The windows on this side were in equally good repair, which was a relief, as replacing the tiny panes inside their lead surround would no doubt be a difficult and skilled job. She walked some way down the drive in order to view the towering red-brick chimney pots built to match the herringbone pattern of the bricks between the black beams of the house itself.
As she scanned the roof she felt the hairs on the back of the neck stand up, became aware someone was watching her. She spun, but could see nothing. She caught a flicker of movement in the undergrowth and then all was still again. Had she imagined it? The sun was beginning to set and the shadows were lengthening, perhaps that was what had caught her eye. She no longer felt comfortable on her own in the empty space of the turning circle. She would go in at once to find the children and inspect the kitchen and the other offices.
The front door was too heavy for her to open and she was obliged to knock. She hoped her demand for admittance would not disturb the duke. She had no wish to speak to him again today, or indeed anytime soon.
*
From his chair in the drawing-room Jack heard the knock and cursed loudly. Surely he was not be pestered by more visitors? He heard his butler at the door and the soft murmur of voices. He relaxed; the visitor was only Miss Carstairs, nothing to fret about.
He slid down the chair until his feet reached the seat opposite. He grinned as he recalled the girl’s reaction when she had inhaled the smell. His stomach gurgled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since dinner the previous night. Dinner! Good God! Was he to be expected to do the pretty each night and appear in full evening rig and escort Miss Carstairs to the dining room?
God forbid! No - he settled down again. He would continue to eat in his rooms, as usual, and she and the brats could eat in the dining room, or in the stables, for all he cared. He filled his glass, his aim erratic, and sadly watched a large quantity of cognac vanish between a crack in the floorboards.
Two months from now Miss Carstairs would depart and leave him alone. He had set her an impossible task; a challenge even a woman twice her age and experience could not hope to complete. But at least he had given her a chance, not turned her away immediately, he would have a clear conscience when she finally packed her bags. It would not be his fault - it would be hers, for failing to improve the estate.
He nodded and the room spun unpleasantly. He closed his eye and drifted off into a pleasant alcoholic stupor. However, as he began to lose consciousness he saw, for a moment, the image of a lovely girl, her chestnut hair aflame in the sunlight, glaring at him, her large green eyes snapping with anger.
His feet slammed to the floor and he sat bolt upright, his mouth open. Good God! The girl had not flinched at his face, had stared straight at him, seeing through his scars to the man beneath. His mouth curled and for the second time that day he felt a stirring in his groin. The girl, what was the name? Yes…Charlotte - that was it. She had treated him as a human being. There had been no pity, no revulsion, in her gaze.
He chuckled as he remembered her anger, relived her tirade in his head. She had no time for malingerers, for self-pitying drunkards. He ran his hand over his unshaven cheeks and recoiled as the stench of unwashed flesh filled his nostrils.
He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have a bath, shave, and change his raiment. He smiled at the thought that, although Charlotte Carstairs hated him, she didn’t hold him in disgust like another had. It had been too long since he had enjoyed the company of a woman, any woman, and he felt his body stirring, waking up after a sleep of almost two years.
He would get cleaned up, have something to break his fast and then write the letter summoning his lawyers to Thurston Hall. He was going to enjoy watching the delectable Miss Carstairs struggling to be an estate manager. His mouth curled in a predatory smile. He wondered just how far she would be prepared to go to save her family from eviction. Maybe she would accept a different sort of challenge when this one failed; one that involved her body not her brain.
*
Charlotte found her brother and sister sitting at the freshly scrubbed kitchen table munching slabs of warm bread and strawberry preserve.
‘Ah! Here you are.’ She glanced around the smoke stained room and her eyes were drawn to the massive fire place upon which various black pots bubbled and hissed. ‘Good grief - have they no range here? I cannot believe an establishment of this size still cooks on an open fire.’
Betty laughed, her arms flour dusted, her cheeks red from the heat. ‘They have an oven of sorts and a spit for chickens and such, but I shall manage, never fear, Miss Carstairs.’
‘Who has been preparing the food up till now? Is there no cook of any kind?’
‘No, the footmen had been taking it in turns. It seems his lordship dismissed all the female staff when he arrived and has not bothered to replace them with extra menservants.’
‘It’s no wonder the place is a disgrace. But all this is going to change,’ Charlotte announced firmly. They turned to stare at her.
‘Whatever do you mean, Lottie? Have you spoken to Lord Thurston this afternoon?’ Beth asked.
‘I certainly have. He has said that if by the end two months I’ve made demonstrable improvements to his estate and home then we can stay, make this our permanent residence.’ Both children yelled with delight, presuming their sister would have no difficulty completing her task. Annie and Betty, wiser in the ways of the world, exchanged worried glances. Annie raised her eyebrows and nodded towards the scullery. Charlotte pretended not to understand and ignored the request for a private conversation.
With false enthusiasm she explained the lawyers were to be sent for and as soon as these men understood she was now in charge, she would have access to the funds and be able to start work. It wasn’t until after Beth and Harry had retired that Charlotte had a moment to reflect on what she had taken on. Improving the estate could not be too hard, could it? Whatever she did would be more than the duke had done these past two years.
