by Amanda Deed
Serena gave him a definite nod. If she’d known the welfare of his animals might draw him home, she would have used that excuse earlier. When she gazed at him in the moonlight, his eyes were bright with zeal. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair and gleamed on his coat. He must be saturated, but seemed unperturbed. Mr King pulled on his shoes and walked her back to their waiting curricle.
If she assumed they had finished their tour—that they would return to Aleron—she was wrong again. No sooner were they seated and he’d taken up the reins than Mr King turned to her with wide eyes. ‘I’ll take you there.’
Fighting the sleep that dragged at her senses, Serena blinked at him. ‘Where?’
‘This home you love so much.’
‘Really, Mr King. It is the middle of the night. There is little point.’ If only he’d shown this interest earlier. She might have seen her dear sisters. Now she was beyond tired and they would no doubt be asleep.
‘We shan’t knock on the door.’
He didn’t seem capable of reason. She let out a sigh under her breath. ‘Well then, if you must. Do you remember the direction? Head East on King Street.’
Five minutes later, he drew up in front of Serena’s house. ‘This is it. This is where I live—lived.’ Being this close and yet not being able to see her beloved family made her stomach swirl with longing. How were they? No light emanated from the windows, not even from the rooms where her sisters would be snuggled in their beds. If only she could jump down and bang on the door, begging Father to rescue her. But what good would that serve? Mr King would drag her back or threaten to throw Papa into gaol. She kept her gaze averted from him. She refused to allow him to see her suffering again tonight. Instead she gazed with longing at the narrow path to the front door.
‘It is even tinier than I recall.’
‘But filled with love.’
Mr King was silent for a moment. ‘So, when there is love, other things don’t matter? For instance, comfort, warmth, decent food.’
Serena let out a harrumph. ‘When you are surrounded by love, you can endure many discomforts. Trust me, I know. I once enjoyed the luxuries you mentioned. Papa’s business declined after my mother passed away. Eventually we lost our fine home, nice furniture and warmer clothes. But, we still had each other, so we were—are—happy.’
Silence again. This time for so long that Serena wondered what occupied his thoughts. She turned to face him.
‘You have a point there, Miss Bellingham.’
Wonder of wonders. She offered him a small smile, tired as she was.
‘I remember a time when I perhaps knew that happiness you speak of. When my parents lived.’ Sadness crept into his features for a moment, but just as quickly it was replaced with a hard glint. ‘But sometimes love can be suffocating.’
Her head spun, on the point of drifting off to sleep, no matter that she was sitting up in a curricle. Too sluggish to respond in any sensible fashion, she sat there staring at him. She was aware enough, however, to note that his vibrant gaze travelled over her face and paused at her lips. His eyelids dropped a little and his expression became serious.
‘Do you know how alluring you are in the moonlight, Serena?’
Was she dreaming? Had she slipped into sleep and now her mind played out intimate fantasies? Was he really leaning that close to her? She shook herself awake with a jerk. ‘What?’
Mr King straightened and cleared his throat. ‘Nothing.’ He flicked the reins and gestured with his head toward the horizon. ‘Look. The sun is rising.’
Serena followed his gaze. Sure enough, the sky out over the sea was greying as the sun heralded its coming. ‘Oh dear. We’ve been touring all night. Won’t your family worry?’
He pursed his lips. ‘They shouldn’t. They know I can look after myself.’
‘How am I to work today when I’ve had no sleep?’
Mr King flung her a wide smile. ‘Have the day off. I’m the master, you know.’
‘But what will Mrs Jones think?’
‘Do you regret coming out with me, Miss Bellingham?’
From where did that question come? And what was the answer? It was tiring when one wanted to sleep, and Mr King had annoyed her at times, but mostly it had been an adventure. ‘No. No regrets.’
‘Well then, do not worry what my sister or anyone else might think.’
Serena did not reply. It might be a simple thing to say, but it still gnawed at her conscience. What would his family think of her now she’d been together with him all night, unchaperoned?
As they headed back through the city, Mr King sat up straighter, his nose in the air. ‘Do you smell that?’
