Earl of Shefford

meet the chit, Colin thought miserably. “She occupies my property and is not grist for your mill, Morray. This may very well be an orphanage.” Even to his own ear, he sounded testy. Perhaps it was the combination of being injured and swindled. He had thought things might not be as Whitton represented, and rather than follow his intuition, he succumbed to the lure of the game. Winning the building presented a suitable solution to his and Jonathan’s desire to honor their father.
Morray snorted. “Ownership remains to be seen, but fear not, my fine fellow. You know innocent ladies are not to my taste. I prefer, shall I say, a more savage entertainment. Your young woman is safe.”
“She is not my woman,” Colin snapped.
“I say, Shefford, you are letting this become bothersome. I have found that the biggest surprises can sometimes turn out to be the best ones. I, for one, am eager to meet the face behind the curtain.” Morray jerked his head toward the same curtain which had moved earlier, revealing a lovely face framed by soft, blonde ringlets staring down at the three of them.
The large oak door at the top of the steps had recently been rubbed down, most likely to prepare for a fresh coat of paint. Colin took in the neatened appearance of the portico and lifted the plain brass knocker to announce their presence. Less than a minute later, a small hatch above the knocker slid open and an older woman’s face appeared for a moment before the opening closed and the door opened.
“Good day, my lords. May I be of help?” A short, mob-capped woman stood at the door, filling the opening.
“I am Lord Shefford, and I wish to look over my recently acquired property. I must admit to being somewhat startled to find the house occupied,” Colin began.
“Oh, dear! Beg pardon, my lord.” The short woman closed the door.
“I say, did you just get the door closed in your face?” Bergen gibed.
“Stubble it, Bergen.” He lifted the knocker and gave three quick raps.
“I am sorry, Shefford. I should not be fooling at your expense.” Bergen smirked, putting the lie to his apology. “’Tis just that this reminds me a little of my first meeting with Elizabeth. I think I am merely amused by the coincidence.”
“This has no similarity to when you met your wife, I assure you. I am not meeting my future wife,” he grumbled as the door opened again. The older woman had disappeared, replaced by a beautiful young woman dressed in a plain cotton dress of a deep navy-blue color, covered with a white apron. She had golden blonde hair, bound neatly in a loose chignon, and chocolate brown eyes—eyes a man could lose himself in. “May I speak with your employer, my dear,” Colin said politely.
“Good day, my lords.” She bobbed a curtsey. “My name is Miss Mason and I am the headmistress here. Please forgive my housekeeper’s lack of deference.” She paused, smiling sweetly. “We are unaccustomed to having many visitors, especially gentlemen as distinguished as yourselves. Have you come to make a donation to the school?”

Chapter 4
Nora could not imagine why these three gentlemen, obviously members of the ton— judging by their dress and means of transport—had remained standing in front of her school for what seemed like an eternity. They were all dressed in the height of fashion, with superfine coats sporting high collars, pantaloons, white linen shirts, colorful silk waistcoats, and elaborately tied cravats. She watched them chatting among themselves until they finally approached the door. She had hoped they would leave. While two men dressed in navy and burgundy jackets with buff pants, the tallest one dressed in black, which she thought an unusual color for this time of day.When that tall, dark-headed man with the soft grey eyes unfurled a folded piece of paper and looked up at her, her stomach both fluttered and sank to her feet, a curious feeling she failed to understand. Perhaps it was a premonition. Various people acquainted with the family had told her that her mother had been subject to them; however, Nora made it a practice to follow her instincts, and they told her something was wrong here. Whatever the gentlemen’s reasons, she remained on her guard as she greeted them, forcing a smile and the cheery voice she employed whenever she felt worried and fearful. The gentleman took a moment to take her measure and take stock of the room behind her before speaking.
“I fear there has been some mistake. Would you be so kind as to invite us inside to discuss it?” he finally said. “I should hate my business to be discussed by eavesdroppers and passers-by.”
She had to admit several wagons, and people on foot had slowed down or even stopped to watch. This was a busy street, yet not one accustomed to gentlemen of such style and fashion. She nodded in agreement.
“You have me at a disadvantage, my lord,” she returned, noticing that the other two had remained quiet and observant. He seemed in charge.
“It would appear my shock has stolen my manners, Miss Mason. Forgive me. I am the Earl of Shefford.” He made an elegant leg before continuing, “The gentleman to my right is my friend, the Earl of Bergen, and to the left of me is the Earl of Morray.” Both men removed their beaver hats and bowed.
Chagrined that not only was this gentleman being too nice to dislike, he was also remarkably attractive, Nora stepped back and allowed them entry.
“The parlor is to the left,” she directed them, pausing a moment to speak with her cook, who had remained standing quietly at the foot of the stairs. “Mrs. Simpkins,” she whispered to the older woman, “please ask Mary to bring us some tea.”
“Aye, though I be glad to do it for ye, missy, Mary is quieting Amy just now. The poor lass refuses to nap,” the cook replied. “I be afraid she has adopted ye