by Deb Marlowe
Her eyes twinkled in good humour. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if we might find some common ground as well.’ She looked over her shoulder at the books Chloe had spread over a table and her spectacles lying conspicuously on top. ‘What was it you were working on, before you were so understandably distracted?’
Chloe took another step back towards her work. ‘Lord Marland wishes to acquire an elusive weapon, a spear. I should perhaps—’
She was interrupted by a clash of steel and a low grunt that echoed up from below. Lord Marland’s opponent had sunk to one knee. But the fight was far from finished. Though his sword was locked with the marquess’s, Sir Thomas suddenly held a wicked-looking dirk in his other hand. He aimed a vicious swing at Lord Marland’s knee.
‘Oh, that’s hardly cricket, is it?’ the countess cried.
Her heart flopping like a fish, Chloe gasped as her employer jumped back, the blade missing him by a hair. Sir Thomas lunged to his feet and the battle raged on, as fiercely as ever.
‘They are marvellous, aren’t they?’ Lady Ashton murmured. ‘Just look at Braedon. Fully engaged, utterly alive. Battle brings it out of him.’ She sighed. ‘It was ever thus. It is only in these moments that he allows himself to step out of the shadows and into the light.’
Chloe said nothing, though part of her burned to encourage the countess, to push and pry and question. The strange feeling was back again, alive in her gut, urging her to give in to the temptation. But she shouldn’t. She knew Lord Marland would find it intrusive. And therein lay her particular genius.
Chloe knew how to blend, to fade. Transforming herself into what was needed most was a strategy that had allowed her to survive all the difficult periods of her life. It was just such a tactic that had convinced the marquess to grant her the secure haven of this position. And after so long, she knew what Lord Marland wished for and needed her to be. So she did what she’d become so adept at doing: she swallowed her curiosity, tucked away all of her wonder and excitement and unslaked desire. She was Hardwick. Calm, detached and efficient.
Safe.
She breathed deeply. The warriors outside had reached a détente. They’d discarded their weapons and were pouring tall drinks as they relived their skirmish.
‘Enough of them!’
Chloe started when the countess reached out to tug her away from the window.
‘Come, Miss Hardwick. Let us spend some time getting to know each other.’
‘I’m sorry, my lady, but your brother was most insistent about the spear…’ Chloe began to make her way back to her work-strewn table.
‘He always is,’ Lady Ashton said with a roll of her eyes. ‘But answer a question for me—when was the last time you took an afternoon for yourself?’
She hesitated, pursing her lips. She had taken a day, spent the morning walking along the seashore and the afternoon shopping for essentials in the village. But when had that been? ‘Months ago,’ she admitted.
‘Well, you are overdue then, are you not?’ The countess’s smile was pure wickedness. ‘I can be quite insistent, too, you know.’
Chloe glanced again at the books and correspondence awaiting her. Her duty was clear. Yet those other voices were calling, too, and for the first time she wondered if duty—and safety—was enough. ‘Perhaps for a short while.’
‘Come!’ Lady Ashton was triumphant. ‘I want to hear it all—how you came to be my brother’s right hand. And perhaps I shall share with you how I escaped Denning when I cajoled Lord Ashton into asking for my hand.’ She waggled her fingers and extended her arm.
Pushing aside her last reservation, Chloe took it and allowed herself to be led away.
* * *
‘And that,’ the countess said later, her voice full of laughter, ‘is how I convinced Lord Ashton that he could not bear the thought of life without me.’
Chloe only kept her jaw from dropping by taking a sip of her tea. Among the servants at Denning, Lady Ashton had the reputation of a certain…instability. But she quite liked the countess. She and Lord Marland’s sister were comfortably ensconced in the lady’s apartments with a tray from the kitchens. ‘I don’t know how you dared,’ she said after she’d got over her shock.
‘In truth, I had him in a frenzy by that time. He was nearly half-mad with desire and took only the slightest of pushes.’ Lady Ashton’s smile faded and Chloe caught the hint of sadness that coloured her expression. ‘But enough about me. I want to learn about you.’ She looked her over closely. ‘Months since you’ve taken a day off?’ Impishness chased any lingering melancholy away as she leaned forwards. ‘You must enjoy your position enormously. Your father held it before you, did he not?’
