What a Lady Craves

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “I see,” she said carefully. And why had Cecelia suddenly taken an interest in her?

  Brown eyes flashing with life, Cecelia caught and held her gaze. “I can understand why you want to avoid entangling yourself in our family, but I want you to know I’m on your side. I always liked you. And I think we can both agree my brother is a complete idiot.”

  Henrietta couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled into her throat. An idiot, yes, but an idiot she’d once loved. She might even love him still. She hardly knew anymore. “You won’t get an argument from me there.”

  “I should think not.” Cecelia nodded for emphasis. “I don’t agree with anything he’s done, not after he left, and not now, so I let him know what I thought of matters. And how have you been getting on?”

  Goodness, the girl didn’t mince words. “Perhaps we ought to chat a bit more privately. My chamber is just off the landing.”

  “All right. I wouldn’t mind a little frank talk, myself.”

  How Cecelia might be any more forthright was anyone’s guess, but Henrietta supposed she’d find out once they found some privacy. Heart lighter, she stole up the back stairs, Cecelia at her heels. In no time, they closed the door to Henrietta’s bedchamber.

  “I don’t know how you’re managing.” Cecelia plopped herself on the bed and looked Henrietta straight in the eye. “What must you have thought when my brother turned up here. Not to mention enduring our dear auntie all these months. Why, it’s enough to make anyone consider handing in her resignation.”

  Henrietta’s glance drifted to her bedside table, where the newspaper Tilly had given her still lay. The pages were folded over on themselves, so that a certain advertisement was in evidence. She’d traced a box around Viscount Lindenhurst’s call for a nanny, several times in red ink, idly dreaming, or so she thought, but in a desperate hour a day or two ago, she’d actually considered the prospect.

  “Don’t think I haven’t,” she replied lightly. “But there are few enough options for a woman of my position, unfortunately. I’ve the marvelous choice between finding another old lady seeking a companion and hoping I get along with her, or searching out another situation as a governess.”

  “You seem to be doing well enough at that.” Cecelia patted the mattress beside her in invitation, as if this chamber were hers—as if they were young girls not yet out in society giggling over the prospects at a house party. But a lively girl like Cecelia oughtn’t to be starved for female companionship, even if the family must stay in the country.

  Henrietta felt as if it had been forever since she’d talked to someone close to her age. Indeed, since her arrival in Cornwall, she’d had only Lady Epperley, the irascible Mrs. Brown in the kitchen, and Alexander’s daughters. She happily took a seat next to Cecelia.

  “Goodness, I never intended to become a governess.”

  “No.” Cecelia drew her lips between her teeth. “By rights, you should have become my sister-in-law. And have you wormed out of my idiot brother what made him break his promise to you?”

  “To be quite honest, I’d prefer not to discuss it.”

  Cecelia reached over and squeezed her wrist. “No, I don’t suppose I can blame you there. So what will you do?”

  Henrietta felt the contraction of Cecelia’s fingers deep in her chest—about her heart. How she’d have enjoyed having Cecelia for a sister-in-law.

  “As far as I can tell, I’ve two immediate choices.” She drew her feet underneath her skirts and hugged her knees, her fingers crossed at the small lie she was about to tell. “I can wait for Alexander to leave and hope he’s shrewd enough to refrain from visiting his aunt too often. Or I can take my chances with Viscount Lindenhurst.”

  “Alexander’s old friend?” Cecelia frowned. “Of all the rotten luck.”

  “Indeed, but I get the impression they’re not as close as they once were.” Henrietta studied her companion. Would Alexander’s sister have paid enough attention to gossip to know anything about that situation? “Still, he’s seeking a governess, but I’d prefer not to earn my keep that way.”

  “Why ever not? You seem to be doing a tolerable job here.”

  She hugged her shins a bit more tightly and rested her cheek on her knees. “Yes, well, appearances are often deceiving.”

  Cecelia mimicked the position. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you didn’t see Helena just now. You weren’t in the room to see her slip out, but I caught her crying in an alcove. She misses her mother.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Quite. And while I’d prefer not to discuss that particular situation, I’m not sure how to avoid it. It’s hardly the poor girl’s fault. So I tried, but I’m afraid I upset her more than I comforted. She ran off. I can only hope she’s gone to the nursery.” She unclasped her hands and heaved herself off the bed. “For that matter, I ought to go and check on her.”

  Cecelia popped to her feet, as well. “I think you’re doing a spectacular job. If only you’d seen the governess I grew up with. She didn’t give a fig for anything except manners and lessons and embroidery.”

  Henrietta well knew what that was like. Her own governess was cut from the same cloth—something rigid and scratchy like boiled wool, certainly not anything comfortable and flowing like muslin or silk. “Yes, well, I don’t seem to be made for such a life, and with any luck this position will be strictly temporary.”

  Cecelia eyed her far too shrewdly. “Are you sure you want it to be only temporary?”

  “Goodness, why on earth would you ask such a thing after what happened?” More to the point, had Alexander said something to his sister? But no, Cecelia would have been far more persistent in extracting the truth if she had any inkling of such possibilities.

  “Call it a silly notion if you want, but I get the feeling certain sentiments still exist between you and my brother.”