She unpacked her small escritoire and found her pencil and pad. She would make notes, plan her actions methodically. After all she had been successfully running the Carstairs household since poor papa had returned from Waterloo. What she needed was a factor, an estate manager, a man who understood how things should be, and could deal with the artisans and labourers directly.
That was it! She would get Meltham to take on some of the men from the nearby village to tame the gardens and the park and she would interview any of their wives or daughters who might wish to be employed with the herculean task of cleaning Thurston Hall.
She fell asleep, her head awash with unanswered questions. What had happened to grandfather in his declining years? Why had he neglected his home and land? Indeed, were there any funds available to do the work? One thing was quite sure; she would not go to Lord Thurston for the answers. She would use her initiative; speak to Meltham and the footmen. She would also go and see the vicar and Dr Andrews; they would surely be able to answer many of her queries. There were no end of people she could ask without having to bother the owner of Thurston Hall one jot!
Chapter Four
Charlotte decided the children could continue their existence unfettered by schoolwork for a while longer; she was far too busy at the moment to spend time teaching them.
‘Beth, I’m relying on you to take care of Harry. Can I trust you to keep away from the lake and to stay in sight of the Hall at all times?’
‘You can, Lottie. I promise we’ll come to no harm. There’s so much to explore here; it’s much better than Romford.’
‘And I can climb really big trees, Lottie,’ Harry said helpfully.
‘I’m sure you can, darling; but please do not do so for there’s no one here to assist you down if you become stuck.’ She pressed her lips into a stern line and waited. Eventually he nodded.
‘All right, Lottie. I’ll only climb little trees then I shan’t get stuck.’
‘Good boy; now off you go and remember, if you h
ear the stable bell ringing, you must come back immediately. That means you have always to stay in earshot - is that clear?’
‘Yes, Lottie,’ they chorused.
She watched them race off, eager to be outside in the unseasonably warm autumn sunshine. September was a lovely time of year, the trees still green, but the bramble leaves already painted crimson and gold. It must be time for harvest supper. She frowned. The lord of the manor was responsible for providing all his dependants with a celebratory meal when the crops were safely gathered and the tithe barn filled with their contributions.
This was another thing she would have to add to her list. She had invited the butler to join her in the library at ten o’clock and she didn’t wish to be tardy for her first official appointment. She placed her pad of notes carefully on the freshly polished mahogany desk, arranged her sharpened pencils in a straight line and pulled out the chair. When the expected knock came she was ready. ‘Come in please, Meltham.’
The old man entered warily, he was obviously uncertain why he had been summoned. ‘Good morning, Miss Carstairs, you wished to see me?’
‘I do. Please be seated.’ Charlotte indicated a chair to one side. He sat. ‘Have you spoken to Lord Thurston this morning?’ He nodded. ‘Excellent. Then you will know he has asked me to take Thurston Hall in hand and to organise its refurbishment. In order to achieve this I need to employ extra staff. That is the matter I wish to discuss with you.’
‘You wish me to find you the people you want?’
‘Yes, I do. What about those women who were laid off, are any of them still in need of employment?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, miss, several are still without a position. They will be more than happy to come back.’
‘Good; I shall leave it to you to send for them. Do you know if the housekeeper is amongst them?’
‘She is, Miss Carstairs. Mrs Thomas is…’ he hesitated.
‘Not a young woman, Meltham?’
‘Exactly so, miss. Because of this she has found it impossible to find employment. There are also two parlour maids living locally and some of the kitchen staff, but Mrs Blake, the cook, has a new position elsewhere.’
‘That is no problem, Betty,’ she paused, ‘I suppose she must be referred to as Mrs
Gibson now, is more than happy to continue in that role.’ This was going to be far easier than she had anticipated. ‘What about outside staff? I should like to have the garden cleared and the park restored before winter sets in.’
‘I have no connection with such men, Miss Carstairs, but if you will allow me, I should dearly like a few more footmen. Extra staff inside will mean that they can help with the repairs and the decorations to the interior.’
‘That is a good idea.” She stood, terminating the interview. ‘I shall leave you to make the necessary arrangements. As soon as Mrs Thomas and the girls are back, cleaning can begin.’
Charlotte was pleased with her first attempt at management. She had no intention of interfering with the farm or villages until the lawyers had been, but she could start on the Hall, no one would consider it odd of her to be running the house.
She stared down at her pad. Betty had given her a long list of essential items needed for the kitchen. Where could she obtain these goods and what would she use for payment? She had no choice; in spite of her determination not to speak to the duke unless forced, she did not have the wherewithal to fund the improvements. She needed to arrange for money to be transferred to her. Indeed, needed her own banking account if the arrangement was to run smoothly. She could not be for ever going cap in hand to him
She pushed back her chair, shaking out the skirts of the same green gown she had worn the previous day. She looked around for a mirror in order to check her hair was tidy, no auburn curls escaping from her chignon. There was a lighter mark above the empty fireplace indicating where a mirror should be but it had been removed. She supposed Lord Thurston had done this when he arrived. She ran her fingers over her hair and felt the painful ridge of her own recent injury. There was nothing she could do about that. Her mouth curved. He was hardly in a position to object to her unsightly appearance.
