“Nonsense, my lady,” Mrs. Batey replied. “I was just putting together the list for market for Mrs. Chambers. The best vendors will be selling tomorrow morning, you see, so we try to buy everything we need for the week.”
Taking a seat opposite the housekeeper, Hannah smiled. “I’m sure I am supposed to be doing menus,” she offered with an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps I could do them for next week in time for you to do your list?”
The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Of course, my lady.” She could feel the cook’s quick glance of surprise on her back. “His lordship is quite particular about some of his meals,” she said carefully, wondering if she should turn down the countess’s offer.
“Menu planning has been one of only two responsibilities I’ve held at my father’s house since my mother died,” Hannah countered calmly. “And the other one was acting as hostess to our visitors. I shall be sure to inquire as to the earl’s likes and dislikes before I do any meal planning,” she assured the housekeeper.
Mrs. Batey seemed so relieved, Hannah thought she might topple from the trestle seat. “Your help will be appreciated,” the housekeeper said in a low tone, as if she was secretly confiding that Gisborn Hall lacked enough help. “Now, what was it you wished to ask?”
Hannah sighed. “It’s about Miss Inglenook.” A pan clattered over at the stove, the sound barely covering the gasp coming from the cook. Mrs. Batey’s face, although trained to a level of impassiveness that suggested nothing could shock her, took on a look of shock. “Is there any reason that you know of,” Hannah continued, wondering at their reactions, “Why it is she and Nathaniel don’t live here in Gisborn Hall?” Even without looking toward the stove, Hannah knew Mrs. Chambers was regarding her with a look of surprise.
Mrs. Batey straightened and took a breath. “She lives in the dower house,” she answered simply, as if Sarah could only live there.
“Yes. But, it seems to me that she and Nathaniel should live here.” The housekeeper averted her eyes a moment, her face suddenly taking on a flush that Hannah realized was embarrassment. “Oh, Mrs. Batey, I am quite aware of Lord Gisborn’s relationship with Sarah,” Hannah assured the woman, causing the housekeeper’s mouth to open a bit, as if she had to breathe through it. “He loves her. He has since ... I believe he said since they were in leading strings.”
The cacophony that erupted from the stove forced Hannah to turn around. She found the cook staring at her in disbelief and several pot lids rolling about her work area.
“You must know, men only ever love their mistresses. Their only reason to marry is so that they have someone to give them children,” Hannah stated, intending for both women to hear her comment. Her mantra, one she’d repeated to all her friends and to her father on more than a few occasions, seemed to drop into a suddenly very quiet and tense room. Even Harold seemed to have stopped panting, although there was a hint of a whine. Hannah wondered if his eyes were rolling. He did that when he thought something was poppycock.
Mrs. Batey was shaking her head, as if she couldn’t ... or wouldn’t ... believe what the mistress of the house had just said. “My lady, I ...” don’t know what to say, was the housekeeper’s first thought. Had things gotten so bad in London that gentlemen no longer married for love? She’d been in England long enough to know about some men and their propensity to employ whores and mistresses, but to have a lady of the ton, the daughter of a marquess, no less, announce that men only loved their mistresses and married merely to have legitimate children, well, this was quite unexpected. “I am quite sure Lord Gisborn did not merely marry you to have his children,” she tried in a reasonable tone. Lady Gisborn was a beautiful girl. The man probably felt some affection for her. How could he not? She was as pleasant as could be, eternally happy and quite agreeable. There hadn’t been a shrill demand, a thrown objet d’art, nor a raised voice since Lady Gisborn’s arrival. The same couldn’t be said for Sarah Inglenook, however. It was as if Lord Gisborn’s woman had decided to become as unreasonable as possible, almost as if Sarah no longer wanted Gisborn’s protection nor his attentions.
And the poor girl wondered why Sarah Inglenook did not reside in Gisborn Hall?
“Oh, there was a dowry, of course,” Hannah stated with a nod, as if that would be the only other reason Lord Gisborn would marry her. “Quite generous, if I’m to believe my father’s comments on the topic.” This last comment was made with a smirk, forcing the dimple to appear in Hannah’s right cheek.
