The double doors were parted, awaiting her entrance. She imagined the guest must be of some import if Mrs. Conally secured him (or her) in the drawing room with tea.

She entered the room, noting the gentleman standing at the window. Nora did not recognize him from her vantage. He stood with his back to her, a straight and stalwart figure looking out the mullioned glass at the expansive green lawn. The sunlight struck his hair and it glinted blue-black in the brightness.

His hands were clasped very correctly behind him. That, combined with his erect bearing, gave an impression of severity. It was hard to fathom he might be here due to some sort of ailment. Even without seeing his face he struck her as hale.

She cleared her throat. “Hello, there,” she greeted, expecting to recognize him once he turned to face her. If he was here to see her, she had likely met him before. There were few people in Brambledon whom she did not know or whom she had not treated.

He turned and she was not wrong, unfortunately.

She knew him . . . in a manner.

She had seen him before. Blast it all. She suspected that when she closed her eyes, she would see him for days to come.

Chapter 4

Nora recognized him even though he was respectably clothed this time.

Her last sight of him had been at the pond . . . and he had been naked. She could envision him as she had last observed him, the lines and angles and hollows of his body dappled in sunlight, speckled with droplets of water. He might be standing in an elegant drawing room, but she could strip away his garments in her mind and see him so clearly. Drat. She had thought she’d seen the last of him.

“You,” she breathed.

“You,” he returned, looking mildly jarred at the unexpected sight of her, which echoed their first encounter.

As he looked her up and down, she sensed his judgment and resisted the urge to fidget. Given her attire, he likely thought her a servant. She certainly did not appear to belong in these refined surroundings. He doubtlessly did not think her a member of Warrington’s family.

She squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she might not be a highborn lady who presided over drawing rooms, but she resided in this house. She was a member of Warrington’s family and she belonged here, however unnatural it felt at times.

She belonged here, and he did not.

Chin aloft, she turned to the footman who stood nearby, tucked into a corner of the room. She’d almost forgotten his presence. The number of servants Warrington kept on staff still astounded her.

“Thank you, Archie. You may leave us.”

Ever proper, the footman inclined his head and departed the room.