Devonshire: Richard and Rose, Book 2

by Lynne Connolly

  He stopped. “Don’t think I did as well as Gervase, because he could buy me ten times over and still have change.”

  I released his hand, and crossed the room to the small table where the decanters were kept. I poured two glasses of madeira. He was thirsty, for he accepted his glass with a smile and drained most of it before he continued.

  “One of Carier’s inheritances was a building in the City. We went to see it together. I made a business proposal to him, one I’d been considering for some time. At that time, my mother was always looking for a lady’s maid, never able to find one, and her friends seemed to be in the same difficulties. I’m assured that a good lady’s maid is hard to train and hard to find. My mother and her friends were exacting in their requirements, but the pay was good for the right person, and I couldn’t see why they had difficulties until I visited a Registry Office with my mother.

  “The records were sparse, and the future employer was expected to take up the references given for herself, which many of them failed to do. They could have been forged. Anyone could inveigle themselves into a place of trust in a wealthy household on the strength of a few pieces of paper. The building was in a small side street, run down and uncomfortable, not at all the kind of place my mother was used to visiting. If she hadn’t been so desperate for a good maid I doubt she would have undertaken the errand herself.

  “I observed all this and it sparked an idea. I proposed that Carier and I set up an office for high quality servants, at a price. Our offices would be spacious and comfortable and our servants the best available.” I started to laugh, and he arched a patrician eyebrow. “What can I have said to amuse you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I gurgled through my hands. “So that’s Thompson’s? Oh, you can’t imagine what I’ve been thinking.”

  He smiled at that. “Tell me.”

  “Well I knew of your—reputation for pursuing beautiful women. I lay in bed at night imagining all kinds of things!”

  It was his turn to laugh. “You thought it was a brothel? Now what would a well-brought-up young lady know about that?”

  “You’d be surprised,” I managed, still laughing. It was such a relief, when I had imagined all kinds of sinister things, to find it was just a normal business, the laughter was as much a release as genuine amusement.

  “You frequently surprise me,” he admitted with a smile. “It’s one of your many charms. No, Thompson’s started as a simple registry office for servants. Nothing else was on offer, I do assure you.”

  He waited until I had recovered, and then he went to the decanter and replenished both our glasses, returning to sit down again. “There’s more?” I asked.

  “A little. Are you ready, or would you like the rest to wait?”

  I remembered I had still not found out what the box was for, and I touched it with one hand.

  “Yes,” he said. “The box. There are only two of these. One is kept at the office, in the safe, and Carier and I have the other. It never leaves us. In it are names, directions, and areas of expertise.”

  “Expertise?”

  “Listen, my love. Who knows all the secrets of the house? Who knows where, who, when?”

  At once I saw where he was heading. “Servants.”

  “Perfectly correct. We provide lady’s maids, housekeepers, butlers, valets, first and second footmen. Higher servants in positions of trust. Some of our people indicate to us for an extra fee and total discretion they—” he tapped the box, “—will help us if it doesn’t compromise their position, or if we discover illegal activity. Sometimes a husband finds his wife has pawned the family jewels, and he needs to know where they are, to quietly recover them. He can come to Thompson’s and we will do our best to help. Perhaps there’s a mysterious death. They won’t go to the authorities, that would mean far too much scandal and upset, but we can provide them with a solution on which they can then base a decision. Mysterious deaths are not always murder, and above all things my peers rely on discretion and reputation.” He sighed. “I have long advocated a civilian force to administer and regulate the law, but public opinion is against it, although the matter has been brought up time and again in Parliament. If a man wishes to prosecute a burglar, he must instigate the investigation himself and provide the proof to the magistrate. We help with all that. Either we have one of our special people in place, or we seek permission to place one.”

  “So at the Abbey—” I began. He’d helped my family with a similar “little problem” there.

  “Strangely, no. It was the first time I’d come across a great house without one Thompson’s employee in it. I did that all on my own. With a little help, of course,” he added, grinning.

  “So when there’s a problem, you’re asked to stay?”

  “Well, actually, it’s not me they want. You see—nobody knows about my involvement except you, Mrs. Thompson, Gervase and Carier.”

  “Mrs. Thompson?” I’d wondered where the name had come from.

  “Alicia Thompson, the third component of the unholy triumvirate.” I watched him closely for any signs of emotion, but there were none, so I imagined Mrs. Thompson as a comfortable widow of advanced years. It seemed I was right.

  “Carier knew her in the army. After her husband died she needed a position, so we gave her one, running the office and the day to day management. After all, Thompson’s is one of the best staff agencies in London these days. We take up all references before anyone is put on the books, and provide comfortable, if not luxurious surroundings where our clients may interview prospective servants if they wish to. Mrs. Thompson knows about all the other activities, and I couldn’t ask for a more efficient manager. However, only these people know of my active involvement. Most people think I have invested in the company to give Carier a pension and that was, after all, how it started out.

  “We thought it would be better to keep my involvement quiet.” He paused to take another sip of his wine. “Of course, many people have guessed, but nobody knows for sure. The records of my investment in the business are well tucked away, and when we decide to retire, as I am considering now, the business will still be there for the others.”