Chloe nodded. ‘He met Lord Marland abroad, years ago, and was hired as your brother’s factor. He travelled, doing research and acquiring pieces. When the marquess decided to begin building the new wing to house his collection, he asked Father to come and take charge.’
‘But where were you while your father was working overseas for so long?’
‘He was my stepfather, actually,’ Chloe confessed. She ran her finger around the edge of her cup. Surely it couldn’t hurt to share this small bit of her history. The countess could discover any of the same information if she asked her brother. ‘But he treated me as his own and we were very close. After my mother died, he was distraught. He wanted to leave England for a while, to help him forget. I went to school. He wrote me the loveliest letters, filled with the sights he’d seen and the treasures he’d found. When I was finished with school myself, I took a teaching position at the establishment.’
‘How happy you must have been when he returned.’
She couldn’t suppress the smile that bloomed at the thought. ‘Ecstatic, I should say. We had not seen each other in years. I was thrilled to leave my position and to come here to act as his assistant.’ She looked up. ‘It was as if we’d never parted. I’ll always be grateful to your brother for those lovely months I shared with my father before his death.’
‘How lucky you were,’ Lady Ashton said wistfully. ‘I rather thought that Ashton was my chance at such a relationship. We had such a wonderfully satisfactory courtship and after our marriage we grew even closer.’ With a heavy sigh she set down her tea. ‘Thick as thieves, we were, so impatient to get back to each other at the end of the day. I finished his sentences and I vow that he knew what I was going to say before I could finish thinking it…’ Her words trailed off and her gaze came unfocused. Chloe knew she’d left these rooms altogether. She sipped her tea and left the countess to her memories.
But in a dazzling change of mood, Lady Ashton whirled and fixed a determinedly hopeful smile upon her. ‘But the bloom does fade. A common enough situation, I would guess.’ She leaned forwards. ‘What would you recommend, Miss Hardwick, for a couple grown distant from each other?’
Chloe’s cup rattled in the saucer. ‘Why ask me?’
‘My brother’s letters are full of praise for you, dear. He raves about your uncanny skill at reading people, at your ability to handle any situation or solve any problem. I thought you might have a suggestion that could help me.’
She flushed. She shouldn’t answer, shouldn’t meddle. Almost without thought, she ran her fingers down the row of buttons on her jacket. She’d forgotten herself, crawled too far out of her shell. She needed to get back.
Yet the countess’s pain was apparent and remarkably like her brother’s. She pursed her lips together.
‘You miss him, it is obvious,’ she abruptly blurted. ‘I’d wager that he feels the same. Perhaps he only needs a reminder of the closeness that you once shared.’
‘A reminder?’ Lady Ashton arched a brow. ‘I remind him quite regularly, Miss Hardwick.’
Chloe tried not to flush. ‘Something only you would know, I meant.’
The countess sat back with
a frown. ‘A secret?’
‘A secret wish, perhaps. A regret? Something that you would understand the significance of, more than anyone else.’
The frown deepened and her eyes narrowed. ‘That is a very interesting notion, Miss Hardwick. I shall set my mind to it.’
Several long moments of silence passed. Chloe
quietly set her cup down. She started to rise, but jumped when Lady Ashton gasped out loud.
‘I know just the thing!’ The countess had gone pink with excitement. ‘It couldn’t be simpler—or more perfect! Miss Hardwick, you are brilliant!’
‘I am truly glad I could help, my lady.’ Chloe got to her feet. ‘I should get back now, though. Thank you for a lovely visit.’
‘Oh, you must forgive me once more.’ Lady Ashton rose as well. ‘First I steal you away and then I neglect you. But you must not worry that Braedon will berate you, Miss Hardwick. I doubt we’ll see either hide or hair of him until dinner and then we shall present a united front. He’ll be helpless against the two of us.’
