Through the Smoke

by Brenda Novak

  Mary’s eyebrows shot up. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know what his intentions are,” she admitted.

  “But ye’ve been together before. I ’eard all about it. Caused quite an uproar below stairs, it did.”

  There wasn’t any point in denying what’d happened. All of Creswell knew of that night. “We were together once,” she admitted. “But… I wasn’t in my right mind.”

  “And if he pays ye a visit, ye’ll be out of yer mind again,” she said with a laugh. “So be prepared. A man of ’is age and station doesn’t install a maid in the lady’s quarters for nothin’. ’E obviously wants more.”

  Everyone else had to be thinking the same thing. Even Geordie would hear of her new living arrangements. But there wasn’t anything Rachel could do to stop the servants from talking. And she had little choice but to stay where she was. She couldn’t go back into the ranks of service—not here with Mrs. Poulson. She’d barely survived her last stint.

  She knotted her hands in her lap. “He claims he does not expect that.”

  “Oh, ’e expects it,” Mary said. “An’ ’e’s got a right with what ’e’s doin’ for ye. E’s a fine figure of a man, regardless. I don’t blame ye for liftin’ yer skirts. I’d do it, too, if only ’e’d ask.” She put the tray on a table and started to go out, but Rachel pulled her back.

  “Stay for a few minutes. There is plenty here for the both of us.”

  Mary hesitated as if she wasn’t convinced she could trust the invitation, but when Rachel gestured again, she smiled a conspirator’s smile and closed the door.

  Rachel pulled the tray close, and they ate everything on it as if they hadn’t seen food in weeks. There had been far too little of it.

  “I ’ave never been so full in my life. I’m guessin’ that was intended for the earl hisself,” Mary said, rubbing her stomach in satisfaction.

  “It’s nice, how the other half lives,” Rachel murmured.

  “Aye, but whatever ye do, don’t get used to it.” Mary stood and indicated the elaborate trappings surrounding them. “This won’t last, and it’ll break yer bloody ’eart if ye expect it to. Soon ye’ll be back in the garret with me, or some other garret.”

  “I know,” Rachel said, sobering.

  Mary seemed to realize she’d just cast a pall over everything, because she smiled again and gave Rachel a quick hug. “But that doesn’t mean ye can’t enjoy it while it lasts, eh? And that goes for what the earl’s got ’tween ’is legs.”

  When Rachel covered her mouth, Mary laughed at her scandalized reaction, grabbed the tray and twitched her bottom as she sauntered out.

  “Good luck with Mrs. Poulson,” Rachel whispered after her. But she wasn’t really thinking about the housekeeper. She was remembering that night in the earl’s bed, how eager she’d been to join their two bodies, how she’d ached for the completion he promised. There’d been that terrible flash of pain, which had almost mucked it up, but… if he came to her again, would letting him have his way be more enjoyable now that she was no longer a virgin?

  Chapter 13

  Mrs. Poulson knocked shortly after lunch. Rachel had just bathed and dressed. At the moment, thanks to the earl, the housekeeper could do little to hurt her, but Rachel worried she might attempt to make Geordie’s life miserable.

  The older woman frowned in obvious contempt as her gaze traveled down Rachel’s body. “You are finally awake, I see.”

  Rachel said nothing as Mrs. Poulson pushed past her.

  Once inside, the housekeeper stood in the center of the room and surveyed her surroundings. “You don’t deserve all this.”

  “Did you come for a reason?” she asked.

  That she would dare respond with a bit of ice in her own voice caused Mrs. Poulson’s eyes to narrow. “Do not think you will be here long. He will toss you out as soon as he is finished using you. And then where will you be?”

  “I will no longer be working for you. We can both agree on that,” she countered.

  “Once he turns you out, maybe you will be more grateful for honest work. Starvation will humble the most uppity of maids.”

  The venom in those words made Rachel shake her head in wonder. “What have I done to make you hate me so?”

  She sniffed. “You don’t know your place.”

