An Affair Downstairs

by Sherri Browning

  “A reading?”

  “Tarot. We’re almost done here. You can sit next.” She didn’t give him time to answer, but flipped a center card. “The Hanged Man, reversed.”

  “Is that good?” Brumley asked, sounding hopeful.

  Agatha placed her hand over Brumley’s on the table. “It means that it’s time to move on, dear.”

  “From my loss? Yes, of course. I loved my Eleanor, but it is time to move on. It’s what brought me here.”

  “You might interpret it that way.” Agatha cocked her head, a note of skepticism in her tone. “But hadn’t you already moved on when you decided to accept the countess’s invitation? No, I think it might mean that it’s time you went back to Brookfield.”

  Logan managed to choke back his agreement.

  “Back? Nonsense. I’ve only just arrived. There’s to be a ball. What of Lady Alice? Surely I must help to fill her dance card.”

  Agatha shook her head. The wisps of white hair that had escaped her tight bun shook, too. “Fear not. Alice has never had a problem filling her dance card. Of course, they don’t use them anymore. I suppose you haven’t been out in a bit.”

  “No dance cards? How does a girl keep track of whom to partner with next?”

  “Women know which men they prefer without writing them down,” Agatha explained. “But I suppose it would be beneficial to men like you if the young ones were forced to be held to order.”

  “Men like me?” Brumley’s voice had a wounded edge to it.

  “All right, Agatha. I’ll go next.” Winthrop stepped up before Agatha could do further damage to Brumley’s ego. “What must I do?”

  “I suggest a full Celtic Cross. You’ll need to shuffle the deck as I instruct and choose ten cards…”

  “Ten? I haven’t the time for ten. How about one?”

  Agatha shrugged. “As you wish. It will give us a basic idea. But you must come to the Dower House for a full reading soon. I believe the shroud is starting to lift, revealing a hint of your true aura. I don’t want to miss a chance to finally fill in what has been missing when I look at you.”

  “One card.” He would make no promises.

  Agatha cleared the cards from Brumley’s reading, shuffled them in with the others, and handed Logan the deck. “Move them around until you’re comfortable, select a card, and place it facedown in the center of the table.”

  He followed her instructions.

  She flipped the card. “Now, Mr. Brumley, do you see? This is what you needed. This is a very auspicious card indeed.”

  “Is it?” Logan asked. “What does it mean?”

  “The Ace of Cups. Your cup runneth over with good tidings, Mr. Winthrop. In work. In love. In your health. All of it good.”

  “In love?” He shouldn’t have even spoken the word aloud, not while his bed runneth over with Alice.

  “The Ace of Cups symbolizes favorable new beginnings. Perhaps there’s a young lady you have your eye on? She returns your affection. More than that, you have a fresh go at an extraordinary love. She might be the love of your life.”

  Logan’s throat constricted. He’d already known the love of his life, and she was gone. Long gone. It certainly wouldn’t do to entertain thoughts of finding new love. “I think you have your readings mixed up, Aunt Agatha. The Hanged Man most certainly fits my situation best.”

  “Yes.” Brumley was eager to believe Logan’s interpretation. “Yes. Doubtless that I was meant to turn the Ace of Cups.”

  Agatha shook her head, loosening more snowy white tendrils. “It simply doesn’t work that way. You may choose to believe what you wish, but there’s no denying the wisdom of the cards. You’ll see.”

  “I suppose we will, eh, Lord Brumley?” Logan slapped the other man on the back. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I was hoping to give Lord Brumley a tour of the conservatory.”

  “A tour? That sounds like a fine idea.” Brumley stood and adjusted his spectacles. Logan wished the man had also adjusted his waistcoat, which had strayed up on his rotund stomach and hadn’t slipped back down. “I know exactly how to ensure your success in replanting.”

  “Excellent. If they ever find passage and don’t freeze on the journey, we’ll be ready for them.”

  Agatha shuffled her deck and sat back, waiting for her next victim. Nan, feather duster in hand, had the misfortune of walking by the parlor as Brumley and Winthrop made their exit.

