Chapter 19It was late Wednesday afternoon when the town coach bearing Aunt Cecily, Arabella, and Miss Munro drew up before the Hall’s portico.
“Aunt. Arabella.”
“Ashton, this is Miss Munro.”
“How do you do, Miss Munro? Welcome to Fayerweather, and Laytham Hall.”
“Thank you, sir. So you are Sir Ashton,” she murmured. She was a tall, willowy young lady. Long lashes dipped down then rose to reveal eyes that were indeed bluer than the bluest of skies. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You mustn’t believe all you hear.” I scowled at Arabella, but she simply looked confused. Who then…I set the question aside for the nonce. “I trust your journey wasn’t too exhausting?”
“It was, a trifle. I’m rather weary, not to mention chilled and parched,” she remarked as she stripped off her mittens.
“I
