by Regina Scott
“You presume a great deal,” the earl’s sister said. “You will address me as my lady or your ladyship. And I don’t know who allowed that creature in the house, but I will not have my mother exposed to it. If you have not found another home for it by dinner tomorrow, I will have Marbury dispose of it.”
Fortune leaned so far back from the woman that the cat pressed herself into Meredith’s chest. Meredith refused to lower her gaze, much less grovel, as the earl’s sister no doubt intended.
“You are mistaken, Lady Lilith,” she informed her. “I am not your mother’s companion. I am an acquaintance of the Duke of Wey and Sir Harold Orwell, who requested that your brother provide hospitality as I traveled through the area. I escorted Miss French, your mother’s new companion here. If my dear Fortune is unwelcome, I will report to your brother’s friends that I had to find accommodation elsewhere.”
The most Lady Lilith would offer by way of apology was a slight shifting of her feet, setting her skirts to swaying. “No need to concern His Grace or Sir Harold. If Gregory agreed to let you stay, who am I to question him?”
There was no if. Did she think Meredith was lying? Did strange women appear on the stairs on a regular basis claiming invitation?
“The cat,” Lady Lilith continued as she started down the stairs, “must stay in the stables.”
“So long as you have a guest room in the stables,” Meredith said, following her.
Lady Lilith didn’t answer, but Fortune hissed at her back.
She thought they might all meet in the golden withdrawing room where she’d first encountered the earl, but Lady Lilith moved unerringly to another room along that corridor. They certainly didn’t stand on ceremony at Carrolton Park.
The dining room was as lavishly appointed—pale green walls setting off rosewood furnishings—as the rest of the house. The earl, his mother, and Yvette were already sitting at the long table as Lady Lilith and Meredith entered the room. The earl hastily rose, nearly knocking over the heavy high-backed chair.
“Miss Thorn, so glad you could join us,” he said, indicating the chair on his left.
His sister glowered at Meredith as she passed to sit below her.
Across from Meredith, Lady Carrolton perked up. “Ah, a guest! Why didn’t you tell me, Gregory?”
“You were busy with Miss French,” he said, returning to his seat as Meredith took hers. “Mother, this is Miss Thorn, a friend of Wey’s and Sir Harry’s. Miss French, this is my sister, Lilith.”
His sister turned her glare his way. Meredith had wondered why the powerfully built Lord Carrolton wasn’t more involved in the war effort like his friend Sir Harry. Very likely that open face, that guileless smile betrayed every emotion. He had no idea he’d just insulted his sister by introducing Yvette to her as if she were her equal. If they weren’t careful, he’d give away the game. A companion must always be less.
Before she could steer the conversation into safer waters, Lady Carrolton glanced at Fortune and began sniffing. A moment later and she sneezed with such force that the candles flickered in their silver settings. Lady Lilith looked pointedly at Meredith, then at Yvette, who smiled politely.
Marbury, who had been standing along the wall, stepped forward. “If I may, Miss Thorn, we have a saucer of cream and some tidbits for our other guest in the kitchen. If I may?”
Meredith glanced down at Fortune, who raised her head to regard the butler, then stretched up her paws as if begging him to carry her. Marbury picked her up and took her off.
The countess, however, continued to sniff.
“The case,” Lady Lilith snapped to Yvette. “Where have you put it?”
“Mille excuses, my lady,” Yvette said. “I did not realize it must be carried everywhere. Do you wish me to fetch it from the room?”
Lord Carrolton straightened as if he’d go for it himself.
His mother saved him the trouble. “Handkerchief!” she demanded between sneezes.
“Ah.” Yvette produced a silken square and offered it to the lady, who seized it and pressed it to her nose.
Meredith was simply glad that the footmen began bringing in the meal then.
Yet as food and wine flowed, the only sounds were the chime of fine crystal and the scrape of silver on china. Yvette ate daintily, smile vague. She seemed to have entered into the role of companion, saying nothing until spoken to. In fact, no one said a great deal. Were they so comfortable in each other’s company?
