“I have noticed,” he continued coldly, “that you do not find it so difficult to sit with the young master of Easton Place.”
In spite of her resolve to hold it in check, her temper flared. “At least he is a gentleman, which is more—” She stopped abruptly and clamped her mouth shut as she realized her rashness.
“Which is more than I can claim?” he finished for her. “My dear young woman, it seems you have much to learn about the ways of the world. Young gentlemen like Garnett Easton search out and often find many enjoyable pastimes to while away long hours in these charming rural settings. And when they return to the excitement of the city, they seldom give their country paramours a second thought.”
“I am not his paramour,” she managed with quiet dignity.
“Indeed?” was his curt reply. “What was he doing here? And do not tell me he came to see me, as that is not the case. I’ll no more believe it from you than I did from him.”
“I am not in the habit of lying, Mr. Stoneham.”
He pulled the small envelope, addressed in Lady Easton’s hand, out from under the stack of letters on the desk before him. “He came to ask you to the Easton’s Harvest Ball, then?”
His blunt inquiry forced a smile to her lips. “Garnett Easton is not so daring that he’d defy even Oakham’s modest society by inviting me to his mother’s party.”
“Do you know how to dance?”
“Yes sir,” she answered, still smiling though the question took her by surprise. “My education has been thorough, if so far futile.”
“Would you like to go to the ball, Miss Parker?”
“It matters not what I’d like,” she said. “The fact is, I am not invited. And even if I was, I have nothing suitable to wear for such a grand occasion; so there’s an end to it. Besides, I fear Lord and Lady Easton would be so thoroughly scandalized they would never recover.”
“And you, Miss Parker? Could you recover from such a scandal?”
“As my very existence is a scandal, sir, I doubt it would have much effect on me.”
Drake opened his mouth to speak again but a dull thud from the direction of her mother’s bedroom made Cleome jump to her feet in alarm.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, suddenly worried. “I believe my mother has been disturbed. May I be excused so that I can tend her?”
“Dammit all, of course! You do not have to ask permission every time you breathe!”
A vigorous rap came at the study door. Drake rose with an impatient gesture and jerked it open. Mary stood there wringing her hands against her apron.
“Oh, miss,” she said, ignoring Drake. “You ’ad better come. She’s trying to get out of bed again. I barely caught her afore she tumbled on her head. I tucked her back in, but she keeps on about a light in the stables. Can you see to her, Miss Cleome?”
Cleome raced from the room. Mary followed close on her heels, but with his long strides, Drake passed them on the landing and reached Ramona’s room just before them. He did not pause to knock, but quickly opened the door and escorted Cleome inside. Ramona was sitting on the edge of the bed, her arms outstretched, her wasted hands gripping the bedside table. Her parched lips were slightly separated and a small whimpering sound escaped them.
“Mamma!” Cleome admonished softly. “You shouldn’t be up. The doctor has ordered you to rest.”
“Darlin’,” the woman whispered, her voice unused to speech. “He’s come. I know he has, and for the life of me, I don’t know why you want to keep it from me. Don’t you see—I must go to him.”
Gently, Cleome put her mother back into bed while Mary wet a cloth in the basin, wrung it out, and mopped the woman’s perspiring brow. Drake stood in silence a little behind Cleome, but Ramona caught sight of him and studied him with a puzzled frown.
“Who is this?” she croaked. “Is this your young man, Cleome? Well, step up then, sir, and give us a looksee.”
“No, Mamma. He is not my young man. This is Mr. Stoneham, who has—” Here, Cleome faltered, not knowing how to explain Drake to her mother. After a moment, she finished, “Who has come to see Epitome.”
“I had a young man once,” Ramona said wistfully. “And he’s coming back. I know he is.” Again, she struggled to free herself from the coverlet. “I must get down to the stables. Mary, tell them. If Jimmy Parker comes back and I am not there—”
“Jimmy Parker!” Drake thundered as if greeting an old friend. He stepped forward and grasped Ramona’s outstretched hand. “Jimmy Parker, you say! Then it is you, madam, that I’ve journeyed so far to see.” He sat down on the chair beside the bed and looked into Ramona’s astonished face. His speech had adapted easily to the lilt of the working class, and he patted the invalid’s hand soothingly.
