An Affair Downstairs

by Sherri Browning

  “I mean to do just that, which is why we’re staying a few days. I’ve been lonely shut up at Markham House. And I’m still not sure if there’s a ghost. Where’s Agatha?”

  Aunt Agatha claimed to be in contact with the spirit world, but Logan believed she was simply an old woman who liked attention. Still, she seemed harmless enough. She was Miss Agatha Simms formally, but she preferred for everyone to call her Aunt Agatha.

  “A ghost at Markham House? The first Lady Markham, I suppose?” Alice seemed skeptical of her aunt’s abilities, and she had told Logan once that she did not believe in ghosts. “I think you’re safe. Agatha is resting at the Dower House. She will come over for dinner because she can’t resist the urge to read a newcomer’s aura.”

  “What’s that?” Lord Brumley, the newcomer, inquired.

  “It’s supposedly the colors surrounding you, indicating your personality type,” Eve explained. “She told me that I have a lavender aura.”

  “Mine is red,” Captain Thorne added.

  “And for me, she seems to waver depending on how she feels about me at the moment.” Alice laughed. “When I’m nagging her, I’m orange. When I don’t pay enough attention to her, I fade to a dull beige. Don’t be frightened, Lord Brumley. I’m sure you’ll be a lovely shade of brown.”

  “Is that good? To be brown?”

  Alice shrugged. “We’ll have to see what Agatha has to say. What color is your aura, Mr. Winthrop?”

  He smiled. “I hold the dubious honor of being the first to stump your aunt. She said there’s a mysterious shroud obscuring her ability to read me.”

  If Brumley had heard any of the gossip surrounding Logan, now was the time for the man to mention it. It wasn’t so much the shroud as the blood on his hands. But nothing came. Brumley barely seemed to remember Logan, and so much the better.

  “I’ll be getting back to work, then.” Logan began to excuse himself.

  “Oh, but won’t you be joining us for dinner?” Lady Alice asked. “With your classmate here, I’m sure you have much to discuss.”

  Normally, Logan made it a point to stay on his own. He rarely even joined the servants for a meal. “I don’t usually—”

  “Please do, yes,” Sophia requested. It was harder to turn down a request from the mistress of the house. “Lord and Lady Holcomb are coming and it will be a lively affair, but better for Lord Brumley with familiar faces around. It’s settled. You’re dining with us.”

  Logan nodded, unable to come up with an excuse. “I will see you all later this evening.”

  He resisted the urge to cast a last glance at Lady Alice as he left the room.

  Three

  “Have a care with Mr. Winthrop, Alice.” Eve Thorne touched Alice’s arm to get her attention once Sophia had gone from the room. They were all gathered in Sophia’s chamber to dress for dinner, but some confusion with the dinner menu had Sophia running to the kitchen.

  “Have a care? What do you mean?” Alice tried to look unfazed by the warning.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’ve been noticing for some time now. Sophia has no idea, I think, but she’ll catch on soon enough.”

  “And what’s wrong with Logan Winthrop?” Alice crossed her arms, then dropped them, fearing she presented the picture of a petulant child denied a toy. “Why does she push the Lord Brumleys of the world my way and avoid the one who might hold some appeal?”

  “Mr. Winthrop is entirely unsuitable. If not for his past, there’s also the age difference and the fact that he’s an estate manager. You know that Sophia fancies you will become at least a baroness when you marry.”

  “As you know, I don’t plan to marry.” She met Eve’s crystalline gaze. “Besides, he’s only ten years my senior, hardly an unbridgeable gap. There’s nearly seven years between you and Marcus. I believe it was over twenty-five years between Brumley and his dear wife, rest her soul. For that matter, Brumley is of an age with Logan.”

  “Logan? Are you close enough to refer to each other in familiar terms?” Eve’s mouth gaped in alarm.

  “Of course not. We’re strictly formal. I used his familiar name just between us.” She waved her hand, dismissing Eve’s concerns.

  “Winthrop’s life experience makes him much older than Lord Brumley.”

