Garson folded his hands prissily at his waist. There is a person who arrived here this morning. A groom, I believe, from Lord Ravenscars estate. He left there yesterday morning, as I understand, and rode straight through.
Lord Ravenscar! Michael set the cup of tea down with a clank and jumped to his feet. Why? Is something wrong? Did something happen to Lady Westhampton?
He said that all was fine, my lord, or I would have delivered the note he carried to you immediately. With this, he produced a small note from his pocket.
Michael snatched the missive from his valets hands. Good God, man, why didnt you?
Garson looked pained. I thought to give you a moment to take your tea first, my lord.
Michael grimaced. He broke the seal, unfolded the letter and began to read Rachels familiar hand. A moment later an oath burst from him, then he sat back down in his seat and read through the note again. Bloody hell!
Garson had remained in the room, ostensibly laying out Michaels clothes for the day, but in reality waiting, Michael knew, to find out why Lady Westhampton had sent a letter winging swiftly back to the house she had just left. He paused now beside Michaels chair. When Michael said nothing, he prompted, Everything is all right, I trust, with her ladyship?
Michael tapped an irritated tattoo on the arm of his chair. No, he snapped. Everything is most definitely not all right. He paused, then added, Pack my bags, Garson. We will be joining Lady Westhampton at Darkwater.