Andalin frowned. The staff consistently remained secretive whenever Ellis was brought into the conversation. They either deliberately dropped the subject or changed it before any information ever passed. It had never bothered her before, but now she found it very vexing. She said goodbye to Mrs. Lewis and left directly to change before heading for the stables.
Her first lesson was extremely diverting. When Birks insisted an hour was sufficient, she dismounted, and her muscles revolted with tight awkwardness. Accomplishing something worthwhile for the first time since her arrival eased her discomfort.
After changing back into her day gown, Andalin went to the sitting room to meet with Mrs. Lewis. She had been progressing quickly through the housekeeper’s “lady lessons,” as Andalin liked to call them. She had learned how to comport herself in company, from her posture to where to put her hands while she sat to how to serve tea. It was like playacting and often felt rather silly, but she found herself taking to the challenge.
“How was your first riding lesson?” Mrs. Lewis asked in her usual cheerful voice.
“My entire body aches,” Andalin said.
“Your smile tells me any pain was worth the experience.”
Andalin agreed. “What will it be today?” she asked. She hoped it was something about the history of Braitwood. It was a tomb of secrets she was anxious to know about. Mrs. Lewis handed her a basket containing a rainbow of embroidery threads.
“Embroidery? I am more than adequate with a needle.”
“Excellent. I am glad to hear it. But, truly, besides passing on the supplies, the lesson is more about what a lady is expected to do in her free time. We mustn’t have idle hands. A lady tries to improve herself in whatever way she can.”
“Thank you for the thread. I have never had so much variety at my disposal before.” The threads Papa stocked were not for her personal use. Andalin pulled out a few earthy tones, immediately thinking of Ginger, the horse she had ridden that day.
“We all want you to feel happy here. Let me know if you think of anything else that might please you.” Mrs. Lewis left her alone with the basket on her lap.
“Happy?” Andalin said out loud to herself. Was a prisoner supposed to be happy? The riding lesson had lifted her spirits and now the gift of sewing supplies. But she wondered if she really could ever be happy without at least the occasional company of her father. She missed him fiercely.
***
After the second day’s riding lesson, Andalin decided to pick apples and make a pie to go with dinner. No one seemed interested in harvesting the fruit off the trees. With Ellis gone, she hoped she would get away with doing some additional productive tasks.
Pleased to be useful once more, she hummed all the way to the overgrown fruit trees. She found a discarded basket against a tree and began filling it with the low-hanging apples. A twig snapped behind her. Startled, she whipped around to ascertain the source, scratching her cheek on a tree branch as she did so. Her hand flew to her cheek as her eyes settled on a man standing on the edge of the Black Forest. He was perhaps thirty and seemed harmless enough as he crossed quickly toward her.
“Don’t run, miss,” the man said, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I just have a few questions for you, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“The name is Mr. Brennan. I hail from Thornton Way. I’m merely here to ask a few questions about Lord Cadogen, and then I’ll leave directly.”
Andalin studied the man and his average appearance. Nothing of her subconscious screamed for her to run or hide. And while she figured she was the least-informative person to answer the man’s enquiries, her curiosity got the better of her. “What sorts of questions?”
“Well, some of the townsmen got wind of a young lady staying at Braitwood Hall. Were you kidnapped, then?”
She didn’t like the idea of people talking about her. “No, Mr. Brennan, I was not kidnapped.”
“He takes a trip every full moon. Is it true he turns into a werewolf?”
Andalin smirked. “I hate to disappoint you, but if I have learned anything about Lord Cadogen since I arrived, it is that he is only a man.”
Mr. Brennan shrugged. “Perhaps you would know what is behind his mask?”
This man was impertinent. “Mr. Brennan, have you come here to squelch rumors or to ignite more?”