  Could this stem back to the night she’d appeared at Blackmoor Hall, frantic because her mother was dying? Did it bother Mrs. Poulson so much that the earl had overridden her authority when she tried to turn Rachel out?

  It was no use trying to talk to such a person. Rachel had never met anyone so spiteful. “What is it you want?” she asked.

  “Mr. Cardiff, the dressmaker, is here. Lord Druridge had him summoned from the village.”

  Rachel stepped back. “And what does that have to do with me?”

  “Apparently you are to have one of Lady Katherine’s gowns.” She’d spoken as if the words tasted bitter on her tongue.

  “But there is a needlewoman on staff who is probably capable of making the alterations.”

  “Which is what I told him.” She tilted her head back and glared down her blade-like nose. “You must have done your part last night to make him want to be so generous.”

  Rachel could have argued that she hadn’t done anything immoral. But why bother? Mrs. Poulson would assume the worst no matter what. And with the thoughts going through her head lately, Rachel wasn’t sure she was innocent enough to expect anything different. She was beginning to feel as if she might be willing to sacrifice her virtue—to sacrifice almost anything—to be part of his life.

  “Where is Mr. Cardiff?” she asked.

  “In the drawing room. He has asked that you bring your choice of gowns from Lady Katherine’s wardrobe down with you,” she said and stalked out.

  She was to pick out a gown? That would only make the other servants more jealous than they probably were. They would all feel as if she were putting on airs. And the villagers…

  Dropping onto the bed, Rachel wondered how to handle this latest development. If she was to entertain the earl at his bidding, he likely wanted her to be robed in something that reminded him less of her station. But she would always be a poor village girl, and there was no getting aro und that.

  A soft knock sounded and Mary poked her head in before Rachel could even stir. “Did ye ’ear? The dressmaker is in the parlor, and ’e’s waitin’ for Mistress Rachel! I ’eard ’im tell Mrs. Poulson so!”

  “I know. Poulson just left, but… what am I to do?”

  “What do ye mean? Ye pick yer favorite, of course.” She dragged Rachel into the dressing room and opened the armoire. “’Ave ye ever seen more fancy gowns than these?”

  Rachel felt so out of place she almost couldn’t bring herself to touch Katherine’s clothing, let alone select something that would be altered to fit her. “I am happy with my own plain clothes.”

  “Get what you can,” Mary admonished. “Ye can sell ’is gifts later, if ye ’ave need.” She pulled a beautiful green velvet frock from the armoire and held it against Rachel. “See what this one does for yer eyes? I bet ye’ll look even prettier in it than the former mistress did.”

  Rachel caught Mary’s arm. “You knew her? Lady Katherine?”

  “Not as well as Rosie did. Rosie was her lady’s maid. She went to the Abbotts after the fire, but ye didn’t ’ave to be close to get an inkling of what Lady Katherine was like.”

  “So? Tell me about her.”

  Obviously afraid she might be caught loafing, Mary peeked into the other room. “She was spoiled and haughty, threw a tantrum every time somethin’ didn’t go ’er way, she did. I don’t know of a single servant who liked her. She’d get especially spiteful when she was bored, and she grew bored any time the master wasn’t around because ’e was the person she loved to torment most.”

  “Would you say he cared a great deal for her?” Rachel knew what Lord Druridge had told her, but she was curious to hear how the servants perceiv
ed their relationship.

  Mary shrugged. “Och, what does love matter? It was an arranged marriage, a calculated match.”

  “Weren’t they ever tender with each other?”

  Mary’s expression changed. “Ye canna fall in love with ’im, Rachel. Ye need to listen to me.”

  Mary had already warned her once. “I won’t. I just… I saw Katherine occasionally on the streets of Creswell. She was so beautiful.”

  “On the outside, maybe.” She left the dress in Rachel’s hands. “Ye’d better not keep Mr. Cardiff waitin’.”

  Rachel rubbed the rich fabric against her cheek. “I should choose this one? You’re sure?” She’d probably never have the chance to own something so fine again.

