by Holt, Cheryl
Each and every calamity he’d endured had its root in that horrid morning. When he closed his eyes, he could still smell the grass in Marley Field, could hear the horses snorting and stomping their feet, could smell the gunpowder that was in the air after the pistols had been fired, could feel the hot blood soaking into his shirt.
Had that been him, collapsed and gasping for breath? Had that been him, with the doctor leaned over and pressing a cloth to his chest to staunch the bleeding? He had the scar to prove it had actually occurred, but it seemed as if it must have happened to another man from another world.
Eugenia Wallace had been an erratic, adulterous strumpet. Why had Hayden—or her betrayed husband—ever imagined she was worth fighting over? It boggled the mind, and he had to cease his obsessing.
It was time to look to the future, to settle claims and regroup so he could move to the spot where he’d always belonged. He’d take Robert with him, his loyal friend and mentor who’d kept him alive, who’d listened to his stories, who’d never lost faith.
Will and Tom were approaching, their happy chatter drifting through the woods, and he walked to his horse and leapt into the saddle.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t like to call on him?” Robert inquired. “He’s had it coming for a decade.”
Hayden stared down the lane to where the manor house would be situated. Ultimately, he shook his head. “I don’t care about him.”
“I could swear he’s been haunting you forever.”
“He’s been a ghost, but he’s finally vanished in the distance.”
“Really?” Robert oozed skepticism.
“Yes, really. I’m just anxious to be home. I want to see what’s left of the place.”
“Not much, I’m predicting.”
“You can’t be sure of that. My sisters would have watched over it for me.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“You don’t know my sisters.”
“No, I don’t, but you shouldn’t get your hopes up. Women can’t be trusted to behave appropriately, so it’s probably a dilapidated mess.”
“Let’s go see anyway.”
Hayden tugged on the reins and turned away from Wallace Downs. Robert turned too, and they waited for Will and Tom to ride up. Then, together, they trotted off, eager to reach the one location Hayden yearned to be.
On to Middlebury, as fast as his horse could carry him there.
* * * *
The same six months later, Middlebury estate, rural England…
“If I need to contact you, where will you be?”
“Why would you need to contact me?”
Helen forced herself to smile at her cousin, Desdemona Henley, Lady Middlebury.
“What if something happens?” Helen asked.
“What could happen? This accursed property has limped along in pretty much the same condition for centuries. You needn’t worry.”
“Humor me. If there’s trouble, where would I start searching for you?”
Des pondered the question. “I suppose you could send a message to Jasper in London. Our town house is shuttered, but you could try his gambling clubs. The members might know where he is.”
“What if I couldn’t find him? How would I find you instead?”
“Why would I want you to find me? It’s Jasper’s bloody house,” Des crudely snapped. “He can fuss with it. I refuse to.”
“All right,” Helen amiably replied. “If I require assistance, I’ll track him down in London. When might you grace us with your presence again?”
“Hopefully never,” Des snottily retorted.
Helen might have scolded her or perhaps informed her that she should take her responsibilities more seriously. Evidently, she was immersed in a lengthy quarrel with her husband, and there was significant marital discord brewing. Des had committed a sin for which Jasper had banished her from London, and they were bickering over it.
She wouldn’t linger at Middlebury in case he showed up while she was there. He had a mistress and was flaunting his affair in Des’s face. It was scandalous and deplorable, and in another period in Helen’s life, she might have been outraged by such illicit conduct—and too morally inclined to tolerate it—but she was thankful to have a place to stay, and she would rock no boats.
She thought Des ought to work on a reconciliation with Jasper, but she and Des weren’t close, and Helen was in no position to comment on any personal topic.
They were in the front parlor of Middlebury Manor, the ostentatious mansion Jasper had inherited when he’d become earl. When Helen and Becky had returned from Tenerife and staggered to the estate—with no money and nowhere else to go—Des had been good at her word.
Helen had been given the post of housekeeper, and she and Becky had a small suite of rooms behind the kitchen. It contained a sitting room and two bedchambers, and they’d pilfered furniture from the attic to make it comfortable.
It was very much like a tiny cottage and not so different from some of the more meager rectories they’d lived in as their father’s fortunes had plummeted.
So far, her post was easy and interesting, but frustrating too. Jasper never attended to business and rarely paid his bills. Cousin Des was in charge of the manor, but she wasn’t regular about paying wages that were owed.
Most of the servants had quit, and those from the old families who’d served the earldom for generations had walked away in disgust. The few who remained were new employees who were willing to tarry despite their not being remunerated.
She hadn’t caught any of them in mischief, but she suspected they were a thieving lot who reimbursed themselves in duplicitous ways by stealing food and other items when no one was looking.
The residence was filthy, rundown, and gradually falling to pieces, but Helen didn’t mind. Her little part of it was in fine condition, and she was restoring the more public areas so—when Des or Jasper visited—they wouldn’t notice the deterioration and blame her.
