“We don’t know him,” her sister repeated. “Honestly, Rose, where has your good sense gone?”
“The rain melted it away.” But she sent her sister a pointed look. “And it’s not as if you haven’t behaved in a rash manner before, am I right?”
Lily had the good graces to blush. “Be that as it may, if he dares to harm anyone—”
“I will be the first to send him away.” But she believed that Mr. Donovan—or Lord Ashton—was a good man at heart. And she could not deny that he had awakened her sense of adventure, making her want to go riding each morning. He needed help and advice, both of which she could provide.
“Supper will be served within the hour,” Lily reminded her. “Do you honestly expect us to dine with him? Or will he eat among the servants?”
Rose hadn’t thought of that. Though she was tempted to order Fulton to bring Mr. Donovan to their table, it would likely cause an outcry from the staff.
“I suppose he should eat with the staff or alone in his room,” she answered. “Until we know his identity for certain, it would not be wise to disrupt the order of our household.”
But, even so, Rose wondered about the mysterious Iain Donovan. Was he indeed an earl? Or was he merely a liar?
The next day, there was still no sign of Lady Wolcroft. Iain learned that Lady Rose’s mother had been convalescing after a brief illness. At least there would be no danger of her wandering off today. It would give him the opportunity to seek his belongings from the mischievous Master Beauregard. The boy had been given adequate time to return them.
Iain poured water into the basin and washed his face and hands. This morning, he planned to pay a call on Beauregard’s father. But Sir Lester might not receive him, given the state of Iain’s bedraggled clothing—that is, unless Lady Rose accompanied him. He decided to invite her along.
After he finished getting dressed, he rubbed the cat’s ears by way of farewell. Moses purred and butted his head against Iain’s hand.
He left the garret and walked down the narrow flights of stairs until he reached the kitchen. The housekeeper was busy directing the cook on what to serve at breakfast, and the smell of eggs made his mouth water.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, savoring dreams of hot food. In his own kitchen, they’d had to lock the doors and bar the windows, for starving tenants roamed freely across Ireland and would not hesitate to kill those who had supplies. Iain had worn a revolver at his side, morning and night. He’d also ordered the cook to hide a great deal of the food, and he’d kept a tight inventory over what was saved and what was consumed.
His first responsibility was to his own tenants, not strangers. And yet, nothing had been more difficult than turning away those in need. Because of his rationing, they’d survived the first year of famine. It was too soon to tell if this year would be any different, but he hoped the harvest would improve.
Iain bowed to the housekeeper and sent her a warm smile. “Good morning to you, Mrs. Marlock.”
“Off wi’ ye.” She handed him a bowl of porridge and pointed toward a long table, where several of the servants were eating quickly. “When ye’ve finished with that, go out and help Nelson with the horses.”
He didn’t bother correcting her assumption that he was here as a servant, but instead accepted the food and went to sit at the table. Hattie was finishing her own dish of porridge, scraping the bottom of the bowl. Her eyes narrowed at him, but she gave him a nod of acknowledgment and passed him the honey. It was a start, he supposed.
“When you help your mistress to dress, would you be so good as to ask Lady Rose if she’s wanting to take a morning ride?” Iain ventured.
The maid sent him a curious stare. “She’s not going to ride with you, sir.”
Iain wasn’t so certain, given the way Lady Rose had enjoyed her ride the previous evening. “I need to pay a call upon Beauregard’s father, Sir Lester. Tell her that Calvert can accompany us.” But even as he offered the words, he doubted if the footman would agree. Calvert seemed to despise him, as if he were responsible for Lady Rose’s venture into the rain.
He took a bite of the porridge with honey, and despite it being too thick, he didn’t care. Too many families would fight for a bowl such as this. He ate every bite slowly, and the maid stood from the table.
“I will give her the message, Mr. Donovan, but she won’t come.” Hattie picked up her bowl and brought it over to wash. “Lady Rose needs to rest and take care of her mother. Especially after the spell Lady Penford had. She’s not left her bed since, and that’s a good thing, to my way of thinking.”
