In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL)

by Maggie Robinson

“Folderol?”

  “You know what I mean, sir. And anyway, your injury didn’t stop you from”—Kathleen blushed scarlet, then continued—“acting upon your animal impulses. It was just as I feared. I—I came back to see if you were all right and heard you two going at it like a pair of rabbits.”

  “Kathleen!” Louisa was stunned at the betrayal. Her trusted confidant had almost murdered Charles and compared her to an animal, no matter how cute! Did rabbits even make noise during sexual congress? Louisa rather thought they only screamed when they were killed. It was supposed to be a terrifying sound, like a baby’s wail. She’d have to ask some gardener or other, but she was quite sure she had made no noises of that nature last night.

  Although she’d lost her composure completely in those two short days. Anything seemed to be possible, except to keep track of her wandering mind.

  Time to focus. Was she angry at Kathleen? Oh, yes, she was.

  Charles, on the other hand, looked amused. “Did you think I was such a gay Lothario? Out to take advantage of your mistress and break her heart and her bank?”

  Louisa had seen Kathleen’s self-righteous face many times in the past five years, and here it was again. “You’re a good-looking man, sir, and Miss Louisa is not always sensible. Why, if you knew the things she did this past year, you’d be worried yourself.”

  Worse and worse. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here!” Louisa cried.

  “Sorry, miss. But you know you tend to make a mistake here and there. I was only trying to protect you. They told me how the captain kissed you at dinner—George the footman said he thought you were going to be ravished right on the lace tablecloth in front of all the guests. Wicked, it was. Indecent. I love you like a sister—better, because some of my sisters are spiteful cats and you’ve always been so kind to me. I’ve been a fool to risk the best job I could ever have, but I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “So you decided to hurt me instead.” Charles spoke in a remarkably calm voice, as if he got hit on the head every night.

  “I am sorry, Captain Cooper. Mr. Norwich. Whoever.”

  “Who was your partner in crime? Robertson?”

  Kathleen’s eyes dropped to the carpet. “I shouldn’t like to tell.”

  “But you already did,” Charles countered. “‘Robbie’s going to kill me,’ I believe you said in the hallway. I suppose he stopped polishing the Daimler long enough to put screws in the horse blanket, too.”

  “I didn’t tell him to do that! He took it upon his own initiative.”

  “An enterprising fellow. He should go far in life. Well, Louisa, what shall we do with this pair of miscreants? I confess I wanted to finger Hugh for the crimes—I’m rather disappointed.”

  “How can you take this so well, sir?” Kathleen asked. “It’s rotten what we did. I know that now. You’re not really a bad sort.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, Kathleen. It’s somewhat a relief to discover I’m not doomed to die at Rosemont. I find I’m really not interested in dying anywhere at the moment. Thank you for putting my mind at rest.”

  “I’ll start packing. But please, miss, take pity on Robertson. He really didn’t want to do it.”

  “Packing!” Louisa swallowed hard. What would she do without Kathleen? Even if Charles could help her with her buttons, he would be leaving in a few weeks. And angry at her or not, Kathleen was really her only friend.

  “Yes, Miss Louisa. I won’t expect a reference. And if you decide to arrest me, I’d understand. But Robbie is almost innocent.”

  Charles rolled his eyes. “Kathleen Carmichael, you’re something of a siren, aren’t you? You lure men to their doom.”

  “Not men, Captain. Just one man. Robbie and I want to get married. When I go, he may give notice and come after me. I don’t know how we’ll manage—”

  “Oh, shut it, Kathleen. You’re not going anywhere. And you think I’m half-cracked. Your idea was preposterous! What if Charles had been seriously injured? Captain Cooper is no danger to me.” What a whopper that was. In two days, Charles had penetrated not only her womanly core but her heart. Which was ridiculous. She hardly knew the man.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Louisa. Captain. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you ever again. I already talked to Robbie, and he feels even guiltier than I. He loves me, you see, and will do anything for me, even if it goes against his principles.”

  “You’re a lucky woman,” Louisa said tartly.