She also kept their bedchambers cleaned and ready so they could pop in without warning, but in the four months she’d been at Middlebury, she’d scarcely seen them. They spent all their time in London or at country parties where they gambled and reveled in a manner they viewed as befitting their elevated station.
Helen had a roof over her head, food to eat, and a job to do. Her sister was safe and protected. What she didn’t have was a boss who was constantly underfoot to complain about how she hadn’t dusted the mantle over the fireplace correctly.
The staff was bare bones, with not anywhere near the amount they needed. But with such reduced numbers, there were no scores of shrewish housemaids to gossip and spread vicious rumors. There were no handsome footmen to pester Becky and get her into trouble. There were no upper level servants to gripe about various slights and their not being appreciated.
There was just her and Becky, plus an elderly cook and a few slothful housemaids. Outside on the grounds, there were several lazy men who slept over the stables and tended the animals and the farm. And that was it. She had scant people to supervise or manage. All in all, she was relieved and content and very grateful.
The days rolled by like a sluggish river where nothing changed and nothing happened. Considering the indignities her father had stirred over the years, she’d had all the surprises in her life that she could stand.
“Any news about your father?” Des asked.
She was proceeding to the front foyer, and Helen hurried after her.
“No.”
“If he shows up here, you are not to let him remain. Not for a single minute.”
“Oh, of course I wouldn’t.”
“I have to be very firm about this. He’s a disgrace, and you have been entirely too forgiving.”
“I know.”
Helen might have argued that Simon was her father, and she was a loyal daughter, but she wasn’t about to defend him. She’d written to all their relatives, apprising th
em that she and Becky were back in England and that Simon was probably back too. Everyone would be watching for him and locking their doors if he approached.
But he was a sly devil, and eventually he’d learn where Helen and Becky were living. At the moment—with her still angry over their futile journey to Tenerife—she couldn’t bear to have him saunter in. He’d be full of apologies and excuses and laden down with gifts, and she was in no mood to deal with him.
She prayed every night that he would stay far away from her, but then, she’d feel guilty for offering up such a terrible request. She’d pray again, simply asking that he be safe and healthy and happy and—wherever he was—that he wasn’t causing problems for anyone.
“If I found out you’d given Simon shelter,” Des said, “I’d have to fire you. I recognize that you’re in dire straits, and I’ve been incredibly generous. You shouldn’t assume you can take advantage of my kindly nature.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Helen insisted.
“Good. I won’t put up with any nonsense.”
Helen was biting her tongue so hard she was amazed she didn’t crack a tooth.
She knew why Des had been kind: There was no housekeeper in the world who would work for free. Helen was the only woman idiotic enough to agree, and she was the only decent female who would tolerate Jasper’s licentious habits. There was no line of applicants eager to swoop in and usurp Helen’s spot.
Des marched outside, and Helen followed her. They tromped down the grand stairs to Des’s carriage. It wasn’t a Henley coach. There was no crest on the door, so she must have hired it in town. A footman was waiting to help her in, but he wasn’t an employee. He wasn’t wearing Henley livery, his clothes were disheveled, and he needed to shave. Helen wondered where Des had dug him up.
The fact that she was using a rented vehicle—and a rented footman—had Helen speculating that the other Henley coaches might have been sold off to pay debts. Or perhaps creditors had seized them.
As with the crumbling manor, the land was in very bad shape, the fields fallow, the orchards untended, the enormous gardens a mass of untrimmed weeds. Jasper’s finances were likely much worse than Helen suspected, but his fiscal condition didn’t concern her.
The estate was entailed to the title, so no matter how reckless he grew, he couldn’t lose it. The property would always belong to him, so Helen would always have a place to live. Currently, her personal horizon was no larger than that.
“Have a good trip,” she said as Des hefted herself up, and the footman shut the door.
She leaned out the window. “I plan on it.”
“Becky and I will be here, keeping things running smoothly.”
“Don’t burn the house down.” Des paused, then scoffed. “Actually, you can burn it all if you wish. I hardly care.”
Helen didn’t dare respond. Instead, she said, “It was lovely to see you again.”
Des glared. “I’d reply with the same sentiment, but we’d both realize I didn’t mean it.”
She rapped on the roof to signal the driver. The footman leapt into the box, and the driver whistled to the horses. The animals pulled, and very quickly, Des disappeared down the lane.
Once she vanished from view, Becky strolled up.
“Where have you been?” Helen asked her.
“I was hiding until Desdemona left. I couldn’t bear to talk to her.”
Helen yanked her sister close and whispered, “Hush! Don’t voice derogatory remarks aloud. The servants are awful and disloyal, and they don’t know us from Adam. They’d tattle on you for a penny.”
“They’re all too stupid to remember me for more than a minute.”
“You’re probably right, which I deem to be a sad commentary on the caliber of the people who work here. I hope their idiocy isn’t catching.”
“It looked as if Des was scolding you. Was she?”
“She doesn’t want Father to join us. He’s too scandalous.”
Becky snorted with amusement. “That’s the scandalous pot calling the scandalous kettle black.”
“You’ve guessed my opinion exactly, but if he shows up, we’re to kick him out and bar the door.”
