by Gail McEwen
“ . . . if you still maintain your friendship with the ladies of Rosefarm Cottage.” The phrase mocked him.
Pompous, presumptuous ass, was his next thought. Giving instructions to smooth things over for him — as if that was even possible any more, as if he still had a right to set foot through their door. And now, if he was to try to execute the office given to him, he would be faced with the necessity of first finding out from Miss Tournier whether her mother had been informed of his . . . behaviour.
He resisted the urge to crumple Darcy’s letter and toss it into the dying embers of the fire, emptying his glass in one swift motion instead as more phrases swirled around in his thoughts: “if you should ever decide . . . left with third best . . . ” A disgusted snort escaped from him in the gloom: as if she could be relegated to . . . Before that thought was allowed to proceed any further, he shot to his feet and sent the empty glass into the fireplace instead. The sound of shattering glass was satisfying, and he strode out as quickly as he could make his way among the piles and chaos still reigning in the room, never questioning why he had chosen the library as the place to try to sort out his troubled thoughts.
Those troubled thoughts were not placated by that sudden display of violence, however. When Riemann finally closed the door to his bedchamber, Baugham sank into his chair once again and signalled his relief by letting a huge sigh escape him. He reflected today would have been a better one had he never ventured out into company at all.
Perhaps then he could have avoided jeopardising so much that he could only just admit to himself that he valued. The loss of Mrs Tournier’s friendship and yes, that of her daughter, too. And not only friendship, a business relationship as well. The terrible thought seized him and he had to physically leave his chair not to be paralysed by it. What if she would not come again? What if he had not only driven her away as an acquaintance and friend, but also as an employee? What had he done? Was it not enough to risk her reputation and treat her with disrespect, did he have to force her to leave her source of income as well?
He once again relived the anger, the frustration and tried to understand how he had ended up giving in to inexplicable impulses. He never did that, why this time? Had he really wanted to kiss Miss Tournier or was it something else? If so, what? And what now? What did he want from her now and what was he prepared for? What were his feelings when examined? What were hers when one closer reviewed the case? It was confusing, but how much should one trust one’s impulses in cases like these where reason was wholly absent?
And then, to his great surprise, he remembered the sensation of her being, and the rush to his senses when he realised what he was doing. He shook his head. When such things preyed upon one, it was hard — no, impossible! — to make a fair judgement and decide what was right and true.
He got up and paced the room back and forth to the dark windows, but the air was too cold and he felt exhausted. So he lay back on his bed and tied his arms behind his head.
“But it is of no consequence,” he muttered, “for I promised her it would not happen again . . . ”
Chapter 24
The Letters that Finally Came and the Talk they Necessitated
Morning came finally, after a night in which Holly did not feel that she got any rest at all. For once, she was up before her mother and she quickly and quietly dressed herself and stole down the stairs.
Her night had been spent in confusion. She was engaged to go to Clyne in the morning, and she fought with herself for hours while she tossed and turned in her bed. At times, her Romantic side screamed against the idea of having to face him again — then her Pragmatic side would remind her that Hamish would be waiting and he would not understand if she neglected her promise. Romance cried out that it would be tragic to spend many hours in Lord Baugham’s presence and she would be justified to leave his library in the same turmoil that he had left her mind and emotions.
But, as was usual for Holly, she forced Romance to be still when Pragmatism reminded her that she had entered into an agreement that she must fulfil: there was work to be done and wages to be earned and that was all there was to it.
However, that was not all there was to it, because her ever helpful practical side also reminded her that she must find a way to hide her feelings from him — a skill she had never mastered very well with anyone.
She waited downstairs for as long as she could, but still left for Clyne far too early. She lingered in the immediate grounds outside until she saw Hamish walking in from Nethery Farm. Happy to see his friendly face, she jumped up to meet him.
“Miss Tournier, how’re ye doin’ this mornin’,” he said with his typical grin.
She returned his smile as well as she was able and hooked her arm through his.
“I will be fine, Hamish. It will be fine.”
Hamish’s smile turned into a frown at her answer.
“Oh,” he said, “I’m late, aren’t I? I thought I was early, but I must be late since yer waitin for me?”
“No! Heavens no, Hamish you are not late at all! I am just very early, but I did not wish . . . I thought I would wait for some company before going inside. Shall we see if Mrs McLaughlin has anything left in her kitchen from breakfast before we begin? I hope you are ready to start your studies.”
Hamish happily admitted that he was quite ready to begin and cheerfully led the way into the hall. Taking a deep breath and summoning all her strength, Holly accompanied him through the door, wondering what might await her on the other side. To their great surprise, they almost bumped into Mrs McLaughlin, who seemed to be expecting them.
“Och, there ye are!” she said and placed her duster inside her apron pocket. “Ye’ll be hungry, Hamish, I’ll venture. Come here, first food, then work!”
She gave Miss Tournier a questioning look as she opened the kitchen door and let the smell of apple crumble and apple loaves drift out into the hall.
