by Kim Bowman
Returning to Rose Cottage went a bit easier. She simply followed the trail of trodden undergrowth. In no time at all, she arrived at the path leading between the main house and the cottage. As she parted the bushes and prepared to step through, voices halted her.
~~~~
Jon hated the sense of dissatisfaction that arose from doing nothing. He preferred to keep busy. That was one reason he’d spent several seasons working in the family’s shipyard in Liverpool. Nothing compared to the satisfaction he’d felt at seeing something sturdy and beautiful take shape beneath his hands.
The waiting game he’d opted to play since discovering the object of his inquiry to be well and safe, if not presently comfortable and happy, held him captive. Restless, he’d paced the confines of the great room in the too-tiny cottage, aware of her, mere yards away, through the door leading into the kitchen. She certainly was going nowhere, and apparently she could fend well for herself in any case. And that meant he could steal a moment away. The ride into Haselmere earlier had cleared his head and settled his restive soul. Another ride held no appeal, particularly since ominous, dark clouds were beginning to assemble on the horizon. However, a walk had seemed feasible.
And he’d enjoyed it right up until he’d returned to spy a burly man peering through one of the rear windows of the cottage. Gray woolen trousers topped shiny black boots, and the tails of his black coat fluttered in the stiffening wind, making him seem a bit too well dressed to be a one of the liverymen or other estate laborer. The fading brown hair poking from beneath his wide-brimmed hat suggested a man of middle years. Whatever he was about, he was so intent on peeking through the window that he appeared ignorant of Jon’s approach.
Had he been responsible for the shadow crossing the window when the door had slammed earlier?
Jon kept his tone interested but cool. “Pardon me. Might I inquire as to your business?”
The man jerked and spun around. “Ah, Lord Seabrook.” He dipped his head in a cordial enough manner, but he wasn’t going out of his way to show respect the way Grey’s servants tended to do. “Sheridan Dawes, Wyndham Green’s estate steward.” His mouth twitched upward in a parody of a smile that never reached his dark, birdlike eyes. No emotion showed in those black pools. Gran would have called them soulless eyes. “I was just by to inquire how you’re getting along.”
Maintaining a bland expression, Jon nodded toward the cottage. “And you thought to find me through a window?”
Dawes cleared his throat several times. He seemed to be having trouble choking out his next lie — for lie it would be. Jon could already see it forming in the man’s eyes. Had he thought them soulless? No, cunning and shrewd, much like a weasel’s, they were.
“My knock went unanswered, and I was attempting to ascertain whether you were about.”
Jon allowed his lips to lift into a cold smile. Spreading his arms, he gestured around the yard. “As you can see, I’ve just returned from a stroll.”
Dawes snapped to attention. “Quite. Well then, I’ll leave you in peace.” He started to move off.
“I find a few things lacking, actually.” Jon narrowed his eyes and pinned the man with a stare. “And I was wondering at the miserable state of the outbuildings, and some of the tenant cottages seem to have recently been abandoned.”
A muscle worked in Dawes’ jaw. “I fear that is something you must take up with the Duke of Wyndham. He is kept well apprised of the state of Wyndham Green, and I merely follow his orders.”
Ahh, there it was. The great untruth. For Grey was no fool. Whatever his reasons for not returning to the estate, he’d never have dishonored his father’s memory by allowing it to fall into ruin.
“Yes, I suppose I shall have to address it with him when I eventually return to London.” Jon moved toward the door, paused, and turned. “In the meantime, the maid who’s been assigned to the cottage… Annie? She does her best, but certain basic comforts appear to be missing. Adequate bedding, some candlesticks, that sort of thing.”
Dawes frowned in apparent confusion. “You must mean Abby. Geoffrey told me Abby has been assigned the task of seeing to your needs. I understand you refused the services of a valet. If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll have a word with Geoffrey.”
Jon waved his hand. “No need. Just a few comforts sent over will do. And… I shall be entertaining a guest this evening, so a full supper, service for two, if you please.”
