Dark Ruby (Ransomed Jewels)

by Laura Landon

  “Yes. I’ll begin this morning.”

  Cook smiled. “After lunch, he leaves the house. That’s when he calls on the tenants and looks over the land. If the weather’s not fit, he meets with his steward indoors if there’s something to take care of. But most times you’ll find him in the library if the weather isn’t fit to be out-of-doors.”

  “Does he retire early in the evening?” Isobel asked.

  “Mercy no. Not His Lordship. He’s been known to stay up half the night sometimes.”

  Cook’s information puzzled her. “Is there a reason he doesn’t sleep?”

  “There must be,” she answered, “but none of us know what it is. Except for Holmes. And Boswick, His Lordship’s valet. They’ve been with Lord Halverston forever. I don’t think there’s anything about His Lordship that Holmes and Boswick don’t know.”

  Isobel considered the information Cook provided. She made a mental note not to come down to get a book, or a glass of warm milk if she ever had trouble sleeping. The Marquess of Halverston in the middle of the night was the last person she wanted to encounter.

  “Thank you, Cook,” Isobel said. “You’ve been most helpful. Is there anything else about His Lordship that might be helpful for me to know?”

  “Only one thing that I can think of,” Cook said. “But it’s mostly for my benefit that I’m mentioning it.”

  “What is it, Cook?”

  “Occasionally, when Mrs. Franklin would take in His Lordship’s tea, he would mention if there was something special he was hungry for. Then she would tell me, and I would do my best to fix it.”

  Isobel smiled. “I’m sure I can do the same.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Moore,” Cook said. Her rosy cheeks beamed.

  “Thank you, Cook. You’ve been most helpful.”

  Cook rose from her chair and walked to the door. “If there’s anything else, you only need ask.”

  Isobel was ready to dismiss Cook when she remembered the real reason she’d asked to speak with her. “Oh, there is one more thing.” Isobel pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve made a list of household items we need and wanted you to add kitchen supplies you’re running short on."

  “I have a list already started,” Cook said. “I’ll add my list to yours.”

  “Who is customarily in charge of going to the village to get provisions?”

  “Well, it used to be Mrs. Franklin until it got too difficult for her to manage. Then I took over the task. I went every Saturday.”

  “Would you mind continuing in that regard?”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Moore. I’ll take Toby with me when I go down to the village. He can drive the cart and do the loading.”

  “That will be excellent,” Isobel said, thankful Cook would continue to make the necessary trips to the village. The fewer people who saw her, the fewer people who would know she was here. The less chance that gossip could travel back to London.

  The less chance of her father finding her.

  . . .

  Alex turned the page in his ledger and added another entry from the stack of bills his steward, Will Harris, had given him. Since Alex had arrived at Temple Hall a month prior, he’d done little else other than catch up on entering expenses and receipts into the estate ledgers. He usually made the rounds to his several estates each year and updated the books, but he hadn’t made it to Temple Hall last year. Last year had been anything but usual.

  It had been a year from hell.

  Alex tried not to think about last year. He tried not to relive the nightmare he’d barely survived, but there were times when no matter what he did to keep the memories away, he couldn’t keep the hell he’d endured from coming back to haunt him.

  He placed his pen beside the open ledger and rose to his feet. The overwhelming desperation to breathe fresh air attacked him. His need to be in the open where he felt free consumed him. He walked to the French doors that led to the terrace and stood in the open doorway.

  Of the three estates that were part of the Halverston dynasty, Temple Hall was his favorite. Perhaps it was because the estate was the farthest from London, the place he felt most isolated. Unfortunately, because of its distance from London, he came to Temple Hall the least often. When he came, he tried to stay for months rather than weeks. Maybe this time, he’d stay a year.

  He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and looked over the garden. It was early spring and the flowers were just starting to bloom.

  He heard a rap on the door but didn’t turn when it opened. It was no doubt Cook with a tea tray.

  “What sweet did you bring me today, Cook?” he asked out of habit. “One of those delicious peach tarts you served at dinner last night? Or did Holmes sneak down during the night and eat the last of them?”

  “I believe you’re in luck, my lord. Cook must have hidden at least one where Holmes couldn’t find it.”

  Alex spun to the sound of a voice that was definitely not Cook’s. “Excuse me, Mrs. Moore. If I had looked before I spoke, I would have realized you don’t look at all like Cook.”

  She smiled. “Nor can I bake like Cook.”

  Alex couldn’t help but return her smile. There was a twinkle in Lady Isobel’s eyes when she spoke. It exaggerated her beauty. Although from the severe style she wore her hair, it was obvious that she was trying to hide any complimentary features that might draw attention to her most agreeable aspect.

  “Cook does have a gift,” he answered. “I’ve often considered ordering her to come to London with me, but I knew not only would she refuse, but if I did manage to convince her to come with me, all my acquaintances would do their best to steal her away from me as soon as they tasted one of her culinary delights.”

  Lady Isobel laughed.

  The sound was glorious. It was rich and sincere. Like a song. It had been so long since he’d heard anything as pleasant.

  Alex stepped back into the room and walked to the table where Lady Isobel had placed the tea tray. He sat while she poured.

