by Allison Lane
“You forget your place,” she snapped regally.
“How could I with you reminding me of it so often?” Since she was quitting, she no longer cared what Laura thought. “There are twenty people at Seabrook Manor just now, to say nothing of their assorted staffs. Everyone needs service – messages carried, clothes cleaned, boots blacked, chamber pots emptied, and on and on. No servant has time for idle chatter. If you act like a gracious lady during this visit, you will have no further trouble.”
“You don’t understand.” Laura slammed her fist on her dressing table. “They laughed at me. Both of them. William must turn them off. And I am leaving. Pack my trunks.”
“No.” She glared into Laura’s startled eyes. “If you insult your brother by leaving, it will be without my help. Pack your own trunks. But you will be going alone. I will quit rather than embarrass Lord Seabrook.”
“You can’t.”
Chloe ignored the assertion. “You claim Ned refused to repair the wardrobe and Rob laughed. Lord Seabrook will investigate the matter, but he will demand details. And he will closely question each man. No one of sense dismisses a longtime employee without hearing both sides. And frankly, I doubt he will do anything in the end. Your temper is well known, as is your penchant for misinterpreting people’s intentions.”
“I never make mistakes!”
“Believe what you will.” She shrugged. “Either tell me the story, or talk to Lord Seabrook yourself.”
“Who do you think you are?” Laura slapped Chloe’s cheek, snapping her head back. “I told you to pack. Do you want to be turned off without a reference?”
“Don’t you ever strike me again,” snapped Chloe without thinking. Then she drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves. This was not the time to rile Laura.
“No servant gets away with speaking like that,” spat Laura. “It’s time you remembered your place. Don’t let last night’s welcome go to your head. You may have played with my brother as a child, but he also played with tenants and gypsies. You should kiss my feet for allowing such a failure under my roof. Yes, a failure,” she repeated when Chloe held up a hand. “A penniless antidote whose father is a laughingstock and whose brother is a drunkard. A sniveling nobody who couldn’t attract a single offer. And if you expect to seduce William into finding you a new post, forget it. No one would accept his word on anything. He’s a disgrace to his breeding.”
Chloe’s heart hit the floor – not from the insults, which were common enough, but because she’d been deluding herself to think she could exert any control over Laura. The only reason it had seemed to work was that Moorside’s isolation kept callers to a minimum. Now she had to face the devastating truth that she had brought a madwoman to a gathering of her presumed enemies.
Laura continued to rant.
Andrew had been right. She should have quit the moment she inherited the money. Now it was too late. She could not walk out in the middle of this house party without prompting a tirade worse than anything that had come before. The thought shook her so thoroughly that she barely heard the door open behind her.
“Ranting again, Laura?” drawled Andrew, leaning against the wall. “This sounds like the same tirade you delivered to your maid at age twelve. I’m ashamed to claim kinship with you. Perhaps I should entertain our guests with your exploits in London.”
“What would you know about London?” demanded Laura.
“I arrived the day you left. Believe me, I heard the whole, sordid tale.”
“Mary lies!”
“No.” His glare silenced her. “Mary is an angel who rarely says an unkind word about anyone, including you. I had most of the tale from Rockhurst and the rest from Lady Beatrice,” he added, naming London’s chief gossip.
“They hate me.”
“That may be true, but neither would tell a lie. It’s time you grew up, Laura. The world does not exist to cater to your whims. Nor does beauty excuse you from following the rules that govern society. You have a duty to your family, your ancestors, and your class to behave like a lady. Until you do, no one owes you any favors.” Turning away in a direct cut, he took Chloe’s arm. “Come along, Miss Fields. We have business to discuss. Laura will excuse you.” He led her toward the hall.
“How dare—”
The door cut off Laura’s screech. Something thudded against it. The sound of breaking glass followed.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Chloe with a sigh.
“Stop coddling her. The only way to teach her responsibility is to make her accept it. For example, having deliberately broken that vase, she can clean up the mess. That is not the staff’s duty.”
“That won’t—”
He halted her protest. “I will speak to Mrs. Moulding. Now tell me what happened.” He escorted her into a sitting room.
“She overheard Rob talking about the two-faced bitch. She is unreasonably sensitive about her face.”
“He probably meant her character. And I can’t blame him. Rob and Ned are friends. She tried to seduce Ned last night. Sarah saw her.”
Chloe swore. “I was afraid of that, and it explains why she wants to leave. She lost her temper when I refused to pack her things.”
“And hit you.” His voice was grim.
“I goaded her. Knowing I am resigning unlocked my tongue. It won’t happen again.”
“Poor Chloe.” His arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her close.
Her heart raced, though she tried to control it. He was merely offering comfort to a friend who had suffered a disturbing confrontation. But the old dreams rose up to insist that this was a real embrace. Exciting. Loving. Sensual.
Stop this, she ordered herself. She had to break free before she did something stupid, like kissing him or begging him to stay.
“Why not resign today?” he asked, rubbing her back.
“Nothing has changed since you last asked. She would ruin William’s party. But I will be more careful from now on.” Realizing that her head was resting against his shoulder, she pulled away, stifling her infatuation so it couldn’t cause trouble. “Are you ready to leave for Exeter?”