Or so uncomfortable?
As the group dug into the final course of strawberries and cream, Lady Carrolton raised her head to appeal to her son. “French says I must have a bell.”
The earl frowned. “A bell?”
“A hand bell,” Yvette qualified. “So she can summon me when needed.”
He nodded, but his sister set down her silver fork.
“And why would my mother need to summon you?” she demanded. “You should be on duty at her side, not gallivanting about the house.”
Yvette’s smile remained in place. “Me, I do not gallivant, your ladyship. But I will have to sleep on occasion, and I would like the countess to be able to summon me without having to climb from her bed.”
Lady Lilith didn’t respond, but she picked up her fork and stabbed a plump strawberry.
Oh, but it was good this situation with Yvette was only temporary. Meredith’s new vocation was to find suitable positions for gentlewomen fallen on hard times. She would never have placed a client in such a house. Lady Lilith’s cruel comments and sour disposition reminded her too much of her former mistress, Lady Winhaven.
Meredith had never planned to go into service, much less as a companion to an angry old lady whose domineering ways had frightened off most of her family. Meredith had been betrothed to be married, her love Julian Mayes off in London seeking his fortune. But Julian hadn’t answered her pleas for help when her mother had died and she’d lost her home to a scheming relative. He had recently returned to her life after ten years’ absence, and she was trying to accustom herself to the idea of being courted again.
Unfortunately, if she thought too hard she could still hear Lady Winhaven’s sharp voice berating her for some imagined slight. The fire was too hot, even though it was the footman’s job to stoke it, the water in her washstand too cold, even though that was the maid’s purview. Meredith must be always on duty, ensuring that every little thing was perfect. Anything less resulted in a tongue lashing.
At least the woman had left Meredith a sizable inheritance that had allowed her to open her business. She had sworn that no gentlewoman in her care would ever suffer the indignities she’d endured in ten years of service. She only wished she knew a way to change Lady Lilith’s outlook permanently. A shame she couldn’t open a business for the reformation of the snippy!
“I think it should be silver,” the countess said to no one in particular, and it took a moment for Meredith to realize she was still talking about her bell. “And big enough to really chime.”
“You will wake half the household,” her daughter complained.
Her mother drew herself up. “And why shouldn’t I? This is my home. With your father gone, I may do as I please.”
Lady Lilith cringed. “There are others in the household. I wish you would remember that.”
“It is difficult to remember there are others when no one comes to see me,” the countess said with a sigh. “I didn’t even know we had company.”
“Neither did I,” her daughter said with a look to the earl. “I manage this household. I should have been told so I could make the proper arrangements.”
Like forcing Fortune to sleep in the stables. Good thing the earl and Marbury had made the arrangements instead.
“My apologies,” her brother said, inclining his head in his sister’s direction. “I should have thought to tell you and Mother. Now, perhaps we can turn to other subjects that might interest our guest.”
His tone was mild, but his family’s reactions were mar
ked. Lady Lilith dropped her gaze to her food, but Meredith could almost hear her fuming.
Lady Carrolton went farther. Her eyes widened, and she clutched her chest. “Oh! Dear! Salts!”
Yvette offered her the salt cellar.
She struck it away. “No, you stupid girl. Salts! Smelling salts. In the case.” She swooned against the back of the chair.
The earl rose, majestic even in his tweed coat. “Forgive us, Miss Thorn, Miss French. I’ll see to her. Finish your dinners. Lilith, perhaps you can entertain our guest.” As his sister sat taller, he went around the table to his mother’s side and scooped her up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “Put me down at once!”
In answer, he carried her out the door.
Lady Lilith turned to Meredith. “So, you are traveling, Miss Thorn. How soon will you need to continue on?”
Not soon enough, as far as she could tell. But could she leave Yvette in such bedlam?