  “Oh, maid! You there!” Agatha called out. “I have some very important news for you…”

  The maid stepped in as Logan walked away with his usual purposeful strides, Brumley, on his short legs, running to keep up. On the way, Logan removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, preparing for work. “I will show you where we plan to put the lemon trees upon arrival. You can advise me on the size of the plots, their distance from one another, and the ideal conditions of the soil.”

  But now that Logan had an excuse to show up at the Dower House while Agatha was occupied, he meant to keep Brumley’s tour brief. He would tell the maid, Mary, that he’d come to Agatha for a reading and then find a way to get to Lady Alice’s closet and smuggle one of her coats and gowns out for her to change into at his cottage. No one from the house would see her if they left from his side door, and respectably attired, she could hasten straight to Thornbook Park in time for tea.

  ***

  “What on earth is this?” Mouth agape, Alice pulled the gown he’d selected for her from the bag he’d picked up in her closet.

  “I only had a moment. I made sure to go when I knew Agatha was out, and then I was able to distract Mary with the idea that she’d made my coffee too weak. The second she returned to the kitchen to brew a second cup, I ran up the stairs to your closet, grabbed the first thing I could, and put it in your satchel.”

  She held the dress up and he immediately realized his mistake. How could he have missed it? It might take three of her to fill it out, not to mention the bizarre color combination of canary yellow and sapphire blue. “I might eat like a rabid wolf, but there’s no amount of food that could increase the size of my bosom to Agatha’s ample proportions. Believe me, when I was a girl, I tried.”

  “What’s wrong with your bosom?” He couldn’t fathom that he’d asked it out loud.

  She held out a flattened hand, then seemed to think the better of it. “Nothing. Um, never mind.”

  He struggled to avert his eyes from her breasts. Not that he could find them now that she’d put the baggy sweater back on.

  “What are we to do now?” she asked.

  “The Hanged Man.” He took the chair opposite her at the kitchen table, glad to see that she’d listened to him about avoiding open windows and had closed the curtains, not that it mattered now. “It really should have been my card after all.”

  “No one’s going to hang you.”

  He buried his head in his hands, thought a minute, then looked up. “Remember last year? When Eve Thorne was late to tea?”

  “Back when she was still Eve Kendal?” One ginger brow arched. “And they realized she’d gone missing? And everyone was out looking for her, but she’d been at the mercy of that horrible landlord of hers?”

  “Yes. And Captain Thorne organized a search party but…”

  “It all ended well. Now they’re married. And they have Mina.” She placed her hand on his arm reassuringly. The heat seared straight through his coat sleeves and he jumped as if scorched. He feared becoming aroused again in a way that would be all too evident to the young lady in his midst, and what then?

  “They won’t just sack me if they find you here. They’ll think the worst. I have a questionable past.”

  Fortunately, the thought of prison killed all potential for romance.

  “So I’ve heard. But they know you, Mr. Winthrop. Anyone who knows you couldn’t fail to…respect you.” She slid her chair closer to his. “To admire you.”

  “You’ve no idea.”

  Her eyes half closed, she moved her head closer
to his, almost as if she were contemplating going in for a kiss. Good God! It was the last thing he needed. He pushed his chair back, stood, and began to pace.

  “We need a new plan.” He pinched the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was worried, an old habit. Julia used to say it helped her to breathe easier and think more clearly in a crisis. He’d tried it and found that she was right.

  “Who is she?” Alice asked as if she knew exactly what was on his mind. She couldn’t possibly.

  “Who?” Julia nearly forgotten, he wanted to reach out and tangle his fingers in the red-brown hair that spilled across Alice’s shoulders.

  “The woman in the portrait at your bedside. She’s beautiful.”

  “Julia Kirkland.” He paused, unwilling to say too much, but he was compelled to add, “The finest woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Julia. I see. What happened to her?” Alice stood and began to trail behind him, tracing his steps through the tiny kitchen.

