It was the only explanation for how servants—like the groomsman—were precisely where they needed to be when they needed to be. The only other possibility was that the man had been standing at the base of the front steps since dawn, waiting for his return. Not that it was likely, he knew, taking the stairs two at a time. No one was allowed to stand around and do nothing at Ryland Castle; Caroline’s daily task list had achieved domestic renown days ago and had been heading steadily toward the stuff of legends ever since. As he expected, the front door opened as if by magic. The footman had a new suit? Yes, and so did Winfield, who, quite predictably, stood waiting for him at the foyer table. “Good afternoon, Winfield. How goes the race on the home front?” “Lord Aubrey sent word, sir. If all goes according to schedule, he and his mother will be arriving slightly before teatime.” Damn, if he’d stayed out in the fields for just another half hour, he could have missed it. “I assume that you advised Lady Caroline.”