The comment did not illicit a response from the direction of the stove, and Mrs. Batey looked as if she could offer nothing more in response. Hannah straightened, realizing her forthright manner was unexpected. “I am a realist, Mrs. Batey. I know I sometimes look like I walked off the pages of a medieval fairy tale, but I am no milkmaid. Marrying Lord Gisborn was my best chance at finding happiness as a mother. He needs an heir. And a spare. And my other suitors only seemed to want my dowry to pay off gambling debts.”
The air seemed to go out of Mrs. Batey as her shoulders slumped. Even the cook had turned her attention to the countess, one fisted hand planted firmly on her ample hip.
“So, I was wondering. Why is it Miss Inglenook and Nathaniel don’t live here at Gisborn Hall?”
Before Mrs. Batey could even begin to respond, Mrs. Chambers stepped forward. “I’ll tell you why,” she announced, a rather grim look on her face.
“Mrs. Chambers!” the housekeeper tried to admonish her.
“She’s too independent,” the cook continued, as if she hadn’t heard the housekeeper. “Always was. Why, she wouldn’t even live in the dower house exceptin’ as the old earl required her to as long as Nathan was living with her. The old earl adored that kid.”
Hannah regarded the cook in surprise. “But, where would she live if she didn’t have the dower house?”
The housekeeper leaned forward, keeping her voice very low. “His lordship would see to a house for her in the village, of course,” she remarked. “They used to have one on the outskirts of Bampton after the boy was born.”
“His lordship had to come back from Oxford every few days back then, to see to the girl,” Mrs. Chambers added, wiping her hands on a towel. “But he still saw to his studies, even after the babe was born. Finished near the top of his class, he did.”
Listening to the two women talk of Henry’s earlier life brought a smile to Hannah’s face. “He did right by her, at least,” she offered, wondering why the cook would seem upset with Sarah’s independent streak.
“And he would have married her, but the girl wouldn’t have him. Thought he was too ...”
“Mrs. Chambers!” The housekeeper gave the cook a quelling look. “I’m sure the countess is well aware of her husband’s traits.”
“Mark my words. Sarah Inglenook will be gone just as soon as the son is off to school,” the cook added with a firm nod. “As I hear it, she’s being courted by some cit in Bampton.”
A loud gasp emanated from the housekeeper. “Mrs. Chambers! That will be quite enough from you!” Mrs. Batey announced in a voice that actually sent the cook back to the stove.
Hannah remembered Sarah’s odd comment implying two weeks would be enough time. She must have meant enough time before she would be betrothed. So Sarah expected an offer for her hand from the cit in Bampton! Sarah could be a married woman before Nathan left for Abingdon School.
That would leave Hannah with the earl to herself.
There was a moment when the thought brought a sense of calm to her, a feeling of satisfaction, as if having Henry Forster to herself was what she truly wanted. Perhaps she did. Perhaps Henry would decide he preferred only one woman in his life. And if not, he could always take another as his mistress. Well, Hannah hadn’t expected him to honor his marriage vows when she agreed to marry him. There was no reason to think that he would even if Sarah was married to another.
One thing was certain. Hannah would have to do everything in her power to see to it Henry spent his nights in her
bed. It was the least she could do for Sarah until the woman was safely betrothed. Hannah thanked the servants for their insight and excused herself from the kitchen.
Making her way up the stairs to change for dinner, Harold following on her heels, Hannah thought of Elizabeth’s recommendations on how to keep a husband happy. She felt her face flush as she remembered some of Elizabeth’s descriptions of things she’d done in her marriage bed – even when round with child! Some of those acts she could not imagine herself doing, but some of them ... she might have to employ a few if she wanted to keep Henry coming to her bed for another two or three weeks.
Once in her room, Hannah rang for Lily and made her way to her vanity. Her maid would be able to fix her hair and help her into a suitable dinner gown. When the maid hadn’t appeared after ten minutes, Hannah moved to ring the bell again. Her hand stopped, though, when, breathless, Lily hurried into the room. “I apologize, my lady,” her maid managed to get out as she bobbed a curtsy. “I ... got lost,” the girl said as her faced turned a bright red. “I still do not know my way around this house.”