  “She chose another. It’s all in the past.”

  “But you’ve kept her picture. Surely that means…”

  “Dammit, Alice.” He spun on his heel. “We’re in the middle of a crisis. Leave the past alone!”

  He hadn’t meant to be so hard on her, but she didn’t cower at his rage. She stood as close to him as she dared, not backing down. “So it didn’t end well. I’m sorry.”

  “No. It did not.” His mouth tensed to a grim line.

  “You can talk about her if you like. It must be hard to keep it all bottled up.” She even had the nerve to reach out and stroke his arm, a comforting gesture.

  “Thank you, Lady Alice, for considering my feelings.” He steeled himself, determined to keep stiff formality between them, though she had touched him with such a genuine look of concern in her eyes. He knew she wasn’t asking out of curiosity fueled by the gossips, but rather out of her own interest in him. In different circumstances, he would have welcomed the chance to talk with a friend. But she was a member of the family he served, and they’d already gone too far in letting down the barriers that should have been up between them all along. “It’s a subject I’d rather not discuss.”

  She returned to her seat at the table as if nothing had happened. “The solution is simple. There’s no reason to fear any sort of discovery. You’ve done nothing wrong. In my enthusiasm to take up shooting, I sought you out in your private abode to beg you to teach me. No one would think anything of it. I bristle against convention all the time. Why would I see anything wrong with bothering the estate manager at his cottage?”

  She just might have a point. “You didn’t see anything wrong. You came bounding over here this morning and let yourself in just as you pleased, no regard for my privacy.”

  “Exactly. It’s what I do. Sophia would expect nothing less. Aunt Agatha would hardly be shocked. Even Lord Averford would roll his eyes and wonder what Alice has gotten into now. No one would look at you as having done a thing wrong. I’ll simply put on my coat and wait for you to dress appropriately for an afternoon of shooting.”

  “It’s unlikely anyone will see us leave together,” he reasoned.

  “And if they do, they will simply think I’ve overstepped my bounds. The truth. We’ve been far too concerned for nothing. Incorrigible Alice. There she goes again.”

  Not for nothing, he longed to correct her. Eve Thorne had her suspicions, and all it took was one person to state the obvious—that the older man was always in the wrong when young ladies erred in judgment with one of them. But there was little else to do. The longer she stayed, the more likely her discovery there and the riskier their situation would become.

  “It’s the only way.” The only hope left to them, really. He had to take a chance.

  “I suggest we shoot within sight of the drawing-room windows.” She began to pin her fallen hair back up. “When I’m late for tea, they’ll see why.”

  “Brumley will see why. I’m going to get changed,” he said, preferring to trade his business clothes for rougher wear. “And then we’ll go shooting.”

  Five

  Too late, Alice realized she had gone too far. She had begun to develop a genuine rapport with Winthrop, and then she’d asked about his past. Alone with the man in his own cottage, and she’d killed her one chance of getting close enough to kiss him. Now, standing beside her, he was all business pointing out the parts of the rifle.

  “If you mean to shoot, you’re going to have to know how to load and clean your own weapon.” He wore a brown coat that made his hair look dark as ebony, when it was really more of a mahogany in full sunlight. The clouds likely also contributed to the darkened effect of his hair and his mood. All the fun had gone out of him. She could hardly believe that he’d been laughing with her only hours ago.

  “Ridiculous,” she said. “Do gentlemen know such things? Isn’t that why we have gamekeepers and grooms?”

  He tipped his head. “Some gentlemen know. Lord Averford knows. He would be in full agreement with me when I say that you have no business wielding a weapon you don’t understand properly.”

  “What of Lord Holcomb? Does he clean, maintain, and load his own rifles?” She crossed her arms. All she wanted was for Brumley to get a look at her wielding the rifle. Though killing her own goose for dinner was also on her list of goals, and perhaps she still could manage that if they ever got around to actually shooting.

  “That’s not the point.” He lifted the rifle, held it to one shoulder, and lowered it again. “The downfall of your privileged class will be in trusting all arduous endeavors to the servants. When they all leave, what will become of you?”

