An Affair Downstairs

by Sherri Browning

  “I do,” Alice declared. “I wouldn’t be the first woman to do so. Women have been taking part in the hunt for ages now.”

  “I’m aware.” Brumley nodded. “But I find it so savage.”

  “Hunting is a necessity. Man must eat, and my appetite is growing savage. Let’s go in.” Lord Averford tucked his wife’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her in.

  Captain and Mrs. Thorne should have followed next, but Eve declared her gown stuck in her heel and asked her husband to take Agatha instead while she stayed behind to fix it. The Holcombs followed, then Alice and Brumley.

  “I guess this leaves you to lead me, Mr. Winthrop,” Eve said, offering her hand.

  “It does. My pleasure.”

  “Is it? Perhaps it won’t be once I speak my mind.”

  Winthrop paused, taken aback. “Yes, Mrs. Thorne? What is it?”

  “Just a refresher on Greek mythology. You might want to keep in mind what happened to Artemis’s lover.”

  He sifted through his brain, trying to remember his myths. “Orion, was it?”

  Eve nodded. “Orion. Killed by Aphrodite’s own hand. An accident? Or did he go too far and get his just deserts? The experts never seem to agree.”

  His stomach flipped. She meant to issue him a warning? Had his admiration been so apparent? Showering a woman with compliments was hardly a denial of interest. “I appreciate that you’re looking after Lady Alice, Mrs. Thorne. But I assure you that I’m in no danger, nor am I a danger to Alice. I know my place. Orion and Artemis are in another orbit, far out of my earthly range.”

  “I do look out for her,” Eve admitted. “But I’m also thinking of you. You have a good place here, and Alice is far from settled in her own mind. She’s young, only two and twenty.”

  “Far too young for Brumley.” He chafed watching Alice take a seat next to the man as he entered the room.

  “On that, Mr. Winthrop, we’re agreed.” Eve smiled as he pulled out her chair across the table from her husband.

  His own seat was too far from Alice for his liking, across the table and down one, placing him next to Lady Holcomb and across from Brumley, but he supposed it was better that way with Eve Thorne keeping watch over them.

  It wasn’t until after dinner, over cordials in the drawing room, that he finally took the liberty of speaking his mind. He helped himself to a cognac from the cart holding an assortment of liquid-filled bottles and cut-crystal glasses and cleared his throat before addressing his companions.

  “It is my opinion that Thornbrook Park could use a ball.”

  “A ball?” Lord Averford straightened up from the mantel he’d been leaning against.

  “A ball. Social engagement with dancing, dinner…” Logan swirled the cognac in his snifter.

  The countess spun around from the piano, where she’d been perusing the musical selections to choose a song for her sister to regale Lord Brumley with, no doubt. “A ball? Can we do that?”

  “I don’t see why not. We’ve got the means. Thornbrook Park used to be famous for your mother’s fetes, Lord Averford. The Harvest Ball, the Snow Ball, the Spring Delight.” He avoided meeting Alice’s gaze. The last thing he needed was for her to question why he would even bring it up.

  “She had one every season.” Captain Thorne stroked his boxy chin. “Except summer. Then she would have her famous garden party.”

  “Perhaps it’s time we restored some of the gaiety to our old house. What do you think, my lady?” Averford turned to his wife.

  Sophia seemed to be considering. On the one hand, she loved to be at the center of a social scene. On the other hand, she hated anything that had her set up in comparison with her mother-in-law, or so Logan knew from the servants’ gossip.

  “It would bring young people back to Thornbrook Park. What a stodgy old lot we’ve become with dress-up dinners and then retiring to the drawing room for drinks and conversation. Orchestra music, dancing, that’s what we need,” Averford said.

  Logan didn’t want to push too hard. What business did the estate manager have to be declaring how his employers should spend their surplus?

  Fortunately, Eve Thorne stepped in with her support. “Imagine it, young women in their finery, young men coming from all over. Eligible young men currently out of our regular circle of acquaintance.” She focused her attention on Sophia before turning to Alice. “Alice, do young people still enjoy balls?”