  “You’re thinking of retiring?” I echoed in surprise.

  “My purpose was to make me some private income, so I wasn’t so dependent on my father, but most importantly, to keep me busy, to stop me from becoming too bored. Everything seemed to bore me at one point, and eventually even the women—I’m sorry, my sweet, have I gone too far?” He broke off as he remembered whom he was talking to, but I knew his past, I knew his reputation. He had never tried to hide any of that from me. It had worried me since I had first met him. I still worried. He had proved his attractiveness to other women, how long could I hope to keep him?

  When I’d first met him, he was a distant figure who had troubled me. His sardonic humour meant I could never tell when he was laughing at me. As it turned out, he never had, but that hadn’t stopped me imagining it in the early days. His fine clothes were the most astounding I had ever seen, and if it had not been for the accident, he might well have remained that way, distant and unapproachable, but it had happened, I had been there, and now here we were.

  I smiled and shook my head. “I know some of that part, and I’m beginning to understand better. It’s the women in your future I worry about, not the ones in your past.”

  He took my hand and looked straight into my eyes, warm blue holding me, as always. “There’s only one woman in my future. There’s no reason why I should ever want anyone else,” he said earnestly. “You’re everything I ever looked for in a woman, and I’m so fortunate I can have you to myself for as long as I take care of you and love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

  I was taken aback by the sincerity of his reply, and his lack of any kind of flattery or humour. I had to believe he really meant it, and put my trust in him. Today, he’d told me more than he’d told anyone else. I knew it, by the halting way he’d spoken, and by the total si
ncerity and lack of guile.

  I answered in the same way, with sincerity, without flummery. “I’ll love you anyway. I don’t know what happened to me on that road in the dirt, but my world moved into yours then. Even if you had turned me away, married Miss Cartwright, produced your heirs, I would have loved you.”

  He stood up from his side of the table then and drew me into his arms. He held me close so I could feel the warmth of his body underneath those fabulous clothes. After a moment he slid his hand up under my hair at the back and kissed me for a long time. I returned it, savouring the warmth, the love I found only with him. “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks,” I repeated, smiling.

  It was some time before we sat down, and then we knew we would have to join the world again soon. I was so grateful to him, he had told so much and had been so honest with me, so much so I wished I had a secret to tell him, but my life had always been open and tedious in the extreme. There was one thing I wanted to tackle before we left the room. “Richard, do you really wish to retire?”

  “I’d like to devote more time to you than I could if Thompson’s was still running its extra services,” he replied.

  “What if I helped?”

  He shook his head. “There’s no need.”

  But I started to see this as something else, something for me. “Does it make you happy, when you help with these problems, have that sort of power?”

  He studied my face, and then sighed. “You know me too well already, love. Yes, it gave me a kind of contentment, a fulfilment.”

  “I would hate to take that from you. And it sounds so exciting, I should love to help. Just don’t say you’ll retire immediately, please.”

  He smiled. “If you insist, I’ll leave it open, but I’ll not make any promises.”

  I would get no more out of him that day. He looked tired, probably from revealing so much of himself, more than he’d done for years. I left him on a sofa by the fire, and went to the harpsichord. I found my music and I played for him, deliberately choosing the pieces I knew best, so he wouldn’t have to come and turn pages for me, or do anything else except sit back with his eyes closed and relax. As I played, I glanced at him. I thought the cloud lifted from him, and I was thankful I could do something for him, that I had a gift to bestow.

  Soon the magic took hold of me, and I felt the protective cocoon fold around me, the shield music always gave to me, and yet I still felt his presence. He was inside with me. Just with me.

  The door opened once or twice, but people tended to look in and go away again, when they saw us so tranquil. It couldn’t go on forever. I knew it after I heard the doorknocker sound.

  Soon, a maid came in to inform us the Terrys had called, and Martha would appreciate it if I came to the drawing room. Richard opened his eyes and smiled when his eyes met mine. I got up, closed the lid and went to him.

  Before we left the room he pulled me against him once more for a kiss, not as sweet as last time, an edge of passion to it. I responded, though the need made me ache. Whatever was I turning into?

  I turned to leave, but he drew me against him, one arm around my waist. He kissed my neck. “May I come to you tonight?”

  “What?” I almost turned to face him, but his arms held me tightly.

  “Please?” Did I imagine the edge of desperation to his voice? If so it only echoed mine.

  “How can we?”

  “Easily. I’m only a few doors away.”

  “Won’t someone hear?”

  “Not if we’re quiet. Rose, I’ve never needed anyone like I need you. I’d be happy—well, happier—” He gave a derisive laugh. “If I could hold you, be with you.”

  “You are, for most of the day.”

  He nuzzled my ear and murmured, “Skin to skin, my love. Touching, kissing, holding. Loving.”

  What could I say against that, especially when I needed it too? “Yes.”

  “Later, sweetheart, later.” It was a promise.

  We went together to the drawing room. Richard took the little box and gave it into Carier’s hands in the hall. “Five of us know for sure now, Carier.”

