Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  Yes, relief, as if he’d held something terrible deep inside, which he had now released.

  He also felt bloody exhausted by the entire exchange. Lifting his head, he wiped the column of her neck with his shirt sleeve before she had a chance to straighten up. Then the urge to sleep hit him, precisely the way he thought it would feel being knocked in the street by those imaginary horses Jenny had mentioned.

  He wanted to lie down and close his eyes. How insane! Wanting to do what he’d fought against all these weeks. He should accept his fate—sleep and let the nightmares come.

  Watching as she rubbed a hand over the small of her back and then gently kneaded her own neck, Simon thought how kind of her to lean over him as she had for so long simply to comfort him.

  “I’m going to lie down,” he told her and, feeling rather like a child, he rose from his chair, crossed the room, and climbed onto his long-neglected bed.

  Lying flat on his back, Simon glanced at the familiar canopy above him. He didn’t ask her to leave. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to go and let him save face for his humiliating behavior, for which strangely he didn’t feel humiliated at all, or if he wanted her to stay and sit close by.

  Yes, he did know! He realized he wanted her to watch over him while he slept, but he wouldn’t ask that. Couldn’t ask that.

  To his amazement, this Jenny person, this bookkeeper, said nothing about his emotional demonstration. Instead, she reached for the large blanket folded on the chest at the end of his bed. Silently, she lay it across his prone form and unfolded it, pulling half of it down toward his bare feet, actually tucking the blanket around them, before pulling the other half up to his chest, smoothing it over him without making eye contact.

  She was gracious in her caring, making sure to cause him no discomfort or embarrassment.

  Simon could study her closely without her looking at him. It was an amazingly intimate moment, yet lacking any sensuality. He liked looking at her calm and lovely face, liked seeing her hair slightly mussed because she had let him grab onto her for support.

  Yawning broadly, Simon closed his eyes, then felt her tuck the blanket up under his chin. He smiled again, and his face muscles felt strained with lack of use.

  Jenny was caring for him as if she actually cared about him.

  That was his last thought as he drifted off into a deep slumber.

  *

  Unsure what to do after his lordship went to sleep, Jenny spent a few moments simply staring at his face, now peaceful. Naturally, he looked younger without the frown lines and the tight, compressed lips. He looked more like the very young man from the Christmas parties of her youth. His chest rose evenly and he seemed entirely calm. Lord Devere looked positively appealing in every way. Now Lord Lindsey, she reminded herself. An earl.

  Recalling how his eyes had sparkled when he’d looked her up and down—rather insolently, though perhaps an earl could not be deemed insolent—and thinking how his lordship appeared a little surprised by his own reaction, she felt no insult. Only curiosity.

  This strange man had found her attractive, she was certain of it, and that pleased her right down to her toes.

  What’s more, she could finally look her fill of him without embarrassment. He was fine-looking indeed, even more than she’d believed when telling Maggie of the shadowy figure she’d encountered. Tall, though at present too slender for his height, his shoulders were broad and once he gained some weight, she was sure he’d cut a grand figure. His hair was not simply brown, it was richly umber, and she had felt its silky softness for herself when she’d held him against her. His eyes were a dark, blue-gray color that seemed endlessly deep, though it saddened her to think what painful memories were lurking in their depths.

  After another minute of simply watching him breathing peacefully, Jenny backed slowly and silently away until she was standing by the door. She couldn’t imagine he would appreciate having her looming over him or even sitting in attendance, a veritable stranger, when he awakened. With that in mind, she tiptoed from his room.

  Despite what he’d professed about sleeping, he seemed like a man in desperate need of a long, uninterrupted slumber.

  Finally, she was on the other side of the closed door, and she rested her back against it, closing her own eyes and considering the emotional encounter with his lordship. Lord Despair indeed! She would examine her own feelings about holding a crying stranger, a male one at that, later that evening. At that moment, she wanted to get back to the library in case Mr. Binkley came looking for her again.

  *

  “Why won’t you tell me what happened yesterday?” Maggie asked, following Jenny into their mother’s room after breakfast. Even though Ned now knew about her bookkeeping services, she had no wish to share the parlor with him. Better to remain at her makeshift work area. Henry had brought home another client’s ledgers whilst she was away the day before.

  Jenny supposed she should tell him to stop soliciting other clients until she finished with the earl’s accounts.

  “I told you. I don’t wish to gossip about his lordship. I’ve confided in you about Lady Devere. Wasn’t she strange and interesting enough?”

  “I don’t care about Lady Devere. I speak with her nearly every time I go to the manor. She is lonely and bored, and so she comes to speak French with me.”

  “Thank goodness she didn’t do that with me,” Jenny said. The very idea of speaking French with someone whose native tongue it was terrified her.

  Maggie sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her arms. “Stop switching the topic.”

  “The topic is officially switched. Do you have any idea when Ned is leaving? I mean, what on earth is he doing here?”

  Maggie stared at her. “Don’t you know?”

  Jenny feared she did but was afraid to think about it.

  Her sister tossed herself back onto their mother’s bed, her legs remaining hanging over and her feet nearly on the floor. “You could have quite an easy life.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Jenny asked.

