Years ago, he might have been capable of risking his heart for the right woman, but life had taken him in other directions, and romantic entanglements didn’t number among his aggravations, thank the heavenly powers.

Miss Abigail Abbott didn’t number among his aggravations either. She was more in the nature of a challenge, and Stephen prided himself on never backing down from challenge.

Chapter Three

“You did ask us to wake you at seven, miss,” the maid said. “Shall I come again in an hour?” She was clean, tidy, and cheerful, like every female domestic Abigail had met in Lord Stephen’s abode. The men were also clean, tidy, and cheerful, and the lot of them moved about with more energy than was decent.

Morning sun slanted through Abigail’s window, and elsewhere in the house what sounded like three different clocks were all chiming the seventh hour—in unison. The result was a major triad—do-mi-sol—and the effect unusual, to say the least.

“I’m awake,” Abigail said, sitting up and flipping back the softest quilts ever to grace the bed of mortal woman. “Barely. Oh, you’ve brought tea. Bless you.” No toast, no croissants, though. No hope of escaping breakfast with his lordship. But then, Abigail had come here precisely to secure his lordship’s assistance, hadn’t she?

“Shall I help you dress, miss?”

“I can manage, thank you.”

“I’ll come back to make up the bed and see to the hearth. Your frock is hanging in the wardrobe, and Lord Stephen awaits you in the breakfast parlor.”

Well, drat the luck. Abigail had been hoping to enjoy at least a plate of eggs before she negotiated with his lordship. She ought to have known he’d not simply accede to her plan.

“I’ll be down directly.” Good food and rest had fortified her, and finding that the hem of her dress had been sponged clean and the skirts ironed added to her sense of well-being. She downed two cups of tea as she dressed and tended to her hair.

By the time she joined Lord Stephen in the breakfast parlor, she had resolved to tell him the version of the truth she’d concocted during her journey south.

“Miss Abbott.” He rose. “The sun rises to illuminate your beauty. I trust you slept well.”

He could not know how his levity wounded. “I slept soundly, my lord. And you?”

“I am rested. Help yourself to the offerings on the sideboard. I’d serve you, except handling two canes and a plate is beyond me.”

Walking into the breakfast parlor was like walking into heaven’s antechamber. The windows admitted bright morning light, the scents of toast and butter graced the air, and the room was warm at a time of year when most households were parsimonious with coal. His lordship sat not at the head of the table, but along the side closer to the hearth. Though the day was sunny, autumn had arrived, and a fire crackled on the andirons.

“I am entirely capable of serving myself,” Abigail said. “Have you been out riding already?” Lord Stephen wore riding attire, and he wore it well.