Hannah grinned and angled her head to one side. “It’s quite alright, Lily. I just need to dress for dinner,” she said as she stepped behind the screen. “I am thinking the gold velvet gown,” she murmured, “And my hair is in dire need of a repair.”
Lily dipped her head and hurried into the dressing room. I should tell her, she thought as she pulled the gown from a hook. But if I do, I may never be able to leave Gisborn Hall. She was all business when she emerged with the gown and a pair of slippers.
Holding her breath as if she thought someone might hear it, Lily crept down the hallway outside her room and made her way to the back door by the kitchen. She clutched her valise, the tapestry bag containing every stitch of clothing she owned along with a few mementos. If she could make it out the door and around Gisborn Hall without disturbing an animal, she would be able to reach the lane to the village and the road to Bampton just beyond it. Thomas knew she was leaving her mistress to join him tonight. He would be waiting for her somewhere along the road past the village. He would have his gig and a horse. With luck, and the moonlight that shown down on the road, they would be well on their way to Gretna Green before the sky turned pink at dawn.
She was quite sure she’d been silent as she closed the back door, putting down the valise so she could keep the door knob and bolt drawn back. Once she was sure the door was seated in its jamb, she reached down to pick up her valise. A shadow fell over her and she gasped.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Billy whispered, his breaths showing up as white puffs in the air around them.
“Oh, good God, you scared me,” Lily hissed back. Her heartbeats were already thundering in her ears. The shock of him being so close so suddenly ... “What are you doing out here?” she whispered, realizing the groom had to have already been outside.
Billy was about to admonish her for scaring him, but realized he would sound like a sissy if he did. “I was headin’ to the kitchen for a bite,” he replied, sounding every bit as indignant as he could. “Are you ... leaving?” he asked then, his voice softening. “Leaving the countess?” Leaving Gisborn Hall?
He’d been surprised when Lily Parker showed up in the earl’s old carriage the day before yesterday. She was from a farm outside of Witney, her family in service to the landed gentry that lived in the main house there. When she’d gone off to London to take a position in an aristocrat’s home, Billy had thought she’d never return to Oxfordshire. Others who had left for London, seeking employment or their fortune, never returned to Bampton-in-the-Bush.
Lily took a deep breath and let it out, her breath a white billow between them. “You cannot say anything to anyone,” she whispered, resigned to having to admit her plan. “I have to meet Thomas near Bampton. We’re going to marry in Scotland,” she added, her bare hands pulled into fists against her coat. It was far colder than she expected; she had no winter gloves, and only a scarf to cover her head.
“You’re gonna marry that wanker?” he asked in disgust. “Lily, ya deserve better than him,” he hissed. “I would be better for you than him,” he said under his breath, his comment meant to challenge her assessment of Thomas Babcock. And, perhaps, make her believe he would be better than his former best friend.
“Billy O’Conlin!” Lily admonished him, trying to keep her voice to a hoarse whisper and nearly failing. “How dare you? Thomas has a good position in Bampton, and he’s a year older than me.”
“Which means he’s, what? Eighteen?” he countered quickly. Had there been more than just moonlight to see by, Lily might have seen the hurt in Billy’s eyes. He was seventeen. He’d known her from their days helping with the harvest, always thought of Lily as someone he might court once they were of a certain age. And then Lily left for London and her position in Devonville House. He thought he would never see her again, and then, wonder of wonders, she’d stepped out of the earl’s ancient carriage looking ever so sophisticated, so confident in her crisp maid’s uniform. And he’d fallen head over ears in love with her.
“He’s seventeen. He .. loves me.” The words were spoken softly, as if she might be trying to convince herself as much as him of her suitor’s conviction to her.
The groom shrugged, suddenly realizing he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. What could he offer her? He might become the head of the stables or a footman someday, but he would always work in service to the earl.