  “As Mrs. Ned Darrow, mistress of the house in Dumfries.”

  Jenny groaned and heard Maggie’s soft laughter.

  “You could, you know. The Darrow family has a small house in London as well.”

  “Do not even think such thoughts,” Jenny told her.

  Maggie was silent for a few minutes while Jenny worked.

  “I feel terribly guilty,” she said at last.

  Jenny frowned. “Whatever for?”

  Maggie didn’t answer immediately. “When Father died, I was angry with him.”

  “I was, too, a little,” Jenny confessed. “He should have had his affairs in order long before. He should have considered Mummy and the three of us. Don’t feel guilty about your anger.”

  “It’s not simply that. I thought of myself more than anything. I had started my first season, and then I realized I would have no more. However, Eleanor may never get to experience even one ball. And even one is glorious.”

  “I would say that one is the perfect number,” Jenny considered. “After you get to forty balls in a season, especially on top of the drawing room teas and the early rides and the breakfasts with other eligibles, and the picnics and the boating parties, and the cricket matches at Lord’s. Good God, it all seemed like more of a chore than anything.”

  “Be that as it may, you and I both experienced it. Eleanor may never do so. Yet, I didn’t think of her or you. Only myself. And I should have thought mostly of you, who not only made it through your first season but secured a husband during your second one. And then lost him through no fault of your own. I never even considered that your heart might be bruised.”

  Jenny shrugged. “Dearest sister, do not for a moment worry over my heart. Not where Lord Alder was concerned. Nor do I regret not finishing my second season. I shudder at the thought of a third.”

  “But a husband—”

  “There is always Ned,” Jenny quipped, and they both laughe
d.

  When Maggie left her to finish her work in peace, Jenny pondered her sister’s morose words. Maggie might never get to finish an entire season. Eleanor might never have one at all. No, it was unthinkable! That her lovely sisters would languish in the country and not find suitable husbands.

  Burying herself in the numbers, Jenny resolved as never before that she would earn enough for both her sisters to go to London. Come hell or high water!

  A terrible outcry brought her out of the ledgers sometime later.

  Even though she knew at once it was either Eleanor or Maisie, still, her thoughts flew to Simon Devere. How her heart grieved for the man. By all accounts before leaving for battle, he was well-liked, dutiful, intelligent, and helpful to all those around him. No one had doubted he would take over his father’s estate with a capable hand.

  And now?

  Rubbing the crick in the back of her neck, Jenny raced down the stairs and found the house empty. Hearing noise from the back, she ran to the terrace and saw that her family were gathered at the paddock.

  Thunder!

  Sure enough, the horse had nipped Maisie’s arm when the girl had not heeded warnings over Thunder’s current unpredictable and surly temperament.

  Maggie held a cloth over Maisie’s forearm, while Anne instructed George, the stable boy, to fetch the local doctor. Ned strode back and forth talking about shooting Thunder between the eyes, causing Eleanor to sob uncontrollably, for she loved all creatures, except, inexplicably, hedgehogs.

  Jenny rolled her eyes at the drama unfolding.

  “Everyone, let’s go inside and have Cook put the kettle on. Maisie, I think Cook said last night there would be a cream and strawberry sponge with our meal today.”

  Jenny particularly remembered that, for she thought of the expense of an extra dessert.

  Mention of the sweet treat worked a miracle. Eleanor and Maisie brightened up and stopped their tears. Before long, everyone was sipping tea in the parlor and awaiting the doctor. At his arrival, he proclaimed the young lady would have no scar since Thunder had barely broken the skin. Though there had been a scrape of blood, it was merely a bruise that Maisie would have to bear for a week or more.

  Ned, though, was not satisfied. Looking squarely at George, their cousin’s face was red with anger. The rest of them waited in silence while Ned gave the lad a stern talking to, as if the boy were responsible for Thunder or could do anything about the horse’s attitude. Though none of the ladies agreed, they couldn’t gainsay him in front of the servants.

  As soon as the doctor left, Cook put a thin layer of arnica infusion on Maisie’s arm and said there would be only the slightest bruising of the skin at all.

  “Certainly not for a week!” she muttered.

  “I still think we should put that animal down,” Ned proclaimed. From day one of his visit, as soon as the first warning had been issued about Thunder, their cousin had expressed this opinion.

  “Absolutely not,” Anne said, and Jenny was glad of it. She didn’t want to usurp her mother’s authority, but no one was shooting their horse.

  “My brother is terrified of horses,” Maisie blurted into the thick atmosphere of uneasiness that had clouded the room.

  “Maisie,” Ned snapped at his sister. “Of course I’m not! Anyone should be careful of such a brute, and you had better heed Lady Blackwood this time and stay clear. Terrified of horses,” he repeated as if it were preposterous. Then he sat down and quietly drank his tea.

  “Don’t worry,” Jenny told George, who looked a little ill after Ned’s dressing down. “Everything is fine. Why don’t you go check on the horses? I’m sure they all need a bit of soothing.”

  Anne looked at Maisie. “You may ride Lucy, and you may pet and even feed the old Bay, but you must stay clear of Thunder.”