“What are ye sayin’, sir?” Ramona questioned him.
“Why, I knew Jimmy Parker. We fought together in service of His Majesty against Napoleon. You must be the little woman he went on about all the time. Oh, he was a fine ’un, back then. Always laughin’ and singin’, he was.”
“That’s me Jimmy, all right. Yes, dance like a linty, him,” Ramona whispered in awe. “You know him? You really know me husband?”
“Know him?” Drake chuckled as he spoke gently to the weakened woman. “Many’s the time we lay side by side in a ditch laughin’ at the cannon balls.”
“Jimmy’s comin’ back,” Ramona stated flatly.
“Last time I saw him, them were his very words,” Drake responded happily. “‘Aye,’ he says, ‘I’ve got to getting back to me beautiful Ramona.’”
Ramona’s eyes took on a new light and a slow smile spread across her wan features. “I wish he’d known about Cleome. But he was taken from me too soon. He spoke well of me? He weren’t angry about the way me mum treated ’im?”
“Not angry with his own dear Ramona,” Drake assured her. “What’s this?” he demanded, picking up the plate of biscuits and preserves that sat on the bedside table.
“’Tis her tea, sir,” Mary said. “And she hasn’t had a bite of it. Nor a sup.”
“Here now,” Drake scolded good-naturedly. “That won’t do a-tall. I’ll not have you lying here wastin’ away to naught when he rides up. Now, if I know Jimmy Parker, ’tis not a sickly woman he’ll be wantin’ to greet him at the door. He’ll be wantin’ someone who can walk in the woods with him, someone who can dance with him—not someone he’ll have to carry about all over creation!”
“Oh,” Ramona breathed. “You’re right, sir. Why, I never thought of that. Jimmy does love to dance.” Drake buttered a piece of the biscuit and held it to her lips; and obediently, she began to eat.
“Look here,” he reprimanded her as he buttered another bit of bread and held it to her mouth. “There’s hardly enough flesh on these bones to make a pastie, let alone take to a dance. You’ll have to do better than this, Mistress Parker, or I’ll be forced to tell me friend Jimmy that ye’ve lost the knack of tryin’, I will.”
Ramona beamed a smile at Cleome. “Dear,” she said, absently chewing on the biscuit and jam. “I approve of your young man. You’ve got me blessing. Only you must bring him back to talk with me about your da, once in a while.”
“Just try to keep me away,” Drake said cheerfully. “Jimmy told me to look after you ‘til he could get here, and look after you I will. But you’ve got to get better, else he’ll take the horsewhip to me when he comes. Say I’ve not been attending to me duty, that’s what he’ll say.”
Ramona laughed and Cleome couldn’t believe her ears. She had never heard her mother laugh, except in the delirium of a fever. She and Mary exchanged astonished glances, and then Mary moved to stand beside Drake.
“Better let me, sir,” she said as she took the plate from him, her voice trembling with emotion. “Your own dinner’ll be set down soon. And thank you sir. Aw, thanks from the bottom of me heart.”
“A gentleman never accepts thanks for doing his duty,” he replied, stealing a glance at Cleome. He winked sly
ly at Ramona as his speech returned to his usual refined tones. “Now,” he finished, pointing a finger at the ailing woman, “I’ll be back after you’ve had your dinner. And rest assured, madam, I shall personally check your tray and I had better see a reasonable attempt at the food I’ve ordered placed there. Jimmy Parker wants a woman—not a wastrel who lies abed all day!” With that, he playfully chucked her under the chin and she giggled like a young girl. Drake rose and bowed smoothly. “Until our appointed hour, then.”
Cleome kissed her mother and followed Drake out of the room, leaving Mary happily tending her charge. When they were back in the study, Cleome sat down at the desk, assuming he would be eager to get back to work. He was strangely silent, however. After a moment, she went to stand before him.