Crimson seeped into Dawes’ face. “I’ll inform the butler,” he managed through thinned lips. “Shall I have him send attendants for the meal as well?”
“Just the meal shall be sufficient at the customary time.”
Dawes aimed a speculative glance at Jon but hastily averted his eyes. “I’ll see to it, my lord.”
“Very well.” Without affording the steward the courtesy of a backward glance, Jon walked around the side of the house, pulled open the front door, and stepped across the threshold.
As soon as he shut the door, he crossed to the window and watched through the lace curtain as Dawes strode up the path toward the main house. What had he been up to? Looking for Annabella? Were the servants aware of her deception? Certainly, she’d have had help. The lovely Annabella was a lot of things, but self-sufficiency did not seem to number among her talents.
A flash of movement drew his eye to the woods. Jon jerked in surprise as Annabella stepped onto the path, casting a furtive glance in the direction Dawes had gone before hurrying toward the cottage. She disappeared around the side, and he knew before long she would enter through the servants’ door.
How curious. She’d almost seemed to be avoiding the estate steward.
Jon shook his head as he stepped away from the window. Not almost. Had. She had been avoiding him.
It seemed the stakes had just been raised in his little game of waiting.
Chapter Seven
“A guest?”
Annabella stared at the veritable feast as Abby set it out on the worktable next to a stack of fresh table linens. Roasted grouse lay heaped on a giant serving platter. Dark, crusty bread peeked from beneath its linen wrapping in a silver wire basket.
Abby lifted the cover off one of the silver serving dishes to reveal asparagus tips smothered in creamy sauce. Why, ‘twas enough for a king. For several kings, actually. It put the paltry meal of cheese and bread she planned to eat later to shame.
“Yes, m’lady. His lordship asked for a proper dinner so’s he could entertain a guest tonight.” She glanced over her shoulder then lowered her voice and continued. “There’s talk ‘e might be entertainin’ a lady.” She set out two crystal decanters of wine.
“A lady!” Annabella released a harsh laugh. “Where on earth would he find a lady to… entertain?” And why should she care? So long as she didn’t have to serve the two of them… Wait. Someone would have to serve them. “Will… um, will Geoffrey be attending to them at this dinner?”
“No, m’lady.” Again Abby cast a fleeting look at the door from the kitchen. “He specifically requested no one be in attendance. That’s why the talk, you see.”
Did Seabrook know someone in the country? Or had he met her on his foray into Haselmere? Certainly, no shortage of eligible females existed, but Annabella couldn’t think of one who would attend a private dinner without a chaperone. Perhaps that explained the abundance of food, though, and the servants had it wrong.
“Has he—” She cleared the hoarseness from her dry throat. “Has he dispatched a carriage to retrieve his guest, or do you suppose she’ll have a driver?”
Abby’s face clouded over with her frown. “I can’t say, m’lady. Stephen heard talk about a carriage in the stable earlier, but that’s all I know.” She gathered the linens in her arms and hurried toward the door to the great room.
“Stop!” Annabella’s heart thudded against her chest. “Where are you going?”
Abby angled her head, a bemused expression on her face. “I need to set the dinner table, m’lady.”
>
“No!” The word slipped out of its own accord. Seabrook was somewhere about. Although he was undoubtedly aware his meals were being delivered, she didn’t want him seeing Abby, talking to her, asking questions… “I’ll see to the table.”
Abby giggled. “M’lady?”
Irritation flashed to the surface. “What? You think I cannot properly set a supper table? I’ve certainly eaten at one my entire life.” Annabella stalked across the room and stepped around Abby, blocking the entrance to the rest of the house.
“Yes — I mean no, m’lady…” A visible tremor enveloped the maid. “That is…” With a sigh, she held out the linens. “The corners must be folded so they drape just so and don’t poke outward.”
“I shall figure it out.” Annabella grasped the table linens, surprised at their weight.