She didn’t ring for a footman to announce her, she knew in which room to find him. She hesitated. Was that him moving about inside? He was up as the butler had already spoken to him earlier that day. However, if he was drinking in the same fashion he had been last night, he might well be asleep in his chair. Should she leave it until the afternoon when he might be in a better frame of mind? She was so immersed in her thoughts she failed to hear the footsteps behind her.
‘Stop dithering, Miss Carstairs, are you intending to knock on my door or not?’
She shot round, her hands to her chest, but her intended protest at his ill-mannered approach remained unspoken. Shocked, she stared at him. Was this smiling giant, smartly dressed in a navy, superfine topcoat, clean buckskin inexpressibles, and, good heavens, polished Hessians, the same Lord Thurston of yesterday?
Finally she found her voice. ‘You startled me, my lord,’ was all she could manage. For some reason her pulse was fluttering and her throat constricted.
He bowed. ‘I apologise, Miss Carstairs. Did you wish to speak to me?’ She nodded, unable to form a coherent reply. Why was he staring at her so strangely? It made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Then let us repair to the library. For although I have improved my own appearance I am afraid I have not yet had the same done to my apartments.’
He took her elbow and she found herself being escorted, firmly, back to the room she had just vacated. She watched him stride over and take her place behind the desk, leaving her to sit where she would. Her eyes narrowed. Was his declared intention, to leave her to her own devices, to be so soon abandoned?
‘Lord Thurston, I wish to know if the letter to your lawyers has been sent this morning.’
‘It has, Miss Carstairs.’ He waited, politely, adding nothing further.
She flushed under his scrutiny. ‘I have no money,’ she blurted out.
‘Patently – or you would not be in this predicament,’ he answered, obviously enjoying her discomfiture.
‘I mean, there is no money to pay for repairs and renewals. I should like some to be made available if you please, your grace.’
He nodded all amiability and compliance. ‘How much would you like, Miss Carstairs? One guinea? One hundred guineas? More?’ He pretended to pat his pockets as if looking for the gold coins.
She stiffened; she didn’t like to be made fun of. ‘I do not require it at this precise moment, Lord Thurston. But it is my belief tradesmen and employees should be paid. I have no time for those with enough to pay who deliberately run up debts.’
He steepled his fingers and nodded. ‘Indeed, Miss Carstairs, those are laudable sentiments and I applaud you.’ He leant back on his chair and, to her annoyance, swung his feet up on to the newly polished surface. ‘However, my dear, I am as impecunious as yourself. Until the lawyers arrive to sort things out, I am afraid I cannot help you.’
She was aghast ‘No money? Then how am I to begin improvements?’
He shrugged, and although his smile was lopsided, it sent shock waves down her spine. ‘I thought we had agreed that your two months does not start until the lawyers have drawn up the necessary documents?’
Her nostrils flared. ‘I don’t intend to live in squalor whilst I wait on them. This place is a disgrace. Do you not realise rodents roam around unchecked? That there are holes in the ceilings and…’
‘Quite, quite, my dear. Please do not bore me with such domestic trivia. If you wish to instigate improvements then you must do so without the funds to pay. I can assure you no tradesmen will refuse your order. They will be happy to wait for their remuneration.’
She stood up, glaring at him. ‘I have told you, my lord, I do not wish to buy goods that I cannot be sure I can pay for. I shall have to postpone my purchases until the money is available.’
‘That is entirely your decision, m
y dear girl. As I explained, I do not wish to be bothered with the estate.’
He crossed his legs at the ankle and linked his hands behind his head. Charlotte had an overwhelming desire to push him, violently. She began to move forward, her hand raised, her intent written quite clearly on her face.
Realising he was about to be upended the duke attempted to remove his feet but, in his hurry, lost his balance and without her assistance toppled backwards. The resulting crash and the melee of wildly waving arms and legs was accompanied by profanities that only a soldier would know.
Not sure whether to laugh or retreat with her hands clamped firmly to her ears she hesitated a moment too long. The injured party erupted from behind the desk and lunged forward, grabbing her hand as she attempted to back away.
‘Not so fast, Miss Carstairs, we have unfinished business here.’
‘Let go of me at once, Lord Thurston; you have no right to detain me.’
‘Have I not? I have been reliably informed that I am your legal guardian. So I have every right to treat you in any way I damn well please.’
This was outrageous. He could not pick and choose his duties. Either he was their guardian or he was not. ‘Lord Thurston, am I to understand you are now accepting
responsibility for myself and my brother and sister?’
Instantly he released his grip and stepped back, his expression cold. ‘You do not catch me so easily, my dear. You are nothing to do with me.’
‘In which case,’ she interrupted rudely, ‘you shall not molest me a second time.’ She nodded her dismissal. ‘Pray, do not let me keep you, Lord Thurston. I am sure you have urgent business elsewhere to attend to.’
For an instant he was nonplussed. Then he rallied. ‘This is, I believe, my house and this my library. If you do not wish to be in my company, then might I respectfully suggest you retire to your rooms?’
The Duke's Challenge Page 4