  “Aye, I’m sure.”

  With a smile of thanks, she carried the dress downstairs.

  The earl didn’t summon her for chess that night or the next. Rachel was beginning to believe she might already have lost his favor. She heard him come and go late at night, but he never entered her room or invited her to his. She had no communication with him at all except a brief note in which he said he hoped she was making herself at home on the estate. Mary delivered the note. She delivered everything, including food, water for bathing and even the green gown when it was ready.

  Other than those visits, Rachel was alone or visiting with Geordie. She walked with her brother in the gardens or along the cliffs, or ventured to the library down the hall on her own, which contained a more extensive collection of books than her bookshop.

  By the third day of her new situation, she was feeling stronger, better rested and more satisfied, but she was growing anxious for some way to get back to town. She had a message for Elspeth, but she had no idea how she would get it into Elspeth’s hands. Although Wythe went to the brothel regularly, she knew better than to trust him with it, or to beg a ride. He frightened her far more than the obdurate Mrs. Poulson, although she did all she could to avoid them both. Once when she was sitting next to the window in the library, using the sunlight pouring through the panes to read Lord Byron’s Don Juan, a book her mother had always considered too scandalous for her, she heard Wythe in the hall outside and ducked beneath the desk lest he enter and find her there.

  Fortunately, he hadn’t intruded on her as she feared he might, but she listened for him always.

  On Friday, instead of a tray of food for her evening meal, Mary brought a note from Lord Druridge.

  Please join me for dinner this evening.

  She stared up at her new friend. “Does he mean in the dining hall?”

  Mary seemed equally awestruck. “Aye. Mrs. Poulson already ’ad me set another place, so that’s exactly what ’e means. I’m to ’elp ye dress.”

  “But I feel like such an imposter!”

  “At least ye’re more likable than Lady Katherine ever was.”

  They laughed, but Rachel was no longer laughing when she walked downstairs. She was too nervous, especially when she saw that Lord Druridge was already seated. What would he think of her in his late wife’s dress?

  She wasn’t even sure he’d recognize it. She’d had the dressmaker remove the pretentious frills and bows. Now a much simpler design, it had a wide neck that showed her shoulders, a fitted bodice and full sleeves with a wide skirt that fell to her ankles, where a few inches of her stockings showed above the kid leather slippers that had arrived with the dress. For the first time since she could remember, she was wearing three petticoats in addition to her corset.

  Lord Druridge stood when she entered the room. “Good evening.”

  She dipped into a curtsy. “Good evening to you, my lord.” Feeling self-conscious and shy beneath his regard, she smiled—until Wythe strode into the room. Then she no longer wanted to be there.

  “Ah, we have company tonight. And doesn’t she look ravishing.” He bowed but she could tell he wasn’t pleased to have her present. “Cousin, I commend you on your eye for beauty. But I must warn you. If the house help are forced to serve her, they might beat her from the door as soon as you’re not looking.”

  Druridge’s gaze turned flinty. “And why would they do that?”

  “Because they are green with envy. You are not merely offering Rachel a few baubles for her favors; you are treating her like a respected lady. Pray she does not forget her place or she might wind up more of an outcast than ever before.”

  “Sit down and hold your tongue,” he said.

  Wythe smiled as if the earl had been joking, but Rachel could feel the tension in his body. He resented his cousin’s authority even more than he resented her being at Blackmoor Hall. Maybe he felt as if she was driving a wedge between them. Regardless, the current situation didn’t sit well with him.

  “It makes a nice illusion, anyway,” he said. When this drew another sharp glance from Lord Druridge, Wythe ate in silence.

  The earl’s eyes flicked to Rachel every few seconds, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Had Wythe’s disapproval made him regret inviting her to dinner? Was he wondering what he would do with her now that she was no longer a servant?

  When the meal ended, she stood and curtsied again. “Thank you for supper, my lord.”

  She was halfway to the stairs before he said, “I believe you owe me another game of chess, Rachel.”

