The Earl's Envy (Scandalous Nobility Book 2)

by Madeline St. James

  Pacing wildly, Mrs. Buxton’s voice burst out. “What were you thinking? I have held my tongue for days, but now I have no choice. You cannot carry on this way…”

  “What is she talking about, Miss Haddington?”

  Beatrice looked over at the housekeeper with pleading eyes, knowing the truth would only anger Lord Ruteledge. In the end, she was forced to confess. “Mrs. Buxton and Lady Ruteledge believe that I have taken on too many responsibilities. When I am not at your mother’s side, I work in other areas of the manor. Often I do not sleep and I…”

  “You what, Miss Haddington?”

  Mrs. Buxton answered for her. “She forgets to eat.”

  Lord Ruteledge looked her over and Beatrice knew he noticed the difference in her weight, the paleness of her once olive skin, and the heavy bags beneath her eyes. There was anger, disbelief, and something else written in his gaze…

  Was it softness?

  The sharp, demanding tone of his voice snapped her out of her meandering thoughts. “You will dine with the household. I will accept no protestations, Miss Haddington. Mrs. Buxton will tend to my mother while you partake in your daily meals and you will move to the cot in her bedchambers permanently.”

  “My Lord-”

  A slowly lifted hand silenced her words and Beatrice wondered for a moment if they were as soft as they looked, despite the calluses on his fingers. Instantly, she shifted her gaze away only to have him turn her face back with a firm grip on her chin. She flushed at the contact. Yes, his hands were soft.

  Mrs. Buxton cleared her throat carefully, but pointedly.

  The Earl dropped his hand swiftly. “As I was saying. You will, at the very least, share your meals and your time with the household from this day forward. I also expect updates on your condition and the state of my mother’s illness often. In return, I shall do what you requested of me on the previous day.”

  She gulped audibly. “Apologies, My Lord. Indeed.”

  ***

  James could not shake the sight of Miss Haddington lying on the floor, surrounded by a scarlet pool of blood. Flashes of the war had nearly caused him to collapse beside her, but he had forced his fears away so that he could focus on reality. Though she was a bit more toned and muscled from hard work than what would be considered acceptable for a lady, Miss Haddington had been far too easy to lift from the floor.

  He was no small man, more fit and taller than most gentleman of nobility, even though he was less muscular than Elias. But carrying the deadweight of another person was more difficult than one would assume. The touch of the soaked fabric on the back of her threadbare dress had caused his stomach to lurch. He had not needed to look at his hands nor the sleeves of his coat to know that they were stained in the same color that marked the kitchen floor.

  And the fact that she had not only worked herself practically to death, but that she had also accidentally starved herself made him want to punch a hole in the wall. He could barely restrain himself. The only salve to his blistering anger was that she agreed to his terms.

  Did she not know her own worth? Had no one informed her of her own perfection? James questioned. In his mind, she was the epitome of all things virtuous in the midst of so much cruelty. Miss Beatrice Haddington needed to be protected and cared for.

  The silken feel of her skin against his palm made the pulse at his neck throb in quickened repetition. His teeth ached from clenching his jaw, forcing him to use his tongue to pry them apart and wet his lips in the dry air of her chamber.

  He reached down to the bed and wiggled his arm beneath her shoulders to help her to sit upright. She gasped slightly as he attempted to ignore the feeling swelling his chest as the warmth of her seeped into his skin and melted away some of the frost that covered his heart. Miss Haddington closed her eyes against the sudden movement.

  Her hands reached out and bunched themselves in the fabric of his sleeves. The ends of her nails scratched his wrist lightly. James should have moved away once she was settled, but he hesitated a bit longer than necessary, telling himself that it was to ensure that she did not faint again.

  Mrs. Buxton grew impatient and swatted him away from the bed to take his place beside Beatrice. Those green eyes that reminded him of the summers he spent in his father’s cottage as a boy blinked at him in confusion. James could not avert his gaze even if he had wanted to. He was trapped in a timeless moment with Beatrice as everything stood still and the world faded around them.

