The Lodestone

by Charlene Keel

  She took a deep breath and before cowardice could overwhelm her, she plunged ahead. “It has occurred to me, Mr. Stoneham, that—as you have no plans to reside here throughout the year—you will need someone to see after the place in your absence. I have, for some time, performed many tasks in helping my grandfather run the inn. I have kept the ledgers, supervised the staff, ordered menus, purchased supplies, and the like.”

  “You are suggesting that you, a mere slip of a girl, become the innkeeper?”

  “It’s true I’m young, sir, but the staff all respect me. And I believe they will vouch for my efficiency.”

  “My eyes can do that,” he said curtly, shifting his weight in the chair. “So you want to remain here and serve me?” He paused, but she remained silent. “Is that it?” he prompted.

  “Yes, sir.” She could feel her self-control wilting under his penetrating stare. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap to prevent them shaking, she pressed her lips together, determined not to cry. She had not shed a tear as yet, and she would die before giving him the satisfaction of reducing her to feminine histrionics.

  “But you cannot even heed the simplest order,” he protested calmly. “I was not out of this house an hour but you instantly disobeyed my wishes.”

  “I explained why I prefer to work.” She wanted to jump to her feet and pound his unfeeling chest, but she forced herself to remain seated.

  “Did you stop to consider what my reasons might be?” he asked. “Perhaps it was in my mind to sell the place. What then?”

  Her gaze did not falter beneath his as she responded, “Then perhaps, if the work I’ve done in your absence is satisfactory, you’d be kind enough to recommend my services to the new owner.” A flicker of hope came to life within her. If he were to sell the inn, perhaps a more understanding employer would take her on.

  “Put your mind at ease, mademoiselle,” he grumbled. “I have no plans to sell. And so you are offering your services to me, when it’s obvious you cannot bear the sight of me. With good reason, I might add.” The quick, surprised look she darted at him gave her away completely and she wished, for her mother’s sake, she could recall it. She didn’t like him, it was true; but she did not wish to make him angry. There was too much at stake. “Well?” he demanded.

  She had to look away from him as she struggled to hold her emotions in check. “I must see that my mother has lodging and a little food every day,” she said at last. “We have no relatives to whom I can appeal and she will not survive if we are set upon the road. I would suffer anything rather than allow it.”

  He leaned close to her and placing his hand beneath her chin, he drew her face up so that she was looking directly into his eyes. And then he spoke one distinct word.

  “Anything?” he asked softly.

  The only way she could avoid his gaze was by standing up, which she did slowly and with as much dignity as she could muster. Her voice an agonized whisper, she said, “Yes, Mr. Stoneham. However, I believe you are too much of a gentleman to demand . . . anything.”

  The reassurance she had hoped for was not forthcoming. He merely scowled up at her and retorted, “So you think me a gentleman?” Before she could answer he got quickly to his feet and although she wanted to flee, she refused to allow him further intimidation until the matter was settled. He seemed determined to unnerve her, but she held her fear, and her temper, in check. Standing near, he stared down at her for a moment, and she returned his stare.

  “What do you consider a fair wage for your services?” he asked.

  “I would be content with the same wage Mary receives, or any wage you consider reasonable. I only want to keep a roof over my mother’s head.”

  “And you think me the sort of brute who would toss two women into the street—and one of them helpless?”

  “I do not know, Mr. Stoneham.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as he moved away from her. He went to the desk and toyed with the writing portfolio for a moment.

  “I’ll not bond you.” His eyes probed more deeply into hers. “That way, I’ll not have a mess on my hands when some dandified country gentleman wants to marry you and take you away from my employ. You’ll be free to go whenever you wish.”

  “Oh, I shall not marry,” she said, without stopping to speculate that she’d be asked to explain.

  “And why not? Surely you do not think yourself hard to look upon?”