He allowed his gaze to take her all in, from the top of her woolen scarf covering her golden brown hair down to her sturdy shoes. “You won’t be getting far if you freeze ta death,” Billy countered. “Come on,” he said as he stuffed his hands into his pea coat pockets and headed for the stables.
Sighing, Lily followed him, not sure what he had in mind. She passed over the dimly-lit threshold and inhaled the scent of hay and horse manure. At least it was warmer in the stables. She watched as Billy scampered up a wooden ladder to a room above the stalls, surprised to realize it was his room. He disappeared and soon came out carrying a pair of work gloves. Constructed for labor as opposed to fashion, the well-worn gray gloves were at least warm. Lily pulled them on and wiggled her fingers. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to get these back to you,” she spoke quietly.
“S’aright,” Billy replied, his head leaning to one side. “The earl got me a new pair when he promoted me,” he said with a hint of pride, hoping she understood that he was no longer the lowest of servants in the Gisborn household.
Lily regarded the groom. He couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, she thought. “Thank you. Please, Billy, ... don’t say anything,” she pleaded, a look of worry appearing on her face.
Billy shook his head. “You did leave a note for Lady Gisborn,” he said more than asked. “Or Mrs. Batey?”
Dipping her head, Lily shook it. “I ... cannot write very well,” she said, her eyes not meeting his. Her face reddened at the admission. “And I ... I don’t know anyone else on the staff I would tell ...”
“Christ.” The word came out in a whisper, Billy obviously not pleased with her decision to leave without so much as a fare thee well. “She’ll think you were kidnapped or something gawd awful,” he countered, becoming a bit incensed that she would just leave. “I’ll keep your secret, Lily, but only until someone asks me directly, and then I’m telling.”
Lily bit her lip but nodded. “Alright,” she agreed. After all, who would ask the groom if he knew the whereabouts of a lady’s maid? She gave Billy a knock on the arm and dipped her head again. “Thank you.” Before she could change her mind, she took up her valise and turned to leave the stables.
Billy’s hand reached out and ensnared her elbow, forcing her to spin around and face him. He suddenly had one arm around her waist and another at her face. “Oh, Lily,” he whispered, his face filled with pain. And then his lips were covering hers, his kiss as urgent as it was filled with passion.
Startled but un
able to push Billy away, Lily allowed the assault, a series of sharp, bright stars stunning her vision. She closed her eyes and allowed him to do his worst, her own lips responding to his before she was even aware she was doing so. A moan escaped her throat as warmth surrounded her entire body, filled her from the inside. The sound spurred him on as he readjusted how he held her against him. Suddenly, the fronts of their bodies were fitted together as if they belonged that way, her curves filling his voids and his sharp angles and muscles nestling into the softness of her body. A slight movement of his hand on her back, and she was pressing into him harder, not sure if she was doing the pushing or if he was simply pulling her closer. A shiver of pleasure passed through her entire body, followed by a tenseness that signaled danger. And then, just as quick as it had begun, Billy pulled his lips away from hers. “Do not go, Lily,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against hers
Lily’s eyes flew open. What have I done? This was Billy O’Conlin! This wasn’t Thomas Babcock, the boy who she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Pressing her palms against Billy’s chest, she pushed hard, grabbed her valise and hurried out of the stables, barely aware of her surroundings or of the sudden chill that infused her body as she made her way to the lane and the village beyond.
The walk proved invigorating; the chill deepened as she passed between the scattered farmhouses that made up the earl’s village. She tried in vain not to think of Billy’s kiss, not to think of how warm she’d felt, of how their bodies had fitted together, of how truly bereft he’d seemed on learning she was leaving the Gisborn household. But she couldn’t think of him now. She was on her way to meet her true love. Thomas. He would be waiting with a horse and carriage somewhere close to Bampton.
Only one animal, or rather, a whole lot of the same kind of animal, took exception to her midnight stroll when she passed in front of the Cavenaugh’s house. The dogs whimpered and whined and one barked, its low ‘woof’ more of a warning than a threat. She increased her pace until the sound of the dogs no longer reached her ears.
The Seduction of an Earl Page 17