“In a moment. First we need to talk.”
Chloe’s blood ran cold, for his expression seemed hesitant – quite unlike Captain Andrew Seabrook. “What happened?”
“Fields House summoned William again last night.” He paced to the window and back. “The intruder returned – or so we think. But this time he tried to burn the house down, starting with Peter’s bed. Peter was in it.”
“Oh, no! Is he hurt?”
“Not as badly as we first feared, for he instinctively rolled away from the flames. His face will undoubtedly remain scarred. But aside from the pain, he is well and should recover without difficulty. I suspect he is up today.”
“But who would do such a thing?”
“That is the question of the hour. Whoever he is, he is searching for something specific. At first I thought it was money – rumors claim that Sir Nigel hid a cache of cash from Peter. Now I don’t know. The logical place to keep cash would be the priest’s hole, but it is empty. Besides, no one would risk destroying money.”
“Unless he found it and was covering his tracks.”
“True, so we cannot discount the possibility. But it is more likely that the quest involves something else.”
“Then why burn the house down? That destroys the prize.”
“I know, so the prize has no value in itself.”
Chloe stared. “Are you suggesting that he is seeking something worthless?”
“No monetary value,” he said, frowning. “I cannot infer much more, for I’m still reconsidering suspects.”
“You have suspects? Who?”
“Weedell, the estate agent, might have sought information that would convince Peter to sell Fields House, but damaging the house reduces its value.”
“So we eliminate Mr. Weedell.”
“On those grounds. Mrs. Telcor might have hired someone
to recover the pearls she claims Peter stole. An opportunist might be seeking Sir Nigel’s alleged hoard. But again, fire would destroy the prize in those cases. Another theory was retaliation – the burglary might have been a destructive rampage – but I can’t accept a second visit to burn the place.” He moved to the window.
“Retaliation?”
“Simms or John Rivers might have a grievance. But neither should hate Peter. And John has already found a new position.”
Chloe’s legs gave out, dropping her into a chair. “My God.”
“Exactly. So it is likely that the culprit seeks something different. After three searches, the risk of exposure is growing too great, so he decided to destroy everything – which might mean that the prize implicates him in some dishonor.”
Chloe nodded. “But that doesn’t explain why he would involve Peter. The first two incidents involved Father.”
“Last night’s attack may have sought only to make the fire seem accidental. Peter has a long history of stumbling off to bed in his cups. Thus knocking a lamp into the bed hangings would seem natural. He no longer has a valet to look after him.”
“If Father had evidence that would implicate someone of villainy, why not turn it over to the authorities?”
“Evidence is only one possibility, Chloe. He might have devised some way to recover funds from a swindler. Or he may have arranged a scheme of his own. I’ve no way to know. His journal is missing.”
Chloe stared at her hands. That was the oddest fact yet.
“Only time will prove which theory is correct,” said Andrew, breaking into her thoughts. “The servants are understandably upset about the fire. I offered Sally a temporary post here – Mrs. Moulding needs help during this house party.”
“Thank you. I would hate it if she were injured. Whatever his reasons, he is bound to return now that his latest attempt failed.”
“Are you sure that the servants know nothing?”
Chloe bit her lip. “I can ask Sally. She might know where Father kept his cash. And perhaps she knows something about the journal.”
“Do that when we return from Exeter. In the meantime, let’s see about breakfast.”
She nodded.
“I still think you should resign today. Laura will cut up stiff regardless of what you do. She has the bit between her teeth and is running hard.”
“I can’t disappear and leave you to handle her.”
“You needn’t leave. As a longstanding family friend, you are a welcome guest.”
* * * *
Andrew cursed himself all the way to Rose Cottage. Why the devil had he tried to soothe her, knowing the effect she had on his body?
Soothe?
Hah!
He’d wanted to touch her so badly that he’d leaped at the first excuse. It had been even better than expected. He still burned. Which only proved how unsettling his problems had become. He had never been a passionate man, relieving himself from time to time, but never becoming obsessed with sex the way many of his acquaintances were. So why were visions of Chloe in bed suddenly haunting him day and night? Granted, his leg had been the worst injury yet, but recovery should not drive him mad with lust. Especially for Chloe. She was not a light-skirt, and he was in no position to seek more.
His letter of resignation dragged heavily on his pocket. Once he posted it, his finances would be worse than ever. It would be weeks or even months before he received the proceeds, and he doubted if his back pay would arrive any sooner. What little cash he had would disappear in short order, for he couldn’t stay at Seabrook if he hoped to protect Chloe.
Nor could he let her or anyone else think he was courting her. Though he must live nearby if he was to protect her, raising expectations would dishonor both of them.
One step at a time, he reminded himself. And the first step was to examine Rose Cottage.
At least he’d saved her from Weedell’s insinuations by leaving her in the curricle while he collected the key. Weedell had been as obnoxious as ever.
“How bad was the Fields House fire, Captain?” he’d demanded the moment Andrew walked through the door. “We heard half the house burned.”