  “I have not thought about it much, one way or the other, sir. I’ve always known I would never marry,” she replied. “My late grandmother made it clear to me that a respectable man does not take to wife a woman of questionable birth.” She paused a moment to let him take in the scandal that had plagued her all her life. “I was fortunate that she never permitted me any delusions along those lines. You need not worry that I’ll neglect my duties here, and certainly not in favor of romance.”

  “I see,” he said, and she was grateful when he simply shrugged. “I don’t imagine your ‘questionable birth’ will affect your work. Do you wish to be bonded, then?”

  “In all truth, I do not.” As soon as she had enough money saved and time to look for another position, she intended to put as much distance as she could between this frightening stranger and herself. “But I will trust that to your discretion, sir.”

  He crossed the room to stand close beside her once more. “Very well,” he agreed. “We’ll leave it at that for now.” When she’d stood in her efforts to avoid his gaze, her shawl had slipped unnoticed to the floor. She started when he bent before her to retrieve it. “Again, mademoiselle, you have dropped something dear at my feet,” he said. Gently, he placed it around her shoulders, a slight smile banishing his customary scowl.

  “There’s one more thing, Mr. Stoneham.”

  “Yes?” he asked, his voice low, his fingers still entwined in the yarn of her wrap.

  “All the rooms in the servant’s quarters are occupied at present, but if you’ll permit my mother to remain in her room, I’ll move my things in there immediately. There is ample space, and she sometimes needs attention through the night.”

  “You will keep your own room,” he replied sternly, although she detected a twinkle in his eyes. “With all the work I expect of you, you’ll need your rest. Mary can look after your mother. I shouldn’t like to think of you so far away should I require your services during the night for . . . anything.” Cleome tried to move away from him but he held her fast. “Is there anything else you wish?” he asked in a husky whisper.

  “Thank you, no,” she said, her eyes widened in surprise. “I . . . I’ll let you get back to your bath.”

  He loosened his hold on the shawl, put his head back and laughed. The sound was like a hundred great bells whose ropes had been pulled at once, releasing them to peal in deafening tones. She tried once more to pull away from him and the slight tug she gave brought him back to his senses.

  “I must apologize. You see, the joke is on me.” He was once more serious despite his obvious good humor. “It is truly refreshing to meet a guileless woman. I had no idea such a creature existed.” At last he released his hold on her shawl. “But I’ll not continue to apologize for the situation in which we find ourselves. With your grandfather’s gaming spirit, it would have happened sooner or later—and you could have found yourself in far worse straits than you are under my care. What’s done is done, as your Mary is so fond of saying. We must somehow make the best of it. I think I can safely promise you that once the shock of your grandfather’s death has receded, life will go on much the same for you. Now, since I will require much of you in your new capacity, I insist you take the remainder of the day to rest, and start anew on the morrow. Good morning, Miss Parker.”

  Scarcely daring to breathe, Cleome went back to her own room, which by some miracle was to remain her own. Her mind reeled at the memory of their conversation and she couldn’t bring herself to face the possibilities his one whispered word—anything—inspired. When it was safe, when her emotion
s were again under control, she would allow herself to be furious with Drake Stoneham. Wasn’t it enough that he had taken her home? Again, she fought the overpowering urge to cry, reminding herself that at least for now she and her mother had a place to live.

  Her heart sank within her bosom until it rested there like a lump of cold, wet clay. She had her own room, yes; and it was within an arm’s length of his. Her thoughtless confession of her birth had sentenced her to wait upon his demands and she wondered how long it would be before he required her services for . . . anything. She shut her eyes tightly, as if to dispel a terrible fate that was fast catching up to her. She knew her frail protestations would have little effect against his powerful frame when it became fired with the mysterious animal urges common to men—strange urges she had heard Fanny and Tibbits whispering about.

  Cleome sank weakly to the edge of the bed and for the first time since her grandfather’s death, a tide of helpless sorrow engulfed her. Vainly, she tried to summon the mental defenses that had so far sustained her, for she meant to go back to work instead of lying in bed all day. It was no use. Crumpling slowly like the sail of a ship when the wind is down, she lay across the bed, her face buried in the pillow, and great sobs tore through her body.

