Patricia Frances Rowell

by A Scandalous Situation

  If only she could banish those hateful images from her mind, she would feel relieved that she no longer had to fight every moment to keep her seat. And with her rescuer’s bulk blocking the wind and snow, the cold didn’t bite into her as it had been doing. Even so, her fingers felt frozen to the handle of her paint case, and she could no longer feel her toes.

  Sitting thus, she realized that his lordship was much taller than he had seemed when he’d stood some distance away. The breadth of his muscular shoulders had made him appear much shorter. He was a big man. Strong. Yet, she reminded herself, he had used his strength only to aid her. She must think about that. Use it to bridle her rebelling emotions.

  Control. Control was her fortress.

  She would maintain control.

  Just when Iantha thought the cold and the wind blasting along the escarpment would go on forever, they encountered the road that ran between the valley and the castle. Several switchbacks later they found themselves in the enveloping silence and welcome warmth of a large stone stable. Iantha straightened her aching shoulders and looked about. A stockily built groom with grizzled hair was hurrying toward them.

  “Me lord! You’re home safe at last. Burnside and me was just debating should we mount a search.” He reached up, squinting at her, and took the paint case out of Iantha’s stiff fingers. “And who might we have here?”

  Setting the case on the ground, he lifted his arms again, and Iantha slid off the saddle into them. He put her down, careful to keep a steadying hand on her arm. It was well that he did. Her half-frozen feet and legs threatened to fail her. She took hold of the saddle with her other hand.

  “Have you ever known me not to show up intact, Feller?” His lordship swung himself down easily, smiling at the groom.

  “Nay, me lord, saving that time in Orissa. You wasn’t by no means intact on that occasion.” Feller grinned. “I told Burnside, I did, ‘Just you watch. He’ll turn up like a bad penny, he will.’ And here you are.”

  “And here I am,” agreed his lordship. “This lady is Miss Kethley. As you can see, she and her cob suffered a mishap on the road.”

  “That I do see.” Feller turned to examine the sturdy horse, frowning. “Poor old mate here is a mite bunged up.”

  He released Iantha’s arm, moving to her horse. As he did, Iantha felt her knees give way and clutched again at the saddle.

  “Careful, now!” Lord Duncan stepped quickly to throw a supporting arm around her waist. “Are you faint?”

  “No.” Iantha shook her head. “Just cold and stiff. I will be fine in a minute.”

  “Perhaps.” He scowled doubtfully. “Shall I carry you?”

  “No!” The denial emerged much more sharply than she had intended. “I mean…thank you. That isn’t necessary.”

  “Let me help you, then.” His lordship still looked doubtful. “We need to get you to a fire. We’ll go up through the old castle, to avoid the wind.” He tightened his arm around her and guided her toward a door at the side of the stable.

  Close. He was much too close.

  Iantha shut her eyes, drew in a long breath and forbade herself to pull away. If she did that, she would surely find herself sitting on the ground. She could endure his proximity for a few minutes.

  Control.

  He led her through the stable door and up a flight of steep spiral steps. At the top they wound through a series of short passages with narrow doors, each facing a different direction.

  “This is the portal to the original castle,” he explained. “The turns were designed to keep out an invading force. This section was abandoned long ago, but we still use it to come up from the stable when we wish to avoid the weather.” They emerged from an empty stone chamber through a newer door into a wide entry hall. Lord Duncan removed his shallow-crowned hat and knocked the snow off it against his leg, revealing a thick thatch of rich brown curls.

  “Here is the new building.” He grinned. “Relatively speaking. The old part was built in the fourteenth century, the new part in the early 1600s. It is considerably more comfortable than the original structure ever was, although it does have its share of eccentricities.” He tugged at a bell rope. “Burnside! Burnside, where are you?”

  Iantha winced at the sudden shout. His lordship’s vocal vigor, however, was rewarded by the prompt appearance of a wiry man of middle years.

  “Aye, me lord?” The newcomer stopped abruptly at the sight of Iantha and looked questioningly at Lord Duncan.