  Sophia’s cornflower eyes widened and lit up as she apparently suddenly made the connection between Alice and bringing in a new batch of eligible young men. Brumley had brought nothing to the dinner table but more dull commentary on his exceedingly fine house. Even the countess had to realize how ill-suited he was for a vibrant woman like Alice.

  Alice, seated at the piano, struck a few sour notes, then launched a trill and sighed. “I don’t care much for balls. I prefer to be out of doors. Hunting. Shooting.” She cast a pointed glare at Brumley that made Logan glad she wasn’t currently possessed of a rifle.

  “We could turn it into the event of the season.” Lady Averford shrugged. “Hunting parties, tea parties, all leading up to the ball. It will be splendid. Mr. Winthrop, what a brilliant idea.”

  “I predict it will be a spectacular affair,” Agatha added.

  “I’m happy to be of service, my lady.” Logan gave a short bow.

  “Brilliant,” Alice echoed without a hint of genuine approval in her tone. “Simply ripping. A ball. I’m in delights.”

  She seemed far from pleased, but no matter. A ball would bring all sorts of eligible men around—handsome, younger, and capable of sweeping Lady Alice off her feet, killing her interest in Logan Winthrop once and for all.

  Logan seldom imbibed, but suddenly he felt the need to have another drink. He downed his cognac, returned to the corner cart, and helped himself to a glass of Lord Averford’s finest Scotch.

  Four

  Morning could not come soon enough. Alice, up all night plotting her revenge, got out of bed before the dawn and dressed in clothes that she’d pilfered and adapted from Lord Averford’s closet. She’d always planned for this day to come, but she’d had no idea it would feel so completely enervating.

  Baize trousers tucked into heavy leather boots. A soft, long-sleeved cotton shirt under a scratchy wool sweater, under a thick coat. The boots were her own. The trousers had been taken in. The sweater and coat hung on her like a dress. But no matter. She was warm, and she was ready. It was time to stalk her prey. If Lord Brumley could see her now.

  She crept out of the Dower House—careful that no one should hear her, and praying that no ghostly spirits had warned Aunt Agatha of her plan—and walked to Mr. Winthrop’s cottage on the other side of Thornbrook Park. There was a light in one of the front windows. Perfect. She would catch him awake and preparing for the day ahead, just as she’d hoped. She contemplated ringing the bell, but decided against it in favor of turning the knob and walking in. How better to take him completely unaware?

  Fortunately, the brass knob turned easily and the hinges did not creak. Of course the estate manager kept his own cottage in top shape, no dry hinges here. She smiled, imagining him in a dirty apron with smudged hands, seeing to his domestic tasks. She entered a dark hall, just big enough to sit on a bench to remove boots and hang a coat on the way in, and almost tripped on a step up. One step, two, and then she seemed to be in a kitchen. A dim light filtered in from the next room and she could see a small oven, marble-topped counter, and a cozy wooden table by the window hung with gingham curtains. Charming!

  She crept toward the light, eager to find Winthrop, but she stopped on the threshold of the next room, feeling a sudden pointed jab into her back.

  “Not another step.” His voice was gruff, menacing. She felt a thrill course through her veins. “I’ve killed men for less than robbing me, and I have my rifle ready to rip a hole right through you now.”

  She heard the cock of the trigger.

  “Dear God, Winthrop. So
serious. Shoot me for sneaking up on you?” She craned her neck to look back, but he pointed the weapon deeper into her back. “Ow.”

  “Alice?” The rifle point fell away, and a second later, hazy lamplight flooded the room. “What the devil are you doing?”

  She turned. “I’ve come for my revenge.”

  “Your revenge?” He arched a brow. He wore only a thin shirt, unbuttoned past his chest, over his trousers. His hair was still rumpled from sleep, and he hadn’t had a shave yet. She’d never found him so appealing.

  “For you bringing up the idea of hosting a ball. Thank you so much, by the way. There’s nothing I want more than to be paraded around a room full of unfortunate bachelors instead of dealing with them at the slow and steady pace of one at a time.”