  “Older than Brumley? The man is an ancient relic, with his armchair gardening and droning on about his great house. Winthrop is active, vital, years younger, no matter his past. And what of his past? Are the rumors true? Did he kill a man? A romantic rival?” Alice tugged at Eve’s sleeve, eager for information.

  “No charges were ever filed, according to Marcus, so I’m afraid we’ll probably never know what really happened unless he tells us, which is unlikely. He never speaks of it. And why would he? Lord Averford hired him on the advice of his father’s former land agent, with the agent’s word that Winthrop was a good, honest man looking for the chance to work hard and escape his past.”

  “And that was good enough for the earl to give him a chance and never mention it again. It probably didn’t hurt that Winthrop is a baron’s son. I had no idea.”

  “It makes little difference. Mr. Winthrop has made every effort to separate himself from his family and his past, and we must respect that. But it still doesn’t make him a suitable candidate for marriage.”

  Eve had been separated from her family and her past when she married her first husband against her parents’ wishes, as Alice remembered. “Marriage?” She laughed at the suggestion instead of insisting, yet again, that it wasn’t in her plans. “I simply enjoy looking at him, talking to him. You’ve no need to worry about me harboring any illusions of permanence.”

  Eve nodded. “You’ll never marry. Yes, I know. But that won’t stop your sister from trying, or me from keeping an eye out for you. Marriage or no, you do admit that you have an interest in him. I can understand it. He’s handsome. Mysterious. Dark. Mature.”

  “I thought you were warning me off him.”

  Eve tilted her head as if considering her next move. She reminded Alice of her mother. When Mother wanted to encourage Alice in one direction, she often pointed her to the opposite, knowing that Alice would rebel and choose against her mother’s wishes every time. “Warning? Not so much a warning, but one must be prepared to deal with a man like Winthrop. He’s not likely to allow himself to fall in love, and lust quickly burns to ashes without love to fuel the flame. What then?”

  “Then? I plan to be moving on. I’m only here long enough to see Agatha happily settled, and then I’ll be of an age to claim my inheritance and go. Maybe I’ll start with India.”

  Eve sighed. “I miss India. Maybe we’ll go with you. You can’t go unaccompanied to India, a young woman on your own.”

  “Of course I can. Or I can hire a companion. You were there on your own after your husband died, before you came here and fell in love with Marcus.”

  “It’s different. I’d been a married woman. Besides, I had friends in India. You’re like a sister to me. You and Sophia both. You can’t blame me for wanting to look out for you.” Eve placed a warm hand on Alice’s cheek, concern twinkling in her bright eyes.

  “I don’t blame you at all. But I hope you’re not working with Sophia to throw me into the arms of Brumley just for the sake of marrying me off.”

  “God no.” Eve looked appropriately aghast. “The man is all wrong for you. For anyone. I don’t know what Sophia’s thinking, but I’m sure she has your best interests at heart.”

  “The sooner we can chase him off, the better.”

  “Chase off whom?” Sophia came back into the room. “Don’t tell me that you’ve already given up on Lord Brumley. Just imagine being mistress of Brookfield.”

  “Exactly. I’ve imagined it. Sitting next to Lord Brumley night after night, while he drones on about the wonders of Brookfield or his latest agriculture journal. No thank you.”

  Sophia took Alice’s hands. “Promise me you’ll give him a chance.”


  Alice sighed. “Very well. But I can’t promise you that he’ll give me one.”

  Sophia arched a brow. “What are you plotting?”

  “I’m not plotting anything. I plan to be myself. If he realizes we’re incompatible before I have to let him down gently, so much the better.”

  “What was the business with the menu?” Eve asked, graciously changing the subject.

  “Mrs. Mallows planned to serve trout for the first course, but I heard Lord Brumley mention that fish does not agree with him. I had to ask her to switch to quail before it was too late.”

  “Cannibalism.” Alice nodded knowingly. “Brumley is a big, fat trout. We can’t have him eating his own kind.”

  “Alice, what’s to be done with you?” Sophia threw up her hands in exasperation.

  “Let’s start with a more flattering gown.” Eve looked Alice over.

  “Not you, too.” Alice rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with this one.”