  “Leave? Why would they all leave?” She widened her eyes at him, aware that some men might respond to the curious twinkle in their greenish depths. But perhaps Winthrop had already developed an immunity to her charms.

  “Industry, Lady Alice. The world is ever changing. They would leave for better opportunities, the ability to make their own fortunes instead of relying on the wealth of others.”

  “Some might leave. Others are like family. Mr. Finch would never leave. Mrs. Hoyle. Sturridge. Mary…” She allowed her voice to trail off. What of Winthrop? Would he leave? Did he not consider himself at home here? She dared not force an answer. “I want to shoot something. That’s all. No need to complicate things.”

  “Shooting is complicated. It should be. There’s usually killing involved. Let’s start with stance.”

  “Stance? What’s wrong with my stance?” She put her hands on her hips.

  “Nothing if you’re trying to get a man’s attention. Though, in that outfit, it might not be the kind of attention you’re craving.” A tiny hint of a smile curved his lips.

  “I have my regrets. Next time, I’ll be properly attired.”

  “They do have hunting habits for ladies. I’ve seen them in town at Mrs. Dale’s shop.”

  “I’ll pay her a visit. But for now…”

  “Mr. Brumley would be disenchanted. If only he could look out and realize who was out here. I doubt he’ll recognize you.”

  “Perhaps I should remove my hat?” she asked.

  “Nonsense. The earflaps will protect your ears. The report can be rather loud.”

  “If we ever pull a trigger.” She let the tone of her voice reflect her displeasure.

  “Probably not today for you, but I might demonstrate a bit. I did take the liberty of sending word that you were missing tea today in favor of a shooting lesson. That might draw Brumley’s attention. Back to stance.”

  “When? When did you send word?” She didn’t recall him telling anyone.

  “When we were in the shed selecting the rifles. You were distracted with choosing a suitable weapon. That’s when I called over one of the grooms from the stable and told him to get word to the house that you would be having a lesson.”

  “Brumley knows.” She tried not to sound too impressed with Winthrop’s foresight.

  “He knows. He might be watching, or the knowle
dge that you’re truly an aspiring Artemis might have put him off already.” He seemed to be taking great pains to avoid meeting her gaze.

  “God willing.”

  “Mmm. Now, stance. You’re too tense.”

  “Too tense? How so?” She straightened her posture until her spine locked up, and instantly realized her problem. “Oh. Too tense. Yes.”

  “You need to have balance and control, but you need to be comfortable and fluid at the same time.”

  “Fluid?” How could she be fluid?

  “Try this. Close your eyes. Now imagine that you’re by the ocean with the waves rolling in. You’ve been to the seaside?”

  “On holiday.” She nodded, forgetting to keep her eyes closed. She shut them again. “In Brighton. Yes.”

  His hands closed on her shoulders and he began to rub.

  “Oh!” She jumped. “No, don’t stop. It feels wonderful, but it startled me. I didn’t expect your hands…on me.”

  His hands. On her. She tried not to roll her head back and give in to the wild rumblings inside her.

  “Relax. So much tension in your shoulders and arms. Try to let it go.”

  She nodded. “I’m trying.”

  “Imagine the ocean washing your tension away, the waves rocking you gently side to side. You’re the RMS Mauretania about to set sail.”

  “I might faint again,” she thought suddenly with alarm, her eyes popping open.

  He sighed and dropped his hands from her shoulders. “It was working. You were just beginning to relax, and now you’re tense again.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. Why don’t you show me how to stand? Perhaps I’ll loosen up as we go.”

  “You’re going to part your legs slightly, putting one in front of the other. That’s it, left foot front. Your weight is mostly going to rest on that foot. Bend your legs slightly. You don’t want to lock up.”

  “Right.” She bobbed a little. “Knees bent, not locked up.”

  “Good. Maybe not quite so bent.” His arms went around her to help physically adjust her position. Her breath caught in her throat. “There. Perfect.”