  Henrietta hesitated. Part of her ached to confide in another woman, one she might have counted as a friend—or a sister, once. “This can go no further.”

  Cecelia laid a hand on her arm. “Naturally.”

  Henrietta bunched her skirts between her fingers while searching for the proper words. “Have you ever been with someone whose very presence made you lose your head? Who completely overwhelmed and addled you?”

  “Oh, my.” Cecelia giggled into her hand, but then her expression composed itself into serious lines. “The answer to your question is yes. I have.”

  Who? The word balanced on the tip of Henrietta’s tongue like a sea-bather poised to dive into the waves. But the answer was none of her business, especially not after Alexander had hinted at some mysterious scandal involving his sister during his absence.

  At any rate, Cecelia went on. “Never fear. You get over it.”

  “It must come back, then, because I thought myself long over your brother until he had the nerve to return.”

  “No doubt he’ll do something idiotic quite soon.” Cecelia patted her arm. “And then you’ll recall all the reasons why you shouldn’t let him addle you.”

  “Heavens, I’m forgetting myself.” Henrietta turned for the door. “I’d better see to my duty.”

  As they stepped into the corridor, however, they came face-to-face with Satya. He marched down the passage toward them, eerily silent for all the tension in his shoulders and arms.

  “My goodness.” Cecelia stepped forward, eyes round and vivid, her voice suddenly high and breathy. “Did my brother bring you back with him?”

  As much as she was unsure of the man, a prickle of embarrassment irritated the back of Henrietta’s neck. It was bad enough that Satya’s coloring made him stand out in England, bad enough that he couldn’t even go down to the village pub and enjoy a pint like any regular manservant. Bad enough that he wasn’t even born to the role of manservant, according to Alexander. But for Cecelia to speak to him practically as if he were a curiosity brought home for others to ooh and ahh over …

  If the rude question angered
Satya, however, he showed little enough reaction. He simply bowed. “Memsahib.”

  “Forgive me,” Henrietta ventured, “but why are you not in the nursery?”

  Since he’d been standing guard at night, he’d taken to sleeping during the day. As a result, Henrietta had hardly seen him, and so much the better. Something about his presence unsettled her even now.

  “Because Miss Helena has come in.”

  Some slight variation in his tone made Henrietta watch him more closely. “Has she disturbed you?”

  “No, memsahib.” Despite the denial, a subtle tension radiated from him, a quiet form of condemnation. He’d never admit it, but Henrietta got the impression that he’d like to inform her that she wasn’t doing her job.

  “Memsahib,” Cecelia repeated in a purring undertone. “How exotic.”

  Henrietta ignored the girl. “I’ll fetch her right away.”

  His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. If she hadn’t been studying him so closely, she might have missed the reaction. “That would be appreciated.”

  Henrietta managed to avoid the family and take supper in the nursery with the girls. Thank heavens, with the rest of the Sanfords visiting, Lady Epperley had more companionship than she could want, and Henrietta could conveniently bypass scrutiny and questions. Let them talk, let them reunite and fill in their missing years without her. And if she came up as a subject of discussion, let her remain blissfully unaware.

  She relaxed against the cushions of a plush armchair in her chamber, thankful for a few hours’ peace at last. Helena and Francesca had passed their evening meal on relatively good terms, but events of the day—especially Helena’s obstinate silence this evening—had quite run her to weariness. She took up her abandoned embroidery, but she couldn’t summon the energy to produce a French knot.

  Might as well go to bed, if this was all she was good for. She’d heard Lady Epperley toddle to her quarters not half an hour past. Alexander was likely sitting up with his family if not enjoying a glass of port in the library like any self-respecting gentleman.

  A scratch sounded at the door, so low Henrietta almost wondered if she’d heard it. And who might that be at this time of the evening? As a companion she had no right to a lady’s maid, and Cecelia must still be downstairs. No footsteps had echoed in the corridor, and she only knew of one person who moved so silently. Someone who had no business standing outside her bedchamber, unless there was some difficulty with the girls.

  She stood, crossed to the door, and threw it open. As she’d guessed, Satya stood on the opposite side, tall, implacable, and wholly unreadable.

  “Is there some kind of problem?” she asked. “The girls …”

  “No, memsahib, they are perfectly safe in their beds.”

  “Then why have you left them? You know what Mr. Sanford said.”

  “That I do.” He bowed as if that might excuse his breach of orders. “But I felt I owed you an apology for earlier.”

  “Apology? Gracious, no.”

  “It is our way.” He performed one of his prayerful bows. “It was an unthinkable offense for me to come to you as I did. It was not my place.”

  “My goodness, think nothing of it.” She moved to swing the door closed.

  “If you will forgive me, there is something else.”

  Henrietta glanced up and down the corridor. Thankfully still empty for now, but it would hardly do for Cecelia or Mrs. Sanford to catch her standing at the door to her bedchamber in such a way. And Lord only knew how Lady Epperley would construe the situation, should she venture back out. “I hardly think this is the time or place. Can it not wait?”

  “I am here now.” His tone carried such finality she could not summon an argument. “I told you once that Mr. Sanford greatly admired you.”

