James considered her words attentively. Yes, he believed Mrs. Buxton was correct in her observation. Miss Haddington had seemed surprised, if not excited to find that his home did not possess the same distasteful display of wealth and old money that most of his associates were guilty of.
The majority of the fortune James had inherited after his father’s untimely passing had been utilized in the acquisition of an abundance of land and city properties all around England. Because he had no children nor did he harbor any desire to marry, the bulk of his possessions and affluences would be parted equally and distributed to the members of his staff in the event of his death. Many of the persons he employed, like Mrs. Buxton, had been with him since the days of his youth.
His status as Earl of Winchester did not diminish the fact that his staff was his family. They were the only constant in his daily life. And with his mother ill, their welfare was where he placed the entirety of his efforts.
“Will she join us for supper?”
A small smile toyed with the corners of Mrs. Buxton’s mouth as she spoke. “Miss Haddington is currently in the kitchens helping to prepare the evening meal. She will dine with the other guests, but not until she has paid her dues.”
“For such a quiet young woman, she is very strong in her convictions,” he grumbled as he filled a new glass of brandy. “I request your presence so I may speak with her in person about my mother’s condition. She should know what lies ahead.”
“As you wish, My Lord.”
Mrs. Buxton left the dreary study with a sense of barely restrained bewilderment about her. James emptied the contents of his glass and felt the burn in his stomach as the liquid fire settled in his gut. For only a second, it numbed the writhing and twisting anxiety within him. Through the door, he heard shuffles and muffled protests.
Despite his best efforts, Miss Haddington’s persistent tone brought a light smile to his lips. It was no more than a twitch of muscle, but he sheer infrequency of it was not lost to him. The familiar knock sounded once more. “Come in.”
“…Please, I am covered in flour and I smell of cow…” Miss Haddington’s words cut off the instant she stood before him. James motioned for her to step fully into the room.
***
Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Beatrice chanted in her mind as her nerves were assaulted by the cold, fetching demeanor of Lord Ruteledge. Those enchanting, honey-colored orbs stared deeply into her eyes and she felt as though the ice in their depths chilled her soul. Beatrice shivered despite the warmth of the room, and brushed her hands softly against her apron.
She glanced at the mirror that hanged on the wall behind Lord Ruteledge and grimaced as she spotted a streak of white across her cheek. Her hair had fallen a bit from the pins she had used to fasten the waves upon her head after removing her bonnet due to the heat in the kitchen. Beatrice’s cheeks grew flushed at the sight of her disheveled appearance.
“You summoned me, My Lord,” Beatrice peeped, her voice no more than a whisper between them.
“I asked for you, yes. But I would never demand your presence. You are not a prisoner, after all. The right to deny me your company is still ever present, Miss Haddington.”
Mrs. Buxton closed the door and stood beside Beatrice for a moment. After a few seconds, the gentle housekeeper walked to the corner of the study to prepare a cup of tea as Beatrice and Lord Ruteledge sat across from one another. Her eyes darted about the room. The study was beautiful. Unlike the lighter, warmer tones of wood throughout the rest of the manor, this room had darker hues of brown and the tapestries were of striking shade of cobalt.
Only when she stared at her untidy reflection once more did she feel the heated traces of shame. Beatrice lowered her head shyly and said, “Apologies, My Lord. I was not expecting to see you before I had the opportunity to make myself more presentable. Is something wrong…?”
“Worry not, Miss Haddington,” he murmured, looking down at his glass of brandy. “I requested your presence to discuss matters of great importance…”
Mrs. Buxton set a steaming cup of tea in front of Beatrice as she stood beside Lord Ruteledge and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Beatrice looked away from the unexpected display of familiarity between a nobleman and a member of his staff. However, Mrs. Buxton mentioned that the Earl often saw to the needs of his many servants well before his own. Lord Ruteledge looked up at his housekeeper as they shared a brief instant of shared sorrow.
