As soon as Fauntleroy left the young woman in the parlor, he went down the hall to the library, Altair supposed to get his father and eldest brother. They spent a lot of time together, managing the family's finances and enterprises. Altair debated waiting for them to emerge, but then decided to go down to the parlor and find out who their guest was.
The parlor was right off the entryway, a rather bright room with large windows that opened to the front garden. It was a nice day, so the windows were cracked open, and the lace curtains fluttered gently in the slight breeze. The furniture was old, but well cared-for, light oak and with floral upholstery. The room was very feminine; Altair supposed that it might have been surprising to find such a room in a house full of men, if one failed to notice that the styling was at least a decade out of season. Altair's mother had it decorated a year or two before she died, and none of them had had the heart or inclination to change anything. Indeed, a framed portrait of her still rested on the mantelpiece. She'd looked very like Altair.
Now, the young woman sat gracefully on the love seat, her skirts perfectly arranged around her. A true noble woman, Altair thought with equal parts admiration and apprehension. He was glad just then of his habit of dressing well, even when not expecting company. That day, he wore a coat of emerald green, with gold accents, and he'd had his valet plait his hair in one single braid down his back.
He stepped into the parlor. When the young woman looked at him, he bowed. "Good afternoon, my lady. Welcome to our estate. I am Altair Laurent."