  Chapter Six

  “Blast it all, Edwards, I simply cannot understand how this could happen. My father is away one week, and the place goes to ruin around our ears!”

  Garnett Easton stalked around his disheveled room in his well-cut breeches and a flawlessly tailored linen shirt. He was wearing one brightly polished boot and holding the other out to the unfortunate valet. The old servant took the boot and stooped low before his master.

  “Indeed, sir,” he agreed but his careful humility did nothing to assuage the ire of the young laird.

  “Look at this!” Garnett commanded harshly, gesturing wildly around the room. “All this in my poor efforts to find one small article of clothing. It is outrageous! My best cravat, my very best one, and it’s not to be found anywhere!” He plodded unevenly to the bed and sitting down, he stretched his foot out to Edwards. “Go down and ask that infernal girl if she has it hidden somewhere in the laundry, but first come here and put that boot where it belongs!”

  “Very good, sir.” Edwards tried to hide his smile, but he was not quick enough. Garnett opened his mouth to form a new line of assault, but the servant’s obvious interpretation of his order struck him with humor; and he began to laugh, his amusement chasing away the threatened storm.

  “All right, you old lackey,” he said, at once repenting his bad mood. “If you had your way, there is only one place you would set that boot, and I daresay it would not be on my foot.”

  “Yes, milord,” Edwards responded with a smile.

  “Damme, Edwards. I fear I must apologize for my behavior—once again.”

  “Not at all, sir.”

  “Yes, yes. I certainly must. I have been boorish and out of sorts for days, haven’t I? Damned if I know what’s wrong with me. Is her ladyship down yet?”

  “Yes sir,” Edwards replied pointedly. “The mistress breakfasted quite some time ago. I believe she is preparing flowers for the luncheon centerpiece. Lady Foxworth and the young ladies are joining her.”

  “Oh, are they? What time is it?” Frantically, Garnett searched the strewn surface of his bureau for his pocket watch. Finding it at last beneath a pile of freshly ironed handkerchiefs he had wrinkled badly in his quest for the cravat, he exclaimed, “The devil! I want to speak to my mother before the hordes descend. Shameless vixens!”

  “Sir!” Edwards admonished, a privilege permitted by his long years of service. Slyly, he added, “Her ladyship would be pleased if you would join them for luncheon.”

  Garnett groaned. “I’d sooner be drawn and quartered. The Foxworth maidens grow more desperate in the hunt with each passing year. ’Pon my word, Edwards, they would go naked in the village common, if they thought it would get them a husband.”

  “Very good, sir.” Edwards was forced to chuckle at the thought of the two homely women parading around Oakham without a stitch covering their ungainly forms.

  “I’ll wager they’ve heard of Drake Stoneham’s dashing presence among us, and are impatient to be off like hounds after the prey. Go and tell your mistress I’d like a few words with her before they arrive. And then see if you can locate a presentable cravat. I must be off while I can still make my getaway.”

  A short time later, Garnett found his mother arranging flowers in the morning room. She hummed happily at her task and when she looked up to see her handsome son approaching, she welcomed him with a smile. “Good morning, dear,” she said. “I heard you taking Edwards to task. You really shouldn’t, you know. He’s ever so loyal to your father.”

  “Yes, darling.” He stooped to give her the expected peck on the cheek. “I am a thorough beast. Can’t seem to help myself lately. I get in a temper over nothing at all.” He paused when she raised her eyes to meet his, a smug, knowing look on her face. “You fancy you know what it’s all about, don’t you? As wise as you are beautiful.”

  “Oh, you!” She slapped playfully at his shoulder with one of the colorful blossoms. “But, yes, I am afraid I do know what it’s about.”

  “Afraid? What could possibly strike fear in you?” Everyone knew that Elizabeth Easton had a stout heart and a strong will.