Beatrice felt as though she had imposed upon a moment of privacy and fought the urge to remove herself from the room. She looked away and peered through the clear glass of the window and wondered if the lush, green fields beyond truly were as endless as they appeared. A quiet sniffle from Mrs. Buxton drew her gaze back to them. The Lord’s face returned to cool indifference.
“My mother, Lady Helena Ruteledge, has fallen ill. The specialists are not certain if she will recover. Her symptoms are very severe and fatal at times, but there are good days...”
Beatrice met his stare and waited for him to continue, her heart clenching at the broken sound of his voice. She saw beyond the mask of emotionlessness he wore like a cloak. It seemed to fade before her eyes. Even as he attempted to hide the dampness clinging to his long eyelashes or the crimson blush upon his regal cheekbones, Beatrice saw through it all.
“Mrs. Buxton has graciously informed me that you have a particularly useful set of skills, Miss Haddington. I humbly offer you a place within this household as a member of my staff and as a caretaker for Lady Ruteledge during these difficult times.”
“My Lord…” Beatrice began. Images of her own mother during her last days flashed in Beatrice’s mind, tightening her chest and expanding the gaping hole in her heart as she attempted to stifle the grief that still felt painful. She did not wish for the Earl to witness his mother waste away as she had been forced to. “I accept your offer. And I will do all that I can to see that she is cared for to best of my abilities. Thank you.”
“You understand that this conversation as well as my mother’s condition must be held in the utmost confidence…”
“I understand.”
Beatrice looked out the window once more and felt a comforting silence settle within the room. She could smell the scent of his cologne mingling with the earthy fragrance of her tea and the sharp aroma of his brandy. The pulse at her neck began to throb frantically. Mrs. Buxton took a seat beside Beatrice as the housekeeper, the Earl, and the fisherman’s daughter watched the day go by through the window.
Do your best and try not to disappoint him, Beatrice, she contemplated. Beatrice made a silent vow to earn the trust of Lord Ruteledge and the others who called the manor their home. She wanted to belong somewhere…
Chapter Three
Ruteledge Estate
Winchester, England
Candelabras lit the dining room, washing everything in a golden light that warmed the area. The ladies of nobility, who stayed as guests within the household, entered the room according to their rank. Beatrice, as the only guest without a proper title or reputation within aristocracy, followed closely as Lady Helena Ruteledge entered last and took her seat at the upper-end of the table.
The gentlemen followed suit with James seating himself at the low-end of the table. He slid his worried gaze toward his mother and sent a silent prayer to the heavens that she would be able to make it through supper, or at least eat something more than a morsel of food. The woman he saw, even with her hazel eyes and bouncing curls, looked nothing like the mother he had known a year ago.
Her skin was much paler than usual and her appearance was practically skeletal, as her weight had dramatically decreased in the recent months. He recognized the soul numbing shadows in her eyes and wanted desperately to bring a smile to her once-beautiful face. James wanted the guests gone. He wanted to be able to allow his mother to rest. It pained him to watch her force a smile that did not reach her eyes and add a deceptive note of happiness behind the raspy rattling in her voice. The
table was served precisely on schedule and he was a little more comforted by the sight of Miss Haddington. “Enjoy.”
Lady Haddington was clearly quite nervous. She sat not far down the length of the table, showing an almost expert display of table etiquette that contradicted the story of her history that she had told to Mrs. Buxton. Beatrice Haddington dined with more grace and manners than many of the ladies at the table with noble backgrounds.
The comfort he felt at her presence had nothing to do with the serene energy that surrounded her (or so he told himself) and everything to do with the fact that she may be able to perceive his mother’s discomfort before it drew the attention of the guests. James barely glanced at her, but the brief flicker of his gaze had been enough to memorize the unique shade of pink on her gown and the delicate lace that edged the neckline and wrists of her sleeves. Her brown hair was properly covered and neatly pinned back, allowing the elegant planes of her face to catch the light from the candles.
