by Wilma Counts
“He was a sharp one, all right. But I’m sorry to hear matters are so lean with you.”
“It will work out—or it won’t.” Jeremy stifled a yawn. “Before we call it a day, what about you: What are your plans?”
“Clemson and I are on a sort of reconnoitering tour.”
“Oh?”
“We are both keen on selling out. His grandmother left him a holding in Scotland. He’ll be going on alone in a few days to check it out.”
“And after you sell your commission?”
“I could live for a while on the proceeds. Also, both Margaret and I had modest legacies from our maternal grandmother.” He shrugged.
“I see.”
“Made the settlements easier for Margaret’s marriage. But I think Talbot would have had her in sackcloth.” Robert chuckled, “Still would too.”
“They are quite taken with each other,” Jeremy agreed, feeling a twinge of envy as he thought fleetingly of his own marriage to the captivating and capricious Willow. “So,” he said, again shifting the topic, “you’re set to become a true Corinthian, eh?”
Robert snorted. “Hardly. I won’t be that plump in the pocket. Or such a fribble. God knows this family has had enough of those.”
The next day the three gentlemen went out shooting early in the morning. Privately, Kate thought it a deal of foolishness when one thought of the paltry number of fowl they were likely to produce for the table. Chicken was more available, was a more versatile dish, and tastier besides. Still, the men would have their sport. Throughout the morning she fretted silently and, though she tried not to let her anxiety spill into her dealings with others, it was inevitable that it do so.
When Rosie made some trivial comment about yesterday’s embarrassment, Kate snapped at her, “Do try to be less absorbed with yourself.”
The maid looked hurt, mumbled, “Yes, ma’am,” and scurried away. Kate immediately felt contrite. Self-absorbed? Look who’s talking, she told herself and resolved to make it up to Rosie later.
She also snapped at Ned, who pestered to be able to play with a bow and arrow. “No. I haven’t time this morning and there’s no one else to set up a target and supervise.”
“I don’t need a target set up. I’ll be careful.”
“I said no! Go do the page of sums I gave you.”
“I already did,” he said resentfully.
“Cassie will be down soon for the riding lesson. Go and change your clothes so you can join her.”
This met with less resentment and Kate was glad to know that Ned and Cassie would be looked after very well by the stable crew for a while.
Since Cranstan’s leaving, Kate had assumed some of the responsibilities for Lady Cassandra’s care. Rosie had been appointed temporary nursery maid, seeing to the little girl’s routine physical care and sleeping in an adjoining room in the nursery suite to be on call. Still, Kate had to supervise Rosie. His lordship had mentioned the need for a “real” nursemaid, but then his brother had arrived and God alone knew when—or if—the vacancy would be filled.
Kate knew that to a certain extent she was dwelling on the issue of Lady Cassandra’s care to distract herself from her own problems: a Bow Street Runner trying to find her, and what Robert Chilton might reveal to his brother.
By mid-morning, the gentlemen had returned from their shooting expedition with a few ducks and a goose for the Kenrick table. After a late breakfast, Captain Clemson was writing letters, and Lord Kenrick was engaged in some paperwork of his own. With the children now occupied, Kate seized the chance to talk with Robert.
She found him sitting in a wicker chair in the back garden, smoking a cheroot. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I was hoping for a chance to speak with you. Have you time for a little stroll?”
“Of course.”
When they were out of earshot of any chance listener, he said, “All right, Kate. Out with it. Tell me what is going on with you. Last I heard, you and Ned were at Wynstan Castle—and here I find a member of a duke’s family as my brother’s housekeeper? Incredible!”
“I suppose it does seem that way.” As they walked slowly along the garden paths, she explained briefly the circumstances of her being where she was and what she was.
“And you had no alternative?”
“None that I could see. The law favors men over women, you know, and a powerful duke, well . . .” Her voice trailed off in despair.
“What about your family? Surely after all this time—”
“My father’s response would be ‘You made your bed—now you must lie in it.’ If he deigned to respond at all. Nor would he ever even think of defying a duke. He was very emphatic in washing his hands of me when Arthur and I returned from eloping to Gretna Green.”
“Why? Most fathers would rant a bit, but then they’d come around.”
“Not mine,” she said bitterly. “He sets great store by orders of precedence in society. He refused permission for the marriage merely because he knew Wynstan disapproved.”
“And Wynstan disapproved because—?”
“Because he always disapproved whatever Arthur wanted to do. And because the daughter of a mere country squire could never measure up to his expectations for his family connections. He is quite pretentious about his position in society, you see. Also, he had chosen a wife for Arthur: the daughter of an earl who was to inherit a property adjoining Wynstan’s main holding. Wynstan hates—positively hates—having his wishes thwarted. He simply will not tolerate opposition.”
“So he refused permission.”
“Right. But both Arthur and I were of age. Our parents’ permission was irrelevant. We went to Gretna Green.”
“And both fathers disowned you.”
“Yes.”
“That must have been very hard for you.”