  “Thank you,” she exhaled, finally breaking the spell.

  “You are very welcome, Miss Haddington.” James took the opportunity to turn his back to them after a minute of risked looks of admiration. As he pushed open the door and headed back to the table where the other guests were eating breakfast, he found it harder to breathe the further he move away from Beatrice’s bedchamber. It was an unexpected feeling.

  Several sets of eyes stared him down as he took a seat. Lady Knight gasped at the sight of the blood that stained the sleeves and chest of his clothing. Lady Knight brushed away her husband’s hand and headed in the direction of the servant wing.

  ***

  Beatrice twitched as Marina threw open the door to her living quarters. She looked away from her friend and Mrs. Buxton to focus her gaze outside, aware that she had been foolish, but unwilling to hear their continuous lecturing. Her eyes wandered the path that led to the scullery house.

  “Beatrice!” Marina’s desperate voice rang in her ears. Suddenly she was pulled up against her friend’s heaving chest as tears soaked the fabric at her neck. Beatrice rubbed soothing circles into Marina’s back, withholding a grunt as her head began to throb. “What happened?”

  “I fell in the kitchen. Everything is alright, Marina.”

  Beatrice felt a sharp slap on her arm. Marina’s bright, blue eyes turned darker than the angry sea. “Do not lie to me! You forget who looked after you after your mother passed and your father was too occupied with sinking into a bottle to care!”

  Guilt stabbed at her heart. Marina was right, she should not keep hiding things from her friend. Even so, it was strange to look upon her friend, who Beatrice barely recognized. The same kind, fearless soul still lurked within, but it was difficult to see beyond all that was Lady Knight, Viscountess of Greenwood. Beatrice felt as though she had lost something significant the day Marina married Percival.

  Once an outsider, always and outsider, she thought.

  But when she looked at Mrs. Buxton, Beatrice knew that was no longer true. She belonged in the Earl’s home with the people she had grown to care for. Beatrice knew she would never tire of seeing that warm, familiar look on Lord Ruteledge’s face. In fact, she did not think she could live another day until she witnessed it again.

  After several hours had come and gone, fighting back the nausea that came each time she moved, Beatrice returned to Lady Ruteledge’s bedchamber. The sight of her charge shivering despite the fire tugged at Beatrice’s heartstrings. Beatrice crawled into the bed beside the trembling form, using the heat from her own body to warm Lady Ruteledge.

  She did not care if anyone thought it was inappropriate or too familiar an action toward a lady of nobility. Beatrice’s only concern was the health of Lady Ruteledge. Easing even a small amount of the fragile woman’s discomfort was enough to reassure her that she was doing the right thing.

  The sun was at its highest, shining in through the dew-covered glass of the windows. She began to hum quietly, knowing it calmed Lady Ruteledge as much as it calmed her. Peace was more difficult to come by as the guests moved about freely through the Earl’s Estate. Beatrice pondered whether it made Lord Ruteledge as uncomfortable as it made her. It felt almost...intrusive.

  The faint humming slowly turned to the soft sound of Beatrice’s hushed voice. She sang the lullaby her mother had used to put her to bed on the nights before she would sail away with her father in the morning.

  “The stars shine always for you, my little lady. Seas of green beneath the Lady’s
Rake, don’ let the dancing of emeralds cry in my little lady’s eyes. Sweet lavender breeze brings home my Honey Bee, forever and always for me, my little lady…”

  Chapter Eight

  London, England

  October 1814

  Beatrice accompanied Lady Ruteledge to London to meet with a specialist who claimed to have made a breakthrough regarding her condition. Neither Beatrice nor her charge dared to hope for a miracle, but they had decided to humor the man. Lady Ruteledge still leaned weakly against Beatrice as the carriage came to a stop.

  William, one of the gentlemen who worked at the Earl’s estate, assisted Lady Ruteledge as they exited the transport. Beatrice gathered the small bag with her charge’s necessities and followed close behind into the intimidating structure. The interior was very clean and empty, despite the stench of sickness in the air.