Chloe paused and placed her hands on the back of her chair. ‘Dinner?’
‘Indeed. The vicar and his wife are to join us. And Sir Thomas, of course.’
Chloe bit her lip. ‘I’m afraid that I do not normally join the company at dinner.’
The countess frowned. ‘How do you normally take your meals?’
‘On a tray in my room. Or sometimes with the housekeeper in her apartment.’ She shifted. ‘I’ve found that the servants are not really comfortable having me in their hall.’
The countess’s eyes flashed. ‘I see that I’ve come not a moment too soon. Well. This will not do.’ Her smile welcomed Chloe in as a conspirator. ‘Pull your best dress out of your closet, Miss Hardwick. Dust it off. You shall be at the formal table tonight. I need you to even out the numbers.’
A mad surge of disappointment froze Chloe to the spot. ‘I cannot, my lady.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘I have no dress to wear. All of my garments are…’ She made a small gesture down the length of her protective coat and heavy skirt.
‘What, all?’ Shock had apparently robbed the countess of further words.
Chloe nodded.
‘How can this be? No—never mind.’ Lady Ashton was already across the room and pulling the chord to summon a maid. She appeared to become more agitated by the minute.
Chloe instinctively moved to soothe her. ‘Don’t fret, please. No one here will fuss over uneven numbers. Or perhaps I can send a footman with an invitation to one of the other neighbourhood ladies…’
‘Stop right there, Miss Hardwick!’ The countess’s tone was firm. ‘How efficient you are. No wonder my brother values you so highly. You step right in and do what needs to be done, don’t you?’
‘That is a basic, if sweeping, description of my duty, my lady.’ Chloe’s mouth twisted wryly.
‘Not today it isn’t.’
A soft knock sounded on the door. Daisy entered, but the countess waved her out. ‘No, I need Brigita, please. Have her come at once.’ She crossed the room to close the door behind the maid, but her dresser was already hovering outside in the passage. ‘Brigita! Come in, I am in dire need of your wisdom.’ Her foreign serving woman entered and the countess firmly shut the door on the befuddled maid even as she swept her hand in Chloe’s direction.
The pair of them took up a side-by-side stance, identical expressions of displeasure on their faces.
Chloe took a step back. ‘What is it?’
‘What do you think?’ the countess mused. ‘Jewel tones, I should think.’
The formidable Brigita nodded.
‘The dark purple, then.’
‘No, my lady—not with that pearlescent skin and dark hair. She needs the ocean-blue.’ This was said with heavy Germanic finality.
Chloe began to understand what was going on. She took another step back. ‘No, my lady…’ But she paused. Changing her hair had had a measurable effect on the marquess. What might happen if she changed…everything? She looked down at her costume. Could she do it? Step outside of the disguise? Leave herself vulnerable?
Her eyes closed. Images sprang to life in her mind. Lord Marland at practice, all muscle and might. Leaning over her desk, eyes glowing over a renovation. Sitting across the workroom in companionable silence. Gripping her arm and smiling up with warmth and support.
She nearly trembled with sudden yearning. She could do it. Because she wanted all of that again—plus the promise of more. Not so long ago she’d thought that she was grateful to have landed close to happiness. Truly, she was changing inside—because now close wasn’t enough. She wanted to be happy—she wanted to wallow in it. And she quite desperately wanted to make Lord Marland happy, too.
She thought they had a chance at it. A spark did exist between them. She knew it. Just as she knew he had been ignoring it nearly as diligently as she had been urging it to life. A complete change of appearance might be what she needed to blow his resistance to shreds, to obliterate the barriers he’d placed between them from the beginning.
Only one thought gave her pause. To what end? He was a marquess. Would he even consider a relationship with his assistant? She bit her lip. He’d never exhibited any need to live by any strictures except his own. His words to her the other day had certainly encouraged her to look beyond society’s expectations.
‘Oh, yes, Miss Hardwick.’ The countess was waiting, all kindness. ‘This is a momentous day. Not only has my taciturn brother offered me advice, but for perhaps the first time, I am taking it. Today you have been of invaluable help to me.’ Her voice softened. ‘Today you have given me hope.’