‘Smell what?’ Serena could barely take in anything at this point.
‘Freshly baked bread, that’s what.’ The next moment, he drew up before a baker’s shop and jumped down. ‘I’ll be back anon.’
True to his word, a few minutes later the small carriage swayed as he climbed up beside her. Mr King handed her a small package wrapped in linen. ‘I’m sure you must be hungry.’
Serena peeled back the cloth to reveal a delicate pastry. Heat from the fresh-out-of-the-oven package warmed her hands and the aromas of cinnamon and apple tickled her nose. She peeked at Mr King holding his own pastry, but also watching her.
‘Go on.’
She bit off a corner of the pastry and groaned with delight at the buttery sweetness. She had eaten nothing quite like it. ‘This is wonderful.’
Mr King grinned and began his own breakfast.
Serena could only shake her head after each morsel. The pastry was so crisp and light, she couldn’t get enough of it. When she finished, she could not resist licking the sticky remainders from her fingers, as ill-mannered as it made her appear. ‘Thank you, Mr King. I’ve never had a breakfast to equal it.’
His smile spread wider than she’d seen yet, and his eyes sparked with animation again. Without a word, he leapt from the carriage again and ducked into the store. He returned soon after with two large bundles.
‘What do you have there?’
Mr King gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I bought all they had.’
Serena’s pressed a hand over her open mouth. ‘You didn’t.’
‘Yes. If you enjoyed them so much, you should have more.’
‘You bought them for me?’
‘Well, I may eat one or two myself.’
Serena was left speechless. Extravagant. That was the only word for it. Surely those pastries would spoil before she could eat them, and she wasn’t enough of a glutton to eat them all in a day. ‘You needn’t do that, Mr King.’
He shrugged. ‘I wanted to.’
Again, he left no room for argument. Mr King flicked the reins and, at long last, they headed for Aleron. Soon, the sway of the carriage rocked Serena into a senseless trance and sleep dragged her away from wakefulness. She was only vaguely aware of an arm around her shoulders that pulled her into a warm chest, where she snuggled in and relaxed with a sigh.
13
Serena woke up in her bed at Aleron and sat up, groggy, her head pounding, and still wearing her day dress. What was the time? She stumbled out of bed and drew the drapes back. The sky remained bright, although there was plenty of cloud cover. Massaging her temples, she moved to the mantel, above which hung a clock. Almost one o’clock. She’d slept half the day away. Well, with thick curtains and little noise, it was easy to do.
She trudged back over to the bed and flopped onto the mattress. What had possessed Mr King to stay out the entire night? Not that their tour was dull in the least. Serena groaned. What possessed her to join him in the first place? Did she fall asleep on his shoulder? How embarrassing. He would judge her as presumptuous now, added to being the daughter of a thief. She could not face him today, or any day soon. With any luck, she could stay in this room forever. An
d yet, the dryness of her throat and her aching head told her she needed a drink, and her stomach rumbled. Apart from the pastry early this morning, she hadn’t eaten since supper last night.
Serena resigned herself to visiting the dining room, hoping Mr King kept to his suite. His presence would only disquiet her further. She pushed herself to her feet and changed her dress, pausing at the basin in the corner to freshen her face.
The dining room was deserted. The family had probably eaten and gone on with their chores for the afternoon. No matter. Serena headed for the kitchen. Becker undoubtedly kept leftovers for her. As she entered, the cook turned and at once frowned.
‘Four pounds of pastries. What does the master think I will do with four pounds of them?’ His German accent stood out in his ire. He turned back to continue unceremoniously banging pots and utensils as he worked.
Serena blanched. It was her fault for admitting how much she liked them. ‘It was very spontaneous. I did not expect him to buy every one of them.’
Becker waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Never mind. It’s not your fault.’
‘I’ll have one now if that will make it easier. I came looking for dinner.’ Serena gave him a hopeful look.