  “Please, join me,” he said, pointing at the tea service.

  “I rather think—”

  He raised his hand to stop her protest. “Mrs. Franklin often joined me for a cup of tea. She usually used our time together to fill me in on the latest gossip amongst the staff, or give me an opportunity to request something I was hungry for. Then, she’d tempt me with hints of what Cook intended to surprise me with for dessert.”

  The lady hesitated as if she still wasn’t sure having tea with him was proper, then sat in the chair opposite him.

  The manner in which she poured her tea indicated her upbringing. She was a lady in every sense of the word.

  “So, what is the latest gossip from below stairs?”

  “Nothing of great import, I’m afraid. Other than the teasing Toby and Nell took this morning after they were seen holding hands last night. And the excitement shared by the staff on the upcoming fair.”

  “There’s to be a fair?” Alex hadn’t heard that there was to be a fair.

  “Yes, my lord. In a few weeks. It’s a traveling fair that will be here for only one night.”

  “Then, if it’s agreeable with you, perhaps we can give the staff the afternoon and evening off,” he suggested.

  “I can think of nothing that would please the staff more,” she answered with a smile on her face. “There’s rumored to be a fortune-teller with the caravan, and the female staff are already saving their coins to have their fortunes read.”

  Alex studied her and experienced a slight shift in his chest he couldn’t explain. “I’ll provide a shilling to hand out to each of the staff before the fair so the ones who want can have their fortunes read or purchase a trinket if they like.”

  He took a bite of the peach tart on his plate, then took a sip of tea before it cooled. When he lifted his head, he locked his gaze on the smile on her face.

  The excitement in her eyes mirrored the expression he knew he’d see on the faces of each of his staff as they left f
or the fair with a shilling in their pocket.

  “The staff will appreciate your generosity, my lord.”

  “The staff at Temple Hall has been exemplary. There is little I desire that they don’t see to.” He suddenly wondered if Lady Isobel thought the same. “How have you found things, my lady? Do you feel comfortable here?”

  A frown creased her brow. “Please remember not to use my title, my lord. You must acquire the habit of calling me by the name I am using.”

  “You’re correct, Mrs. Moore. I will endeavor to do better.” Alex placed his plate on the table in front of him. “But you didn’t answer my question, Mrs. Moore. How have you found things?”

  “You have a well-run house, my lord. I feel very comfortable. The staff is highly trained and quite devoted to you.”

  “I know they are,” he admitted, “although I don’t understand why. I’m not here that often, and when I am, I’m seldom in their company.”

  “Perhaps simply asking Thomas about his family when you see—”

  Alex stopped her words with a lift of his hand. He was confused. “We don’t have anyone named Thomas in our employ, Mrs. Moore.”

  The smile on her lips broadened, and the twinkle in her eyes stopped him short.

  “That’s correct, my lord. The fact that you know each and every one of your staff by name is one of the reasons they are so fond of you. That you ask about their families is no doubt another. And when I inform them that you have given them all the day off for the fair and an extra coin to spend as they want, they’ll worship you even more.”

  “I think you are trying to work your way into my good graces, Mrs. Moore,” he teased. Her surprise was obvious, and Alex smiled because their easy banter came so easily.

  “I didn’t realize I was out of your good graces, my lord.”

  He laughed. “You aren’t, Mrs. Moore. You aren’t at all. Now, back to my original question. Is there anything I can do to ease your transition from lady of your father’s manor house to housekeeper at Temple Hall?”

  “No, my lord. Everything is more than satisfactory.”

  She rose from her chair, seeming to silently chastise herself for having stayed so long.

  “Oh yes, there is one question I told Cook I would ask. She wondered if you had any preference for your evening meal.”

  Alex thought for several moments, contemplating whether he ought to choose something that might pique the palate of a lovely lady. “Tell Cook I have been hungry for her delectable braised beef. And perhaps an apple pie.” He smiled. “Yes, apple pie sounds perfect.”

  “I’ll tell her, my lord.”

  Mrs. Moore bobbed a polite curtsy, then left the room.

  When she was gone, Alex stared at the closed door and tried to evaluate the decision he’d made to allow Lady Isobel to remain in his home as his housekeeper. The ramifications would be disastrous if Society discovered that she’d lived here unchaperoned. Yet the penalty would be a hundred times worse if she returned to London and was forced to marry the Duke of Balsam.

  Alex knew what it was like to be held captive without hope of escape. He knew what it had been like to be beaten until you thought you might die.

  He knew how terrified he’d been every time the two men imprisoning him entered the room. Knew that he’d never recover from the horrendous things they’d done to him.

  Chapter 6

  Isobel couldn’t sleep. She tossed from one side of the bed to the other, searching for that perfect spot that would allow her to drift off but not finding it. For a long stretch of time, she refused to open her eyes, thinking that if she had nothing to focus on, her mind would empty until she was so bored she would eventually fall asleep.

  But the more she struggled to find that state of unconsciousness, the more awake she became. Finally, she threw back the covers and pushed herself from the bed.

  She had a book on the table beside her bed, but she wasn’t interested in reading. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the words in a book. Not when she couldn’t stop thinking about the Marquess of Halverston.