  Admired. Past tense. “Yes, I recall. But once he married, it would hardly be appropriate for him to speak of another woman.”

  “Mr. Sanford has had two women in his life, but only one love.”

  And with that pronouncement, Henrietta sagged until she was limply propping up the doorjamb. What an odd statement to make with such seeming urgency.

  Yes, Alexander had loved only one woman. And he’d married her. He may have asked for Henrietta’s hand, but clearly his feelings for her were not the same. Otherwise, he might have responded to her conditions last night. He’d hesitated at her door. If he’d wanted to, he could have knocked, could have declared himself. Could have told her what she wanted to hear.

  The thought cut more deeply than it ought to have at this point. She’d had years to come to terms with the broken engagement. With her broken heart. Years. And yet the man still had the ability to hurt her.

  “Why …” She had to swallow and start again. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because one of you is gone, but the knowledge might be what saves you.”

  What on earth? No, what the devil? What the bloody hell? Before she could summon an appropriate response, Satya padded off, leaving her more confused than enlightened. Had he just threatened her with that cryptic statement? Was he trying to warn her? What did any of that even mean?

  Only one person might give her a straight answer to that question. Not only that, it was high time he told her the entire truth. And she wasn’t about to leave the matter until morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Henrietta was pacing before the door to Alexander’s bedchamber when much later he appeared at the top of the stairs. Through a narrow gaze, she watched him steal along the corridor using the overly careful gait of a man who had imbibed too much and was trying hard not to let it show.

  A few strides away, his head snapped up and his eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” At least his speech was clear. “If someone—Has something happened?”

  A sniff confirmed her suspicions. This close, she could detect a fine thread of brandy scenting the air about him.

  Chin high, she stopped. “I’m not entirely sure. I know you trust the man, but Satya has been behaving very strangely. He came to see me tonight and said something quite odd. Are you completely certain it’s safe to leave him with the girls?”

  “I trust him with their care no less than I would myself. I’ve explained how he came to me. And what the deuce did he say to you that’s got you so upset?”

  “He made reference to your wife, and told me the knowledge might save me. I cannot work out whether that was a threat or a warning, but I think perhaps you can.”

  Alexander slumped against the wall, and scrubbed a hand over his face, as if that might clear his thoughts. Then he looked up and down the corridor. No one in sight at this late hour, but she couldn’t blame him for not taking a chance at getting caught. Opening the door to his bedchamber, he ushered her inside. The latch clicked home loudly in the midnight silence.

  His chamber lay shrouded in shadows. The day’s fire had burned to embers, casting a faint glow that allowed the furniture to appear as black shapes in the darkness. His hulk of a bed dominated the room.

  She would not think of it. Yes, she was closed in with him alone, the very situation she’d intended to avoid, but she also needed answers. Even if he could not see the gesture, she crossed her arms.

  “Tell me exactly what Satya said to you.” Alexander’s voice came from a few feet to the left. He, too, was keeping his distance.

  “He said something about your wife, as if he was comparing me to her, and then noted how she was dead but I was still alive.” She could not bring herself to repeat the exact phrasing, not when it might bring confirmation of the truth from Alexander’s own lips. “And how am I to take that?”

  “As a warning.” Low and earnest, his reply rung with assurance. “Satya would never threaten you.”

  “Why would he say something like that?”

  “He means for you to stay away from me. Me. I’m drawing the danger that I thought I’d left behind in India.” A wordless, anguished cry emerged from the back of his throat.

 
; “I don’t understand. Perhaps …” She hesitated, certain she was about to ask him to shed light on events in his past she’d rather know nothing about—his marriage foremost among them. “You’d better tell me everything.”

  “It doesn’t matter what happened in India. We can’t do anything to change that. What matters is here and now.” The urgency behind his words rose with every syllable, until the hairs on her nape stood on end and gooseflesh shivered down her arms.

  “Did … did something occur today?”

  “I went to the village this afternoon, and in the excitement of my family’s arrival I chose not to alarm anybody.” The dull thud of his footsteps pulsed in her ears, closer, closer. “Tilly’s shop is locked up tight. No one knows where he is.”

  “We knew something had spooked him.”

  “Tilly, with all he’s seen in his life? It would take a lot to spook someone like that into leaving. If he’s left.”

  More gooseflesh, an entire battalion of tiny bumps marched along her skin as if her body was a parade ground. “How can we know?”

  “We can’t without trespassing. But there’s more. The servants here have noted nothing, but everyone I talked to in the village seems to have had a break-in of some sort lately. Nothing missing, mind you, but their possessions rifled through.”

  She tightened her arms across her chest until she was hugging herself. “That means there must have been someone in my chamber the other night.”

  “Yes. This is why I did not wish to discount that episode. You awoke before they could search your things.”

  “So someone is looking for something.” A few more pieces clicked into place. “Something from your cargo. It couldn’t be that box I found on the beach, could it?”

  “I think so, but I’d be damned if I knew why.” A frustrated outrush of breath accompanied his words. “The jewels have a certain value, yes, but most of their worth is personal. They’re definitely not something to chase halfway around the world.”