“Miss?” she asked. “What about ye? Do ye want to join us? There’s plenty of it before his lairdship gets his paws on it, but then ye’ll be hard pressed. I’ve not seen him this morning yet, although I venture he’ll be smoked out of his hiding place soon enough when he gets a snowk of this.”
Holly declined, certain that she would not be able to eat a bite, but she gratefully accepted a cup of tea. Sitting at the table in the warm, comfortable kitchen, she wished she could stay there all day and not have to venture down the hall and into the library.
Then a realisation struck her! Lord Baugham had as much reason to wish to avoid her as she had to wish to avoid him. He must know she would be there, so he would undoubtedly stay away from where he knew she would be working. She felt herself relax as some of the tension of the situation left her.
“On second thought, Mrs McLaughlin, maybe I will have a small piece.”
BAUGHAM HAD BEEN STUDIOUSLY SITTING in his study all morning pouring over the books sent over from Cumbermere. “Quarter Day. The most hideous two words in the English language,” he sighed to no one in particular.
Usually he made it his business to go down to Cumbermere to be present and submit to his steward’s diligence in person. This year, however, Clyne had kept him busy, although in retrospect he realised that it would perhaps have been beneficial to have adhered to tradition. He also did not wish to reflect too closely on just what at Clyne had commanded so much of his undue attention. It was no use anyway. He had spoilt whatever reason he might have had for lingering during those few foolish moments and he really should spend more time thinking about what could be salvaged than . . .
Suddenly he lifted his head from the neglected numbers before him and drew a breath. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his brow. Was it? Yes it was. And it was coming from the kitchen. That decided the issue. He had long been looking for an excuse to take a break from the work he did not want to do and the intrusive thoughts he did not want to dwell upon, and Mrs McLaughlin’s apple loaves were not only an excuse, they were an imperative. She would, of co
urse, be grossly offended if he slighted them in the least, so it was only right that he should interrupt his efforts and pay his respects to her efforts.
No sooner were these thoughts formed than he was down the hall where the enticing smell grew stronger. Baugham smiled and blessed his housekeeper for having the knack to know exactly what he needed at every moment.
But when he opened the kitchen door he was met with more company than Mrs McLaughlin and the steaming treats. For a moment he stood, open mouthed in disbelief. She had come after all! The sudden shock immediately gave way to acute shame. What circumstances, what need must Rosefarm Cottage be facing for her to still continue in his employ after . . . after yesterday? He had put her in a position where she did not even have the choice to snub or distance herself from him. Well then, all that could be done was to make the best of things and not make it any harder than it had to be for her. All these thoughts swirled in the briefest of moments behind a face as blank as a mask.
“Ah!” he said and tried to not make his voice sound flat. “I see have rivals for the loaves.” He smiled tightly at the small party gathered around the kitchen table in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “Please tell me I am not too late.”
Mrs McLaughlin got up and directed him to sit in her chair.
“Of course not! Ye work too hard for me to oversee that,” she said and placed a plate in front of him.
“I am so glad to hear you say that,” Baugham sighed. “You are truly a treasure, Mrs McLaughlin. I have no idea what I would do without you or your apple loaf.”
As soon as she saw him, Holly’s first instinct had been to leave the kitchen as quickly as possible. She had already put down her cup and was beginning to push away from the table when she suddenly stopped and sat back in her chair. She had done nothing wrong. She would not run away.
Composing her features as placidly as possible, she stole a glance in his direction while he was speaking to Mrs McLaughlin. He was his usual calm, polite and charming self — as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Instead of feeling the relief that she logically knew she should feel, she grew angry. How dare he do such a thing and then pretend that he had done nothing! Could he possibly think that she was the kind of girl who would allow such liberties? Was Primmie right, and he was merely looking for a little diversion with the help? Why hadn’t she slapped him?
As she sat, in a turmoil of anger, humiliation and acute discomfort, she suddenly realised that though she should not run away in fear or shame, she would be perfectly justified in leaving for other reasons. She simply did not wish to be in the same room with him.
Every eye turned toward her as she suddenly stood up.
“I believe I will be getting to work. Hamish, I will be waiting to hear your lessons when you are finished here.” She saw the boy’s expression turn to regret as he eyed the second piece of apple loaf Mrs McLaughlin was just putting on his plate, so she added, “No need to hurry.”
She turned to the housekeeper, “Mrs McLaughlin, thank you,” and neither speaking to nor looking at Lord Baugham, she left the kitchen, walked to the library and began furiously pulling books off the shelves. The sooner she could be finished with this project, the better she would like it.
BAUGHAM SAW PERFECTLY WELL THE look of sadness and even disappointment on her face when he had come in. Even more obvious was her stern look as she left. He toyed with his cutlery and teased Hamish for a little while longer before he too got up and made his excuses. As much as he thought they both wanted to leave the appalling incident of his trespasses behind them by not touching upon the subject, it was clear some things still needed to be said.
He knocked on the door and quietly entered, leaving it slightly ajar. She was on the other side of the room, with that sea of books between them, stacking volumes and moving them from shelf to shelf.