  But then, so was she. Charles Cooper was ready to serve her in any capacity she asked—save one. Plus, he’d asked her to marry him, too. Maybe they should all have a double wedding. A cackle of laughter escaped along with the tension that had been building since last night. Both Charles and Kathleen looked at her with alarm, but once Louisa started laughing, she couldn’t seem to stop.

  She was surrounded by people who resorted to violence to protect her, and they thought she was the crazy one. There were elements of French farce and Gothic intrigue rolled up together—no wonder she’d been off-kilter since she’d come home. She was in the wrong play.

  Kathleen’s slim hand pushed down on her shoulder. “Sit down, Miss Louisa. I’ll fetch you a cold cloth to calm you.”

  “That’s all right, Kathleen. I’ll take care of your mistress.”

  “And I know just how you’ll try,” Kathleen said with asperity. “Just because I don’t plan on incapacitating you anymore doesn’t mean I approve of you interfering with her.”

  Charles was no longer amused. “I’m not going to ‘interfere’ with her! I’ve given her my word not to touch her again, and I can’t believe I have to pledge to you as well.”

  “St-still here,” Louisa hiccupped from her chair.

  “Perhaps I should mix up some of Dr. Fentress’s elixir in a nice hot cup of tea for her.”

  “That’s right. Drug her until she doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going. That should do the trick,” Charles said, his sarcasm obvious. “No wonder she’s so unhappy.”

  Louisa wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Still here. And I’m not unhappy!”

  “You’re hysterical then.”

  “I am not! Anyone would find this all too”—what was it, exactly?—“too much. I want both of you to leave me alone. No cold cloths, no elixirs. Certainly no lovemaking. I can take care of myself, as I always have. Go away!”

  Neither Kathleen nor the captain moved one inch, each staring at her with concern. What would it take for them to obey her?

  “You are fired, Kathleen. At least for tonight. And Ch-Charles, I release you from your service. P-please pack up and Robertson can drive you to the train tomorrow morning. I’ll say we quarreled. And then send myself a telegram in a day or two. You’ll meet with an unfortunate accident in London. A robbery on the street gone awry. Maximillian wouldn’t part with his purse easily—it was his father’s, made from the hide of a very rare sort of cow. The Norwich family crest was on it—”

  “No.” The word was said in unison from both maid and man, although Charles growled it more than spoke it.

  “I’m going to put her to bed, Captain Cooper. When she gets into those stories of hers, it’s clear to me she’s got a fever of the brain. Such an imagination. I’m sure she’ll tell wonderful stories to her babies, but right now she’s very tired.”

  “I’m not tired,” Louisa said, sulky. And she was not having any babies to tell stories to. Not that she’d ever given children much thought before—she was never getting married now, was she?—but suddenly they didn’t seem quite so sticky and unpleasant. A dark-haired boy, a golden-haired girl—oh, what was the matter with her? Charles was right. She was hysterical.

  “At least you should be able to sleep well tonight,” Charles said in a soothing tone that got on her last nerve. “No intruders, right, Kathleen? Robertson will keep to his quarters like a good boy
and we’ll all feel jolly in the morning.” He left her sitting there and set to going through the suite, removing obstacles from doorways. She could hear furniture sliding and clunking away in the next room.

  Jolly. Ha. Louisa glared at her maid. “I don’t know if I should forgive you.” She was rather hoping to be trapped up here with Charles for the foreseeable future.

  “I am sorry, truly I am. We meant only to keep you from falling prey to a fortune hunter. You’re usually on guard against such men, but the captain seems to interest you. Am I correct?”

  Louisa felt her face grow hot. “He’s a very interesting man.”

  “Good in bed, is he?”

  “Kathleen!” She really did not have much to compare him to, but she was pretty certain no sane woman would have any complaint over Charles Cooper’s caresses.

  “Well, you be careful. You wouldn’t want to get in the family way. I don’t suppose you have one of those clever Mensinga diaphragms we learned about in Germany—you would have told me.”

  Louisa restrained herself from sticking her fingers in her ears. “You’re right. I’m exhausted. Put me to bed.”