“It was very painful at the time,” she said. “It still is. Even now I shed tears over losing my brothers and sisters. Papa threatened to disown them too, if they acknowledged me. And he would. He would. I tried to visit my family when I first returned to England. Papa had a manservant turn me away at the door.”
There was a catch in her voice as she stopped walking and faced him. She had a fleeting thought that Robert’s gray eyes reflected layers of emotion much as his brother’s blue eyes did, but she continued her tale. “Arthur and I had a difficult time financially at first, for we had only what was left of Arthur’s quarter allowance. Wynstan cut that too, though he offered to restore it if Arthur would agree to have the marriage annulled. It was Arthur’s maternal grandmother who came to our rescue. She gave Arthur the money to buy his commission.” She spread her hand in an open gesture. “There you have it. Rather a sordid story, is it not?”
“My dear lady.” He pulled her into a spontaneous and warm embrace. “The only sordidness is in the behavior of two autocratic old men.” He released her and they walked on. “I knew the basics of all this, of course, but not the details,” he said.
“W—what have you told Lord Kenrick?”
“Only that you were from Surrey—I thought—and there had been trouble over your marriage. I did not tell him that the Angel of the Forty-sixth is, in fact, Lady Arthur Gardiner and that her son is heir to the Duke of Wynstan.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, then Robert said, “But you should.”
“Should?”
“Tell him. Tell him who you are.”
She shook her head. “I cannot. I would lose my position. Lord Kenrick would have to let me go. I must protect my son. No. Lord Kenrick must not know. Please, Robert. Please.”
“Jeremy is a good man.”
She stopped and faced him again. “I think he is that, but what could he do? Nothing. And I would have to leave here—and there’s no place to go. Please, Robert.” She tried, but knew she failed, to keep the panic out of her voice.
He gripped both her hands in his own and h
eld her gaze. “All right. I will keep your secret, but I think you are making a very serious mistake.”
Kate felt her worries had been alleviated a bit at least. The Bow Street investigation still loomed, but she could put it out of her mind for a while yet.
Jeremy had been standing at the library window and observed his brother embrace Mrs. Arthur.
Bloody hell! What was that all about?
Should be obvious even to someone as obtuse as you, Kenrick.
Robert had not kissed her, though, had he?
It was just a friendly hug.
Uh-huh. A friendly hug. Between a virile young man and a very attractive woman.
You have no right to these feelings, he told himself. No right at all. You need to quell that green-eyed monster about which Shakespeare wrote so profoundly.
Pretend you never saw it. Pretend it never happened.
Oh, yes. Pretend.
His curiosity about the background of Katherine Arthur went unsatisfied, but he was forced to push it to the back of his mind as he dealt with routine crises: a farmer’s cottage that needed a new roof; a dispute between tenant farmers over assigned landholdings; a mysterious illness in a certain flock of sheep. Also, the Mortimers—father and daughter—continued to remind him not only of their existence, but that they felt certain proprietary rights regarding his own existence. Jeremy found their attitude annoying and intrusive, but to make an issue of his feelings would have him behaving as boorishly as they, though he had to admit that the daughter was a bit more subtle than her father.
Sir Eldridge Mortimer arrived one morning alone and unexpected just as Jeremy, his brother, and Captain Clemson were finishing breakfast. Determined to keep his dealings with Mortimer on a rather formal level, Jeremy had the man shown into the library and excused himself from the breakfast table.
“Sir Eldridge? Please have a seat.” Jeremy gestured to a wing-backed chair on one side of the fireplace and took the matching chair on the other side. “May I offer you something to drink? Coffee, perhaps, at this hour of the morning?”
“No, nothing. Thank you.” The knight sat and tapped his fingers on his knees.
“Sir?” Jeremy prompted.
“I’m here about Miss Cranstan,” the knight blurted.
Jeremy made no effort to disguise his surprise and answered coolly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Cranstan. Your nursery maid.”
“I know who she is: my former nursery maid.”
“Miss Cranstan has served my family for many years—first as nursemaid to my daughter, then as companion to both my wife and daughter. She is virtually a member of the Mortimer family. Your turning her off without cause has greatly upset the Mortimer women, especially my daughter.”
Jeremy maintained the same chilly tone. “And you have come here to . . . ?”
“To see that you hire her back.”
“Why would I do that?” Jeremy was torn between anger at the man’s sheer nerve and amused curiosity about just how far he might go.
“Primarily to maintain felicity and harmony in your household in future. Take it from me, my boy, an English wife likes to handle these matters herself.”
Jeremy, in an effort to maintain a semblance of civility, paused before responding, then said, “First of all, sir, I am not your ‘boy.’ Secondly, your advice would be relevant, though hardly welcomed, if I had—or when I have—an English wife. Until such time, while I appreciate that you feel you have a concerted interest in my affairs, I assure you that I can manage to deal with what goes on under my own roof without outside assistance.” He paused, then added, “For the record, I do not make such decisions about staff members without cause.”
Mortimer grimaced and seemed uncertain how to react. Then his jaws tightened visibly and he said, “I thought that might be your view of the matter, my lord, but, under the circumstances, such an intransigent position is truly not in your best interests, is it?”
