The Earl's Envy (Scandalous Nobility Book 2)

by Madeline St. James

  The Marquess summoned Mrs. Buxton, who cleaned up the tray. Once the tremors had subsided in Lady Ruteledge, Beatrice lit a fire, dampened a rag to press against the heated skin of her charge’s forehead, and removed several layers of the noblewomen’s clothing to allow her more comfort. Beatrice paid no attention to the others in the room as she did what she had been employed to do.

  Lord Ruteledge slouched uncomfortably as he watched her swaddle his mother in blankets and tilt her head forward to assist her in taking a sip of water. Beatrice scurried in a blur of movement, opening the curtains, accepting the new tray of tea from Mrs. Buxton, and pulling a chair to the side of the bed. She took her usual seat, grasped Lady Ruteledge’s hand, and read out loud until the noblewoman’s breathing calmed at the sound of her voice. Eventually, Lord Ruteledge and the others who had been standing near the door left unobtrusively.

  Beatrice waited until the door shut completely before she allowed more tears to cascade from her sad, green eyes. Her mind took her back in time to when she was very small, hiding from her drunken father as he banged through their home in search for something to take his frustrations out on. Beatrice had fallen victim to her father’s fits of rage on more occasions than she could comfortably recall. It had shattered all trust and love she had as a child, but never the hope in her heart.

  Time faded away slowly as she hiccupped into the cuff of her dress and brushed the fallen strands of hair from her face. Lady Ruteledge stared up at her as though she were a broken little girl once more. Beatrice set the book aside and placed her free hand atop of the one that still held Lady Ruteledge’s hand. They looked at one another and shed a few tears of mutual sympathy. “I wanted to make sure you were safe, Beatrice. The walls are not so thin, but I am still able to hear the whispers among the servants. I know you spend the hours I am asleep working in the kitchens or the scullery house.”

  Lady Ruteledge cast a meaningful glance toward Beatrice’s bandaged hands. While she had been accustomed to calluses and roughened skin from hard work during her time at sea, Beatrice had almost forgotten the scorching hot water and harsh chemicals used to wash the linens. She hung her head shamefully. “Apologies, My Lady.”

  “Do not apologize for doing your best, Beatrice. I only wish that you would care for yourself as you have cared for me in the small time you have been with us. I do not wish to be a burden. Neither to you nor my son…”

  Weeks had come and gone without much notice. Beatrice felt at peace only when caring for the noblewoman at her side. “Have you considered that possibly I need to care for you just as much as you need my care? You are no burden, My Lady.”

  Beatrice removed the wet compress, dipped it in the basin of water, rung it out, and replaced it on Lady Ruteledge’s forehead. There were still signs of fever that came with the sort of pain she had endured. As soon as the compress was in place, Lady Ruteledge reached for her hand, bringing a smile to Beatrice’s face. “I shall stay with you until you fall asleep, and then I believe I will have to speak with Lord Ruteledge on your condition. Perhaps I can prepare a bath for you this evening.”

  When the soft snores of Lady Ruteledge flowed through the room, Beatrice tucked the coverings beneath her chin and hurried from the bedchamber. She made her way through the corridors in search for the Earl or the Marquess. Despite her earlier flash of weakness in their presence, she felt the need to explain herself further. The clanking of glass in the Earl’s private study drew her attention. She knocked lightly.

  “You may proceed.”

  Beatrice scuffed at the irritable tone hidden behind the large, wooden door. She pushed her way in and closed the door in her wake, trying to hide the stain upon her cheeks as she realized she stood alone with two gentlemen of aristocracy. Beatrice may not care much for the social obligations of women in society, but she did respect tradition and propriety.

  “My Lord, I wish to express my deepest-”

  “No,” he interrupted faintly. A flash of regret darkened his gaze to the color of the liquid that filled his glass. “I am the one who must issue an apology, Miss Haddington.”

