But what stood out the most was the fact that the whole room was thick with dust, a faint musty odor permeating the air. Two mismatched chairs stood by the fireplace, one sporting a broken arm. One of the tables by the entryway had a dirty glass left on it, the scent of soured wine evident even from where Devon stood. And the rugs were ashy in color as if it had been years since they’d been cleaned.

James brought the last of the baggage, bowed, and then left.

“Whot’s this?” the housekeeper demanded, her affronted gaze on the pile of valises.

“I wrote to Viscount Strathmore,” Devon said coolly, deciding he was too tired to deal with impertinent servants. “He is expecting me. I assume you have a place for my servants and horses?”

The housekeeper’s sullen expression did little to assure him. Devon stifled a sigh and turned to Paul. “Return to that inn we passed down the road. Have you money enough left for room and board for yourself and the others?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

Devon nodded. He was not a man who was miserly with his blunt. When the time came to spend it, he spent it and regretted not a penny. “Thank you, Paul. Return in the morning, then.”

“Yes, sir. At ten?”

Devon’s brows rose. “I said in the morning. My morning will not begin until well after noon.”

Paul managed a reluctant smile. “Yes, sir.”

“And Paul…”

“Sir?”

“See to it that everyone gets a hot meal and all the ale they can hold. We made excellent time, and I am most grateful.”

Paul brightened. “Yes, sir.” He bowed, sent a sharp glance at the sulking housekeeper, and then left, the door closing behind him with an ominous thunk.

Devon shrugged out of his wet coat. Thank God he was only staying for three weeks before continuing on to see to some business for Marcus. “May I ask when Lord Strathmore is expected?”

“Expected? Why, he’s here now.”

Devon couldn’t help glancing back at the shambling state of affairs in the main room. From what he remembered of Malcolm Macdonald from their school days, this disorganization was a bit of a surprise. What had caused Kilkairn Castle to be in such a state of disarray?

The housekeeper harrumphed, the keys about her neck jangling. “I wisht Davies was here.”

“Davies?”

“The butler.”

“Ah.”

The housekeeper made a face. “The wretch is off a-sleepin’ somewheres, if I know him.”

Devon immediately had an image of an elderly individual reeking of gin.

“I suppose ye’ll be wantin’ a room to sleep in.”

“Please,” Devon said, removing his gloves and laying them, with his wet coat, on the table in the entryway, ignoring the thick layer of dust that was sure to cling to the fine wool. “And some food, if it is not too much trouble.”