Randall sat down in the wing chair over by the fireplace and assessed his options. Greta had led him back up to the room that apparently was to be his for the time being, informing him that dinner would be promptly at six-thirty.
“You’ll hear the bell,” she said, then added, “The dining room is past the library at the end of the hall. Don’t be late.”
What she intended to do if he was tardy, he didn’t know. Take his supper away and make him stand in a corner?
Not that he intended to skip the meal. He didn’t know who would be in attendance, and it would be a good way to gather more intel about the Van Horn family.
Also, he’d realized as he climbed the stairs to his room that he was ravenously hungry, as though the big breakfast Joanna had made for him had been consumed many, many hours e
