“I shall speak to the woman forthwith, sir.” Williams countered formally. He bowed his departure from the table before turning on his heel and vanishing.
“Does he always have that effect on people?” Kate asked the young woman seated across from her.
“Since I was a child,” Anne retorted. She was mindful that her father was deep in thought. He viewed the sprawling and multicolored vista outside the huge set of windows running along two walls of the dining room.
“Williams reminds me of the quintessential retired army drill sergeant I see in so many movies.” Kate ruminated aloud.
“Why?” Anne queried.
“Calm and impeccable in appearance but,” Kate smiled crookedly. “He rules with an iron fist.”
“You've yet to become acquainted with the impeccable Mrs. O'Toole before you arrive at any assumption.” Dante rejoined dryly, slyly winking at Anne, a dimple marking his cheek.
“She's…?”
“O'Toole is our jack of all trades. She's the housekeeper and cook, when the mood strikes her.” Anne's smile echoed that of her father. “She's been at Colinwood for nearly thirty years.”
“Ruled is more apropos.” Dante appended.
“She has the disposition of a banshee and she's a bit of a nosy parker,” Anne interjected.
“She adores her gossip, but has a heart worth more than all the gold in the Bank of England.” Dante interposed with a dark glower of disapproval at Anne, who bowed her head.
Kate sipped at the steaming depths of her sweetened coffee. She was baffled at the insight she received into the man sitting by her side, realizing he was unwaveringly dedicated to his staff.
Abruptly, the thickly paneled door flew wide. Williams' stiffly announced the arrival of breakfast before he positioned himself alongside the opened door. A pair of uniformed housemaids hastened forward to wipe the congealed eggs from the floor, their eyes lowered. Another pair brought platters of steaming food to the table. A matching dinner service, which remained unscathed, appeared. Kate was aware of the curious stares that darted in her direction and kept her eyes resolutely lowered to her cup.
“Would you care for a bite?” Anne questioned as the handful of servants made a hasty retreat from the room.
Kate looked at the steaming platters piled high with fluffy eggs, paper-thin slices of perfectly browned steaks, and kippers. The adjoining platter was overflowing with fluffy raisin filled and heavily buttered scones. Tentatively, Kate helped herself to the golden biscuits, breaking it into manageable pieces. As she took a sip at her coffee, she nibbled on the sweetened bread.
“With your permission,” Dante's deep voice interrupted lazily, one dark brow arched pointedly upwards. “I'm famished.”
“By all means,” Kate responded.
Her eyes widened with astonishment as he filled his heated plate. Dante took a bit of everything on both platters, enough to feed two men, and proceeded to eat with unhurried and elegant ease. She watched him covertly and, if she had to judge from his riding attire, there wasn't a spare ounce of fat on him.
“Four hours.”
Kate blinked, his absent-mindedly pronounced comment addressing her. “Sorry?”
“You ask the most peculiar questions.” He afforded with an ironic smile. “I anticipated your question and supplied the response in advance, which is two daily hours of intense physical exercise, and horseback riding.”
She flushed crimson, not realizing her curiosity was apparent. Anne stifled a weak titter and shook her head at Kate's apparent chagrin.
“There aren't any grounds to be overly embarrassed, Kate.” She furnished in an easy explanation. “My father has become a virtual glutton of self-punishment, since the incredible and highly unbelievable arrival of his thirtieth birthday. He overworks himself at the office and overexerts himself at physical exercise. I assume, if he didn't, he would resemble the original Leslie more than I would care to acknowledge.”
“Perish the thought.” Dante grumbled laconically, his attention reverting to his breakfast.
Kate looked between the pair, dumbfounded at the ongoing banter. Anne was a levelheaded young woman, bright and articulate and more than a little over indulged by her parent. The girl had a wry sense of humor and issued a husky bark of laughter.
“Did you sleep well?” Dante's interposed, effectively silencing his daughter. She nodded, hastily averting her gaze.
“Kate's a bit ill at ease about last night.” Anne followed her father's example and served herself. Her comment caused Dante to sigh.
“Is this true?”
“Well,” Kate muttered, setting her cup aside. “Yes.”
“Why?” He probed smoothly. He placed his fork aside and threaded his fingers together, resting his bent elbows on the table.
“She's rather displeased you carried her into the house.” Anne interjected smugly.
“Anne!” Her father reprimanded gently, quelling a halfhearted grin as she gave him an audacious wink. He remained expressionless, looking at Kate. “You must excuse my daughter and her brazen mouth. As for last night,” he countered easily, returning his attention to his plate. “You were weary and I couldn't leave you in the auto. I did my duty, as a gentleman.”
Anne gave what suspiciously sounded like a choke of disbelief into the depths of her teacup.
“Don't fret over it.” Anne stated before she took a deep swallow of her tea, her eyes darting from her father to their guest. “My father says you're interested in family history. What brought this on?”
Kate smiled, thankful the conversation had shifted away from the events of last night.
“As teens, my brother and I would spend hours on the Internet, playing around with search engines, as a way to amuse ourselves. As a fluke, we entered our family name and were stunned by the information available. The databases supplied the various methods on hunting down family genealogy. There are resources in cyberspace that can aid anyone searching for their family roots.”