“The ivory lace goes on top of the white cloth,” explained Abby. “Shall I set out the silver?” She gestured to the mahogany case sitting on the worktable. “Florrie was instructed to come early in the morning to clear the dinner.”
Annabella blinked back her confusion and raised an eyebrow. “Florrie?”
Pink suffused Abby’s cheeks. “One of the scullery maids, m’lady. She is to clear the meal and wash the dishes.”
Setting the table for Seabrook and his guest was one thing. Clearing and washing his supper dishes was quite another. Annabella sighed. “Very well. Please ask her to come at first light.” With any luck, Seabrook wouldn’t awaken until much later and the scullery maid would be long gone.
She turned and opened the door, sparing a moment to peer cautiously into the great room. Late afternoon sun poured through the window and splashed across the blackened hearth. The worn furniture appeared even worse in the harsh light. Whomever Seabrook had invited certainly wouldn’t be impressed at the threadbare state of the chairs or the deep gouges in the oak tables. Would she seat herself in the chair with the cracked leg? Or would Seabrook command that honor? Annabella snickered. Either way, it seemed a pity she wouldn’t be there to see the chair collapse, sending its occupant to the floor. She swept her gaze around the rest of the room and eased out the breath she’d been holding.
All was quiet. No hulking figure loomed on the stairs or hovered by the sparkling window. She halted abruptly and stared at the glass that had once been dingy, coated with grimy soot. The heavy draperies had been drawn open, revealing the garden outside. The deep green of the trees contrasted against the brilliant blue of the sky. When had the streaks on the window been washed away?
Her eyes fell on the drum table. The wood had been polished until it gleamed. She glanced at the floor, seeking the footprints in the dust. Perhaps they would reveal who had been in there cleaning. But the planks had been swept. Who had been in the cottage? When? True enough, she’d kept herself hidden in the kitchen but she’d not heard a sound. A shiver worked along her spine.
With her heart lodged in her throat, Annabella dropped the linens on the dining room table. Slowly, still staring at the changes in the tidied room, she backed away, then turned and raced for the kitchen.
“Abby! Who was here…?”
The maid was gone. The silverware case had been left open next to the meal waiting on the worktable.
Well, what did you expect? You did send her away.
Sighing, Annabella returned to the dining room. “This isn’t all that difficult, I suppose.” She fluffed open the tablecloth and laid it on the table. Far better than removing those dusty furniture draperies. She paused and looked across the room. Just as she might have expected, the haphazard pile of dust covers had disappeared.
A quiver rolled through her and settled in the pit of her stomach. She had to get out of there. But if she didn’t set up the dinner table as Abby had instructed, Seabrook might complain, and Abby would be chastised.
Her hands shook as she spread the linen cloth over the table and righted the edges. The corners stuck out at odd angles, but Annabella didn’t take the time to fold them. Quickly, she threw the lace over the linen. Then she settled the long cloth over the side buffet and adjusted it. She’d been correct. It hardly took any effort at all. She was barely breathing hard as she hurried back to the kitchen for the dinnerware.
It took her only a couple of trips to set the table with fine china and silver. The pair of crystal candlesticks glistened in the light of the white tapers she’d lit at the kitchen fire. It took slightly longer to carry in the evening’s fare. She had no idea how to arrange it on the sideboard. Or perhaps she should have placed the dishes on the table? With no one to serve, that made the most sense.
She set the platter of grouse in the center of the table, followed that with the basket of bread. By the time she finished, the arrangement looked a bit clumsy, with the food spread slapdash over the top.
“He’s got enough food here to serve six guests,” she muttered, straightening the corner of linen that kept flapping at her as she moved against it.
“A splendid table you’ve set here, Annie.” Seabrook’s soft voice came from behind her.
Annabella stiffened then straightened and turned. He stood next to the hearth as though posed for a portrait, magnificent in gray trousers and Egyptian blue tailcoat. The gold buttons decorating the front of the coat glinted in the light of the tapers. Her breath caught at Seabrook’s sheer handsomeness. What would it feel like to push back that errant wave of hair that brushed across his forehead?