“Miss, Thornton is a flourishing town. Many of the established businessmen say it’s Lord Cadogen’s money that fuels it, but I have my doubts. It’s been a long spell since he did anything to benefit the place. We all know there are few left who are loyal to him. Anyone who still speaks of him with any shred of respect does it because they were friends with his parents, not because of anything Lord Cadogen has ever done. The real problem is he has only a few tenants even though he owns many parcels of land. He’s hoarding his lands, miss, and our town would be better off without him scaring everyone away.”
She could see through the young man now. It was clear he had a personal agenda. “You do not seek truth, Mr. Brennan. You seek to destroy a man who merely enjoys his privacy, for your own benefit. Now, I’ll ask you to leave this very minute and not come back again.”
The young man eyed her for a moment, and then, with a perturbed grunt, he turned and left. Andalin’s empowerment for managing the situation disappeared with the sting on her cheek, reminding her she had scratched herself. She picked a few more apples and then hauled them to the kitchen, where she could wash her face and begin cooking.
A thought came to her as she approached the door to go inside. She had stood up for Ellis! She had admitted to Brennan, as well as herself, that he was merely a man and deserved to have his privacy. She had always enjoyed a good story, and she had been no better than Brennan by spouting tales of the Dark Rider like the rest of the town circulators. This poor man had suffered some sort of tragedy and deserved sympathy. Ironic. Sympathy was the one thing she had demanded of Ellis not many nights previously but had been unwilling to give herself. While she still did not like him, she could now conclude she no longer despised him, though he had taken her father and her freedom—she was probably being too generous in her opinion of him.
Matilda, the cook and oldest occupant of Braitwood, was already in the kitchen preparing for the next meal when Andalin entered. Matilda was Andalin’s favorite to visit with, although Mrs. Lewis had said in one of her lady lessons that consorting with the servants was most improper.
“Land’s sake, child! What did ye do to yer face?”
Andalin lifted a hand to her cheek. “’Tis only a little scratch from a branch.”
Matilda plucked up a clean napkin and blotted Andalin’s face. “His lordship will be outraged when he hears of this. Ye’d better hope it heals by the time he returns.”
Andalin wondered if such a concern could stem from Ellis’s scars. “Really, Matilda. I was just a little clumsy.”
Matilda shook her head when she saw the basketful of apples. “And working too! We’ll all be put to shame when we tell him.”
“Honestly, there is no reason for Lord Cadogen to know how I spend every minute of my day. Besides, the fruit is being put to waste, and I thought I could make an apple pie for dessert tonight.”
Matilda set her napkin down. Her wrinkled eyes were full of kindness as she shook her head again. “Miss, ye are his lordship’s ward now. That means ye must live the life of a lady. Ye will have responsibilities, but they’ll be different from the ones ye had before ye came here.”
Andalin sat down on the same kitchen stool she had occupied when she shared a sandwich with Ellis. “Tell me, then, what sort of responsibilities do I have? It seems all I do is let others wait on me. I’m useless to everyone.”
Matilda took the apples and began to wash and peel them. “Well, after ye have become accustomed to the ways of a lady, th
en ye will be introduced into Society. A husband will be found for ye, and then ye will have the responsibility of running a house. There will be social engagements, picking the menu, charity baskets—all sorts of duties.”
This was a battle Andalin could not win, but she couldn’t help pressing just the same. “Until I am married, can I help in the kitchen?”
Matilda laughed, making her wrinkles press together. “What about sewing? That is befitting a lady.”
Andalin frowned. “Sewing is one thing, but needlework is another. It seems all real sewing duties have been taken from me.”
Matilda tapped her chin. “I have an idea. Mrs. Lewis’s husband bought some handkerchiefs the other day for the master. Ye can monogram them for me. My hands are too shaky to make fine stitches anymore, and Hannah and Mrs. Lewis are up to their ears in housework.”
Andalin sighed. “Certainly. It’ll distract me for a day or so. For now, I could make the pie crusts while you cut the apples.”
Matilda shook her head. “A lady instructs, but she does not bake.”