  Chapter Six

  Ruteledge Estate

  Winchester, England

  Beatrice’s head reeled. After only a few days of knowing the Earl, she had already grown tired of the swift changes in his personality. But staring at him as he leaned against the corner of his desk, not but a few feet from the Marquess, she could not shut out the images of him that she had seen in the night. Lord Ruteledge had been wrapped around his pillow, clutching it in a rigid grasp, tossing and turning on his bed, and emitting guttural mewls of distress.

  She had not meant to stare or invade his privacy, but she had been on her way to bed when she heard his cry for help. The sound frightened Beatrice, but not as much as the sight of such a powerful man rendered helpless by the demons in his mind. She wanted nothing more than to cross to the other side of the room and comfort him as she had done for his mother only hours before. But she knew her touch would be unwelcomed.

  Stow your heart, foolish girl, she scolded in the otherwise calm recesses of her mind.

  “The manner in which I reacted to the earlier situation. It was beneath me, Miss Haddington. I hope my actions did not blemish your opinion of me as your employer. And I hope that you will continue your fine work with Lady Ruteledge.”

  “I understand, My Lord. It is to my understanding that your mother is very important to you. It must have been very difficult to see her in such a state of suffering,” she said quietly.

  “It sounds as though you are speaking from experience…”

  “My mother succumbed to her own sickness a few years past. I tended to her until the very end, but there was not much I could do for her but to ease her pain and surround her with my love. Lady Ruteledge is not in the same condition that my mother had been…” Beatrice inhaled a shaky breath. “However, as she grows weaker, there will need to be changes.”

  The Marquess looked up from the document in his hand and removed the eyeglasses that sat upon the end of his nose. Beatrice did not meet his stare; instead she focused her attention of Lord Ruteledge. “What are these changes that you are proposing, Miss Haddington?”

  “With loss of her ability to keep her meals settled, she will most likely have to be served food in her chambers. Her things should be placed closer to the bedside in case she requires them and no one is there to assist. There should be a cot placed in the corner so that Mrs. Buxton or I may stay with her through the evening if her condition declines.”

  “That can all be arranged. Anything else?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” Beatrice sighed. “Allow me to be frank for a moment…there are times when Lady Ruteledge feels as though she is a burden to you and to others. It is important that she is comfortable with the smallest amount of stress. I believe this can be accomplished if you were to-”

  “If I were to what, Miss Haddington?” Lord Ruteledge gave her a peculiar look with a furrowed brow. She clenched her hands by her side and knew she would regret it if she did not speak her mind, despite the growing anxiety within her. Even if it meant she could no longer work at the Earl’s estate, it would sadden her to leave Lady Ruteledge’s side, but some things could no longer be avoided any longer.

  “If you were to visit with her, My Lord. Not in the sense of sharing a meal with the entirety of the household or accompanying the doctors during her treatments. I mean no offense when I say that you should spend time with her as her son, and not as the Earl of Winchester.”

  Steady, Beatrice…

  “I fear that if you do not…see your mother as she is now, you will regret not doing so when the time comes that you must say your goodbyes.”

  Lord Ruteledge inhales deeply, looking stricken by her words. “Do you truly believe that will bring her comfort?”

  “I believe it will bring you comfort, My Lord.” Beatrice chose then to turn away and remove herself from the Earl’s private study so that she could return to
Lady Ruteledge’s side. She did not know how Lord Ruteledge would react to her recommendation, but it would be best if she gave him time to ponder on the more necessary topics. If he wished to put her out onto the streets, she would not argue against it.

  Marina stopped Beatrice in the corridor on her way to the Viscountess’s bedchamber. The gentle, barely-there brush of fingers against the exposed flesh on her arm caused her to nearly jump out of her skin. Clearly, Lord Ruteledge’s outburst still affected her. Beatrice settled her nerves.

  “Faith! Beatrice whatever is the matter?”

  “N-nothing. I am just a bit lost in my own musings. What can I do for you, Marina?” Her voice was small in the mostly empty hallway, too quiet to echo against the walls.