She hesitated, realizing Anne had the same enthralled look her brother so often wore.
“What were you able to discover?” Anne prodded.
“Our first traceable ancestor came to the colonies in the very early eighteen hundreds on board an English passenger ship. Not first class, to say, but he did disembark in Philadelphia. Howard Bennett was traveling alone from England, apparently having bookkeeping skills and nothing else to his name. Adam and I found the name of the woman he married and, later, the names of the few children he fathered. Nothing else is known.”
“All this was on the Internet?”
“You'd be amazed.” Kate mimicked Dante's steepled fingers. “Birth certificates, death records, cemetery records, marriages, obituaries, census records, you name it. Everything!”
Anne was thoughtful. “Can I find the same information?”
“Of course and, perhaps, more easily,” Kate acknowledged. “You already know your ancestors, but there are programs where English peerage and history can be traced back to the time titles were granted.”
“I could trace even obscure Ravensmoors?”
“Anne.” Anne recognized the reprimand in her father's voice and lowered her head. “Do continue, Kate.”
“As it was, when Howard died, he did have a son who was left alone in the world.”
Anne's attention spun back to Kate. “What happened with his wife and the other children?”
“Despite Adam's research, we don't know. All we've found is an orphan's court record, stating that his father died interim.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Without a will, Anne,” Dante furnished, leaning back in his seat and sipping his coffee.
Kate was impressed. “The orphan's court record comments about other older siblings, but they chose not to claim him. His mother wasn't in the county, either.”
Both dark heads nodded in unison. “What happened?”
“Custody was awarded to a doctor residing in the same county.” K
ate warmed with the subject. “As the story goes, my grandfather remained in the doctor's care until he struck out on his own. Adam feels our ancestor received the better half of the deal at the time, compared to the options.”
“Has your family been much easier to trace since that time?” Anne queried.
“Some have, some haven't. What Adam is interested in is tracing the family roots in England, to have a locale to identify where we originated. I know it may not seem like much too many people, but it means a lot to us.” She glanced to Dante and continued. “You, being the English aristocracy, have always known where your family began and where your heritage is located.” She indicated the high rafter ceilings and the stunning artwork. “You have centuries of your family surrounding you, we don't. We've always been curious about my mother's family.”
“Your mother's family?” Dante's bemusement was apparent. “You're researching your mother's family?”
“Of course,” Kate shrugged. “Bennett is my mother's name.”
“Commonly, one's lineage is traced from the father's side.” Anne injected.
Kate hesitated. “My brother and I don't know our father's identity.”
Anne's lips twisted at some secret contemplation. She raised an eyebrow at her father, her tone pointed. “Did you ever ask?”
“Many times,” Kate answered. “My mother never provided a name and there isn't one listed on our birth certificates. She said she was the only parent we needed and she was perfectly capable of being both mother and father.” Kate's hands fell to her lap. “We never did without nor did we complain about her parenting skills.”
“Bennett, you said.” Dante ignored his daughter's pointed glare and sensing Kate's unease.
“Yes, Bennett.”
“The name is a fairly common name throughout the region.” he paused, remembering the paperwork in the town's library. “I believe you also had notes on the Lane family?”
“Yes.” Kate responded eagerly. “Adam said our grandfather, after leaving the doctor's home, married a woman by the name of Lane.”
“The Lanes were far more prevalent in the neighboring district during the eighteen hundreds, before most of the family immigrated to the colonies.” He mused aloud. “If you're interested, I'm willing to assist you in reviewing the land records.”
“I couldn't possibly bother you.”
“Kate, the research isn't an inconvenience.” He soothed. “I suffer the same cursed affliction as your Adam. I enjoy family history and the records are readily available. You won't find most of our records in an available database or a library. The documents are the sole property of the Ravensmoor estates, which date back to the beginning of the earldom.”
“Adam will be excited.”
“We can begin immediately, if you wish.” Dante offered in his deep baritone, his eyes radiating with an unusual glow.
“I have to abandon you two, Papa.” Anne supplied with a rueful pout. “As much as I would love to ramble on about this dusty old relic, I have work.”
“Today?” Dante questioned, bemused.
“I'm needed to substitute for one of your usual tour guide; Glynnis took a tumble and twisted her ankle, which leaves the second floor of Lorrington historian free.”
Kate blinked, confused. “You run the tours at the other estates?”
“My father insisted we weren't the idle rich.” Dante afforded without a trace of rancor. “The older estates were turned into museums, to alleviate expenditures in taxes and upkeep. Thankfully, the venture saved century old homes from being razed.”
“I do the tours; Papa tends to the accounts and the maintenance details.” Anne continued. “You'll soon find my father has a brilliant head for details and numbers.”
Dante cast his eyes upwards in frustration at her outburst.
“In any event,” she continued with an unexplainably secretive smile. “I haven't the foggiest idea when I'll return.”
“Anne,” her father began, only to be cut off.
“It won't matter in the slightest, Papa, since you're the historian of this family. Frankly, I think you're the best in four counties.” Before either could offer any form of protest, she rose from the table and left.