  “Miss Kethley was caught in the storm and will be staying with us. Please ask Thursby to go and make up a fire in the dowager’s bedchamber and fetch Miss Kethley some hot water.”

  “Oh. Aye, me lord, right away. There be a fire in the library now if Miss Kethley would like to…”

  “Ah, very good.” His lordship turned to Iantha. “May I help you with your coat?”

  “Thank you.” Iantha allowed him to remove the garment, using the opportunity to step away from his supporting arm. As the hood came off, she braced herself. But surely he was too much the gentleman to comment on her silvery hair.

  And, of course, he was.

  After assisting Lord Duncan off with his greatcoat, Burnside departed as quickly as he had come, taking the wet wraps with him. His lordship opened the door to a comfortable room off the entryway. Books lined the walls, and more books and scrolls lay in piles and in crates. Some of them displayed covers of soft leather with exotic art, but a few had no covers at all.

  “Forgive my disorder. I am in the process of integrating my own collection with my father’s library.” He set a chair near the fireplace and ushered her to it.

  “I have found many interesting volumes in the East, some of them very old. I have been studying the various languages in order to read the texts.” He pulled up a chair for himself and sat, extending capable-looking hands to the fire.

  Iantha clasped her own hands together in her lap and cleared her throat. “Lord Duncan, I feel I should say… Please forgive me if I have seemed ungrateful for your help. I found the situation very…very disturbing.”

  His lordship raised one eyebrow. “Apparently.”

  “I am appreciative. Truly I am.” She looked into his face—which displayed a hint of a wry smile and a twinkle in his coffee-brown eyes. A very good-natured response, indeed, to what she’d put him through. “What I would have done had you not arrived when you did, I don’t know. I had not realized that there was so much snow in the fells—and certainly not that another storm was brewing.”

  He nodded. “A deceptively mild day. I succumbed to the temptation to get outside myself. Very unusual to have so much snow this early in the year.”

  Iantha mustered a smile. “And I am very sorry to impose on you.”

  “Not a bit in the world, Miss Kethley. My only concern is for your comfort. This is a very awkward situation for you. I regret that I do not even have a housekeeper, let alone a maid, to assist you at present. I returned somewhat earlier than my agent expected, and he has not yet assembled a permanent staff. Fortunately, he had already ordered a thorough cleaning, so at least you will not be choked with dust, and there is food aplenty stored in the cellars.” He turned as the door opened. “Yes, Burnside?”

  “I thought the lady might be the better for a cup of tea.” Burnside edged through the door and awkwardly set a large tray with teapot and cups on a table.

  “Very well thought of. Thank you.” Lord Duncan swiveled to face his henchman, grinning. “And what is offered for dinner? I’m expecting at least three courses.”

  Burnside winked at a very startled Iantha. “Me lord is only funning. He knows that from me he gets plain fare—good hearty north country cooking with a few Indian tricks added in.” He bowed to his employer, heading to the door. “The fire is made upstairs, me lord, and hot water on the hob when Miss Kethley is ready.”

  “Thank you. We will wait a bit until the room warms.” Burnside departed and his lordship turned back to Iantha. “Burnside’s cookin
g is plain, as he said, but quite good. At least you won’t starve.” His lordship eyed the tea tray askance. “Would you do me the favor of pouring, Miss Kethley? I’d very likely make a mull of it.”

  What a strange establishment! Feeling a bit bewildered, Iantha picked up the pot. “I’d be happy to. Milk?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She passed him the cup and poured one for herself. As they were treating the situation as a social occasion, and conversation was the inevitable accompaniment to tea, Iantha made a strong effort to marshal her thoughts. “How long did you live in India, my lord?”

  “Thirteen years.”

  “With the East India Company?”

  “No, I went as a private merchant. The Armstrong fortunes had fallen on hard times, and my father felt even going into trade justified by the circumstances.”