“Mr. Stoneham,” she said slowly. “Perhaps I have misjudged you.”
“Have you?”
“You didn’t know my father, of course; but I’m deeply grateful to you for pretending. I have never seen my mother so aware and until today, I had never heard the sound of her laughter. Please forgive me for thinking you . . . for thinking . . .”
“For thinking me a greedy, heartless brute?” he finished.
“Yes,” she answered truthfully. “That is what I was thinking. But I see now that I’ve been terribly unfair. I hope you can forgive me. At this moment, I feel as if you’ve handed me the world, and I thank you.” It was on the tip of her tongue to add, “If only I had something as precious to give in return,” but her better judgment prevented her.
She was surprised to see his face clouded with some dark, unreadable thought. He took her small hand and held it in his own large one for a moment; and then he squeezed it gently and let it go.
“No thanks are necessary,” he replied. “I would go the aid of anyone so distressed. Now, we must get back to our task. To complete it, we shall have to work straight through dinner. You will join me.”
“Oh, Mr. Stoneham, you must not spoil your meal with work. I wouldn’t mind in the least sitting up late to copy your letters, no matter how long it takes.”
“Well, I would.” He smiled down into her shining eyes. “I am not so energetic. I’d hoped to retire early, as I’ve promised Lord Foxworth I’ll join him for a ride tomorrow at first light. Besides,” he finished, gathering up the papers, quills and inkstand, “I’m not at all opposed to the sight of a fresh, interested face at my table. From now on, when I dine at home, I’ll expect the pleasure of your company.” She looked up at him, surprised, as a wave of apprehension settled over her. Such an order, to her limited experience, heralded the commencement of another kind of duty. He quickly relieved her fears, however. “I was about to write to my secretary to come up from London, as my work is falling behind.” He gazed down at her with an unreadable expression as he escorted her to what was now his private dining room. “How fortunate that I have so competent a helper at hand. I believe you’d make quite as efficient a secretary as any man. Besides, Collins is needed in London.” He opened the door for her and after placing the writing paraphernalia on the table, he held her chair for her. “I am soon opening to the public a gaming club, shortly before the New Year,” he said amiably. “It’s to be the biggest, most elaborate house in London—bigger than Crockford’s, and more exclusive. Have you ever heard of William Crockford?”
She shook her head, noting the pride in his voice when he spoke of his new business endeavor. As they ate, he told her about the man who had risen from the mire of poverty to become the gambling lord of London. She took comfort in his stories about some high-ranking noblemen who had fallen under the spell of the dice, for it made what her grandfather had done seem not quite so weak and selfish. London sounded a fascinating place and she found herself thinking the man sitting across from her a fascinating man.
The simple kindness he’d extended to her mother showed her a side of him she had not dreamed existed. He was charming and she felt as if she had fallen under a spell of enchantment, one from which she had no wish to extricate herself. As she surveyed him in this new light it was difficult to remember the surly disposition he directed at her in the presence of others. Not even Fanny’s look of surprise when she brought in the soup could draw Cleome’s attention away from Drake’s mouth which was curved upward in an inviting smile, making his rugged features quite handsome indeed, as he told her about his plans for Stoneham House.
Chapter Eight
As the bright spring days drifted into a pleasant, verdant summer, Cleome’s new routine became tolerable and the prospect of a long, frozen winter seemed less bleak than ever before. The void created by her grandfather’s death was soon filled with the joy of her mother’s reawakened interest in life. Under Drake Stoneham’s exacting eye, Ramona’s diminished appetite slowly improved, and Cleome was surprised to find that her mother looked forward eagerly to the man’s daily visits. She was even more surprised that the new master continued to play the part of guardian angel sent by Jimmy Parker himself.
At first, Cleome listened to the stories Drake told her mother with almost as much interest as Ramona; but when she found herself becoming entranced, almost believing them, she made herself busy in another part of the house. She dared to hope that her mother would recover sufficiently to challenge the master’s tall tales and demand to know what had become of Jimmy Parker. Cleome wondered if he had prepared a story for that purpose, too.
