by Erin Grace
He pulled back, somewhat amused to find her eyes closed and a deliciously dazed expression covering her sweet face.
‘What is your conclusion, madam? Do you still believe our kiss wasn’t meant to be?’
Her eyelids fluttered open and she nodded vacantly, her hands pressed flat against his chest.
‘No. I mean, yes. I…I have to get back to Lady Cecily.’ She ducked under his arm and fled toward the door, but he reached out and clasped her hand.
She stopped her frantic flight and turned to him, her eyes filled with bewilderment, rosy lips puffy.
He gently turned her hand over and kissed her exposed wrist. Her pulse beat rapidly beneath his touch. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, Lily. I would never hurt you.’
Her tiny hand shook within his before she drew it back and turned away once more. The key clicked within the lock and she paused with her fingers upon the door handle.
‘It isn’t you I fear, Captain, but what my own future holds.’
And with that she opened the door and rushed out into the hallway.
He fought the urge to go after her, and for a few very long moments he remained staring at the ghost of her as she left the room time and time again.
Did he really know what he was doing?
He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, beckoning him like the sirens of old. The painful cry of experience warned him to retreat now, else risk being dashed upon the jagged rocks once more.
But, walking away wasn’t an option he entertained.
He wanted this. He wanted her. And, he would have his desires fulfilled. He just wouldn’t fall in love.
Chapter 12
Damn and blast. The wretched bell-pull was broken again. Or, more likely, the insolent staff were ignoring his commands. He should fire the bloody lot of them.
Barnabas Holsworthy, Lord Etford, let go of the long velvet cord and lay back against his numerous pillows.
‘Thompson! If you value your post in this household, I recommend you come here immediately.’ His chest broke into a coughing fit, as he attempted to reach for some water he realized the glass was empty.
Thompson would have to go!
He was lord of this blasted house and he demanded to be treated as such. Show people an ounce of kindness and you’re opening the door to chaos. For all he knew, the entire household could have been helping themselves to his best cognac and the family silverware and he’d be the last to know of it.
Not that his only remaining son would give a damn.
Eight months! Eight blasted months it had taken the boy to come visit his family. And, under what circumstances? His heart ached as he pictured his beloved son, Henry, lying in state during the funeral service.
Gabriel wasn’t worthy of his title. No. Henry had been the one. No one was smarter, braver or nobler than Henry. Hell, and damnation, his first born should have been the one to carry the Holsworthy name forward.
But a simple riding accident had robbed him of his heir, robbed him of his son. He winced at the tears stinging his eyes. He’d be damned before he let them fall. And if he heard one more rumor around society that Henry had been foxed the day of his fall, he’d horsewhip the lot of them – aristocracy or not!
A small crack of light rippled across his bed, and the soft groan of hinges in need of oiling drew his attention to the chamber doors.
‘At last. You took your time, my good man. A minute more and you’d be out on your ear, and without a reference!’
He glanced up, expecting to see the aged face of Percival Thompson, his butler for the past twenty years. Before then, Percival’s father, George had been employed by the family. In fact, the Thompsons had worked for the Holsworthy’s for the past five generations.
But, that was hardly the point. The man should come promptly when summoned.
‘Eh?’ He propped himself up on his elbows and leaned a little forward. Odd. The door was opened, but no one stood there. ‘Who’s there? Present yourself.’
He’d never been a man to be frightened of anything, but something in that quiet moment sent a chill down his spine. Many times, he had wished for the blessed visit from the Reaper to come and put his wretched soul out of misery, but now the possibility was here, he suddenly wished for more time. But time to do what? Repent for his sins? He didn’t deny them, nor could he go back and change many of them.
The soft shimmer of gold peeked out from above the base of his large bed. He squinted, trying to focus in the poor light. ‘What in the devil…who is there?’
Slowly, the face of a young child appeared, two clear blue eyes fixed upon him with what he could only call a mixture of pity and fascination. Whatever it was, he could hardly say she was afraid of him.