Andalin folded her arms in exasperation. “Very well. You win.” Her eyes drifted to the small kitchen window, and thoughts of her conversation with Mr. Brennan came to mind. “Can you tell me something I’ve been wondering about? Where does Lord Cadogen go when he leaves here?”
Matilda shrugged. “Oh, lots of places. He has a dear friend a day’s ride from here. And then sometimes he visits . . . he visits the place where his parents are buried. He does a fair bit of traveling, but only to the places where he knows others will trust him. A masked man can create quite a stir, ye know.”
Finally, someone had not skirted Andalin’s questions about Ellis! She pressed her luck and asked another. “Have you worked here long?”
Matilda set aside the peeled apples to cut later and began mixing up a dough. “Thirty-four years. I came here shortly after my two children married. I was widowed at a young age and needed the money, but the busyness of the manor life kept me from my loneliness.”
Andalin wondered how this house would keep anyone from being lonely. “Then, you knew Lord Cadogen’s parents?”
“Yes,” Matilda said, “and I miss them dearly.”
Strange. Andalin never saw any pictures of the family anywhere in the house. Perhaps they were all locked up in Lord Cadogen’s private family rooms. “Thank you, Matilda, for telling me.” She left Matilda to bake her pie and retreated to the library.
After selecting a travel book to read about the maritime provinces, primarily Nova Scotia, Andalin relaxed in a chair. She had read only a few pages when her mind went back to puzzling out the information she had gathered. Matilda, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis, Birks, and Hannah were all the same in a few ways. They were old. Well, old enough to have been employed when Ellis’s parents were alive. They showed no fear of Ellis, only loyalty and deep respect.
The house was large enough to require more servants to run adequately. Apparently, Ellis had never hired any new help. The alternative was that no one else would work for him. This was equally likely since he was extremely intimidating, even to Andalin.
Mr. Brennan’s visit had put her in a speculating mood. What was behind Ellis’s mask? If only it were an acceptable question to ask the servants. There was no animal in Ellis, or the servants would have left him long ago. It was almost laughable that people could think him a werewolf. Mr. Brennan had said something about Ellis leaving every full moon. She remembered hearing the same thing from the travelers coming through Papa’s shop. How very odd.
Chapter 6
With nothing better to do, Andalin started counting the doors on the third floor. She was craving good conversation. The staff hadn’t said more than two words to her in the last three days. Mrs. Lewis hadn’t even had time for the usual lady lessons. Andalin couldn’t understand how they could possibly be so busy when they had only her to care for.
She peeked in each door as she counted, but she never found anything incriminating Lord Cadogen as a highwayman or anything villainous. The number of bedrooms always astonished her compared to her two-bedroom home above the store. Several of the doors were locked, and the open ones were ghost rooms with the furniture and wall hangings shrouded in Holland covers to keep the dust away. When was the last time the rooms had been used? The large house practically begged for a house party. She imagined inviting Marybeth and Edith from Corbridge and realized they would feel even more out of place than Andalin did; though, she did recall Matilda saying Ellis had at least one friend.
Ironically, the abundance of space only made Andalin feel increasingly isolated and lonely. She’d been remiss in wanting more in life than she already had. She smiled sadly, thinking of how she’d volunteered to make the local deliveries so Papa could spend more time with his salt-glazing. She missed him—positively craved the sound of his voice. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking about him. It made her stomach hurt and her eyes water.
Andalin reached a turn in the corridor and stopped. This was Ellis’s wing. She had never been down this way. It had a separate staircase, so it seemed almost like a separate house altogether. She took a long glance down the passageway and saw more doors. She dared not take a step farther. She was curious to find pictures of Ellis’s family since there were none to be had elsewhere in the house, but that was as far as her interest went. She didn’t care to know any more of Ellis. He was the cause of her long days and the aching in her heart.
She had one more handkerchief left to embroider for Matilda, and now was as good a time as any to do it. After returning to her room and finishing the handkerchiefs, she folded them and put them back into their box. She had just replaced the lid when she heard something from downstairs.