The cook grunted. ‘I kept food for you. I expected you’d be down here sometime. Lucky, it’s still warm.’ He moved to the stove and returned with a covered plate. ‘Roasted fowl, green beans, potatoes and pumpkin. I trust it is to your liking.’
‘Your cooking has not failed me yet.’ Serena tried to sweeten his mood. She lifted the cover and drank in the savoury aromas.
‘Humph. Well, you go and eat. I shall bring one of those blasted pastries shortly.’
She took her plate to the dining room and sat in the quietness to enjoy her meal. As promised, Becker soon entered with another plate, a glass and a carafe of water. He placed them on the table without ceremony. But he didn’t leave.
‘Thank you, Becker. I appreciate you looking after me.’
He grunted again. ‘Doesn’t Edward know, I could have baked those pastries, and better? He only had to ask.’
So, it was jealousy that had roused his ire. Serena raised her brows at Becker. ‘Better, you say?’
‘Ya. Much better.’
‘You have yourself a challenge then, Becker, because I have never tasted the likes of them.’
The cook stared at her briefly then offered a short bow. ‘Challenge accepted, Miss Bellingham.’
Serena still smothered giggles minutes later when Mrs Jones entered.
The housekeeper—or was she playing sister to the master today—stood inside the doorway, fidgeting as if she didn’t know what to say. Serena nodded to her, equally uncomfortable. What did one say to excuse oneself in this situation? And where to start?
‘Are you rested?’ An abrupt beginning from Mrs Jones. No greeting first. The woman paced the floor.
‘I suppose. I have a touch of headache, but otherwise, I am well.’
With a rush of movement Mrs Jones pulled out the chair beside her and sat. ‘Are you all right? My brother didn’t ... wasn’t ... inappropriate, was he?’
‘No.’ Serena shook her head. ‘Unless you count running barefoot along the beach inappropriate.’
Mrs Jones dropped her head into her hands. ‘He didn’t!’
‘Yes, quite.’ Serena tried to cover a smile by putting a forkful of chicken in her mouth. Mrs Jones was serious. ‘But that’s nothing I haven’t done before, so it didn’t bother me. I am aware that Mr King can be impulsive.’
‘Did anyone see him?’
Serena furrowed her brows as she thought back. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Mrs Jones’ stiff frame relaxed a little at that.
‘Didn’t you tell him to bring you home?’
Serena lifted her shoulders. ‘Once or twice. But he was so excited to be showing me the architecture in Sydney, I didn’t have the heart to complain.’
Mrs Jones put out a hand and covered hers. ‘I’m so sorry, Serena. It was poor judgement on his behalf to drag you around all night.’
Sorry? Why should Mrs Jones apologise for her brother? It wasn’t her fault. Mr King made his own decisions, even if it seems he put little thought into them. Besides, wasn’t it her own fault for agreeing to go, knowing they were without an escort? ‘There is nothing to forgive, Mrs Jones. I enjoyed his company most of the time.’
The housekeeper stiffened in the chair and her eyes sparked with dismay. ‘Most of the time? What did he do?’
Serena removed her hand from beneath Mrs Jones’s and patted it. ‘Nothing so alarming. Mr King will not relent over…over a disagreement we had, that is all.’
Mrs Jones breathed out long and hard as though a huge relief fell from her shoulders. ‘So, you enjoyed your tour with him except for his arrogance from time to time, is that right?’
‘Yes, exactly.’
Her smile brightened. ‘Well, I’m glad. But it shouldn’t happen again—not without a chaperone.’ She let out a laugh that sounded forced and rose from the table, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. ‘Eddie has given you the day off, so I will leave you to your freedom.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Jones.’
Serena watched her leave, still pondering their conversation. Mrs Jones was more anxious over her brother’s behaviour than Serena’s own. That was a change about, since she’d met with much suspicion over her motives since arriving at Aleron. But she was too tired to make sense of it.
Fresh air is what she needed. Once she finished her late dinner, she collected a wrap and headed outdoors into the gardens. She strolled across the manicured lawns and roamed amongst the garden beds. Strange. Just as she often felt someone watching her while she laundered, she sensed it again now in the garden. She shivered while looking around her. There was nowhere to hide, and she stood quite out in the open. But nothing disturbed the serenity aside from the chirping of birds. Did her imagination play tricks on her yet again?
