced off against the stalwart Mr. McFee as soon as they entered. “You sneaky Scot, how dare you put her ladyship in the top of the house like she was a governess. I demand you give us a room in the family quarters. This is his lordship’s wife, I’ll have you know!”
    “Mrs. Graham, please—” Abby began.
    “Until his lordship informs me otherwise,” Mr. McFee broke in, “you are his guests and belong in a guest bedchamber. Since his lordship keeps late hours when Parliament is in session, I thought it might be more comfortable for you tohave a floor to yourself so his comings and goings would not disturb you.”
    “How very considerate,” Abby said hastily. Mrs. Graham wasn’t taking this whole change of plan very well. “Thank you for seeing to our comfort, sir.”
    Mrs. Graham merely sniffed. “You think you’re better than us, don’t you? But for all your lofty airs, you’re still a Scot no better than me. You got no right to look down your nose at either of us.”
    “I am not a Scot, madam. I am a butler. If, however, the only way I can silence your wagging tongue is to be a Scot…” He paused to fix her with a fierce glance. “I’m braw enow to handle any sharp-tongued American lass, so dinna cross me, ye ken?”
    The brogue was so flawless that Abby burst into laughter while Mrs. Graham stood there, mouth agape.
    Mr. McFee continued, but without the Scottish accent. “Now I shall leave you to your own duties, madam.” He scanned the room, then fixed his contemptuous glance on the closed trunks. “I believe they include unpacking your mistress’s belongings.”
    That snapped Mrs. Graham from her daze. “Why, you…you…” she sputtered, but it was too late. Mr. McFee had already left and closed the door.
    “How dare you try to tell me how to do my duty, you highfalutin prig, you!” Mrs. Graham shouted at the door.
    “He can’t hear you, so you might as well give it up.”
    “‘Dinna cross me’ indeed.” Mrs. Graham harrumphed. “I still say he should give us a room in the family quarters.”
    “For heaven’s sake, this room is fine. It’s twice the size of my bedchamber in Philadelphia.” Crossing to a window, she looked out across the moonlit street to the hulking shapes of trees that signaled a park. “And I suspect it’s got a lovely view.”

    “Aye, but it ain’t the mistress’s bedchamber.”
    Abby shot her servant a stern glance. “Stop talking that way. You know I’m not the mistress.” Determined