  The manservant nodded and bowed. “That is as it should be, my lord,” he said and took the box away. I took this as approval from him, and although this kind of comment would not normally be expected from a servant, I knew Carier was much more than that to Lord Strang.

  We went upstairs to the drawing room. Richard must have felt my hand stiffen on his arm when I recalled the last time we had seen them. “Miss Terry knows more than she has a right to, and she might well have told her mother, but I don’t think we should repine. What’s done is done. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and if anyone maligns you, they’ll answer to me personally.”

  Mrs. Terry faced the door, and she stared at us as we went in, so I thought it highly likely she knew the gist of the conversation her daughter had overheard. Her look was hard, her pale eyes narrowed in speculation.

  I was surprised to see that her husband, Mr. Norrice Terry, had decided to accompany her. Perhaps he knew, too. Mr. Terry was a large man, tall and broad. He always reminded me of the later portraits of King Henry VIII, with his small eyes and harsh expression. He could be hard on his servants and his family, and with my new knowledge, I wondered if anyone from Thompson’s was employed there. A maid from London would appeal to Mrs. Terry’s pretentious nature. Upper servants knew everything their employers did, and if they put their knowledge together, they would probably know considerably more. I would have to ask Richard if we had any Thompson’s servants in the Manor.

  Richard made an elaborate bow and I curtseyed to our guests. I promised myself, as I always did when confronted with his social graces, to practise mine so he would have no need to be ashamed of me in company. Martha smiled at us, an edge of desperation in her face as we entered the room. Richard and I sat side by side on a small sofa. Richard allowed his hand to rest on mine, an indication of our status he rarely allowed himself even in public, but since we had to assume most of the company knew our devotion to each other, it seemed foolish to deny this small pleasure of contact.

  Mrs. Terry’s pointed gaze went straight to our hands, and then up to our faces, where Richard’s expression of tranquil innocence confounded her, and she looked away again.

  Her capacious bosom heaved a couple of times. “While it is of course charming to meet you again, my lord, we came to find out what the truth was about these dreadful rumours we have been hearing.” She addressed us rather than spoke to us, as though she was speaking at a public meeting.

  “I don’t like rumour,” boomed Mr. Terry from his seat on one of Martha’s best spindle-legged chairs. “It is not a healthy state of affairs.”

  “What exactly did you hear, ma’am?” asked Richard.

  I noticed Miss Terry then, uncharacteristically subdued, but watching Richard’s hand on mine like a rabbit watches a snake. I felt uncomfortable under her regard, but since Richard had, I thought, noticed but refused to acknowledge it, I let my hand rest under his.

  “That on an expedition to the coast—” Mrs. Terry turned to Martha momentarily, “—and why, dear Lady Hareton, people would rush to the sea quite so eagerly, when it is acres of nothing I have never understood—” then back to the company in general. “That on an expedition to the coast, you discovered the body of a poor unfortunate gamekeeper who had been brutally done away with. It is a most distressing thing, and I cannot think it the proper subject for the drawing room, but I felt it my duty to come, so my husband and I can put the minds of our employees at ease. As you know, we employ four gamekeepers on our land, and they are all most distressed by the rumours.”

  “You have four gamekeepers?” Richard said in some surprise, for the Terry’s land was not particularly extensive.

  “My husband likes to hunt and shoot in the summer,” Mrs. Terry replied haughtily, “I would have thought you, my lord, might sympathise with his preferences.”

  Richard smiled. “I find
one gamekeeper and several men under him sufficient. My father may employ a few more, but that is not my concern.”

  “You have your own establishment, my lord?” asked the lady.

  “I have one or two places.” He stiffened, defensive about his fiercely protected private life. “The main estate is in Oxfordshire. I’ve not up to now spent much time there, but I have sent for it to be put in order, for Rose to inspect when we return from the continent.” At least Mrs. Terry had the good sense not to ask about the honeymoon, but she put her eyebrows up at his fond use of my first name, something he rarely did in company.

  He pressed my hand, and I smiled. The promise of the night ahead had sharpened my senses. I felt his nearness, smelled the citrus scent he used, mingled with hot, hard man, and my appetite for him sharpened. “Do you intend to open the house, then, my lord?” asked Mrs. Terry, her eagerness open for everybody to see. She was probably thinking of invitations to come.

  “It’s entirely up to my future wife.” He looked at me and smiled, an intimate smile saying more than words could do. “If she doesn’t like it, we’ll buy somewhere else.”

  “I’m sure it’s charming.” To be honest, I’d never thought of where we would settle when we came home. I was too taken up with preparations for the wedding and what lay immediately beyond it. Greatly daring, I added, “You know where I want to be.”

  “Yes,” he replied, accepting it.

  Martha cleared her throat. “As to the rumours you’ve heard, you’ll find they’re greatly exaggerated. I was not there myself but I understand only one body was found. While that is tragic enough, it’s not as terrible as the rumours you’ve heard.”

  It was a cue meant for Richard and he took it. “No indeed.” His face became graver as he looked away from me, back to Mr. and Mrs. Terry. “We only discovered one body. One too many, but only one. We believe it was put there on purpose for us to find on our return.”