  “Beatrice, do not be silly. Why must you always behave this way? You are not a servant, you are my best friend and I have barely spoken to you since our arrival. What is going on?”

  ***

  James stroked the lapels of his waistcoat and frowned down at the crackling fire. The September rains brought a chill to the air beyond the walls of the manor. It was a cold that matched the icy depths of his heart. Miss Haddington’s words had battered his thoughts and emotions into submission.

  For such a gentle, singsong tone, there was a sense of gravity to her words that hit him like physical blow. The painful limp that formed in his gut began to twist and squeeze against his will. He recognized the feeling all too well: guilt. Miss Haddington was correct. James had neglected his duties as a son out of greedy self-preservation.

  He wanted to chase after her and demand that she pay for her imperious words in some way, but it would have been nothing more than an excuse to steal a second alone with his mother’s caretaker. It would have been a mere moment of polite distances, a breathy exchange of disputes and inquisitive stares between them, but it would have been…real.

  He groaned deeply in his chest. A shameful heat of a humiliating flush crawled up James’s neck and settled upon his sharp cheekbones. If Elias Turner had not been present, James feared he would have operated on his impulses and kissed Miss Haddington. Surely, his actions would have resulted in the harsh sting of her palm cracking against his cheek. But if there were even the smallest possibility that she would have kissed him back, James would have been lost to her. That frightened him most.

  The thought of losing himself in another person, allowing them to toy with his weaknesses, was too much. He pummeled down his contemplations and feelings to allow the callous indifference he wore like a shield to wash over him once more.

  “In all of my days, I have never witnessed such a sight.”

  “Speak plainly, Elias. There is no patience in my heart at the moment. No riddles, I beg of you,” James breathed against the rim of his glass, his voice shaky and uneven.

  “She silenced you. The two of us have been inseparable since we were boys and yet there is not one moment I can recall that anyone, not even your mother, could silence you.”

  “I do not know when it happened,” he admitted. “Or why it started. But I find myself watching over her, needing to protect her as if…as if I care for her.” James prayed that his oldest, dearest friend had not noticed the involuntary shiver that racked his body.

  “The young woman who shuffled into this room like a frightened kitchen mouse had enough courage to tell you the truth. I may not know all there is to know about your situation, but I can see a change in you even now.”

  “Miss Haddington does not dine with the rest of the household, she sleeps in the servant wing, and we have barely exchanged more than a few murmured words in passing. And yet, there is something within her that has beguiled me,” James stuttered. “I understand nothing of who she is…”

  “Well, what do you know about her?”

  “I know that she scampers through the corridor, only to madden me with the lingering scent of apricot and mint. I know that she hums to herself when she works. That she reads aloud in a way that makes my heart ache. And I know that I…there is a high probability that I frighten her.”

  Elias moved to stand beside James, not bothering to hide the smirk that hovered upon his lips, nor the twinkle in his eye. “If your outburst is a shining example of your previous encounters with her, then there is no doubt. What else?”

  “She dislikes any form of social interaction other than what is utterly obligatory. And she crafts the most exquisite desserts that would surely make any practiced baker in Paris drop dead with envy,” James continued, with a hint of pride in his voice. Miss Haddington was a complex, intriguing soul.

  “Miss Beatrice Haddington sounds…perfect.”

  James felt a swell of possessiveness overwhelm his judgment and his senses. He wanted nothing more than to throttle his friend simply for noticing Miss Haddington’s perfections. She’s mine, his mind growled. He hated the sound of her name coming from Elias’s mouth. Beatrice. Beatrice. Beatrice. He chanted her name over and over in his head, wishing he had the courage to say it aloud.

  “Easy, James.” Elias looked truly afraid.

  He looked down and noticed that his hands were fisted in Elias’s clothing and that he had somehow dragged the taller man up against his chest. James released his friend and cast away the thoughts that plagued his mind. His actions were so out of character; they revealed just how much Miss Haddington had begun to affect him. James needed a distraction.

  “Shall we join the other guests in card room?” he offered.