~~~
Patience Ramsey was a saint. Yvette could think of no other explanation for the former companion’s ability to survive three years of this. Yvette hadn’t even made it through one day, and already she was willing to take her chances in London.
Well, nearly willing. There was much to be said for a home where no one tried to poison or shoot her. Both attempts had been made on her life since Harry had brought her from France. His superiors in the War Office were certain a French agent was stalking her, hence the need to hide until the villain was captured.
And what better place to hide? Besides being at the back of beyond, she was surrounded. If the French agent found his way to Carrolton Park, she might not even need to face him. He might succumb to one of Lady Carrolton’s illnesses or drown in the acid of Lady Lilith’s bile. Just the thought made her smile inch higher.
“Something you care to share, Miss French?” Lady Lilith asked as if she were a school mistress ready to scold a noisy child.
Yvette finished her dessert and rose. “Excuse me, if you please. I must see to the countess.”
She could only hope Meredith could put Lady Lilith in her place as soon as Yvette was out of the room.
Lady Carrolton was back in bed when Yvette entered the suite. Her employer was tucked under the covers of the great bed, ribboned cap covering her tightly curled hair. Her son sat on the chair beside the bed, book open in his lap.
“‘I never wish to offend,’” the earl read, head bowed over the page, “‘but I am so foolishly shy, that I often seem negligent, when I am only kept back by my natural awkwardness. I have frequently thought that I must have been intended by nature to be fond of low company, I am so little at my ease among strangers of gentility.’”
He paused, frowning down at the book as if something had caught his attention.
His mother sniffed. “Idiot. He’ll come to a bad end, you mark my words.”
Yvette moved closer. “I can continue, my lordship. You will wish to see to your guest.”
He rose, offering her the book, and his mother collapsed against the pillows, hand to her forehead. “Oh, my head! French, find the tisane.”
It seemed she should find a way to wear the wretched case instead. She knelt and fished it out from under the chair. Immediately, the earl was beside her.
“Allow me.”
He lifted it easily, set it on the bed, popped it open, and glanced through the bottles and devices, brow furrowed.
The countess lowered her hand, watching him.
“Perhaps,” Yvette said, gathering her skirts to rise, “I should prepare a cool compress instead. Would you continue reading, my lord?”
“Of course.” He sat, making the delicate little chair shudder, and found his spot in the novel. His mother’s sigh sounded suspiciously pleased as she relaxed against the pillows once more.
Yvette took her time going to the washstand and wetting a cloth. He had a nice voice, warm, rich. It rolled through the room like the sound of the organ at Notre Dame. Small wonder his mother relaxed at the words. If Yvette closed her eyes, she could imagine herself at peace, safe.
No. Not safe. Not yet. Not until her enemy was captured.
She returned to the bedside, cloth in hand, and stopped. The countess’ head lolled to one side, eyes closed and slim chest rising slowly and evenly. Yvette put her free hand on the earl’s shoulder, feeling the strength beneath her fingers. “She sleeps.”
He glanced at his mother, then eased the book closed. “A shame I’m not better at declaiming.”
“Non,” Yvette murmured. “You did not lull her to sleep. She just needed to know you were nearby to feel comfortable relaxing. Vien.” She drew back from the bed, tossing the compress into the wash basin, and he followed her out into the corridor. Shutting the door, she faced him.
“Thank you, my lord. She is better when you are near.”
He shook his head. “Only sometimes. At others, she shrinks away as if I am something to fear.”
Was that the issue? Were the countess and her daughter afraid of the earl? He was certainly powerful enough to overcome any other person she had met in this house, with the possible exception of Marbury. Those hands could snap a neck.
“Some men like women to fear them,” she acknowledged.
He stepped back, paling, mouth open and eyes wide. There was no dissembling with this one. He was horrified. “I assure you, I do not. I have never raised my hand to a woman in my life!”
But he knew how to raise his voice. It echoed down the corridor. Another moment, and he’d wake his mother.