  Her gown was dreadful, she knew, a plum sheath with a high neck lined in ruffles that came perilously close to qualifying as an Elizabethan collar. She’d chosen it to look ridiculous to Brumley, but she began to realize that Winthrop would be seeing her in it, too. Though he would probably find it a laugh. She imagined him saying, “Lady Alice, what have you done to yourself now?”

  “The leaf green velvet, with the lighter green overlay and the seed pearls along the neckline?” Eve asked. “I saw it in your closet. New?”

  “New. From France.” Sophia clapped. “It will suit her perfectly. I’ll ring for Jenks.”

  ***

  Logan finished his work early so that he would have time to head back to his cottage and change for dinner, but he overestimated the time it would take to prepare and returned too soon, only to wait in the drawing room alone.

  He fussed with his bow tie, feeling foolish in his evening clothes. Were they a tad out of date? It had been a great while since he’d attended a dinner. Making conversation with strangers had never been as easy a skill for him as it seemed to be for men like Captain Thorne and even Lord Averford. When he was young, he had Julia, his first love, to speak for him. She knew about his shyness and would introduce topics that might help him along or direct the conversation elsewhere. How he missed her! He didn’t mind being on his own, but he never felt lonelier than when surrounded by people he barely knew.

  Lord Brumley he knew as well or better than he could hope. Without family wealth, good looks, or personality to recommend him to the women of their own age, Brumley had turned his barely existent charms on a lonely old woman, who happened to be a very rich widow. It had only been a matter of time before frail Eleanor Cavendish succumbed to infirmity and disease, leaving Brumley with a fortune to recommend him to eligible, marriage-minded younger women. Or at least, to their sisters.

  Logan had seen Lord and Lady Holcomb visiting Thornbrook Park, though he’d rarely spoken to them. Lord Holcomb loved to shoot the Earl of Averford’s birds. Lady Holcomb talked too much and sometimes drank too much at dinner. When Logan stayed late seeing to a crisis, he sometimes witnessed the Holcombs taking their leave. Lady Holcomb would stumble on her way to the car, and Lord Holcomb would admonish her for having that one last glass of claret.

  The Thornes, fixtures now at Thornbrook Park despite the brothers not having gotten along for so many years, were easy to get on with, even when Logan was at a loss for words. Eve Thorne wrote books that showcased the same wit and observational skills that fueled her conversation. Captain Marcus Thorne had a certain magnetism and fine manners, which he sometimes chose not to display, only adding to his appeal.

  Aunt Agatha always had a kind word and a quirky bit of information or advice. Logan could always see the old bird coming, due to the bright colors she preferred to drape herself in, giving him the choice to engage her or hide in time before she could see him.

  Lord Averford, a stern but fair man, shared similar sensibilities with Logan, preferring to weigh his words before speaking due to an inclination to judge too hastily and sometimes speak words he would regret. Averford’s wife was the most beautiful woman of Logan’s acquaintance, but he believed that her demands for perfection around her masked her own deep-seated insecurities. The woman needed some gentle reassurance, but Lord Averford had no idea how to comfort her following the loss of their son in infancy some years ago.

  And then there was Lady Alice Emerson. Fearless, adorable Alice. She lacked her sister’s striking beauty, but she drew attention with her fiery red hair. Once heads turned her way, her lack of perfection made her an intriguing study—the indent at the base of her bottom lip, the burst of brown in her green eyes, which lit with a gold tinge when she was excited, and she was often excited. Alice had a uniquely exuberant approach to life. He imagined she woke up each day with a desire to spring from her bed and see what mischief she could manage. Lady Alice Emerson, an earl’s daughter, was far beyond his current reach. But neither would Lord Brumley have her. Logan could make sure of that, if she didn’t manage on her own.

  Perhaps he knew his evening’s companions better than he thought. Once, Julia had told him that there were no strangers except for those he chose to alienate in his own mind. She’d been wise beyond her years. Tonight, he would examine Alice’s approach to making conversation at the table and try to follow her lead.

  Agatha, impossible to miss in a crimson robe trimmed in orange firebursts, swept into the room and claimed his attention. “Ah, Mr. Winthrop. Precisely the man I wanted to see.”