  Elias nodded his head in agreement and followed James out of the study. They walked side by side, not saying much. James ignored Miss Haddington’s scent that seemed cling to every surface of his home. She had taken over completely, even if she was not aware. There was nothing he would deny her, and that frightened him.

  ***

  Josiah Haddington barked orders as his crew prepared the ship to set sail. He sailed under the colors of his great country, but he no longer served the crown. Josiah served the King of the London underground, Mr. Ripper. The scarred, terrifying man owned each and every soul in the city.

  Rumor told that he had gotten his scars and the other injuries from escaping the gallows twice. He had been flogged, tortured, and nearly starved for years before he and his brother had made their escape. Mr. Ripper was said to have been a young Baron at one point in his life, a Baron who had been betrayed by the gentlemen of aristocracy.

  Josiah was not certain how much of the rumors were based in truth. All he was certain of was the ticking clock in his mind that counted down the seconds. He wanted to warn his daughter somehow that she was in danger, but he could not risk it. His plan was to double-cross Mr. Ripper.

  Not by turning him over to the authorities, knowing all too well how many judges and such were under Mr. Ripper’s rule. But the plan was to sell the illegal cargo himself and keep the profits so that he and Beatrice could leave England once and for all. Beatrice always disliked London. She would be happy to escape and begin again.

  Perhaps they could even purchase land in Africa or travel to the colonial settlements in North America where the young nation was still growing.

  No matter how his story ended, for once in Josiah’s life, he thought of Beatrice more than himself. He desperately wanted her to be happy, even if that meant she carried on without him by her side. Josiah only wished that he could undo the mistakes of his past, and that she would one day forgive him.

  Chapter Seven

  Ruteledge Estate

  Winchester, England

  Beatrice had a stripe of flour on her cheek and was up to her elbows in pastries, pies, and biscuits. Whenever she was nervous or angry, she would find a reason to head down to the kitchens and make something sweet. A bit of sugar always cured a broken heart.

  She had not heard anyone approach, but she saw two shadows cast upon the top of her workstation. The enticing scent of her creations had attracted Lord and Lady Dunn, their fingers entwined as they watched her work. Beatrice felt uncomfortable operating under their atten
tive gazes.

  They had arrived on her third day at the Ruteledge Estate, but in the weeks since becoming an employee, she had avoided all of the guests. But none of the others made her feel quite as vulnerable as Lord and Lady Dunn, particularly in that moment of unsettling silence and probing glances. Something about them seemed...sinister.

  Beatrice released a breath she was unaware she had been holding when Mrs. Buxton came barreling into the kitchen. The sight of the kind elderly woman nearly summoned the tears she had been holding back. Beatrice awakened that morning only to miss her mother dearly, the memories of her death still fresh in Beatrice’s young mind.

  “Mrs. Buxton,” she hiccupped. Instantly, the other woman noticed her distress and escorted Lord and Lady Dunn out.

  Once alone, Beatrice backed away from the dough she had been rolling out. Her knees buckled under and she collapsed to the ground with her head hitting the warm stone floor with an audible crack. Beatrice’s eyes fluttered as the world began to tilt. Her body felt too heavy and shadows swarmed her vision until she was lost to the darkness.

  Beatrice regained consciousness only to stare into the shimmering depths of Lord Ruteledge’s eyes, concern pinching his handsome features into that scowl he always wore. Her trembling hand reached up and cupped his cheek, only to cause him to flinch away from her touch as though it burned. She ignored the pain of his rejection until she remembered her precarious position.

  Beatrice looked around until the fog had lifted further from her mind and she could recognize her own private quarters. She absentmindedly questioned why Mrs. Buxton had gone to the Earl for help instead of the butler or one of the other staff members.

  It was then that she felt the angry vibrations in the air.

  “Miss Haddington,” Lord Ruteledge said roughly. “You had fallen in the kitchens. I-I carried you here so that you could rest and so that I may look over your injuries. There was a large amount of blood from your head wound. How are you faring?”