  She tried not to mind that Charles never returned to her or their nightcap as she sat at her dressing table in a prim nightgown, Kathleen brushing out and braiding up her hair. Once her maid finally left—after boring her stiff with praise of Robbie Robertson’s prowess—Louisa made her way through the bathing chamber and tentatively turned the captain’s doorknob. It was unyielding. Locked against her.

  Just as it should be.

  Chapter

  28

  Saturday, December 5, 1903

  At least he wasn’t going to be trapped in temptation too near a bed with Louisa in the suite all day. No one was out to kill him, Charles thought as he nicked his cheek with his razor. He was doing a good enough job at that all on his own. He blotted the blood up on a pristine white towel, hoping he wouldn’t incur the permanent wrath of Rosemont’s laundress.

  He’d just about finished bleeding and dressing when Louisa rapped on his sensibly locked door.

  “Charles, breakfast has been brought up to the sitting room.” She sounded brisk. Imperious. The old Louisa Stratton was back.

  “Thank you. I’ll join you in a moment.” He’d dressed to ride, thinking it would do them both a world of good to get away from the estate and visit the village. He knew nothing about flowers but could stand about as she poked things into vases in the church vestry.

  Satisfied that his tie was straight, he exited through the hall door and strolled down the corridor to the sitting room, just in case Louisa was still in dishabille in her room. The scent of sausages would have drawn him even if he didn’t want to see her this morning.

  He was rewarded by a vision of both silver domed dishes and his “wife.” There were two other people in the room as well. A footman, not William today, was arranging the food on the table in front of the window under the watchful eye of a slender, distinguished-looking older woman. The missing housekeeper, Charles presumed. He plastered a sober expression on his face and prepared to offer his condolences once they had been introduced.

  Louisa sat before the crackling fire, wearing a neat burgundy riding habit. So she remembered his proposition. It was another glorious early December day, milder even than yesterday, he’d thought as he stuck his head out of the window earlier. It seemed warmer outside than it was in the mausoleum-like house.

  “Good morning again, darling,” Charles said, slipping into his Maximillian mode.

  “Max!” she said with false brightness. “May I make you acquainted with Rosemont’s sterling housekeeper, Mrs. Lang? Mrs. Lang, my husband, Maximillian Norwich.”

  Charles extended a hand. “I am most happy to meet you, Mrs. Lang, and compliment you on the superb state of my wife’s home. And you have my sympathies on the loss of your mother.”

  Mrs. Lang’s mother must have been ancient indeed. The housekeeper was wreathed in wrinkles herself. She nodded regally back at him but did not take his hand. No doubt Maximillian Norwich should not be in the habit of shaking hands with the servants, so Charles stuffed his paw into a pocket.

  “Thank you, sir. Congratulations on your nuptials.”

  The woman did not smile, so Charles was unable to see if the crone had all her own teeth left. He remembered Louisa saying the housekeeper was in Grace’s camp, so there probably was very little value in trying to charm her to show her teeth. He’d be most happy to toss the woman out on her bony arse, if it meant fewer headaches for Louisa.

  “Breakfast looks lovely, Mrs. Lang,” Louisa said, moving to the linen-draped table. “Please give Cook our compliments. We can serve ourselves as we did yesterday. Are you as hungry as I, Max?”

  “Hungrier.”

  “Will you or your husband require anything else? The staff is at your disposal. Mrs. Westlake tells me you wish to make some changes at Rosemont.”

  “Nothing that concerns you, Mrs. Lang,” Louisa said hurriedly. Good Lord, Louisa was frightened of her own housekeeper. Charles was a little, too. When the servants left, Charles felt his spine relax a fraction. Oddly enough, he was more worried about being found out as a fraud by the Rosemont staff. Class differentiation was ingrained so deeply in British society his every vowel was suspect. He’d worked hard to overcome his working-class background and accent, but the scrappy boy within would never be totally eradicated.

  He sat, noting that Louisa had resorted to artificial color on her cheeks. He had passed an indifferent night as well, imagining he could hear every sigh and rustle of her bedcovers through three doors. Had she touched herself in thwarted desire as he had? At this rate, he’d be blind in both eyes by the end of the month.