“Will she be all right?”
“I suppose.” The maid shrugged. “It’s best if she stays in bed, but she’s not been eating as much as she should. I’m about to bring her a tray.”
Iain hoped Lady Penford would indeed improve, though her lack of appetite was worrisome. “Give Lady Rose my message about riding, and tell her if she cannot, that I understand why.” He stood up from the table and added, “Would you be having paper and a pen anywhere about? I should like to write to my family.”
“In the desk over there,” Hattie responded. But her expression turned curious. “You can read and write, then?”
“I can.” He’d been educated at Trinity and had studied mathematics, as well as a bit of law. His mother had sent him away as soon as he was of age, but he’d been grateful for the schooling. It had helped him to be successful at managing the estate after Michael died of consumption.
“I can give your letter to Mr. Fulton, and he’ll post it for you,” she instructed.
“Thank you, Hattie.” Iain crossed the room and opened the desk, where he found a pen, ink, and paper. He brought it over to the table and uncorked the ink, dipping the pen inside. He wrote to his sisters, informing them of all that had happened and his plans for marrying an English bride. If necessary, Colleen and Sybil might be able to aid him by sending proof of his identity.
From the corner of the room, he was aware of Hattie staring at him while he wrote. The maid appeared fascinated, and he tried not to be distracted by her presence.
He paused with his pen, wondering if he dared to write anything to his mother. She had made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. He’d never understood why she hated him so, but in the letter, he ended with: Give Mother my regards.
After he finished the note, he wrote a second letter to Lady Wolcroft, in the hopes that she would soon return from Bath. He explained his situation and asked for her assistance in finding an appropriate wife when they went to London.
He blotted the ink and folded the paper, then looked up at the maid. “I thought you were going to take a tray to Lady Penford?”
“I—I was. I mean, I am,” Hattie stammered. “But you really can write. I thought you were lying, because, well, you’re Irish.”
“I am, yes.” Did everyone believe him to be a liar? And she had spoken of his nationality as if he bore a rare disease.
The maid shook her head in wonder and held out her hand for the letters.
Iain gave them to her, and Hattie put them in the pocket of her apron. He picked up his soiled dishes and stood, unsure of where to put his porridge bowl and spoon. The maid smiled and said, “Put them by the basin and I’ll wash them for you, once I’ve seen to Lady Penford’s breakfast.”
He agreed and thanked her before leaving the kitchen. The servants continued filling trays and bustling about their duties, hardly casting him a single look as he headed outside.
He walked through the gardens, and on the way to the stables, he spied tulips that were hanging their heads from the rainstorm this morning. He thought of how Lady Rose had lifted her face to the rain, reveling in the storm. It seemed that she was trying to savor every last drop of joy out of life. He decided to cut a few flowers for her, and perhaps some for Lady Penford as well.
Deeper into the garden he wandered, searching for a pair of shears to cut some flowers. At last, he found an ancient
shed beside a tall brick wall. Inside, he found an assortment of gardening tools, shears, and a rusted wheelbarrow that looked as if it hadn’t seen the outside world since 1775.
The sight of the broken-down cart made him think of Rose—shut away, pushed into a corner, and forgotten. It wasn’t right for her to be treated that way, only brought out from time to time. He couldn’t understand why she relied so heavily on a servant to carry her everywhere. It seemed that she ought to find a means of being independent, to go wherever she pleased.
He picked up the shears and left the shed. A climbing rosebush covered the brick wall on the outer edge of the garden, and he decided the new budding roses would welcome, if he could find any blooming. He walked over to inspect the blossoms. When he lifted up one of the branches, he was surprised to see a small door hidden beneath the brambles. He turned the knob, but it was locked. At first, he’d believed the wall was simply a boundary between the maze of hedges and the open lawn . . . but why would there be a door? Something must be hidden behind it, but he couldn’t tell what it was without climbing the wall.
