by Sahara Kelly
“Her book?”
She nodded. “Yes, her book.”
“Ah.” James thought about that. “So her interest in hiring stable hands has something to do with her book.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Her words made him pause. He gazed at her. “Is it something that makes you worry?”
She bit her lip. “A little.”
“Something one might deem incorrect?”
“If one were given to understatement, yes.”
“Hmm.”
“You must read it, sir.” Harriet lifted her head and gave him a beseeching gaze. “Please read it. And the suggestions from the publisher. Then you will understand.”
“I asked her, my dear. She refused.”
Harriet’s hands fidgeted. “If I can procure a copy…”
“She has two?”
“The publisher gave her back the original and two copies with his ideas. Apparently he is a believer in taking precautions when it comes to such things.” She tilted her head to one side. “I also think it is indicative of his interest in this manuscript, sir. So there is most certainly merit in her work...”
“I never doubted that, Miss Harry. Just as I never doubted Miss Letitia’s ability to pen a work of brilliance.”
“Well, she’s certainly done that.” Harriet’s lips curved into a smile.
Intrigued by that wicked little grin, James nodded. “Very well. I would be most eager to peruse the book in question, but I will leave it to you to—er—borrow a copy for me. Is that satisfactory?”
Harriet’s sigh of relief was unmistakeable. “Indeed, sir. Most acceptable. And I thank you.”
“No need, my dear. I regard the Ridlingtons as family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.”
“A laudable sentiment at last, sir.”
At that moment, the door to the parlour opened, and the handsome figure of the third applicant emerged, straightening his coat, and smirking. It was definitely a smirk.
However, as soon as James rose, he lost the expression, gave a polite nod and touched his cap to Harriet.
Then he strode from the inn, oozing confidence.
James found his hands clenching into fists for no apparent reason, but turned as the door opened once more on the figure of Letitia. “Well, there you are.” He managed to keep the accusatory tone to a minimum. Or so he thought.
“Yes, here I am. Most observant of you.” She frowned. “Did we have an appointment, James? I don’t recall promising to meet you today?”
“Not at all. I was just surprised to find Miss Harry here alone, while you apparently entertained a gentleman in the little parlour.”
Letitia’s chin lifted so sharply he could have sworn he heard her neck bones snap into place. “I was not, as you so snidely put it, entertaining anyone.” She glared at him. “I was, if you must know, attempting to save Edmund and Rosaline the trouble of compiling a list of potential servants—in this case stable hands—for when they are in a position to look into expanding our household.”
“Ah.” The small word conveyed James’s state of mind quite accurately.
She tossed her head. “It matters not to me whether you choose to agree or approve. I have begun the list and shall continue until I can provide my brother with a number of acceptable names.”
“Most diligent of you.”
“Bah.” She dismissed his comment. “What brings you here, anyway?”
His eyebrow shot up. “My own business actually.”
“Which of course, I shall neither approve nor inquire about. Since, as you so aptly explained, it is your business.”
He chuckled. “Yes, that does put me neatly in my place. Well done Letitia. A hit indeed.” He made the classic fencing gesture, acknowledging the effect of her words. “As a matter of fact, I’m meeting Paul. He should be on the coach from London…” he paused. “And I think it’s just arrived.”
A bustle of activity erupted into the hitherto quiet inn, with several passengers entering, coachmen calling for grooms, and horseshoes clattering on the cobblestones.
Letitia and Harriet moved back, allowing the newcomers space for their belongings and their business with Mrs. Fisher.
One tall man hung back, scanning the room…then smiling as he met James’s gaze.
“Paul.” James held out his hand as the other man walked toward him. “Delightful to see you at last. You’ve been away far too long.”
“Well met, my friend,” Paul’s grip was firm. “’Tis indeed far too long. I look forward to making the acquaintance of my nephew.” He glanced at the ladies. “Miss Letitia. Beautiful as ever.”
“Oh pooh.” She dipped into a brief curtsey. “Rosaline will be so happy to see you, sir.”
“And I’m happy to see you with your maid, Miss. A little respectability at last.” He glanced at Harriet, who dipped a small curtsey.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh not you too…”
He laughed. “Never change, Letitia. You are unique.”
“Unique or not, I must still be on my way. Are you for Ridlington Chase, Paul?”
He shook his head. “Not at this moment. James and I have matters to discuss, which we shall do over one of Mrs. Fisher’s superb lunches. Then he’s promised me a tour of the Hall. I will stay with him there, but I look forward to seeing you all at dinner, if you’ll let Rosaline know I’m here? I promised her it would be sometime this week, but I couldn’t say exactly when.”
Letitia gave him a delighted smile. “I certainly will. She’ll be in alt to know you’ll be with us this evening. You’ll come as well, of course, James?”
“If I’m invited…”
“Silly thing. Of course you are. And you know it, too,” Letitia snorted. “We’ll say goodbye then, and look forward to seeing you this evening.”
Taking their leave, James couldn’t help noticing Paul’s eyes on Harriet.