Jacqueline had to help Mary with household duties for more and more, Drake ordered Cleome to assist him with correspondence regarding his club in London. He had purchased a forty-room mansion in St. James Street, he explained one bright June morning as he showed her the architect’s sketches; and now that transforming the structure was nearly complete, decorating the interior would soon begin and the finer accouterments must be purchased and put into place. The club would be done entirely in the French mode, he told her, down to the smallest doorknob and bell pull.
Stoneham House was to have the finest cuisine in London and three French chefs were imported to that end. There was a virtual avalanche of correspondence from, and about, those exclusive gentlemen, as well as letters bonding the staff for Drake’s private residence, also in St. James Street, and the immense staff for the club. Besides waiters, ushers and porters to provide services for the ladies and gentlemen who came to lose their money, there would be two superintendents of play; a dozen operators to deal the cards or manage other games; three clerks; two collectors; a captain to defend the establishment against those who might physically attack the house; watchmen to open the club early in the evening and lock it up again when the last guest departed; and a runner to bring news of gambling cases currently in court. There were also a few decoys, who would play heavily with house money and win large sums, thus enticing more players into the games.
There were endless lists to make—a list of the duties Drake would require of Cleome before he left for London and a list of things he must see to personally upon his arrival there. There were lists of items to be ordered from abroad. He dictated to her a list of articles he wanted for his personal use and items which were to be placed in the small salons upstairs—exotic, intriguing things like scented bath oils and soaps, silk dressing gowns and satin bed coverlets. Although Cleome blushed fiercely when Drake named these items, she was much too fascinated with the project to protest.
She supposed it was a relief to him that not only was she a competent secretary, but he didn’t have to bother about tedious rules of etiquette in regard to certain delicate subjects. The vicar would disapprove of the many human weaknesses to which she was exposed by acting as Drake’s assistant, but she could see some advantage in having a questionable parentage. If she hadn’t been born on the wrong side of the blanket, she reasoned, she never would have been engaged to do such engrossing work. Her duties at the Eagle’s Head had been an excellent basis for the training she was receiving as Drake Stoneham’s secretary. As summer wore on to autumn, she realized that with the experience she had and the knowl
edge she was gaining, she would be able to find a respectable position in a large hotel in another town or perhaps a grand manor house in the countryside. By the time spring came round again, she thought, her mother could survive a move from the inn. In the meantime, they were safe in the only home they had ever known.
Drake always greeted Cleome at breakfast with a stack of letters he had to answer; and as they ate, he would hand them to her one by one with instructions as to their proper dispatch. Most of the time, he would leave it to her to compose the actual replies. “Tell this fellow we want his tablecloths,” he would say, or, “Order these goblets,” and even, “Look over these china patterns and tell me which you think the most elegant. We need place settings for two hundred. I swear, they all look alike to me.”
In the afternoons, he allowed Cleome an hour to sit with her mother, and then she accompanied him on short walks near the stream, or on rides through the forest. In the leather writing portfolio she’d placed in his room, Drake fitted a small cologne bottle to act as an inkwell, thereby converting it to a portable secretary; and although he told her to have it at the ready should he remember something else to add to the myriad lists, she hardly ever had to use it during their outings. She was uncomfortable with him at first, but since he never once referred to the intimate conversation that had taken place some weeks before in his bedroom, she soon grew to love these afternoons in the fresh air with Epitome and the new proprietor of the Eagle’s Head. She was genuinely interested in Drake’s various enterprises and she longed to see for herself the finished product when Stoneham House was finally opened to the public.
A new respect for the man who had taken away her home was blossoming too, no matter how she fought against it. She tried to remain loyal to her grandfather’s memory but it was difficult to hate someone who showed such concern for the one person she had left in the world. It wasn’t long before Drake noticed that her mother’s room was always dark. Cleome explained that despite her efforts to allow some sunshine to penetrate the gloom, Ramona preferred the darkness. He nodded.
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