Feeling his own jaws tighten, Jeremy refused to respond. He stood. “Was there anything else, sir?”
“Not today.”
The knight took the not-so-subtle hint and departed, leaving Jeremy shaking his head in wonder at the sheer nerve of this particular neighbor.
CHAPTER 12
Midsummer had been much celebrated in the town of Kenrick long before a Tudor monarch had made a grateful follower the first Earl of Kenrick.
Nobody knew the exact origins of the holiday, but legend had it that faeries danced in circles this night and the town’s oldest and most superstitious folk swore to marvelous miracles and strange acts of supernatural vengeance on or near this date in the distant past. Most people dismissed these tales and devoted themselves to the serious business of having fun—and watching their neighbors do so as well. The celebration was a daylong affair, starting with an early-morning church service, proceeding to footraces and a treasure hunt for the youngsters. It also included picnicking on the green and culminated in the Midsummer Ball sponsored by the town fathers.
Jeremy explained all this to Mrs. Arthur one morning when she conferred with him after being plagued with questions by the staff, particularly the younger employees. The earl and his housekeeper were strolling back from the stables where they had watched fondly as Ned and Cassie showed off their riding skills. Captain Clemson and Robert had joined them for a time and been suitably impressed with the children’s skills before going out riding themselves.
A light rain had fallen in the night, but the day promised to be a fine one. Jeremy drank in the clean freshness. And with it, he caught a whiff of the lilac-woodsy scent he associated with the woman walking beside him. If he buried his face in that enticing spot between her ear and her shoulder, would he get more than a whiff? A well-deserved rebuff would be more like it, he thought ruefully. Her voice brought him back.
“Midsummer in this part of Yorkshire sounds like a joyous occasion.”
“It is,” he replied. “And you may put staff doubts to rest—if, indeed, any doubts remain. Kenrick always participates.”
“The young people will be pleased.”
“And you? Will you dance at the Midsummer Ball, Mrs. Arthur?”
“I, my lord? A ball?”
“Londoners would view it as more of a country assembly than a ball. The Midsummer celebrations here are very democratic—all of them. For one day of the year, we manage to put aside distinctions of social rank.”
“Really?” She stopped and stared at him.
“You find it strange?” he asked with a grin. “Perhaps it offends the sensibilities of rank and decorum you and Aunt Elinor value so highly?”
“Now you are deliberately making fun of me, my lord.” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Tsk, tsk. Using your rank to browbeat a lowly servant.”
“Is that not one of the privileges of rank?”
She laughed and conceded. “Perhaps it is.”
Delighted that she had responded in kind to his teasing tone, he wanted to hug her, to kiss her, but decorously maintained his distance. Damn decorum anyway!
As they walked on, he said, “You did not answer my question. Will you dance at the Midsummer Ball?”
“I think not. Surely someone must stay here at the Hall.”
“Wilkins will handle that. He tells me he is too old for such frivolity.”
“I cannot leave my son unattended for such a long time.”
“It will be only a few hours,” he assured her. “Children join the festivities during the day. In fact, many activities are precisely for the younger folk. One of the maids will be paid extra to see to their care during the ball.”
“I—I’m not sure—”
“You deserve a break, Mrs. Arthur, and I intend to see that you get it.”
“Thank you, my lord, but—”
“No buts. It’s settled.”
Jeremy could not help wondering at a trace of anxiety in her expression. Most servants would be eager for a break in routine. But then she was not “mos
t servants,” was she?
When he had taken time to think about her—and lately that had occurred far more often than it should—he found anomalies that simply baffled him. There was her well-trained voice, for instance. Her speech—both diction and accent—were definitely upper class. He recalled her interest in Blake and Wordsworth. Chance comments of Aunt Elinor’s and bits of conversation he had overheard showed a level of understanding and education beyond that of the average housekeeper, even one who had served a duke. And that was another thing: Which duke? When?
And what was the nature of her relationship with his own brother? Robert had clearly been surprised to find her here; just as clearly they had a special friendship of mutual, equal respect. He was sure it did not go any deeper than friendship—yet. But perhaps in time . . . He frowned at that idea.
She did not fit any conventional idea of a housekeeper, yet she performed her duties in an exemplary fashion; she got on well with the entire staff; and—and too many things did not add up. Should he challenge her? Or would she eventually trust him as she seemed to trust his brother?
Kate avoided making a decision about attending the Midsummer celebration. In fact, she wondered if she even had a choice. Lord Kenrick had made his wishes known and he obviously felt he was granting her some sort of boon in urging her to take part. To refuse outright would raise questions she did not want to answer. Instinctively, she felt safer at Kenrick Hall. She sought Robert’s advice on the matter one afternoon when she knew he was alone in the library. He invited her to join him on a long couch where he sat on one end facing her, his arm resting along the back. Fully aware of the impropriety of the housekeeper doing so, she occupied the other corner, twisting her hands in worry.
“I can’t see that you have much choice if you continue to refuse to take Jeremy into your confidence,” was Robert’s blunt response when she laid out her concerns.
“But what if I am recognized?”