  It was bereft of all happiness. Beatrice though that it was a place people went to die lonely rather than heal. All of the patients they crossed paths with were shockingly thin and dazed from the treatment. Beatrice reached out to still William when she noticed how many of the poor people could barely move on their own.

  She made the decision to leave. Beatrice refused to allow her friend and employer to lose everything that made her human. “This was a mistake,” she whispered.

  William simply nodded his head and turned to leave with Lady Ruteledge tucked beneath the shelter of his arm, his steps faltering when the noblewoman gentle gripped him.

  Lady Ruteledge turned to Beatrice with inquiry in her eyes. “Should we not even attempt to speak with the doctor?”

  “This is no place for you, My Lady...no place for anyone. I will not have you fade into nothingness so far from your home and with no one at your side. I also believe, with all due respect, that your son would agree with my decision,” Beatrice said. With a curt nod, they were back on the streets of London.

  The chilled October gusts of wind rustled her cap, causing Beatrice to shiver. But something in the air was more ominous than the cold. Unseen eyes stared her down, ramping up her anxiety and making her stomach flip. Beatrice looked around the streets as William assisted Lady Ruteledge back into the carriage, spotting a man with a tall hat and a cane.

  He leaned against a wall in the shadows, an unforgettably evil energy swirling about him. Beatrice held her breath, but did not turn away. The man stepped from the shadows, allowing only part of his face to enter the light. She gasped, placing a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

  Gruesome, angry-looking scars marred the man’s face. Deep-set, dark eyes traveled up her figure. The look he cast was predatory, and Beatrice swallowed back the bile that had risen in her throat at such a lecherous stare. William placed a tender hand upon her shoulder. She yelped in surprise, but turned to face him.

  “Are you alright, Miss Haddington?” he asked cautiously, not looking away from the man who had returned to the shadows. “Do you recognize that gentleman?”

  “I am fine, William. Thank you. And no, I have never seen that man before. But something about him is…”

  Beatrice did not continue, for she did not have to. William gave her a look that said he understood. After a crowd passed by, the gentleman disappeared. Beatrice blinked. If William had not been peering in the same direction, Beatrice would have thought it had all been her imagination.

  Nevertheless, Lady Ruteledge needed to return to the manor before the cold could worsen her illness. Beatrice climbed into the carriage, feeling silly and guilty for their trip being a waste of time. They could have spoken to the doctor, but she had doubted the man’s abilities to heal or cure upon first glancing at the others in his care. Lady Ruteledge needed to be surrounded by love, not death.

  Beatrice took her place on the seat and pulled the noblewoman close to her once again, happy that her presence and soothing embrace helped Lady Ruteledge relax. William sat with the driver to allow them some privacy, which she appreciated. He was a good man, strong and kind. William was everything she would have loved in a husband. But he was not…Well, Beatrice did not know exactly.

  James. You foolish girl, he isn’t James.

  She tried to distract herself from her thoughts by twirling one of Lady Rutledge’s curls between her fingers. “How are you feeling, My Lady?”

  “Contented.”

  “Do you regret not staying to see the specialist?”

  “No. I trust you, Beatrice. More so than most.”

  ***

  James was surprised to see the carriage pull into the Estate so soon after seeing them off. He expected them to be gone for weeks, if not an entire month if things had gone as they had planned. But the look of hesitation of Beatrice’s face, paired with the fury behind William’s eyes, caused James’s stomach to clench.

  What could have possibly put that look in such a patient and optimistic gentleman’s eyes? Beatrice waved William’s help away as she lifted his mother into her arms. James was always impressed by the strength she possessed in her petite frame. He then noticed how her arms trembled as a result of the cold rather than the weight she carried.

  Beatrice wrapped his mother snuggly in her coat, leaving nothing but the bare skin of her arms to ward off the cold winds. He bit his lower lip in anger even as gratitude filled his heart. She often cared far too much about the needs of others, often to her personal detriment. It was confusing to be irritated by, and thankful for, one person all at once. But nothing about Beatrice was simple.