‘I am here.’
The voice took him aback. It wasn’t the screechy, high-pitched cry of most children he’d had the misfortune of meeting over the years. No. The tone seemed wrong, as if the voice belonged to someone far older, far worldlier than the girl before him.
‘Who are you? What are you doing in here? Is Thompson with you?’
She stepped out from behind the bed and wandered over to the hearth. Her gold hair was loose, only a thin blue ribbon tying it around her head. A threadbare pale green coat, at least a size too small, clung to a frame which could only be described as thin at best. The chit couldn’t be more than eleven, twelve at most.
And, for an uncomfortable moment, she reminded him of his sister, Elizabeth. She too had golden hair and blue eyes. A sweet thing, she had died of scarlet fever just days before her fourteenth birthday.
The girl ran her hand over the back of a large leather chair, then met his eye. ‘Are you ill?’
He snorted and raised an eyebrow. ‘Impertinent child. Of course, I am ill. How did you come to be in my chamber?’
‘You make an awful lot of noise for someone who is ill, sir. I was in the hallway and I heard you calling out.’
He frowned at her curt reply. ‘You are very adept at evading my questions, child. Now, tell me what you were doing in the hallway.’
His hands tensed as she reached up and touched a small figurine on the mantel. It was a sculpture of a hunting hound his late wife had given him as a wedding gift. A part of him wanted to yell at her, tell her not touch what wasn’t hers, but another part remained curious as to why the girl was still there.
‘Are you going to die?’
He swallowed dryly then cleared his throat. ‘Of course. We all die eventually.’
She nodded. ‘Do you wish to die?’
The question caught him by surprise. When his elder son, Henry, had died in the hunting accident then, yes, he had wanted to die. His son, his heir, was gone.
Having Gabriel return gave him little solace. Damn him for feeling the way he did about his second son. But Gabriel’s birth had left him a husk of a man, taken from him the very essence of what made his life worth living – his beloved wife, Sophia.
He gazed into the glowing embers of the hearth desperately trying to forget Sophia’s radiant smile. ‘In many ways, I am already dead.’
‘You don’t look dead to me, nor dying.’ He glanced up, intrigued as to why her tone had become cold and accusing. He was nothing to her. ‘I think you should be ashamed, lying here waiting to die when so many others are never given the choice.’
‘Not dying, you say? And, is that your professional opinion, brat?’
She shrugged, reached down and picked up a small book from a table near the hearth.
‘You cannot possibly be so ill as to be dying. You are far too mean and grumpy for anyone about to meet their maker.’
He sank back into his pillows, his mouth open.
Good God. He almost felt like smiling at her cutting remark. What a strange child.
She placed the book down then moved to a small lacquered table next to his armchair, where a marble chess set was arranged on an ivory and ebony board – a present Gabriel had sent him from India.
Though he�
�d never written in reply to his son’s letters or gifts, he’d hidden the handsome set in his room.
She picked up a shiny white pawn and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger, before placing it carefully back into the board but in a different position.
‘Your move, sir.’
With a frown, he glanced down at the board then back at the chit. She had commenced play?
His brow furrowed, and a scowl met his lips. ‘You play chess?’
‘Of course. My papa taught me. Well? Do you wish to play, or are you afraid I may beat you?’
Indignation rose in his chest. ‘Beat me? Indeed. Bring that board over here, girl. If it is a lesson in humility you seek, as well as chess, then I am only too happy to accommodate you.’
Without the slightest hint of hesitation, the girl carefully picked up the board, carried it over and placed it next to his side.
She looked up at him, her tranquil countenance the epitome of determination. ‘As you can see, it’s your move.’
His curiosity piqued as grey shadows passed over her eyes. And that’s when he understood. For the moment he didn’t know what or why, but in some way, this young girl was suffering too.
Lily rushed along and scurried down the servant’s stairs. The scullery maid had sent word that Henrietta had come with an urgent message from her mama.