  “Sarcasm, Alice?” He set down the rifle, letting it lean against the door frame. “It doesn’t become you. Though I daresay it flatters you more than those clothes. What the deuce are you wearing?”

  He stood back, framing her with his hands as if to get a better look, and then dissolved into gales of laughter. Hoots, if she were being honest. Staid, stoic Mr. Winthrop actually knew how to laugh. Heartily.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to recover. “Just a few borrowed things. I thought they might keep me warm and concealed for hunting.”

  “Hunting? You look like you’ve been cornered, trapped, and devoured by Lord Averford’s closet.” He laughed more, harder, until he had to struggle to get hold of himself.

  “Are you quite finished?”

  “Alice, you never fail to delight me.”

  “To…delight you?” Her heartbeat picked up speed. “I delight you?”

  “‘Surprise me,’ I said. You never fail to surprise me.”

  She shook her head. “I believe you said ‘delight.’”

  He closed the distance, took her by the lapel, and mocked a shout into her coat. “Lady Alice? Are you in there? Shall I send for help?”

  At last, she laughed, too. “I’m right here, Winthrop.”

  “Oh, I see. There you are.” He poked her nose with a finger. “Safe and sound.”

  “No thanks to you for almost shooting me on entrance.”

  “It’s not loaded. I’ve never been robbed, but I thought the time had come for some of the village ruffians to find their way through the gates. I confess I did not recognize you in silhouette. Now’s the time to tell me what you have in mind, and why you are most improperly in my house.” His voice had deepened in tone, the note of levity all but gone.

  “Shooting, as it happens. I know how to ride, track, and give chase. I’ll do perfectly well in the fox hunt, but that is some weeks away.”

  He nodded. “Too long. You’re hoping to shoo Brumley away long before then. And you think tagging along on an excursion with Lord Averford is just the way to do it.”

  “Yes! Yes, that’s it.” She loved that he always seemed to know exactly what she had in mind. “Please teach me to shoot. Or, let me put it this way, you must teach me. You’ve no choice. After what you’ve done to me. A ball.” She rolled her eyes.

  “A ball. It will be the perfect chance for you to remember that you’re a young woman. You should be doing what young people do.”

  “Young people bore me.”

  “Perhaps you should go ahead and marry Brumley then, eh? No doubt he shares your opinion on youthful activities. Give him a garden manual and a good armchair any day.”

  “Marry Brumley?” She slapped him on the arm, or she tried, for all she could move in Averford’s coat. “Is it me, or is it dreadfully hot in here?”

  “I think it a bit chilly. My fire’s dying out. I’m on my way to work.”

  “Work? So soon? No, you must cancel your morning appointments. You have to teach me to shoot.” She struggled to loosen her collar.

  “Of course. I’ll drop everything.”

  “You will?” She brightened, despite beginning to feel a tad dizzy.

  “I will not. I mean to remain gainfully employed.”

  “You would still be doing your job in helping me. I would speak to Lord Averford if it came to that.” She attempted to wave her hands dismissively but her sleeves flopped over, hiding all but the tips of her fingers.

  “A respectable young lady speaking up for the hired help?” He stroked his square chin as if considering. She imagined that hand stroking her and she swayed a little on her feet.

  “Lady Alice?”

  Her vision blurred. Her head felt suddenly heavy, impossible to hold up. She felt herself going down and there was nothing she could do about it. The last thing she was aware of was a pair of strong arms cushioning her before she hit the floor.

  She woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, in a bed that smelled vaguely of pine and leather, a picture of a woman she’d never seen on the table beside her. She sat up.

  “Lie back. Don’t get up too soon. I’ve only just got you settled.” Winthrop, in an armchair beside the bed, moved to the side of the bed and placed his hand on her forehead. “I think you fainted.”

  “Fainted?” She put her hands to her chest and realized she was no longer wearing the coat or sweater, just the long-sleeved undershirt and trousers.

  “I think it was the heat, and your movement being restricted by so many layers. I’m sorry. I took the liberty of removing a few things in an effort to restore you.”

  “You carried me?” You undressed me? She didn’t say that last bit out loud. No harm done, after all. He hadn’t undressed her very far.