Did Rose know it was there? Or even Lady Penford, for that matter?
It’s not your concern, he reminded himself. He was not here to mind the errant Lady Penford, or give blossoms to her and her daughter.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he was losing himself in this midst of this nightmare. He could not afford to waste any more time. He needed to reclaim his identity, with or without the help of Lady Rose.
Iain set down the shears, striding toward the stables. Within a quarter of an hour, he had saddled his horse, Darcy, despite the protests of Nelson, the coachman. But before he could leave, Hattie came rushing toward him.
“Mr. Donovan, she says she’ll come.” The maid was out of breath and she took a moment to settle. “Lady Rose. She wants to go riding, if you’ll prepare her horse.”
“Not with the likes of you, lad,” the coachman protested.
Iain straightened and regarded Nelson. He was done with being treated like a servant. “I am not your lad, and if the lady wishes to go riding with me, that is her decision. Not yours.”
The coachman’s face turned bright red. “Now, see here—”
Iain ignored the man’s bluster and returned to the stables, where he busied himself preparing horses for Lady Rose and her chaperone. All the while, Nelson continued blistering his ears about how improper this was and how Iain was going to be sacked.
He ignored all of it, leading both horses from the stable to join his own mount. Soon enough, he spied Lady Rose, carried in the arms of Calvert. She wore a green riding habit and a matching hat with a feather.
“Good morning, Mr. Donovan.” She smiled warmly at him, even as her footman glared. “I must thank you for the invitation to go riding. I’ve been wanting to leave the house for a few hours.”
“How is your mother?” he asked.
Lady Rose inclined her head. “Somewhat better. She had some difficulty speaking, after that spell, but today she seems to be feeling more like herself.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Calvert brought Lady Rose over to her horse and assisted her onto the sidesaddle. He shot Iain a disgruntled look, but before he could mount the third horse, Lady Rose stopped him. “Calvert, I have asked Hattie to accompany me as my chaperone.”
At that, Iain noticed that the maid was leaning against the stable, lurking in the shadows. He beckoned for her to come forward, but she sent a wary look toward the footman, whose eyes narrowed with annoyance.
“Lady Rose, you can’t do this,” Calvert pronounced. “What if you are invited to take tea? You will be needing someone to bring you inside, and Hattie’s not strong enough to carry you.” His tone was filled with triumph, as if Lady Rose hadn’t thought of that.
Iain intervened and offered, “I can bring Lady Rose inside, if it is necessary. However, I do not anticipate that we will be there for very long.”
Lady Rose seemed to be in agreement. “Since I have arranged for Mr. Donovan to stay at Penford for a brief time, I am certain he can help me. Your presence is not required.”
Her footman was already protesting. “But it’s wrong and improper, Lady Rose. I cannot condone this.”
“Then tell my mother,” she countered. “I am certain she will arrange for me to be punished for your imagined misdeeds.”
At that, Iain turned away to hide his smile. One could tell Lady Penford anything, and she would forget the tale within an hour.
Calvert sent Hattie a dark look as he helped her onto her horse. “If owt goes amiss, Hattie, you ride back as if Hades’s demons are chasing you.”
The maid nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“I will be quite well, thank you, Calvert.” Lady Rose straightened in her saddle, and began leading the way. She guided her horse toward the gravel pathway, and Iain drew his horse alongside hers.
“I am sorry about that.” She glanced back at Calvert and admitted, “He has very strong opinions about what I should or shouldn’t do.”
“You could choose a different footman,” he suggested, keeping his voice low. “If he does not care for his duties, then why should he continue as your escort?” Iain didn’t feel it was right for the footman to behave like her father.
“Calvert has been a member of our household for many years.” She grimaced. “And his duties concerning me should only be temporary, until I can walk again.”
