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Back A Man of Honour Save as PDF
Chapters (73)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART ONE
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. PART TWO
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. PART THREE
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. PART FOUR
  51. FORTY-FIVE
  52. FORTY-SIX
  53. FORTY-SEVEN
  54. FORTY-EIGHT
  55. FORTY-NINE
  56. FIFTY
  57. FIFTY-ONE
  58. FIFTY-TWO
  59. FIFTY-THREE
  60. PART FIVE
  61. FIFTY-FOUR
  62. FIFTY-FIVE
  63. FIFTY-SIX
  64. FIFTY-SEVEN
  65. FIFTY-EIGHT
  66. FIFTY-NINE
  67. SIXTY
  68. SIXTY-ONE
  69. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  70. Keep Reading …
  71. About the Author
  72. Also by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  73. About the Publisher

‘Morning, Turnbull, and I did, thank you.’

Turnbull pulled out the chair in the middle of the round table, and asked, ‘Shall I pour a cup of tea for you, m’lord?’

‘Yes, do that, please, Turnbull. But I would prefer a light breakfast this morning. Just scrambled eggs and toast. That’s about it, I think.’

‘Yes, m’lord.’ Turnbull went to the sideboard and lifted the lid off a silver tureen, put the eggs on a plate, took it to the table, brought a plate of toast, then poured the tea. He worked with quick precision, as he always did, knowing Lord Robert was in a hurry.

After thanking the butler, Robert asked, ‘What’s the weather like today – not our perpetual summer rain, I hope?’

‘It’s a nice day, m’lord. Sunny, in fact.’ Turnbull cleared his throat and stepped over to a small table next to the door. He picked up a small silver tray with an envelope on it and carried it to the table. ‘This envelope was delivered earlier this morning, sir.’ As he spoke, he offered the tray.

Robert looked at the butler and raised a dark brow. ‘Who delivered it, Turnbull? Any idea?’

‘No, Lord Robert, I’m afraid I don’t. It was pushed through the letter box.’

Taking the envelope, Robert said, ‘Thank you, Turnbull. I’ll ring if I need you.’

‘Yes, m’lord,’ he answered and departed.

Ignoring the food, Robert slit the envelope with his knife and quickly read the note. It was from Colin Wilson, his new estate manager, who was due in London today, and his eyes widened as he read. Following his instructions, Wilson had written to inform him that Lady Lucinda had left Bolton Manor yesterday morning. Not for her parents’ estate in nearby Skipton as planned, but for Switzerland. She was travelling with a lady friend, and had not been accompanied by O’Brien, her lady’s maid, the Irish girl they’d brought over with them, nor by their sons.

Bloody hell, Robert thought, as he digested the information. I did not foresee this – but perhaps my wife, without knowing it, has just made everything simpler.

THIRTY-EIGHT

When he had finished his breakfast, Robert went into the library. Seated at his large Georgian desk, he took the note from Wilson out of his pocket and read it again. Then he glanced over at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. He had an hour before Wilson arrived, bringing him the accounts for the Yorkshire estate. He was grateful to have this intelligent and innovative man working for him.