Lord, she prayed everything was all right her sister and mother.
She reached the hallway then made her way to the Rose Room, a smaller, more intimate parlor that had once been favored by the late Lady Etford. Mrs Peel had mentioned her ladyship would sit in there during confinement and embroider baby clothing, whilst looking out over her splendid rose bushes.
Bracing herself to meet her aunt, she inhaled a deep breath, grasped the cool brass door handle, turned it then entered the room. She stopped just inside the doorway and took stock of the view before her.
Oh, for goodness sake.
On the petite floral chaise near the hearth sat Henrietta with such an arrogant air as to suggest she belonged there. About her upon the chair were various books on botany, with several opened at pages displaying water colored images of flowers.
Her aunt had obviously made herself at home. ‘What a beautiful room, Lily. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, yes, it is, I suppose.’ She rushed over and gathered up two books, before attempting to locate just where on the vast bookshelf they had come from. ‘I don’t think his lordship, or the captain, would approve of us touching their belongings, Aunt.’ Henrietta scowled then tossed the book she held to the floor and sighed. Wretched woman.
‘Speaking of Captain Holsworthy, I had quite expected him to greet me personally.’
She bent down, scooped up the discarded volume on exotic plants and placed it on a nearby side table. ‘I don’t know what makes you believe the captain should make time for you. He is a very busy man.’
So busy in fact, he hadn’t even made the time to say goodbye to her. She hadn’t seen him since their encounter in the library, him leaving Etford before dawn the very next day. That was five days ago. A familiar sinking feeling returned in force to her stomach.
‘Too busy to greet the very person responsible for what could be arguably called the finest funeral service this year?’
‘Yes.’ She groaned inwardly at the decorative box of glace fruits sitting next to the settee on a rosewood table. The lid was tilted to one side, obvious evidence of her aunt’s ‘curiosity’. She must get the woman out of there before Mrs Godfrey had her hide tanned, beaten and made into boots. ‘If you must know, the captain departed several days ago on a tour of his lordship’s estates. And, before you ask, I have no idea when he is due to return. I am merely a maid, if you recall, and not the man’s keeper.’
Henrietta stood slowly and raised her chin with indignation.
‘My, my, aren’t we high above ourselves now? You quickly forget that it was I who placed you here, and this is the thanks I receive?’
‘I am honestly too tired and too busy to quibble with you, Aunt. Now, I must have Lady Cecily’s clothes set out before I’m required to help her change for dinner. Polly said you came bearing urgent news, so I would be thankful to hear it please.’
‘Not so much urgent as it is most inconvenient.’ Henrietta took a small handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed the edge of her nose. ‘It has been a most trying morning. That unruly sister of yours has no idea how to behave herself.’
Oh dear. ‘What has she done?’
Henrietta strolled over to the window, reached out and examined the rich brocade fabric drapes. Below the window sill sat a pink velvet chair, a delicate sewing compendium open on a marble table beside it. Tiny, tarnished silver scissors, needles and bobbins glistened in the filtered light. Why would such a beautiful set have been neglected, when the rest of the room was polished to perfection?
A wave of sadness came over her as she stared at an unfinished hoop of embroidery, its faded stitches covered in a heavy layer of dust. Perhaps it belonged to the late Lady Etford?
‘Your sister appears to have run away.’
‘Appears?’ Her heart constricted in a way she’d never felt before. ‘Why? How long has she been missing? Do you have any idea where she might be?’
‘I don’t know why she is missing. And before you start blaming me, I can assure you I played no part in her horrible behavior. According to your mama, when she awoke just after dawn this morning, Stephaney was missing from her bed. The little chit hadn’t eaten her breakfast, nor had she been seen at the stable.’
How could the woman be so casual? Her sister was missing!
Lily began pacing the floor, twisting her fingers together as she desperately tried to think of where her sibling would have gone. It wasn’t like Stephaney. And not to say anything? Poor mama must be beside herself with worry.