  “I see.” Iantha pondered this information as she sipped the warming tea. An unusual step for a nobleman, but better, no doubt, than genteel poverty. “Did you not care for it there?”

  “Oh, aye. It suited me very well. So much to see, to hear, to smell and touch.” He smiled at her over his cup, eyes crinkling at the corners. He really had a very engaging smile. “The Orient is a veritable feast for the senses. New foods, new textures, bright colors. More new experiences every day than the English mind can conceive.”

  “But you came home.”

  He stared into the fire for a heartbeat before looking at her. “One always wants to come home.”

  Finding nothing to add to that, Iantha sipped in silence. Lord Duncan drew a deep breath. “There were other reasons, also.” He paused, then went on, leaving Iantha with the impression that he had left something unsaid. “For one, profit has become too dependent on the opium trade with China. The East India Company holds the monopoly on cultivation only in Bengal, but I could not stomach selling it in any event. If you could but see the poor devils… Er, excuse my language, but enslavement to opium is indeed a damnable condition.” He set down his cup and stood. “But I can bore on forever about India. Have you finished your tea? I’ll escort you upstairs.”

  Iantha followed his example, and after only a second’s hesitation, took the arm he offered, walking as far from his side as the arrangement allowed. His other hand closed over the sleeve of her dress. “I fear your gown is still wet. You will need a change of clothes.”

  Iantha glanced down at the muddied hem of her white wool dress. “That would be a great relief, but I don’t see how it can be accomplished.”

  “I believe there are some clothes in the bedchamber we are preparing for you, but they belonged to my grandmother.” He looked down at her and grinned as they made their way up two broad flights of stairs. “She was quite the fashionable lady in her day, but alas, that time is a long way in the past. She was also very thrifty—kept everything. You should find something clean and dry, but you will hardly be a model of mode.”

  For the first time since the heap of snow had inundated her vehicle, Iantha chuckled, but then the full realization of her situation dawned. At all appearances she would be here for an extended stay.

  Great God in heaven! How would she survive it? How could she tolerate a whole household of men—strangers—for so much time?

  Control. She must rely on her control, her intellect.

  Chapter Two

  After a prolonged struggle with the buttons up the back of her bodice, Iantha finally slipped out of the soiled dress with a sigh. Gratefully dipping a cloth into the warm water, she smoothed it over her arms, face and neck, relaxing the tense muscles. What a comfort to her chilled skin and somewhat battered body! A full, hot bath would have been heaven, but she could hardly request one under the circumstances. Lord Duncan had been more than courteous, and she did not want to create a problem for his small staff.

  Or find herself completely naked in a house full of men. The bedchamber to which his lordship had conducted her, decorated in feminine pastels and smelling of old wood, had but two doors, both provided with working keys. After a quick peek into the adjoining sitting room, Iantha firmly locked both, imposing strict control on her uneasiness.

  Her petticoats had fared no better than her gown, and she let them fall to the floor with it. Her tightly fitted boots presented more of a problem, but after a brief tussle, she got them and her stockings off. Never again would she take the services of a maid for granted. In fact, she would make it a point to give Molly a nice gift when she got home.

  If she ever got home. The briefest glance at the window revealed nothing but blinding snow and the wind crying at the casement. They were extremely fortunate to have made the shelter of the stable when they had.

  Calming her panic with a deep breath, Iantha opened the wardrobe and concentrated on its contents. It did, indeed, contain a welter of silks and satins. She pulled out a gown of pale blue brocade with falls of white lace and spread it out on the bed. Truly lovely. But of a style that required a large hoop. That wouldn’t do. She would never be able to get into it by herself, let alone manage hoops.

  Iantha replaced it and drew out a soft lavender silk that would reflect her eyes and complement her delicate features and fair skin. Much better. The fitted bodice laced up the front, so she could fasten it herself, and the square neckline did not reveal as much bosom as current dinner gowns. Further search revealed enough petticoats to hold the full skirt out sufficiently so that she would not trip. Luckily, the former Lady Duncan seemed to have been a bit shorter than Iantha.