Serena forced her thoughts back to the trouble at hand. What would she say to Mr King next time she saw him? She had not mentioned it to Mrs Jones, but she had been the inappropriate one—resting on Mr King’s shoulder, indeed. And didn’t they share a moment in front of Papa’s house? Or was that just a dream? Whatever the case, she must learn to control her runaway feelings for Mr King. There was something about him that constantly drew her, even though he wouldn’t forget the almost-stolen-painting issue. He was smart—well, more than smart—gifted, vibrant and full of passion, and yes, charm as he’d told her. And all on top of his brooding good looks.
But naught could develop from infatuation with his kind, surely. She was nobody—not any more. A servant. Mr King was rich and famous. She was uneducated compared to him. He was a genius. Why should her heart yearn for what could never be?
Before Papa’s business failed, she might have been equal to one of his ilk. Her mind drifted back to that awful evening outside Papa’s study, when she had eavesdropped on James asking for her hand. Good and kind James, who was more than able to provide for her. But Papa had denied him, claiming he needed Serena more. What a crushing blow it had been. Since then she had scarcely hoped for anything. At every turn, her family’s needs outweighed her own desires. Why should her fortunes change now? It was her family’s needs that placed her here at Aleron in the first place.
Serena turned toward the stables to search for Mr Xavier. She could, at the least, continue a friendship with him. However, as she looked up, not he but Mr Simon strode toward her. And he wore an unpleasant scowl on his face.
‘What game are you playing at, Miss Bellingham?’ No greeting, no pleasantries. Mr Simon launched straight into accusations.
Thrown off guard, Serena opened and closed her mouth, then shook her head in confusion. ‘I cannot think what you mean by that, Mr Simon.’
‘That you encouraged
Uncle Ed to stay out an entire night, what else would I mean?’
Serena almost released a snort of disdain. He couldn’t be further from the truth. And even if he wasn’t, what business was it of his? She gave him a direct look. ‘I encouraged him. Is that what you think?’
‘Well, you’ve wheedled your way into employment here, even though no staff were needed. You were the one who allowed Moncrief to roam the house. And now you’ve kept him out wandering the streets of Sydney till the sun rose. What more is there to assume but that you either plan to bring about his ruin, or you are what they call a fortune hunter? Can you deny it?’
Shocked and gaping, Serena scrambled for a response. Of course, she could deny it. Should deny it. Mr Simon had jumped to extreme conclusions. And yet, she couldn’t admit the truth, lest she hurt Papa. A fortune hunter of all things! Serena forced aside her annoyance to meet Mr Simon with a little logic. ‘Moncrief was a misunderstanding, when will you realise that? And as for Mr King, you make him sound as if he has no mind of his own.’
At that, Mr Simon backed off a little—his shoulders straightened and his scowl transformed more into a mask of confusion. ‘Of course he does.’
‘Then give him some credit, will you? Don’t assume a servant such as myself can wrap him around her little finger, not that I even wish to do so.’
He thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘Of course you can’t. Uncle Ed’s too smart for that.’
Interesting. In the space of a few sentences, Serena had made Mr Simon defend his uncle from a different angle. That might be something to remember. She pressed her lips together to hide a smile. ‘Precisely.’
Mr Simon half-turned away, gave her a sidelong glance that said he was not convinced of her innocence, and then trudged back to wherever he’d been.
Serena watched after him with narrowed eyes while releasing a long breath through her nose. Fortune hunter, indeed. Or, what was the other thing he’d suggested—that she intended to ruin Mr King. She folded her arms across her chest. It was beyond enduring. She had half a mind to go straight to Mr Simon’s uncle and repeat their conversation. How would Mr King react to that? On second thoughts, that mightn’t be a good idea. Mr King was likely to agree with Mr Simon. After all, he had accused her of thievery like her father more than once, even though his belief was misconstrued.