  But he wasn’t going to leave. Not until Louisa got the upper hand over her household, even if it meant his hands grew hairy. Not that he believed such nonsense. The boys at Harrow would have resembled apes if such tales were true.

  He speared a pair of sausages from the platter. Once again there was more food than two people could possibly eat. Louisa contented herself with buttering a perfect toast triangle, avoiding the meat and eggs altogether.

  “You’re going to fade away,” Charles said, passing her a cut-glass dish of raspberry jam.

  “I doubt it. Have you ever noticed how much people like us eat?”

  “‘People like us’ again.”

  “You know what I mean. All this food can’t be good for one.”

  “Didn’t you tell me your aunt went on some sort of slimming regimen?”

  “She’s rabid about her figure. For a while, she would only eat green things.”

  “I presume that’s what sent her to bed too weak to be mean.” Charles popped a sausage chunk in his mouth. “An army can’t move without meat, you know.”

  “I have no objection to a nice joint—just not at breakfast.”

  “You really should try one of the sausages. They’re very good. There’s some sort of spice I can’t identify.”

  “Cook makes her own. I’ve watched her. One should never watch sausages being made.”

  Charles laughed. “So you know your way around the kitchen?”

  “I would never say that—I’m no cook, though I believe I can boil water and roll out biscuit dough with the best of them. I did spend a lot of time in the kitchen when I was young, but as I grew older I moved on to the conservatory. I should show it to you before we leave for our ride. Griffith tells me he took care of my plants personally with the help of the head gardener.” Her eyes rested on the ceramic urn they had been given as a wedding present, which still rested on the sill. “We can bring that downstairs. I’m sure something can use repotting.”

  “So you have a green thumb.”

  “And all my other fingers as well,” Louisa said with a grin, wiggling them. “Minding my plants is the only feminine domestic skill I
’ve got. Don’t ask me to paint or sing or play the piano. Sewing is absolutely out of the question.”

  She was more than feminine enough for him. Charles reached for another sausage. “I’ve heard you sing, remember. You’re not so bad.”

  “There are excellent acoustics in the bath. All that tile. And one can’t go wrong with Christmas carols.”

  They lingered over breakfast, Louisa succumbing to some fruit and a small bowl of porridge while Charles worked his way through the eggs and mushrooms and every last sausage. He might have overdone it a bit, but in a little while he’d get sufficient exercise. Until he’d come to Rosemont, he’d been on limited rations for a very long time, partly out of economy, mostly out of sheer lack of appetite. Nothing had interested him but his gin bottle and its longed-for obliteration. When he’d remembered to eat, he’d subsisted on tinned food and weak tea over a spirit stove in his room at Mrs. Jarvis’s. He couldn’t afford to pay her board, not that the scents coming from her kitchen were at all inviting.

  Once he was done here, he’d have enough money to rent decent lodging. Since it seemed he was not going to kill himself after all, he might even take up George Alexander’s offer for suitable employment. Charles wasn’t sure what he was qualified for, but he was willing to work hard, fill up his days with something useful.

  What would Louisa be doing a month from now? Would she be back in Paris or Vienna or Berlin, or up to her eyelashes in the conservatory, forcing some bulb to bloom out of stubborn will, her apron freckled with dirt? The poor plant would have no choice but to bend and thrive to her desire.

  Just as he had. She was a force of nature, plucking him out of his gloom and setting him back on his feet with a few judicious words and a cloud of violets.

  He pushed himself away from the table with some reluctance. She had been relaxed with him this morning—they had chatted as if they were old friends. Were, in fact, husband and wife. But that was not to be, even with his precipitous proposal.

  “Show me this jungle of yours.” He picked up the planter from the sill and hefted it into the crook of his arm. Now that he looked at it, he saw it was not painted but covered in tiny mosaic tiles. The pattern was faintly Arabic and quite lovely, its brilliant blue glaze contrasting with pure white. Orientalism had been all the rage in the last century—he’d learned that in his art history book.