Blast it all, she felt so useless.
‘Has anyone started looking for her?’ She gasped in disbelief as Henrietta sashayed over to the fireplace, reached out and swiftly plucked a bonbon from a dainty satin box on the mantle. ‘Aunt, you can’t eat those.’
‘Hush, Lily. It was just one.’ Henrietta’s cheek bulged with the stolen sweet. ‘Besides, they’ll never know. And what do they expect? I came all this way, in that rickety old buggy, to tell you important news and no one has yet to offer me any refreshments. You would think, considering my recent assistance to the captain, that I would be favored a little.’
In frustration, she shook her head and went to the parlor door. ‘You are too much, Henrietta. How can you eat when Stephaney is missing?’ Honestly. Did she really need her aunt to answer that? ‘Follow me. You can go to the kitchen. I will ask Mrs Peel, the cook, if she would be kind enough to make you some tea, but then you must leave.’ Would Lady Cecily allow her time to go look for her errant sister?
Henrietta turned up her nose then eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Kitchen, you say? Perhaps this Mrs Peel might find it in her heart to also give me a scrap to eat…to sustain me during the journey back.’
What nerve! The woman spoke as if she were returning to London, not a few miles back to the village.
She ushered the woman out of the parlor, closed the doors then led the way to the kitchen. Glancing around the hallway, she prayed Mrs Godfrey wouldn’t suddenly appear. During her brief time at Etford, the blasted housekeeper seemed to materialize out of nowhere every time she made some kind of mistake.
Thus far, she couldn’t put a foot right.
‘Aunt, have you forgotten why you came here? We must find Stephaney. Have you tried looking for her?’
‘Do you think I have time to simply drop everything and go after the foolish brat? I have two meetings with the ladies committee this afternoon.’ Henrietta took a small fan from her reticule, fluffed it open and fanned herself daintily.
‘Seems someone has spread the word of how well the funeral arrangements were received by his lordship, and now several very respectable families have co
me forward asking me to organize theirs. I only hope, however, that the persons in question decide to pass away after Christmas, when the new blooms for spring arrive. Heavens knows there are only so many hot-house flowers to be had this time of year. And, Lord Etford had used up most of the supply.’
‘Henrietta!’ She couldn’t believe it. Her sister was missing, and her aunt was more concerned about someone else’s funeral.
‘Don’t look at me that way. Mr Gleeson has been scouring the countryside near the vicarage, checking all her favorite haunts. At least the ones he is aware of. I’m certain if anyone can find her, it is him. Your mother has been enquiring throughout the village, and I merely came to tell you in case she tried coming here.’
‘She wouldn’t, surely…’
‘Who knows what the silly girl might do. Honestly, she does little enough as it is without taking up my precious time. Did I mention I may have two funerals to make floral arrangements for?’
She opened the kitchen door and near pushed her aunt inside. ‘Yes. You did.’
‘Naturally, their generous donations will go toward out church’s upkeep.’ And no doubt line the woman’s pocket.
She often wondered if her uncle knew where their money was going. Besides the allowance from Etford Park, he earned a respectable sum from the collection plate every week at service. But, according to Henrietta, they were poor.
Come to think of it. ‘Is that a new dress, Aunt?’
‘Oh, this? No, not at all. It was an old thing I had altered. It may not be very fashionable at the moment, but we must do what we can.’
The woman was lying. Had to be. The dress wasn’t faded, patched or unfashionable and must have cost a good amount.
A figure emerged from the pantry, whistling a merry tune. A Christmas carol, if she wasn’t mistaken. Over the past few days, she’d noticed the cook preparing various puddings and cakes, brandied fruit mincemeats and, of all things – sugar plums.
Her thoughts turned to the crumpled box of sugar plums she and Stephaney had bought last Christmas the day their Papa died. They were hidden away in her aunt’s attic, still uneaten.