The soft buzz of polite conversation hummed around him, but James did not pay any attention to the words exchanged at his table. All of the guests were aware that he preferred not to speak at all, much less discuss the trivial details of social society. The only thing that held his attention was the rise and fall of his mother’s breathing, the slight gasps of awe from Miss Haddington, and the slide of his silver across his plate.
Someone had spoken to him, however. A small voice had reached out to him as he had taken a bite of his supper, but he had been lost in thought and had not heard the question. The crimson mark of embarrassment upon Miss Haddington’s lightly tanned complexion caused him to ask, “Pardon?”
She raised her voice gently, but not much higher than before, and repeated herself. “During your voyages, what did you appreciate the most, My Lord?”
The shock that rippled through the guests was not due to fact that she had addressed him in a social setting while being below his rank, but that she had addressed him at all. Even those of his peerage did not speak to him so directly out of fear more than out of respect. They did not wish to anger him, as most of them required his assistance in one way or another.
But not Miss Haddington, she spoke to him as though he were…unbroken. And he found himself answering her question more honestly than he had intended. “I enjoyed the freedom of being surround by endlessness,” he replied. “The vast, open sea humbles me in a way that nothing else can. It serves as a reminder that the world is much larger than myself.”
He could tell that his answer had pleased her. The blush grew to a deeper shade of red, but not of embarrassment. She smiled to herself when she thought he could not see it, but he had. He cherished being able to make her feel joy, even for a fleeting moment. If she at all felt the same on her own journey across the oceans of the world, then he was not alone.
And that put him a bit more at ease. Lady Knight began to tell a humorous story about the hunting trip she and her husband had taken in the later weeks of August. James heard only a few muttered words, but he was grateful that someone had been willing to fill the silence so that he had not been forced to out of courteousness as the host. He made a mental note to purchase Lady Marina Knight a gift, for he was entirely conscious that she exhausted her voice for his sake. She was a very perceptive and generous person.
“Miss Haddington, would you kindly share a few tales of your own travels?” James looked up as he noticed the table had gone quiet. Miss Haddington looked to him in search for reassurance, or something more. It took several heartbeats before he realized the question had come from his own mouth. James cleared his throat and looked away.
***
Beatrice had not anticipated the Earl’s question nor had she ever felt such an instant spark of adrenaline course through her veins. Her travels were a safe topic, but one she was obviously passionate about. She could quite not deduce, however, if Lord Ruteledge had inquired about her travels out of politeness or out of interest.
Her voice was soft even in the noiselessness of the room. “My father’s ship, the Lady’s Rake, was originally built for the purpose of serving as a flagship used for merchant services until my father inherited it. It is primarily used as a fishing vessel now after several modifications. However, there have been times when registered trade companies or merchants still commission for more exotic good. This often sends us to the coasts of Africa or some of the islands near the Caribbean,” explained Beatrice. “I am able to accompany my father on fishing expeditions or to deliver the imports, but never when he is required to assist the Royal Navy in times of conflict.” Beatrice noticed the way Lord Ruteledge had flinched at her words, but decided to continue. “The Lady’s Rake is large and initially built for speed and to withstand battle. But she is gentler in the water than one would presume.” She felt herself get lost in the poetic musings of her life at sea as she closed her eyes against the questioning stares around her. “There is nothing like the cool spray of the sea against your sun-warmed skin or the sounds of the waves crashing against the ship. At times, I would climb as high as I could and spread my arms wider that I thought was possible. It felt as though I could fly whenever the winds urged on the sails.”
“Did you see anything significant while visiting Africa?” Marina asked, intrigued beyond measure.
“There were soldiers along the western coast, a few of them offered to take my father and I to see the beautiful and untamed beasts that ruled the wilds. They were exquisite, masters of the hunt. I had never felt more alive than I had as I stared into the eyes of such creatures.” Her words faded once more and she opened her eyes to see Lord Ruteledge avoiding her entirely. Perhaps the stories she had told were not to his liking. She was surprised how much that idea disappointed her.