  “You know what I mean, darling. Your interest in Cleome Desmond—it’s rather unconventional to say the least.”

  He took her hand and tucked it securely through his arm. “May I speak with you seriously, Mamma?”

  “Of course, my sweet,” she said, flattered as always by his need of her opinion or advice. She settled herself on the divan with a brief rustle of skirts. He knew that she delighted in his company, and that his charm never failed to win her allegiance no matter what scrape he got into or what mischief he was planning. “But you really ought not spend so much time over there.”

  “For all the good it does me,” he grumbled. “Cleome shows me into the public dining room, and then has one of the maids serve me tea and present a bill. If I seek her out, she thanks me for my concern, tells me she is working and bids me good day.”

  “That is highly commendable for a girl of her station.”

  “Is it?” His brows furrowed as he thought over her words. “Father fell in love with you and you hadn’t a ha’penny to your name.”

  “Yes, but though your grandfather was at the time impoverished, he was a gentleman of some standing. And I, at least, had a father, in truth and in name!” Garnett frowned and she added, “It isn’t her fault of course, but facts are facts.”

  “Still, it is intolerable. She is actually living in the same house with that man and working for him like a common servant. ‘It is outrageous and you know it.”

  “Dear, you must be realistic. She’s fortunate to have employment. What else was she to do? I understand her mother is too ill to be moved—and where would they go?”

  “But my grandmother was a friend to Cleome’s. I’ve heard how she often intervened, trying to get Lady Adelaide reinstated in her family’s good graces—so there must be a family somewhere. Someone who would be responsible for Cleome and her mother and provide them a more respectable living arrangement.”‘

  “Don’t fret, dear. She’s well chaperoned with Mary and Tibbits there.”

  “That is not the point,” he retorted gloomily, for her words had struck home. “Look here, I understand all about her unfortunate history and all that. But her grandmother had the decency to bring her up a young lady, with manners to match. Since Desmond had no other heirs, she would at least have been a woman of property. And now she is forced into a life of servitude.”

  “But I understand from cook, who had it from their Tibbits, that Cleome’s life is not terribly different than it was before her grandfather died.”

  “What she was doing before as duty to her family, she must now do for wages, for a man whose moral inclina
tions we know nothing about! Her future rests on the whim of a stranger. She is entirely at his mercy.”

  “You mustn’t worry. Mr. Stoneham seems a man of substance, morally as well as financially,” she said pleasantly. “Your father has learned that his various enterprises have brought him vast wealth, and he has considerable influence in London. His manners are impeccable and he owns property in Italy and France, as well as throughout England. Come now. He’s given us no reason to think he would treat Cleome badly.”

  “But she is so lovely,” he muttered. “Any man would be hard put to resist her. If Stoneham decided to force his will upon her, no one at the inn could stop him. You know very well that the combination of beauty and innocence is difficult for any man to ignore. There must be some kind relation who would help her out of this mess.”

  “According to your father, William Desmond’s people all died years ago with the fever or one of those dreadful things. As for Adelaide’s family—I suppose they could be found easily enough but I shouldn’t hold out much hope in that direction.”

  “Why not?” he asked, thoughtful. “Tell me about Adelaide. Her family was important in London at one time, were they not?”

  “Yes . . . but Garnett, I doubt any help will come from that corner. According to the stories I heard, they would not want to be reminded of what they considered her folly, marrying an innkeeper as she did.”

  “Just tell me what you know before the handmaidens of Satan arrive.”

  “Garnett, I declare! You really should not think of Muriel and Hellaine in those terms. They are fine young ladies.”

  “And as ugly as sin,” he replied, and his mother laughed. He knew she couldn’t stand the Foxworth women any more than he could. “Now, tell on. Do.”

  “Oh, very well,” she conceded. “Your Grandmamma Easton had known the family for some years, as she also grew up in London. Adelaide was introduced to society in the grandest affair of the season.” She clasped her hands together, envisioning satins, laces and swirling dancers.