  “And here I am. Coincidence, or fate?” He knew she would say fate, and not only because he’d heard her declare the person standing in front of her to be “precisely” the one she wanted to see many times over.

  “Fate. Always fate. You have a presence around you tonight. She’s encouraging you to reach out to those around you.”

  “An easy conclusion to draw, considering I’ve come to dinner, something I rarely attempt.”

  Agatha nodded. “Ever the skeptic. I’ve delivered the message. Take it as you may. Just remember that you are among friends, not strangers.”

  “Why would you say such a thing? About strangers?” A chill ran through him.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Agatha pursed her lips. “Only the truth.”

  “Yes, of course.” He studied the air around Agatha, as if he might see some glimpse of his lovely Julia smiling back at him. No sign of her. But of course, she’d died at peace, no need for her to haunt him all these years. At least he’d given her that much.

  Fortunately, Lord Averford appeared with Lord Brumley not long after, distracting Logan from any further revelations, ghostly or otherwise.

  “Winthrop.” Averford nodded. “Good to see you. You should join us more often.”

  “I’m honored to be invited, Lord Averford. Thank you.” Having no idea what to say to the idea of coming more often, Logan simply said what was expected of him.

  “I say.” Brumley fiddled with his tie. “I haven’t dressed for dinner in some time. Eleanor was sick for so long that we never bothered with formal dinners, and then to find myself alone at Brookfield, what’s the point? I should get used to it, though. A pretty young wife would certainly expect me to put on the dog, eh?” He nudged Lord Averford.

  Averford seemed taken aback. Logan found his stomach turning at the idea of Brumley with a wife. “Wives do enjoy their entertainments,” Lord Averford said. “We dress for dinner nearly every night here at Thornbrook Park, and we’re joined by company most of the time.”

  “Eleanor detested grand affairs.” Brumley shook his head again. “She’d had enough of them in her first marriage, she always said. Oh, I think I hear the ladies about to join us.”

  They all looked eagerly toward the door nearest the stairs, but it was only the butler coming from the other direction to announce the arrival of the Holcombs, who followed him in.

  Averford introduced Brumley to the Holcombs and added that of course they knew Aunt Agatha and
the estate manager, Mr. Winthrop. Holcomb asked about the shooting this time of year, declaring his own estate to be woefully lacking in birds, eliciting an invitation from the earl to come and shoot his any time. This was followed by gruff protests from Lord Brumley that he loved to watch the birds, not eat them, and he followed by expanding on the ecologic importance of birds to his gardening efforts.

  Lady Holcomb walked around the room, seemingly avoiding Agatha and looking uncomfortable until Lady Averford and Eve Thorne made their appearance. Logan thought he was prepared for the sight of Lady Alice trailing after them, but he found that his breath caught at the sight of her and his heart pounded violently against his rib cage.

  “It’s our woodland fairy in green,” Brumley said by way of greeting her, possibly his attempt at paying a compliment. She looked far too bold and powerful to be a mere sprite.

  “She’s Artemis,” Logan said without thinking. “We have a goddess in our midst.”

  “But…” Brumley went white. “Goddess of the hunt?”

  “I can’t think of any woman more suited,” Winthrop admitted. “Green suits you, Lady Alice.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed.

  “She’s not the only goddess present,” Eve said with a laugh. “The countess might have been cast down to us from Olympus for rivaling Aphrodite. And of course, I have my very own god of war.”

  Eve’s husband wrapped an arm around her waist. “Only when any other man attempts to steal my spoils, beautiful wife.”

  “I do mean to take part in your next fox hunt, Lord Holcomb,” Alice said, with a pointed look at Brumley, if Logan was not mistaken. “Do say you’re having one soon.”

  “Soon enough. Next month, perhaps.”

  “Then there’s still time for me to practice giving chase.”

  “You don’t really mean to hunt?” Brumley said, taking her arm to lead her into the dining room before Logan had a chance. And a good thing. After complimenting Alice so profusely, and publicly, it might look amiss if he followed up by presuming to take her hand.