“God save us from obstinate and spoiled children.” Dante murmured.
Kate smiled indulgently. “You forgot what it was like to be her age?”
“I never forgot.” He supplied roughly. “It's a time I would never choose to relive.”
Chapter Eight
Kate, reclining on a worn leather sofa, stretched her legs. Numbness shot through them, making her bite back a vicious oath of pain. Rubbing the clenched muscles in her calf, she glanced up at the ornate mantel clock situated on an Elizabethan desk. She counted the hours spent absorbed in the pages of the massive volume on her lap and grimaced.
Four hours, she realized, and all without moving.
Emitting a long-suffering sigh, she peered about the room, feeling a sense of warmth fill her. Comfortable was her first impression when Dante led her into this room, three weeks ago. The chamber was filled to the rafters with an assortment of books, the floor covered with well-worn Aubusson carpets, piled three to four deep.
There was a matched pair of wine colored leathered sofas, probably purchased a decade before the Second World War. An atlas on casters, boasting a Victorian date, sat before the towering windows. There were a pair of ivory handled dueling pistols displayed under glass from the mid eighteen hundreds and numerous paintings of thoroughbred horses. A portrait of Dante's unsmiling father was on a wall behind the desk, surrounded by countless photographs of the present earl's daughter and parents.
This was Dante's personal study, his sanctum, as he presented the spacious chamber to her. The room was the size of her Phoenix apartment, each wall nearly twenty feet high and filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of books and artwork. Books poured from the shelves and to the floor, others littered tabletops, writing desks, or spaces on narrow window seats. Kate had never seen so many volumes in a single place. She was amazed by the wealth of reading material, screenplays, war accounts, biographies, memoirs, medical journals, and whimsical poetry. The list was endless. Kate could spend a lifetime in this room and not manage to read everything. It appeared, from the amassed books and artwork, every Ravensmoor had left his touch in this room.
Except for the first Leslie…
The room was everything that epitomized the bold and overpowering Ravensmoor men, hardly the satin-attired Peacock. She laughed faintly at the mental image of the richly garbed Leslie demanding the chamber dismantled. Her exhausted eyes rested on the dark head bent over a leather bound journal, and she suspected Dante probably wouldn't be as receptive a host if he knew her thoughts. She bit her lip, willing her grin to disappear and choked on her laughter. Dante slowly raised his head and scrutinized her through narrowed eyes.
“Have we a problem?” He questioned with deceptive calmness, his features unreadable. He was unable to remain stern, her smile infectious.
“No.” Her denial was hastily delivered.
“I do believe we've been through this before, Kate.”
Dante's indulgent tone was her undoing. The chuckles exploded from her before she grimaced and bit her lip. “You wouldn't find it funny.”
“Kate.” His tone was exasperated. “Let me to assure you, your American bluntness won't scandalize me.”
Brazenly, she blurted out her thoughts. “Your ancestor would have hated this room.”
“Which predecessor, Kate?” A dark brow rose with the inquiry. Dante leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “We've quite a few in the last six hundred and some odd years.”
“Your flamboyant Leslie.” She observed the thunderous lowering of his brows and winced, recalling he had the same name as the infamous ancestor. Kate cleared her throat to smooth over her apparent faux pas. “You don't bear any resemblance to him.”
“Thank God for small favors.” He muttered dar
kly.
“In that particular Leslie's case, huge ones,” Kate inserted cryptically and he chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. He meshed his hands together and formed a steeple with his forefingers, bringing the cleft of his chin to rest on the tips while he studied her.
“He would have gutted the place,” he remarked aloud, echoing her sentiments. “The destruction would have been an atrocious waste of wonderful treasures.”
“Yes.” She dropped her eyes, sighing as he continued to stare at her.
“Have you much luck in the research department, Kate?”
“None,” she answered, shaking her head. Experimentally, she shifted her legs, pleased the numbness had dissipated. “There's Lane's in this region, but I can't turn up any names from Adam's notes.” She remarked with a grumble and closed the ledger on her lap. “I hoped I might have found something, anything, by now.”
“Research, at times, does not yield answers in a mere matter of hours.” He countered wisely, dropping his hands to close the book. “It takes more forbearance than most people can deliver. The sleuthing, in itself, is mind boggling.”
For three short weeks, he savored every stolen moment, pretending to examine numerous volumes while she sat a few paces away. Dante inhaled deeply and gazed at her, small and defenseless in the overstuffed divan. He wondered if there was a way he could make the research last for years, just to keep her close.
Slowly, Dante lifted his hands from the scarred desktop. They quaked, the action visible to the naked human eye. She shook him to the core, blissfully ignorant of her effect. Her presence was so overwhelming that the workweek became difficult, forcing him to remain sequestered in his office. The numbers he managed, on a daily basis, weren't tallying and she filled his thoughts.
If matters remained unchanged, he knew they would have to travel to work in separate vehicles. The better part of an hour, in the same car, was torture. Vainly, he would attempt to scan the newspaper or jot notes for daily meetings. The close confines were becoming taxing. He struggled to remain aloof, when he longed to seduce her.
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 10