All of her new feelings whirled inside of her, urging her on. ‘But what of—?’
‘No.’ Lady Ashton raised a hand. ‘Now I am going to go start my own preparations. You are going to put yourself in Brigita’s hands.’
Chloe wanted to do it. But all of her old instincts still had a voice, too. She might be risking the safety that she’d worked so hard for. ‘What if Lord Marland doesn’t approve?’ It came out in a whisper.
The countess grinned. ‘Approve?’ She ran a practised eye up and down Chloe’s long form. ‘I think that my brother is going to thank us. In fact, I believe he’ll be on his knees before us both.’
Whoosh went her insides, roiling again. That mental image crowned all the others and drowned her worries in a flood of excitement.
‘Come, Miss Hardwick.’ The countess beckoned. ‘It is time for you to step out of the shadows.’
Her words resonated through Chloe, as sharp and loud and long as the strike of a bell. She met Lord Marland’s sister’s eyes and nodded.
Chapter Three
The vicar’s lady was excessively fond of her cats. At least, her incessant ramblings about them made it sound that way to Braedon. Her obsession could not be healthy—he’d learned the hard way, as a child, the dangers of emotional dependence on something so fragile.
On Mrs Goodmond’s other side, Thom tossed back another drink. Unobtrusively, Braedon changed position, trying to wiggle his toes. He couldn’t begrudge Mairi her dinner—not as he’d been the one to suggest both a project and an acquaintance with the vicar’s wife—but he couldn’t help pining for his favourite boots and a pint down at the Hog’s Tail.
He’d just shifted again, seeking relief for his cramped toes, when he saw Thom’s eyes alight. Ah. Mairi must have arrived. He turned towards the door. Now they could be seated and he could rest his aching…
Tight shoes were forgotten as he realised Mairi wasn’t alone. She stood poised just inside the parlour door, another female—a tall, slender beauty—at her side.
Mrs Goodmond fell silent. Thom stepped up close beside him.
‘I thought I was going to have to chang
e your nickname to the Mouldering Marquess, stuck as you’ve been up here, with no opponents or conquests to speak of, but I see that you’ve been holding out on me.’ His sparring partner nudged him with an elbow. ‘Who is she?’
Braedon opened his mouth to inform Thom that he had no idea who the strange woman might be, when his sister drew her forwards to greet the vicar. Just the smallest thing, a change of expression, the fading of nerves into a gentle smile of greeting—but it tilted Braedon’s world right off its axis.
‘Hardwick,’ he breathed. The earth rolled beneath his feet. No. It jerked to a halt, leaving him stumbling on alone.
‘Hardwick?’ scoffed Thom. ‘Nice try, Braedon, but I’m not that gullible.’
Hardwick. It was she. He didn’t know how he could be so certain. He’d never seen his Hardwick smile so widely. He’d never seen her hair shining so richly, left to lie in gleaming sable curls long past the sweet curve of her nape. He only knew that it was Hardwick standing there, as foreign and exotic as an ocean naiad in a gown containing every changing colour of the sea.
Thom let loose a long, low breath. ‘By all that’s holy, that is Hardwick!’ He shot Braedon an accusatory glance and moved to intercept the two women.
Cursing wildly in his head, Braedon made his excuses to the vicar’s wife and followed. Some of the anxiety returned to Hardwick’s expression as he joined the small group.
Good. Some primitive part of him did not want her to be comfortable. Mairi crowed with delight in her handiwork and Thom was at that very moment expressing his own approval of the surprise, but Braedon was feeling unaccountably…furious.
Why? He breathed deeply, pushed back, tried to impose the emotional distance that was such a vital component of his equilibrium, but it fell apart each time he looked at her and the anger in his gut raged a little higher.
Again, he forced himself to consider why. Because the two women had cooked this up between themselves, without his knowledge? Because Thom was acting like a randy stallion who’d just scented a new mare? Or because this was what Hardwick had been hiding all of these months—and he’d never had the faintest idea?