  She waited for William to open the front door before she rushed past him and headed for the staircase. He attempted to go after her, but was stopped by William’s insistent hold on his arm. “My Lord, may I have a moment of your time?” he asked as he dropped his arm to his side.

  James nodded, using this as an opportunity to learn what he could about their brief trip, knowing that neither Beatrice nor his mother would confide in him. There was only one place in the manor that no servants or guests were allowed to enter. “Follow me to the study. It will be more private there.”

  They walked up the stairs to the last room at the far end of the main corridor. James barely resisted leaning his ear against the door to his mother’s bedchamber to hear the muffled voices more clearly. Once they entered the study, William paced across the floor.

  James gestured for the young man to take a seat and poured him a glass of brandy to sooth his nerves. Neither man spoke for approximately twenty minutes, according to the clock that ticked in the corner. William released a quivering breath and said, “there was a man in London who frightened Miss Haddington. She appeared ghostly, too shaken to move or speak. I must admit that when I caught sight of the man I too experience a moment of raw fear…”

  Unreasonable, possessive and protective anger began to simmer beneath his ubiquitous display of indifference.

  William stuttered for several seconds but hastened to continue once he found his composure. “He had…these scars on his face; dreadful, horrific scars. And he stared at Miss Haddington as though he recognized her. She insists that she has never seen the man before and I believe her, but the…desire in his eyes was quite alarming, My Lord.”

  “What else did you see?”

  “He was dressed quite smartly, My Lord. Very reminiscent of a time long past, but he wore it with such elegance that it did not appear garish in any way. The man seemed…significant.”

  James wondered if he knew a gentleman of notability with scars like William described. He thought of no one. Surely such rumored repulsiveness would not go unnoticed by a society that was so unabashedly arrogant and superficial. “Was the gentleman the reason you returned to Winchester so abruptly, William?” He asked, still perplexed by it all.

  “It is not, My Lord. Miss Haddington did not feel the specialist could help Lady Ruteledge. I believe her precise words were, ‘this is no place for you, My Lady –no place for anyone. I will not have you fade into nothingness so far from your home and with no one at your side. I also believe, with all due respe
ct, that your son would agree with my decision.’ And then she advised that we return to the estate.”

  Of course. Iif Beatrice was uncomfortable with the state of the facility, there was very little doubt in his mind that he would have objected to her decision.

  “She was correct in her assumptions,” James admitted. “William, please take a transport into town and purchase a gift for Miss Haddington. Something…green and nautical.”

  Like her eyes and her love for the sea…

  The young man scampered to his feet, leaving behind the empty glass and rushed to do his new task. James waited until the door closed to release the shout of anger he felt. He had no sovereignty over his circumstances. When his mind cleared, he spotted the shattered glass he had thrown at the wall.

  He should never have lost control, but the thought of someone staring at his Beatrice with desire in their eyes made his head swarm with violent images. His Beatrice? James could not recall when he had started referring to her as his at all. But he could not stifle the rumble of joy it sprung from his chest.

  “Beatrice…” James whispered, tasting her name on his tongue for the first time. It weakened something within him. It made him want to say it directly to her as he looked into her captivating eyes. He dared to wonder if she ever felt such things for him in return. Do not be foolish, James.

  ***

  Beatrice set the slight weight of Lady Ruteledge on her bed and unraveled the many layers wrapped around the ill woman. When she was down to her chemise and stockings, Beatrice tucked her beneath the warm blankets and went to rekindle the embers in the fireplace. The temperature was not too drastic, but chilled enough to cause the tiny hairs on her arms to stand upright.

  “Beatrice…” Lady Ruteledge called out.

  As she moved to return to the bedside, a manic shout rang through the manor followed by what sounded like smashing glass. Beatrice nearly jumped out of her skin, knowing exactly who had caused such a commotion. She was unable to bite back her anger at his selfishness.