“Could you do that?” Becky inquired. “Could you send him packing?”
It was their perpetual dilemma. They could never be angry at Simon for very long.
“I might be able to kick him out, but first, I force him to explain the entire debacle on Tenerife.”
“I’d like to watch you trying to pry a straight answer out of him.”
“It could happen,” Helen said.
“In what century?”
Becky had a basket over her arm, her bonnet tied under her chin. It was an August afternoon, the sun shining down, the temperature pleasant, so she hadn’t bothered with a shawl.
“Where are you off to?” Helen asked.
“Cook’s having me walk to the village to convince one of the shopkeepers to give me some sugar. If I can, she’ll bake us a pie for supper.”
They had food staples from what they could grow and slaughter at the farm, but they needed to purchase other items like tea and sugar. They didn’t have any money, but Des and Jasper demanded local merchants deliver supplies on credit. The amounts they owed in the village were staggering and the merchants incensed by their greed and obliviousness.
From the beginning, she and Becky had gotten an earful. The men wouldn’t dare complain to Jasper or Des, so Helen and Becky were easy targets.
“Just be cordial,” Helen urged. “Despite how they treat you, we’ll kill them with kindness and prove we’re very different from Desdemona. I’m determined we settle in and make friends.”
“With our being related to her grand self, we’ll never fit in at Middlebury. She and Jasper are loathed by all, and we’ve been painted with the same bad brush.”
Helen sighed with exasperation.
Des and Jasper were the two luckiest people in the kingdom. The prior Lord Middlebury, John Henley, had died in an accident. His wife and son, Hayden, too.
To general astonishment by all, Jasper had been next in line, had suddenly been raised up to one of the highest spots in the land. He and Des had jumped into their roles as earl and countess with a snooty attitude that had never been warranted.
Their lack of humility was galling. Why weren’t they grateful? Why didn’t they exhibit an ounce of appreciation for what had been bestowed?
Clearly, they couldn’t manage the magnificent property they’d inherited, and their deficient ability had her supposing there was something to be said for the aristocratic blood that flowed in a noble’s veins. The titled classes always insisted it rendered them superior to commoners, and in this case, it seemed to be true.
She stared up at the beautiful old mansion, wondering what it might have been like if the real Henleys had lived to keep control of it.
There were three Henley sisters, but she had no idea where they were, and apparently, they didn’t get on with Desdemona. Had they been home lately to observe the terrible conditions? Were they aware of how matters had fallen to rack and ruin under Jasper’s inept administration?
One of the sisters, Catherine, had spent the night shortly after Helen had arrived, but she’d sneaked in and out so furtively that Helen hadn’t even met her. She had to have been heartsick over the deterioration.
Helen asked, “Have I ever told you what Nine Lives claimed that last day on Tenerife?”
“No. I remember you quarreled with him. Why were you so furious?”
“I eavesdropped on a conversation he was having with Mr. Stone. He delivered some hideous insults.”
“What insults?”
“Mostly what Will Stone told you: that I was too lowly for him to ever consider a connection to me.”
“Were you hoping for a connection? Were you that smitten?”
“I pondered it for a quick instant, but it was a silly notion.”
&nbs
p; “He was such a pompous ass,” Becky said.
“I certainly thought so. I’ll admit he was handsome and dashing, but he was a pirate and a smuggler. So were Will and his father.”
“They didn’t have much of a reason to be putting on airs.”
“I agree, but listen to this. With our being at Middlebury, it’s quite funny.”
“What is it?”
“Nine Lives swore he couldn’t marry me because he was a British lord, and once he was in England, he intended to wed very high.”
Becky chortled with mirth. “That’s hilarious.”
“Guess who he pretended to be.”
“Who?”
“Hayden Henley.”
Becky laughed. “Hayden Henley! He’s dead!”
“I know. I don’t think he expected I would realize who Hayden Henley was or what had happened to him. He was trying to impress me.”
“Were you impressed?”
“Definitely not.”
“Did you tell him how you were related to Desdemona?”
“No.”
“I would have,” Becky said. “The news would have thrown cold water on any nonsense.”
“No, it wouldn’t have. He was too vain by half.”
“You’re right about that,” Becky concurred. “What do you imagine became of them? Do you suppose they ever made it to England?”
“Probably, and they’re likely counting all their money and congratulating themselves on how stupendous they are.”
“I’m betting that’s it exactly. Do you ever miss him? Do you ever miss Tenerife?”
“No,” Helen lied, because she missed all of it. Dreadfully.
It was the only true adventure she’d ever had—or ever would have. It was the only time she’d ever sail on the ocean or loaf on a tropical island. It was the only time she’d be friends with a pirate. Nine Lives—or whoever he’d been—was the most amazing man she’d ever meet, but with friends like that! My goodness!
They’d had such a brief acquaintance, and she still felt awful that they’d fought at the end. That final morning, she was glad he’d come to the harbor, glad she’d forgiven him.
“Will we ever see him or Mr. Stone again?” Becky asked.