She caught his hand, held it tight. “Peace. I do not doubt you. But something brought your mother to this point. All those pills and liquids, those devices. I cannot believe she is so ill. Did the physician truly prescribe them?”
“She has several physicians,” he said, the tone of disgust approaching his sister’s. “A fellow in Chessington, one near Hampton Court, and another in London. They all assure me they can make her well.”
“And take your money,” Yvette guessed. “Has she always been like this?”
He nodded. “Since I was a boy, but her symptoms have worsened over time, if tonight was any indication.”
“I will see what can be done,” Yvette promised.
His look softened. “Thank you, but that should not be your concern. You are not really her companion.”
“Shh,” Yvette cautioned, but a movement caught her eye.
Lady Lilith had entered the corridor from the stairs, leaving Meredith to her own devices far too early in the evening for hospitality. Yvette knew the moment the earl’s sister spotted them, because she jerked to a stop and stared.
Yvette removed her hand from the earl’s. “Merci beaucoups, my lord,” she said, lowering her gaze and dipping a curtsey. “I could not have lulled your chère mere to sleep without your help. I will attend to my duties now. Bonne nuit.”
“Good night, Miss French,” he said. “Enjoy your rest. All will be well. I promise.”
Enjoy her rest? She couldn’t remember the last time she had even slept through the night. Sometimes rest was a long time coming as melancholy and loneliness crowded close. When she did sleep, her dreams held dangers: past, present, and future.
Tonight, she thought they would hold something else—a warm voice, a kind smile, and a promise that all would be well.
If only she could believe.
Chapter Four
Gregory watched as Yvette slipped back into his mother’s room, then turned to meet his sister’s glare.
“How dare you,” she breathed. “Bringing your lover into this house. You’re worse than Father.”
He frowned at her. “What are you talking about? I met Miss French today, just as you did. And Father never kept a mistress.”
“What do you know?” she retorted. “You were away at school and then off on your Grand Tour. The only reason you returned home was because Father died.”
“Lilith.” He kept his voice as kind as po
ssible. “Father expected me to go to school and then tour the Continent. That’s what most young men do to learn how to get on as a gentleman. Some days I think I’m still learning.”
“Obviously,” she snapped. “Or you would have let me know we had a guest.”
How many times must he apologize? Lilith was right—if there were questions about staffing or food, Marbury would go to her first. But the staff were highly competent and generally agreeable. His sister had little to do when it came to resolving difficulties.
“At least Miss Thorn is only staying the night,” Gregory pointed out. “She’ll be no burden.”
Lilith bared her teeth. “But Mother and I remain burdens, don’t we? Poor Gregory, saddled with a sick mother and a spinster sister.” She turned and stalked back down the corridor, hands fisted at her sides.
Gregory shook his head. He never considered his mother or sister a burden. As head of the family, it was his duty and honor to give them whatever support they required. They wanted for nothing.
So why was his sister so bitter? As a child, she’d been his mother’s darling, quiet, but with flashes of brilliance. True, their interactions had been limited. His father had felt boys and girls should be reared differently, so Gregory had had a tutor until he went off to Eton and Lilith had had a governess until she came out. With her dark good looks and impeccable connections, she’d been expected to make an excellent match. But, after several years of making the social rounds, she’d declared herself on the shelf. Now it was all he could do to pry her out of the house to attend church services.
A shame his sister didn’t have Yvette’s spirit.
He started for his rooms at the end of the corridor. His mother and sister had been gently reared, their sorrows and trials seemingly minor, yet they both struggled to be pleasant. Yvette de Maupassant had lived through far worse, yet she could still smile. Just thinking about her coy looks made him smile as well.
But waking up to a brass clang wiped away any pleasant memories.
The noise echoed down the corridor, and he thought he heard the ravens in the woods around the house leap into the sky, protesting. He shoved back the covers and raced for the door, nightshirt flapping about his ankles.