  “Tonight, my lord?”

  “Unless you are too tired.”

  “No.” She wasn’t tired. She was self-conscious and uncomfortable and unsure where her life was going. She also felt weak in the knees whenever she looked at him, and that scared her more than anything.

  “Why did you invite me to dine with you and Mr. Stanhope?”

  Truman watched Rachel carefully as he massaged his gloved left hand. In damp weather, it often pained him, had never been the same since the fire. “I’d like you to be comfortable here at Blackmoor Hall, and that means we need to make certain adjustments.”

  “But you knew your cousin would feel insulted to be forced to dine with someone of my low station.”

  He shrugged. “My cousin is as much a guest in my house as you are. He has no right to object.”

  She crossed to the window. “Mrs. Poulson has even less right, and yet she is just as displeased.”

  He could see her solemn reflection in the glass. Forever stoic, she seemed willing to brave anything for the sake of her brother. He’d never encountered such unselfishness.

  Maybe that was what drew him to her. It was unlike anything he’d ever known from Katherine.

  He got up to pour himself a drink. “Mrs. Poulson is not a pleasant individual generally, but my parents thought her presence might ease Wythe’s transition, seeing as he lost both father and mother in so short a time.”

  “She was already familiar to him?”

  “She has worked for Wythe’s family since he was a babe. Whenever I am tempted to sack her, I remind myself that it would be cruel to deprive my cousin of a servant he values so highly, especially because she is, despite her other faults, efficient.” Not only that but the memory of his cousin struggling to get him out of the house before he could burn to death bound him to behave in certain ways, despite all the disappointment and suspicion that complicated their relationship.

  “You are far more generous than most lords.”

  “And what do you know of any other lords, Rachel? Any other men, for that matter?” He lowered his voice. “From what I remember, you’ve known only me.”

  She flushed at his words. “I am not likely to forget that.”

  He tossed back his drink. “Unfortunately, neither am I.”

  “Because you now feel obligated to take care of me?”

  The fact that she would hate being an unwelcome burden brought the truth to his lips. “Because I crave more of the same.”

  At this admission, her mouth dropped open in surprise, but it was better that she feel empowered than he. He had every other advantage. “I-I inquired as to what you expected,” she said. “You haven’t asked me to pay you
a visit.”

  “No, and I won’t. I will keep my word, because I wouldn’t want you to ‘pay’ me anything. I would be a liar, however, if I said I don’t dream of you coming to me on your own.”

  Her eyebrows drew together, marring an otherwise smooth forehead. “You left my room the other night, when you brought the salve.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude to be… a compelling force.”

  “Why me?”

  His voice grew husky. “Are you that unaware of your beauty?”

  “I am aware that there are plenty of other women—from high-born ladies to servants to village girls—and that you can have your pick of the lot.”

  “So I keep telling myself.” He only wished the promise of “other women” was enough to distract him. “Shall we play?”

  She made no move toward the chess set. “I heard your argument with Linley the other morning.”

  He’d gotten too worked up, allowed the conversation to get out of hand three days ago. But he’d never had Linley oppose him so stubbornly. “I apologize. Please don’t let anything we said worry you.”

  “Even if Mr. Linley is right?”

  “About… ?”

  “Angering Lady Katherine’s parents.”

  Leaning one hip on the edge of his desk, he took a sip of brandy. “You mean further angering them?”

  “You should send me off to… to London, as you mentioned once before.”

  Even though he feared what might become of her? Even though it was the thought of her that brought him his only happiness? “Is that what you want, Rachel?”

  She began to pace. “I would hate to leave Geordie, but—”

  Setting his glass aside, he came up behind her. “Then why suggest it? Are you so eager to avoid me?”

  She didn’t turn to face him, but she didn’t step out of reach. “If it means you will escape the gallows, yes.”

  Unable to resist, he brought her around and caught her face in his hands. “Don’t tell me you are starting to like me, Rachel. I am the village monster, remember?”