“Gossip exaggerates, as usual,” said Andrew stiffly. “I need the key to Rose Cottage.”
Weedell produced it, but refused to be deterred. “Will Sir Peter live?”
“Of course.” Andrew twisted his face to reflect surprise. “It was nothing, really. He knocked over a lamp, but the staff quickly doused the flames.”
“Don’t make light of the matter,” said Weedell. “Everyone knows that Lord Seabrook was summoned to investigate.”
“That’s true enough. The servants panicked – understandable, considering recent events. But both Sir Peter and the house are fine.”
Another five minutes had passed before he escaped Weedell’s questions. The man’s curiosity refused to die despite Peter’s refusal to sell Fields House. Weedell had no hope of a sales commission, but he might have other motives. Fury at being thwarted, for one. Or maybe he really was behind that housing swindle.
Andrew also managed to escape Weedell’s escort. Chloe wasn’t going to buy Rose Cottage, so it was better that no one in Exeter know she was looking at it. It was risky taking her to the cottage, but he must know what she liked and disliked about the place. He might have to buy her new home before she saw it. Traveling together was impossible, and he could not allow her to stay at inns, where she might be annoyed by lechers – or worse.
He tethered the horses, then helped her down, being careful to touch only her hand.
“The front is as charming as I remembered,” she said, studying the cottage. Roses climbed diagonally up the façade, framing the door. Others mounded beneath the two front windows.
“If you like roses, you can add them to your own place. Your mother’s rose garden was always beautiful.”
“Until Kevin died. She let it go to ruin after that, like everything else.”
There wasn’t much he could say. Unlocking the door, he led her into the tiny hall.
“A trifle small,” said Chloe, pausing in the sitting room doorway. “I need space for a pianoforte. Even if I teach in students’ homes, I must maintain my own skill.”
“Quite.” But he doubted he could find a larger place within her budget. “As you can see, this cottage comes fully furnished. Is that a requirement?”
“It would be convenient, for I have nothing. But it would depend on cost and on the condition of the furnishings. It also depends on where I go. It would be difficult to find furniture quickly unless I settled near a large town.”
“I’m glad you understand that.”
He grunted as his leg gave way on the stairs. Only Chloe’s hands on his buttocks prevented a fall. The cottage had no handrail. “Steep stairs,” he murmured as heat flashed to his groin.
She said nothing, for which he was grateful. But he hated revealing how weak he remained – or how her touch affected him.
Chloe grimaced as she glanced into the larger bedroom. It was hardly bigger than its bed, with no space for a wardrobe. Pegs held two gowns. Rolls of stockings rested on a shelf overhead. The previous owner had probably been buried in the rest of her wardrobe.
The second bedroom was worse.
“Goodness!” exclaimed Chloe. “This floor looked larger from outside.”
“I thought the same, but the sloping roof leaves only this center space usable. That is typical of this sort of cottage. Moorside is larger, but you could not afford it.”
She returned downstairs without a word, but her face showed strain. The lines on her forehead deepened when she saw the tiny servant’s room. “I was right. Sally must act as my companion.”
“That wouldn’t work.” He turned her to face him. “Think, Chloe. Sally is a lovely woman, and I love her as much as you do. But a companion would accompany you into drawing rooms. Sally would not be accepted. Manners, voice, even the way she moves, proclaim her a servant. Those habits are
too ingrained to change.”
Chloe nearly revealed her full plan, but stopped in time. Andrew would be appalled if he knew that she intended to claim widowhood. He hated deceit. “Then I need room for two servants,” she said instead. “Sally is skilled at cleaning and can deal with tradesmen. She will make an excellent housekeeper. But she cannot cook. She started in service at age eight and has never worked in a kitchen.”
“Considering your price constraints, that won’t be easy to find,” he warned.
“Is this really the best Exeter has to offer?”
“It is the best you can afford. Exeter has a population above thirty thousand souls, so there are several places available right now. One is twice this size, located a mile east of town. But it is also twice the price. There are two houses in Exeter itself that you could afford, but neither has a garden.”
“So I would have to buy all my food.”
“Exactly, which would increase your living expenses. And they have other defects. The larger house is falling to bits and would need considerable repair. The smaller is sound, but the neighborhood is mean. No one would hire a teacher from there.”
She bit her lip. “What do you mean by falling to bits?”
“It needs a new roof before you could even move in. I did not look closely at the rest, but I suspect the foundation is crumbling. And there isn’t a room that doesn’t have problems – a damaged wall, a ruined floor…. It is also unfurnished.”
Her heart sank. “That would not work. Perhaps I should consider smaller towns than Exeter. They might be less expensive.”
“That is possible.” He hid a frown, for he would never find work in a village. If he had the funds, he could contribute a little under the table so she would have a comfortable cottage, but he would never receive enough in time. “Plymouth might work. With so many naval ships based there, people move in and out quite often.”
“That sounds good.”
“Come along, then. I’ll drive to Plymouth on Monday.” And his first job would be to seek employment. He had sailed aboard too many ships to harbor illusions about how sailors behaved ashore. He wouldn’t allow Chloe to live there unless he was close at hand.