  “Yes, Auntie,” Maisie agreed, though everyone knew it wasn’t the first time she’d been told.

  “I wonder if we can get someone to look at Thunder’s leg,” Jenny mused. “We should have asked the doctor while he was here.”

  Maggie chuckled. “He seemed rather full of himself for a country doctor. Somehow, I don’t think he would have appreciated being turned into a veterinarian.”

  They all laughed.

  Jenny glanced at the clock on the mantle. Were the hands deliberately moving more slowly today? Restlessly, she got up and went into the kitchen to see how long before they were served the midday meal. She wanted to get to the manor. She had a few more figures to look at in the ledgers. However, she was honest enough to acknowledge it was not only the Belton accounts that fascinated her. She fervently hoped there would be an opportunity for another encounter with the earl.

  Chapter Seven

  Jenny was sequestered as she had been the day before in the library on what was probably her last day, taking notes, recording irregularities, and writing a summary for the butler. Of all people to be receiving the master report of the estate’s accounts!

  When she heard footsteps go past the door that she’d purposefully left ajar, she knew it must be him and hurried to catch up.

  Spying the hurrying form of the very man with whom she wished to speak, she called out to him.

  “Mr. Binkley, a word if you have a moment.”

  He stopped and turned.

  “Could I speak with you in the library?”

  He hesitated, then nodded, walking back to her and gesturing for her to precede him into the room.

  “What may I help you with, Miss Blackwood? More tea?”

  “No, nothing like that. I know I’ve been a pest about this, but I am only thinking of the good of the Belton estate and the many people who live here and work for the earl. I wish to know if there is someone who can act as overseer until … until Lord Lindsey is able.”

  The butler narrowed his eyes.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It is unusual for no one to be at the helm,” Jenny began.

  “Do you have a great deal of experience in running large estates?”

  “I understand your point, Mr. Binkley. Though my father was only a baron, I believe I possess the common knowledge that landed nobility do not usually do their own bookkeeping.”

  “You refer to Sir Devere.”

  “Yes,” Jenny confirmed. “Also, when you were telling me who was making notes in the ledgers, you failed to mention the other Lord Devere.”

  The butler appeared startled. “How did you learn of him?”

  “Lady Devere paid me a visit and told me her father-in-law stayed here when her husband and the heir were away.”

  “I see.”

  When Mr. Binkley said nothing else, Jenny wanted to sigh with exasperation. What was going on here?

  “The former earl’s younger brother came to Belton upon his death to help run the estate? Have I got that correct?”

  “No, that would be precisely not correct. Lord James Devere, the earl’s brother, came before his brother died. They sat together for many hours. However, the earl did not make any changes in his will or change allowances or even appoint his brother as a proxy. There is nothing disreputable for you to find if that is what you’re alluding to.”

  His having said that made her think that there certainly was something for her to discover, perhaps not exactly dishonest but not standard practice either.

  “If Simon Devere had been killed alongside his cousin,” Jenny persisted, “would the old earl’s brother have taken over?”

  “I fail to see what that has to do with anything.” Mr. Binkley’s expression was sour. “Fortunately, the heir is alive.”

  “It is unconscionable that the housekeeper should be made to think of the estate’s ledgers, is it not? Was the groom called in as well to make his mark upon the books?”

  Mr. Binkley clearly did not appreciate her sarcasm. His face clouded over, and she wondered if he would simply throw her out. Without paying her.

  “I apologize,” Jenny said quickly. After all, it wasn’t his fault. “I f
ear that due to my own situation, with my father dying and leaving my mother in a perilous financial situation, I have little tolerance for poor judgment, especially on the grand scale of an earldom, with countless others’ livelihoods at stake. Including your own,” she added.

  He glanced around, as if thinking about his situation.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “There is another person’s neat handwriting, beginning not long after Lady Devere moved in. Did she also make entries?”

  “Of course not,” Mr. Binkley answered.

  “Then who?”

  “Master Dolbert,” the words were said through clenched teeth.

  Jenny frowned. Dolbert? Dolbert? Where had she heard that name? Then she recalled the children. Master Cheeseface!

  “The math tutor?”

  Mr. Binkley nodded.

  Well, she supposed, at least that was better than the groom.

  By coincidence, she’d arrived at the same time as the tutor that morning, and they’d met at the side door. Unable to recall his real name, she’d nodded and smiled. The man was unremarkable except for a face pockmarked from some childhood illness. Moreover, he was utterly unsmiling in return.

  It was that last trait, appearing to have a miserable outlook, that caused Jenny to immediately dismiss him as a suitor for Maggie. Pity. To have found a husband for her right there in Sheffield would have been handy and taken a weight off her shoulders. Though Maggie would most likely not have looked kindly on a tutor as her mate in any case.

  “You gave Master Dolbert the amounts to enter?”

  “He was given the receipts directly to enter and then the deposits were sent to London.”

  Jenny didn’t say a word. In fact, she bit her tongue. Yet how positively simple it would be for the man to record incorrect amounts and keep some of the income for himself. Especially a man good with numbers.

  “Most of the income goes directly into the Devere bank account in London,” she pointed out. “Why would some receipts come here?”