Lady Helena Ruteledge began to speak, shocking the entire table. “Miss Haddington, is it?”
“Yes, Lady Ruteledge.” Beatrice watched for any signs of discomfort from the Dowager Countess of Winchester. She would be expected, after all, to take on the responsibilities as the noblewoman’s caretaker after this evening.
“Pardon my candor, but how is it that the labor of your father and his ship is of such importance and yet you are not pursuing a marriage contract with a reputable gentleman?”
It was a polite way of asking why Beatrice had been living in poverty, and why she had not debuted as a suitable lady in society as many young women her age had.
“The profit made by my father’s work goes to the necessary repairs to the Lady’s Rake, wages for the crew, and to replenish supplies.” Beatrice did not mention her father’s consumption of rum, port wines, and other vices. “As for the prospect of marriage, I am not averse to the thought. I am, however, unconcerned with matters of social expectancies apart from what is unequivocally essential.” Beatrice did not risk another nibble at her food until Lady Ruteledge indicated that her answer had been adequate. There had been a glimmer of mischief in the noblewoman’s eyes that she could not grasp.
Although she had only assisted in the preparation of an insignificant amount of the delicious foods served on the table, Beatrice took great pride in how the guests and the hosts seemed to enjoy the meal. The bulk of her efforts had been in the making of the desserts served in a separate room.
Once the feast had come to an end, the guests moved into the room where the delicate pastries, biscuits, macaroons, and other sugary delights awaited. Sweet wines paired nicely with the finely crafted treats. Beatrice scrunched her nose at the overly extravagant display of sculptures that graced the table.
She piled a bit of each sweet onto a platter and once again ignored the questioning glances of the others as she headed back into the dining area where Lord Ruteledge and his mother sat, quietly discussing something in private. Beatrice noted how the Earl’s posture stiffened upon her arrival, but she paid him no mind as she set the delicacies in front of Lady Ruteledge before trying to disappear once more.
Beatrice had not wanted the already exhausted woman to fatigue herself
further by putting on useless airs. She could feel their eyes on her as she returned to Marina’s side after she closed the adjoining door. Her friend eyed her suspiciously, but did not question Beatrice’s actions. “You looked positively radiant at dinner,” Marina said as she nibbled on a biscuit.
“Thank you. I feel like I have made a fool of myself.”
“The weekend has only just begun, I am sure it will only get worse,” Marina chuckled playfully. “Have any of the gentlemen caught your eye? Well, if I were to wager-”
Beatrice cut off Marina’s words. “No. This is not one of your games, Marina. I have a rare opportunity here and I will not allow it to pass me by because your hopeless contemplations of romanticism.”
Marina was quiet for a moment, but that twinkle in her eyes never disintegrated. “You speak differently here,” she observed with no little amount of amusement.
“I do not wish for others to think that I am not articulate or educated because of my age and lack of title.”
“They are not so terrible once you get acquainted with them. And now that I am married and have a title of my own, I could do the respectable thing and chaperone-”
“No!” Beatrice squeaked. The heat behind her ears grew increasingly warm as her embarrassment swelled. “Please, Marina. I implore you, do not do anything that we will both regret. There are no desires to join this world or attend any socials in search of a husband. The man I marry will find me whether I attend a ball or not.”
“Very well, but the proposition does not expire in case you have a change of heart.”
Chapter Four
The Port of London
Fog hovered gently above the ground. The moon was high, washing London in a pale blue light. Slightly chilled September winds did little to dry the sweat that covered Josiah Haddington as he stood in the shadows, awaiting the arrival of Mr. Ripper. Josiah owed the self-proclaimed King of London more than he would like to confess, and it was a debt that was long overdue. He hated lying to Beatrice and forcing her to live in the dredges of London, believing that he had changed for the better. But he didn’t have the strength to tell her that his progress had been a pretense. Sure, the abuse that sickened him to his core had stopped, but the drinking and gambling had not.
The Earl's Envy (Scandalous Nobility Book 2) Page 2