“An attractive young lady, isn’t she?”
Paul’s head turned quickly, and he smiled. “Indeed yes.” Then his smile faded. “But you know, I could swear I’ve met her somewhere before…”
Unbeknownst to either man, a third pair of eyes remained fixed on Harriet as she departed the inn behind Letitia.
He knew he’d seen her before, and that knowledge served to set his feet on a new and more solid path. He would need to find out everything he could about this village, its residents and most particularly the woman who had hired herself an unlikely maid.
*~~*~~*
They were barely out of earshot of the inn, when Harriet touched her arm. “If you don’t tell me soon what happened, I swear I shall expire right here. In the middle of the road.”
Letitia chuckled. “Well, we definitely must not let that event come to pass.” She cast a quick glance around. “Here. Let’s make use of the bench over there. That way we’ll be able to see if anyone nears us. I’d rather our conversation not be overheard.”
She led Harriet to the seat which some thoughtful person had placed beneath a massive chestnut tree on what served as the Ridlington Village green. Smooth banks of grass led down to where a small stream had been widened into a tiny but attractive pond. Now home to a family of ducks, and the occasional fish that had left its home upstream to venture into new and greater adventures, it was a most pleasant place to rest for a while.
Letitia and Harriet ignored the bucolic delights surrounding them.
“Tell me. How were the men?” Harriet kept her voice low, of course, but the questions were burning in her brain like some kind of forest fire.
Letitia shook her head. “You know, that was a great deal more difficult than I had anticipated.”
“Oh, really? In what way?”
“They were…” Letitia paused. “They didn’t seem to understand my questions.”
“What sort of things were you asking them?”
“I started with the usual inquiries. Former positions, age, experience, what one would expect when applying for work in the st
ables of a Baron.”
“That seems appropriate.”
Letitia nodded. “Yes, and the answers were much as I’d expected. Then I asked some more personal questions. Were they married, for instance.”
“Were they?”
“One was. The first one. So I kept his questions casual and didn’t even broach the topic I was interested in with him.”
Harriet found herself engaged in a staring contest with a colourful mallard. It vaguely registered, but her focus was on Letitia’s voice. “And then?”
“The second applicant—and I can’t even remember these names. Isn’t that dreadful?” Letitia shrugged. “Anyway, he was not married. So my plan was to enquire about his physical abilities, since stable work is challenging to those without the stamina.”
“Ah,” choked Harriet.
The duck quacked but still held her gaze in thrall.
“I suggested he remove his shirt, so that I could see for myself the evidence of his ability to lift large and heavy things.”
“Oh my God.”
“Quack.”
“Harry, there’s a duck staring at you.”
“I know. Ignore him. Go on.”
Letitia obeyed. “So he took off his shirt.”
“And?”
“He had quite a nice chest.” She sounded thoughtful. “D’you know I haven’t really had chance to observe a man’s chest like that. And this one certainly was pleasant to look at. A smattering of dark hair, some nice muscles here and there…and two obviously well-developed arms. For a stable hand, he would serve the purpose with excellence, I should imagine.”
Harriet gulped. “So then…”
“Quack, quack.”
“Do shut up.”
“What?” Letitia blinked.
“Not you, the duck.”
“Oh. Sorry. Well, where was I?”
“Describing the nice chest…” prompted Harriet.
“It was, indeed,” concurred Letitia. “But…oddly, I did not feel the slightest urge to encourage him to bring his chest closer to me. Nor was I eager to touch him, or have his hands on me. It seems I may have made a few incorrect suppositions, but then again, that’s what my experimentation today has been about.”
“So you sent him on his way?”
“I did. I took his name, of course. It’s only fair. I will be passing all their names to Edmund because I promised myself I would do so. Word of a lady. And also because that means I really wasn’t lying to anyone about why I was there this morning.” She smiled. “I do hate to lie unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Harriet smiled at the slight twist to Letitia’s logic, but let it pass. “That brings us to the third candidate. And I will mention that he did his best to engage me in a flirtation while we waited for you.”
Letitia humphed. “I’m not in the least surprised. And you will not be surprised to learn that he was willing—nay eager—to remove his shirt. He even offered to remove his breeches as well, so that I could observe the full measure of his strength.”
Harriet gasped. Then burst out laughing. “He didn’t say that exactly, did he?”
Letitia nodded. “Those were his exact words.”
The duck watched with interest as both women laughed heartily.
Harriet regained her breath. “I will not even ask if you allowed that…”
“It was a close thing. But perfect though he was, and I will admit that his body was very appealing indeed—did you know that some men apparently have a little line of hair that drops from mid-chest to—well, I don’t quite know where it ends, because I did not allow things to get that far. But it was an interesting feature.” She licked her lips. “However, I digress.”
“Quack.”
The duck had inched closer, as if eager to catch every word.
Letitia glanced at Harriet. “Do you think we should trust him? He is listening to our conversation, you know.”
Harriet stared at the duck once more. “I think so. He probably also knows that if he betrays our confidence, we’ll eat him.”