She raced to the door and held her ear there. She heard muffled noises. Voices! She pushed an unruly curl out of her face so she could think. It would be unwise to rush downstairs if it was Ellis. But what if it was someone else? She would be glad to see anyone, even if it was the obnoxious Mr. Brennan.
The opportunity was too great to resist. She crept out of her room and down the corridor, where she could peek down the staircase. She did not recognize the man. He was wearing a traveling coat and was giving his hat to Mr. Lewis. While Mr. Lewis helped him remove his coat, Andalin observed his handsome face. He was tall and thin, and he flashed a charming smile to Mrs. Lewis as she came to greet him. Andalin smoothed her dress and was about to descend the stairs when Hannah’s firm voice startled her from behind.
“Dinner won’t be served for another hour.”
Andalin groaned. “Yes, Hannah, but I want to meet the guest.”
Hannah shook her head. “You will meet him at dinner, where you will have a proper introduction.”
Andalin glanced back down toward the foyer, which was now empty. She reluctantly answered, “Very well. I’ll meet him at dinner.”
“Come. Ye must change, and I need to fix yer hair again.”
“But why? This dress is beautiful, and my curls have stayed in their pins—well, mostly.” She batted back a few loose tendrils.
Hannah shook her head. “Haven’t ye learned the difference between an evenin’ and a day gown yet? Ye must always dress before dinner.”
“But we haven’t done so before,” Andalin complained.
Fatigue lined Hannah’s eyes. “I’m up to me ears in work. If ye have any complaints, ye can take it up with Mrs. Lewis.”
Finally, it was after eight and time to go down for dinner. Andalin glanced in the mirror before exiting. There was no mistaking Hannah had tamed her wild hair into a beautiful arrangement. Her butter-yellow dress was the finest she had worn yet, and the long white gloves were ever so elegant.
A knock on the door interrupted her musing. Andalin opened the door, and the sight of Ellis made her swallow her voice.
“Good evening,” Ellis said. His voice was soft as he studied h
er. She remembered clearly the night in the library when he’d told her that her appearance offended him. She found herself evaluating him as well. He was wearing his typical black, but this time it was in the form of a sleek evening jacket, gray waistcoat, white shirt, and cravat. His light hair was combed neatly, and he was almost smiling.
Andalin nodded when she couldn’t think of anything to say. Was this the Dark Rider so many feared? All the villains she imagined possessed dark hair. Ellis’s light coloring made him look friendly, even approachable. It was a trick of the light, to be sure. She blinked, and suddenly Ellis was all business.
“I will escort you to dinner tonight, and you will sit on my right. I have an important introduction to make.”
Having never dined formally with Ellis, she hoped he would not make a habit of it. “Are you sure you want me to eat at the same table with you both?”
Ellis gave her a curt nod.
“I can hardly dine with a baron and his guest.”
Ellis’s brow rose. “Is your father not a gentleman?”
Andalin raised her chin proudly. “He is a gentleman in character but not in station.”
Ellis shook his head. “I disagree. He is a landowner, once had substantial wealth, and married a woman of high-standing birth. Regardless of others’ opinion of his social standing, I am entitled to claim any gentleman’s daughter of my choosing a right at my table. To say it plainly, I would like you, as resident of my house, to accompany me to dinner.”
Andalin hesitated. His logic was almost kind. She managed to take his arm while maintaining as much distance as possible. She would accompany him to dinner, but only because he had championed Papa. She could almost like him for it. Of course, she also wanted to meet the handsome stranger downstairs and enjoy all the hard work Hannah had put into her appearance.
The staircase felt longer than it had ever been. With each step she thought about the man next to her. Was this the same person who had supposedly killed enough men to make up a small army? She should be cowering in fear. But it wasn’t fear that occupied her mind. It was something different, something she did not quite understand.
The Masked Baron Page 5