  He intrigued her like no other man had before. He interested her like no one she’d ever met. He was nothing like her father. It was impossible to think that they both belonged to the same class.

  She couldn’t imagine her father being thoughtful enough of his staff that he’d consider giving them an extra shilling so they could enjoy themselves at a fair. Nor did her father know the names of any of his staff, except perhaps their butler, and his valet.

  Her father was as different from Lord Halverston as sharp was from dull. She doubted her father gave a thought to the servants who cleaned his house or cooked his food. She doubted he considered them human beings, but more like slaves. The only time he noticed any of them was when one of them failed to meet his demands.

  Lord Halverston was so very different. Tossing out a fictitious employee named Thomas had been a test to see if she was correct in her assumption that he knew each and every person in his employ on a first-name basis. He did. She wondered if even one member of the ton could boast the same.

  She lifted her robe from the foot of the bed and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Then, she took a cover from the bed and settled into the oversized chair beside the window.

  She thought of sneaking down to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk, but refused to risk running into His Lordship. Since Holmes had put her in a room on the same floor as the marquess, it wasn’t unusual to hear him come to bed or leave his room at all hours of the night.

  She brought her feet up on the chair and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  No one spoke about the reason His Lordship had difficulty sleeping. It was evident they knew he was bothered by something, but no one would say what that reason was. Perhaps they didn’t know. Whatever it was, it must be a tragedy he’d suffered for it to bother him so.

  Isobel struggled with the emotions unearthed by merely thinking of him. She knew her thoughts shouldn’t turn to the Marquess of Halverston as often as they did. Nor should she be having such personal thoughts. She could never allow him to mean anything to her.

  He’d given her refuge and allowed her to remain in his home. He’d protected her from the fate her father intended for her. But she couldn’t remain here forever. Only until she reached her majority. Only until she was free of her father’s demands.

  Until then, she would remain detached from him. It was important to prevent him from becoming involved in this. She knew what Society would demand if she was discovered living in his home without a chaperone. She would never force that upon him.

  She wondered how long she could risk staying before it became necessary to leave. The closer she came to her majority, the safer she would be. But she still had months left before that would happen in late June.

  At times like this, her birthday seemed an eternity away.

  She pulled the cover around her shoulders and rested her chin on her knees. That’s when she heard it.

  It was difficult to identify the sound at first. The low keening moan resembled a growl. Or perhaps the pitiful roar of a creature in pain.

  Initially, she thought the heartrending moans came from outside. Perhaps the howls of an animal caught in a trap. Then she heard it again. The cries of anguish hadn’t come from outside, but inside the house. And not that far away.

  Isobel pushed herself from the chair and walked across the room. When she reached the door, she quietly opened it and stepped out into the hall.

  The corridor was empty. Faint beams of moonlight filtered through the windows from either end of the passageway. The shadowy beams lit the hallway barely enough to see, but Isobel knew what obstacles would hinder her progress.

  She took several steps forward, then paused. The house was quiet, and she considered that she must have imagined the noise. She turned to retreat to her room when she heard it again. The howl was a muffled moan of a soul in torment.

  Even though a voice told her to stay where sh
e was, her feet carried her forward.

  She made her way down the hall, stopping only when she reached a faint light that shone from a partially open doorway.

  The cry came again, followed by muffled commands in a firm voice.

  Isobel reached the room and pushed on the door enough to see inside.

  “Wake up, my lord,” Lord Halverston’s valet said as he shook the marquess’s shoulders. “It’s only a nightmare, my lord.”

  The Marquess of Halverston’s arm swung out and clipped the man on the shoulder.

  The valet struggled to remain on his feet, then righted himself and shook Lord Halverston again. “Wake up, my lord!” he commanded in a stronger voice.

  The man on the bed stilled, then sat upright. “No!”

  The Marquess of Halverston clasped his hands to either side of his head, then released a low, agonizing groan.

  Isobel stepped away from the open doorway so she wouldn’t be seen, but she couldn’t force herself to leave. A painful knot settled in the pit of her stomach and refused to ease. He’d been in such pain. In such torment. She wanted to rush to him and wrap her arms around his shoulders to comfort him. But that wasn’t possible.

  “Did I . . . hurt you?” Lord Halverston said on a gasp.

  “No, my lord. You woke in time.”

  Isobel heard shifting from inside the room followed by the shuffling of footsteps. The marquess had risen from his bed and was dressing.

  She quietly made her way back to her room, then softly closed the door. With her ear pressed against the wood, she waited.

  Isobel listened as heavy footsteps came down the hall, moved past her door, then faded toward the stairs. After a little while, a door closed. And latched.

  He’d locked himself in his study.

  Isobel lay back down on the bed and pulled the covers up beneath her chin. A painful weight pressed against her chest. The Marquess of Halverston was a man in torment.

  If only she knew what she could do to help him . . .

  . . . as he’d helped her.

  . . .

  Isobel rose early the following morning. After witnessing Lord Halverston’s disturbing nightmare, it had been impossible for her to fall asleep. She wondered how long he’d suffered from such violent episodes. What had happened to cause them?