With measured movements, he plucked the tinderbox from the mantelpiece then crouched and saw to lighting the fire. She couldn’t see his hands but the muscles in his broad shoulders bunched and glided beneath the blue wool. He didn’t stand again until a spectacular flame danced along the kindling.
With a jolt, Annabella realized she’d been staring at Seabrook’s back.
Seaside! You’re ogling Seaside.
He turned and pinned her in his scrutiny. A mouse wouldn’t have felt nearly as helpless caught in the glare of a stalking cat. Swallowing hard, she willed her heart to stop racing — or, barring that, to stop altogether if it would relieve her of his rapacious gaze.
She pulled in a deep breath. “The food grows cold,” she squeezed past her frozen lips. “I fear if your guest waits much longer to arrive, it will be inedible.”
Seabrook’s lips twitched, and for a moment, Annabella wondered if he was about to break into another of his horrid grins. Instead, his dark eyes glinted with merriment, and his mouth turned gently upward. For the briefest of moments, she could almost see her father’s smile of indulgence.
The memory was such a shock, Annabella reeled backward. Lord Seabrook was nothing at all like her father. What had driven that recollection to her mind? Throwing her hands behind her, she grasped the back of the tall dining chair and righted herself.
“It appears my… guest… will not be making an appearance after all,” murmured Seabrook. His gaze warmed until he almost palpably caressed her, though he stood several feet distant. He flicked a glance at the table. “It seems a shame to allow such a splendid meal to go to waste. Will you join me?”
Annabella’s heart stammered and rose to her throat, where its mad beating threatened to pinch off her breath. “J-join you? For supper?”
“I’ve never particularly enjoyed dining alone. What say you, my lady fair?” He bowed, reaching out at the same time to capture her right hand. “Would you care to take supper with me?”
He knew! Somehow he knew she’d been pilfering the food that had been sent for him. Of course, she hadn’t been terribly skilled at hiding her trail. She never should have indulged in that second scone.
Seabrook inclined his head and raised one eyebrow.
Annabella took a step back but bumped into the chair. Trapped! Heat rushed to her face. She couldn’t seem to think straight. No, if he knew she was pinching some of his food, he’d have said something. Why would he invite her to take a meal with him?
His smile widened and a calculated gleam entered his eyes. Of course… He�
��d expected a guest, maybe an evening’s loving entertainment. And now that his visitor hadn’t arrived…
“You have such an aversion for dining alone you would lower yourself to take your meal with a servant?” She narrowed her eyes. “And what would such a fine meal cost the servant with whom you dine?”
Confusion clouded his expression. “Cost?”
Annabella jutted her chin outward. “Yes. Cost. What would you expect? A few stolen kisses? An evening’s dalliance, perhaps? Was that the nature of your… guest? Some little trollop who didn’t keep to your bargain?” She rolled her eyes, enjoying the look of discomfiture that settled over his fine features. “Such women can be so… unreliable. I do hope you didn’t pay in advance for her services… my lord.”
Crimson seeped from beneath his cravat as a predatory glint replaced the confusion on his face. “I wonder if you might have more knowledge of that than I, Annie.” He cocked one eyebrow and took a step forward. “I assure you, had I desire for a woman, I would not need to seek one from the streets.”
Oh, what had she done? Her mother often warned her that she allowed her tongue too much free rein. Was she about to pay for her wicked remark? She shrank away from him, but the table hadn’t moved. Her mouth worked as she tried to force an apology, but though she knew what she wanted to say, the words hung in her throat.
Seabrook lifted his hand and moved it toward her face. Trembling, Annabella darted a gaze at the kitchen door, just visible over his left shoulder. Escape. If only she could—
He stopped just short of touching, his fingers hovering so close she could feel their warmth even without the contact. Something softened in his eyes, stripped the edginess from his intent. “What happened to your face?” he murmured.
“M-my face?” Annabella hated the tremor in her voice, but she couldn’t seem to make it stop.