The expression on her face dimmed, as if she didn’t want to imagine a future where she was bound to the whims of a footman. “Never mind him for now. Hattie said you wanted to speak with Beauregard again.”
Iain pointed toward the main road. “Indeed. Or better yet, his father, if Sir Lester is there. I could use your help in speaking with him.” He hoped that she would intervene and help him gain entrance to the estate. He was well aware that his tattered clothing would make any butler turn him away.
“Why would you need to return to Sir Lester’s house?” she asked. “Hasn’t Beauregard already been punished for stealing your clothes?”
Iain rode alongside her in the direction of Beauregard’s house, with Hattie trailing behind. “He didn’t return my signet ring or the letter I had with me.”
She frowned at that. “I thought he didn’t have them. He said he found your horse wandering. What if he’s telling the truth?”
“I don’t think so.” Yet he couldn’t deny that the boy’s actions had been unusual. Iain had no memory of how he had lost his horse or his belongings, but it did seem unlikely that a boy of thirteen could manage such a feat, even with the help of another boy.
There was only one way to find out. “I want to pay a call on his father. It’s possible that Beauregard knows who has my ring.”
Lady Rose sent him a thoughtful look. “And you need me to help you.”
“Aye.” He glanced down at his attire and admitted, “I cannot say that I look like much of an earl, do I? They wouldn’t be letting me past the servants’ entrance, much less the front door.”
A secretive smile slid over her face, and he felt like a prized bull being inspected. “You should have allowed me to help you prepare for this call. I could have loaned you my brother’s clothing.”
“It’s the lad’s fault that I look this way, isn’t it?” He flicked the reins of his horse. “The boy stole what belongs to me, and I’ll be having it back.”
“But what if he didn’t steal your signet ring?” she insisted. “You can hardly ask his father to punish him if he never took it. It might be that your servants knocked you from your horse and stole your belongings. They would be more desperate than a thirteen-year-old boy, I should think.”
She might be right, and yet, the evidence suggested otherwise. The boy had been found with his coat and horse. “I will speak with him and find out more.” That was reasonable enough, he thought.
“So long as you do not interrogate him roughly, I suppose that will be fine.” She sent him a sidelong lo
ok as if she expected Iain to string the boy up by his heels.
“Are you expecting me to have him horsewhipped?”
“No, of course not.” But her tone suggested otherwise. Iain slowed the pace of his horse, eyeing her with suspicion, and she added, “Well, you do seem rather angry.”
“I can’t imagine why.” He made no effort to hide his sarcasm. “I’ve only had my identity stolen.”
“I’m certain we will put it all to rights,” she said calmly. “Now, then. Instead of worrying about your signet ring, why don’t we talk about something else?”
“Like the weather?”
“That would be impossibly boring. No, I think you should tell me about why you’ve come all the way to England in search of a bride.” A sparkle came into her eyes. “Did a woman break your heart?”
She spoke as if she were digging up gossip, and in spite of himself, he smiled. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but no. My heart is still in one piece, to be sure.”
“Surely you left someone behind,” she insisted. “Was there never a woman in your life?”
He shrugged. “Truthfully, I could have married any lady of my choosing in County Mayo.”
She blinked at that. “You seem rather confident, sir. Was it because of your vast estate?”
His smile faded slightly. “Ashton is large enough, aye. But no. It was because I had food stored.”
Her expression turned thoughtful. “You may find it more difficult in England, I fear.”
His crooked smile turned wicked. “Not necessarily.” By way of changing the subject, he remarked, “Though I suppose I’m not the sort of gentleman the ladies of London are wanting.”
Lady Rose motioned for her maid to fall back a few paces. Then she drew their horses a little farther from Hattie before slowing to a halt. “You will need help before you are ready for a ballroom, that is true,” she agreed. Her updo was damp from the earlier rain, a few tendrils escaping her bonnet. Iain found himself wanting to tuck one behind her ear but he refrained from touching her.
Good Earls Don't Lie Page 9