  She donned the gown and replaced the hidden pistol under her skirts. A short session with the comb found on the old-fashioned dresser got the snarls out of her shining hair, and she arranged it simply, with her own silver combs holding part of it high on her head. The rest fell in soft curls. At least when it had lost its color, it had not lost its curl.

  Feeling rather as she had as a child playing dress-up in her own grandmother’s clothes, Iantha opened the door and peered into the corridor. Seeing no one about, she set off down the hall in the direction she thought she had come with Lord Duncan. She had almost decided that she had come the wrong way when she turned a corner she did not remember and almost collided with the most astounding apparition.

  Iantha gasped and jerked back.

  The apparition did likewise.

  And then it bowed.

  “Forgive me, madam. I have startled you. I am Vijaya Sabara.”

  Iantha found herself staring at a slender man of medium height, his head wrapped in an elaborate silk turban, and a neat black beard covering olive cheeks and chin. A huge sapphire fixed to his headdress dangled in the middle of his forehead. And his clothing… She could only gaze in wonder. So colorful. So rich. So…

  So barbaric.

  “I…uh… How—how do you do?” So utterly inept! The man would think her a fool. Iantha flushed.

  “Very well, thank you.” His brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “I did not know we had a lady in residence.”

  “Lord Duncan rescued me from the storm. I am Iantha Kethley. Can you direct me to the dining room?”

  “Ah. Please allow me to guide you. You are going in quite the wrong direction.” The apparition did not offer his arm, but with a sweep of his hand indicated that she should retrace her steps. She turned and accompanied him back the way she had come. What a sight the two of them must make, she in her antique dress, he in his soft, jewel-adorned silks. Like guests at a masquerade.

  Iantha’s head spun. She seemed to be losing her grip on reality, rather like the heroine in a penny dreadful. She felt the storm had swept her away from her own time and place to…to what? Would she next encounter a specter with its head under one arm?

  Heaven forfend!

  A sigh of relief escaped her as she beheld the stalwart frame of Lord Duncan coming up the staircase. At least he looked English and familiar and ordinary in buckskin trousers and a neat coat stretched across broad shoulders. Reality settled once more into place.

  “There you are, Miss Kethley.
I was just coming to escort you to dinner. One can easily lose one’s way in this great pile.” Just as he started to offer his arm, Iantha placed a hand on the banister, pretending not to notice.

  “Yes. I had done just that.” She smiled. “I seem to require much rescuing today.”

  His lordship grinned. “Our pleasure. I see you have met my friend Prince Vijaya. He has come from India to England with me to learn more about our country on behalf of his father, who is a maharaja in the district of Orissa.”

  At the door of a small dining parlor the Indian bowed again. “Your servant, Miss Kethley. If you will excuse me?”

  With no further explanation he disappeared down the corridor. Iantha looked questioningly at his lordship.

  “Vijaya prefers to eat alone.” Rob ushered her into the room and held a chair for her, then sat across from her. “Many Indians regard eating as something that should be done in private. Considering the table manners of some of our best people, one can see their point.”

  A smile softened her delicate face. He had been correct in his earlier assessment. His distressed damsel was beautiful when she smiled. Extremely so. And the old-fashioned dress seemed to suit her. “That gown is very becoming to you. You make me think of the younger portraits of my grandmother with her powdered hair.” Her smile faded, and she looked down at her folded hands.

  Hmm. Obviously he had erred. The lady must be sensitive about her hair. “Forgive me. I seem to have been less than tactful, but I think your hair is lovely. Do you dislike it?”

  The lady wrinkled her dainty nose, but looked him in the eye. “One hardly wishes to appear so old at the age of four-and-twenty.”

  “Old?” A bark of laugher escaped him. “My dear Miss Kethley, you could not look old if—” He broke off and shook his head. “Not under any circumstances whatsoever. You are much too beautiful.”

  “Now you are flattering me.” She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, but the smile hovered around the corners of her mouth.