“Quaaack…”
“Good. See? He fully understands.” Harriet giggled. “Now, back to the subject at hand. The third man…how did you manage there?”
“I wasn’t quite sure how to handle him, I admit, being unused to such obviously lascivious intentions. I have indeed led much too sheltered a life here in the country. But I learned something this morning, strictly by chance. If you want to divert a man’s attention away from his baser desires, just ask him about himself. Then be prepared to listen with an appearance of interest while he discourses at length on many boring revelations.”
“It worked?”
“Like a charm.”
“Quack!” The duck, in an apparent display of male disgust, turned around and stalked back to the water’s edge, pausing only to cast the two women a reproachful glance.
Harriet threw her hands in the air. “Men.”
Letitia agreed. “I’m thinking of roast duck for dinner…” she called, in a louder voice.
Their erstwhile companion vanished in a splash of droplets, feathers and two orange webbed feet.
Chapter Eight
Harriet’s heart felt as if it lurked somewhere close to her back teeth as she crept into Letitia’s room that evening.
Dinner was ongoing, the family were gathered in one place, and it was indeed the ideal moment for a maid to straighten her mistress’s boudoir for the night ahead. There weren’t many other maids, but one was doing the same thing for Lady Rosaline. They would all meet later downstairs in the servants’ hall for their supper.
So, ever conscientious, Harriet laid out Letitia’s nightgown and wrapper, made sure there was fresh water in the ewer, and that the items on her bureau were all in order.
Then she scurried to the chest at the foot of the bed, which was where Harriet knew she secreted her most precious possessions. Although she’d not spoken of this to Harriet, Letitia had unknowingly revealed the hideaway one day when retrieving one of her few pieces of precious jewellery…a small pearl pendant that had belonged to her grandmother, she’d said.
It was at that point that Harriet had seen the false bottom inside the trunk. And had glimpsed many sheets of paper. She was almost positive that on this evening, she would find the manuscripts of Letitia’s book within.
She was right. There were three boxes, which matched what she knew about the number of copies. Although when she’d met Letitia, only one larger packet had been visible. Removing one of them and gently untying the ribbon, she guessed that Letitia herself had sorted and boxed them. It was the sort of thing she’d do and the contents of the trunk validated that assumption, since they were in neat piles that were easily moved for access to the hidden layers beneath.
A brief glance at the cover page reassured her. It was indeed the book, and the word “COPY” was inscribed in red ink across the top. Perfect.
Carefully, Harriet removed the contents and replaced the empty box at the very bottom of the pile, hoping that if Letitia took out her book to work on it, she would remove the one on top and not notice that one box was empty.
Thus left with a sheaf of papers, she put them gently on the bed, and then restored the trunk to its customary position.
The next step would be to go to the library; this would be problematic, since it was on the ground floor, too near the dining room for her liking. But she had no other options. Thus she crept silently from Letitia’s rooms along the corridor and down the servant’s staircase, hearing conversation from their quarters, but silence from the rest of the house.
Which was just what she’d hoped.
Emerging into the hall, she heard laughter; this time from the dinner guests. All was as it should be and she hurried to the library, praying the door didn’t squeak too much.
Inside, she went straight to the shelf where older books were stored, along with some that were about to lose their contents due to neglect. There were several boards lying on that
shelf; covers that no longer contained the pages they once so carefully protected. And two of these were ideal for Harriet’s needs.
She selected the nearest in size to the papers she carried, slipped them over the manuscript and tied a small piece of string around the whole. Once assembled, it looked like an ordinary—if battered—volume, and this was how she would treat it as she passed it to Sir James.
Or that was how it was supposed to happen.
She tried to banish the feeling that she was betraying Letitia’s trust. Logically, this was the wisest course, since in all probability he would understand what Letitia’s intentions were and, with luck, step in and offer himself as a volunteer.
Harriet prayed she had not misinterpreted her reading of his interest in Letitia. There were so many things that might go wrong, and if Letitia were hurt in any way—well, Harriet shuddered at the thought she might be responsible.
But the shudders were far worse when she imagined Letitia being seduced by a man she barely knew, just to experience the sensation for her book.
No, that was absolutely not going to happen.
Tucking the volume into the enormous pocket of her maid’s apron, she retraced her steps out into the hall and hurried to the alcove where Chidwell would have placed the guests’ outerwear.
Another unpleasant shock hit her as she realized she might not recognize Sir James’s coat, but her luck still held. There it was, the dark grey with a pale grey trim and silver buttons. The others were quite different, so she was sure it was his. And it also featured large pockets, so beloved of stylish country gentlemen.
So she carefully tucked the book away, knowing that he would sense its presence as soon as he picked up the garment.
It was the best she could do.
With a deep breath she walked away. The die was cast. Now it was up to Sir James. He would not fail to respond to this book, would he?
Dear Lord. Let him be the man I think he is…
*~~*~~*
Dinner was delightful, thought Letitia, as she found herself next to James at the table, with her brother on the other side.