  He nodded. “I carried you in here, to my bed, to think what I’m to do with you. It doesn’t look good for me, you being here.”

  “No, of course not.” She started to sit up. With a gentle hand to her shoulder, he urged her back down to the pillows he’d propped under her head.

  “Ah, no. Not too soon. Please. If you swoon again, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll be forced to send for the doctor, and what then?”

  She bit her lip. “What then? I’m so sorry, Winthrop. I bounded over here this morning thinking only what a lark it would be to get back at you and fill you with enough remorse that you would teach me to shoot so I could show that oaf Brumley what a modern, unsuitable woman I am. I didn’t think of you at all, or how it would look for you if anyone saw us leaving your cottage together so early in the morning.”

  “Not that anyone would recognize you in that ensemble, if we’d managed to get you out when it was still dark.”

  Daylight streamed in through the window. “If only.”

  “As it is, I’m late for a meeting, and I’ve no idea how I’ll manage to get you back safely and without arousing suspicions.”

  She sighed. “Well, you’ve gotten out of taking me shooting.”

  “Not at all. I mean to take you, but later. After I’ve completed my business for the day. I should finish up early, with plenty of hours of daylight left before it gets dark.”

  In her excitement at the news, she sat up quickly and felt her head swim again. “That’s wonderful. If only I could stand up.”

  “You need to drink this. The whole cup.” He handed her water. “And when you’re done, there’s another in the pitcher. I’m going to have to leave you here on your own for a bit. I can’t see a way to get you back now. I’ll come up with something to tell your aunt in case you’re missed.”

  “Agatha won’t be up for hours yet. And the servants always leave me on my own in the morning. No one will miss me until afternoon tea. I’m never late for tea.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The way you ate your dinner last night. Like you hadn’t seen food in weeks. It’s a wonder you stay so slim.”

  “Winthrop!” She gasped, horrified that he’d been watching her eat and that was the impression she’d made. “You mustn’t speak so to a lady. We all want to appear as delicate as sparrows.”

  “At the dinner table, you’re as delicate as a rabid wolf. That’s no
t the right thing to say to a lady? No wonder I’m a bachelor at my age.” He smiled.

  She laughed. “Mr. Winthrop, you’re cruel.”

  “I’m also about to save your hide, and mine. I have to finish getting ready in the next room and then I’m off. Stay here. Keep away from the windows. Do not answer the door. Help yourself to whatever you find in my pantry. There’s not much, I’m afraid. I’ll be back to look in on you in a little while, once I’ve come up with a plan to get you back to the Dower House undetected.”

  “Yes, sir. I will do as ordered.” She pulled his covers up to her chin, marveling at the intimacy of being in his bed, sharing secrets. “I’m going to sleep for a bit. It might do me a world of good.”

  “It might at that.” He got up to leave her, then turned back. “Oh, and Lady Alice? Stay out of my closets. I’m very particular about sharing my trousers.”

  She threw a pillow at the closing door.

  ***

  Logan couldn’t get Alice off his mind. She’d put him in a dangerous state. Besides what would happen if anyone discovered her in his cottage, the mere act of thinking of her in his bed had brought him to a state of near arousal. He liked her there a bit too much. He couldn’t afford to think of a woman in the way he’d begun to think of her. It was more than distracting. It was…an obsession. One that would be cured as soon as her sister could find her a suitable man to hold her interest. Brumley was a hindrance to finding another more appealing candidate. The man had to go.

  After a morning with Lord Averford, trying desperately to focus on the conversation while they discussed the financial affairs of the estate, Logan went in search of Lord Brumley to invite him on a tour of the conservatory.

  “Brumley, just the man I’ve been looking for,” Logan said, finding him in the parlor, seated at a table, his back to the door. As Logan neared, he realized that Brumley was not alone.

  “Greetings, Mr. Winthrop,” Aunt Agatha called out. “Would you like a reading, too?” She wore a parrot-green robe trimmed in turquoise that made him wonder how he hadn’t seen her right away. She had spread a deck of cards on the table in front of Brumley.