“Miss Tournier,” he said in a quiet voice. “Forgive the intrusion. I do not wish to inconvenience you but . . . ”
He cleared his throat and took a few hasty steps closer to her.
“I fear I am completely to blame for disturbing your peace of mind and I should like to assure you that if I thought it would aid you, I would start each of our conversations henceforth with an apology. You certainly deserve nothing less. But I would beg you to believe I will honour your wishes and keep my promise. I could not bear to have you in doubt of my respect for you and appreciation of your work here.”
Holly had much she wanted to say to Lord Baugham or to ask him, but pride and decorum kept her silent on the one question foremost in her thoughts.
“My lord,” she said quietly instead, “please do not feel the need burden yourself — or me — with continued apologies. Yours given yesterday was accepted and I believe for everyone’s sake, the . . . incident . . . should be forgotten so that I might concentrate on my work here in order to be done as soon as possible.”
She turned back to her shelves, but a moment later turned round again and impulsively asked the question that had been turning over in her mind since the day before.
“However, I cannot help . . . I must say . . . At the Fair, my lord, Miss Tristam insinuated that I am perhaps naïve about certain aspects of working in a gentleman’s home. I had thought she was just being unkind . . . but now I begin to wonder if perhaps there is . . . if you have . . . expectations . . . concerning our arrangement.”
A thousand protests sprung to his lips, but he could see in her face that she was debating something within herself and so he waited. Soon she appeared to come to a decision. She lifted her chin and spoke again.
“My lord, have I in ignorance seemed to agree to anything more than organising your library?”
His frown deepened and his folly seemed fresh and doubly treacherous again. Closing his eyes, he let out a breath filled with remorse. As unfortunate as the question was, he had to admit that her concern was legitimate considering the position he had put her in, and he also acknowledged that she was brave to ask it. So he must do his best to reassure her — if such a thing was possible.
“You fear, I suppose,” he slowly said, “that my action against you can only have been a result of a disrespect of your person; that I have such a low estimation of you as to be able to insult you and impose upon you simply because I am in a position to do so, as a means to humiliate you and punish you for your . . . frankness. In light of my crime I understand your concern, but I assure you most emphatically nothing could be further from the truth. I have the highest regard for your character and integrity, Miss Tournier. The blame is mine alone.
“I appreciate your candour and I shall return it. At no point have you been guilty of misreading the very simple and clear understanding we came to concerning your work here. There can be no doubt about the terms and conditions — they are and have been purely business in nature. It was never my intention to take advantage.”
Not quite able to meet his eyes, Holly began to idly sort through a pile of books.
“My lord, I had not thought you held me in such low estimation and I am glad to hear I was not mistaken. But for such a thing to be done . . . We live in a very closed society here, my lord, not well traversed in intricacies and games of more sophisticated minds and places. I could not help but wonder.”
He sighed quietly. She was once again asking for an explanation, and he was once again unable to oblige her, however much he would like to. But how could he explain away such a thoughtless, impulsive action? There was no justification, no reason, no excuse, no defence — only blind stupidity and unending regret on his part. He could not explain, so he did not attempt it. Instead, he knew he owed her the power of his next question.
“Of course, if you in any way feel your position here in this house to be untenable, you have only to say so. I could not, of course, in light of the circumstances, penalise you for leaving the job unfinished and I would fulfil my agreed obligations in full, just as promised.”
He hesitated.
“I hope, howev
er, that will not be the case. It would grieve me greatly to have caused so much irreparable harm. I will not trouble you any further, should you wish it.”
During her long, sleepless night, Holly had determined that he would never see how she had been affected, so she forced herself to look at him directly.
“I have a job to do — and I expect you will not be surprised to find that I intend to complete it. My mother thinks highly of you and values your friendship, as I know you value hers, and I would not wish to . . . if I were to suddenly quit here she would ask questions that I could not help but answer . . . I see no reason to allow something so obviously meaningless to change the way we go about our lives. I believe it will be best to continue on as we have.”
That last declaration used up what was left of her strength so she quickly turned and busied herself with shuffling random stacks around.
“If that is indeed your wish, nothing could make me happier,” he said in a subdued voice. “I . . . You must let me say, Miss Tournier, I am very grateful for your decision. I will endeavour to be worthy of your trust and forgiveness.”
Her answer was inaudible and he sensed she had rather he left. He would. But there was still one more thing. He touched the sheets of papers he held in his pocket and slowly drew them out.
“Miss Tournier.”
She did turn around and he could almost see the despair in her face. He hastily pulled forth the letters and showed them to her.
“I received these yesterday. From Mr Darcy. In Hertfordshire.”
Holly looked at the letters in his hand but did not move. Baugham sighed and slowly put them on the table beside him.
“I believe they contain the happiest of news. And perhaps long expected news as well. My congratulations to you are in order.”
Holly looked at him with a puzzled expression. “To me?” she whispered.
“Yes. Your cousin is getting married. To a very decent and good man. In view of how I know Mr Darcy feels both about you and Miss Bennet, I have no difficulty in offering my congratulations to all her family. It is a good and happy match. And everything I should wish both for him and her.”
