by Holt, Cheryl
“What tasks?” She scowled, but he was already walking out the door. She called, “Wait a minute! What are you planning? I’m in charge here.”
He snickered. “Are you? That’s not what I hear.”
“I am in charge—as much as anybody. You should seek my permission before you bluster about and bark commands.”
“We’ll discuss it this evening,” he said. “I’ll join you for supper. Robert and his sons will dine with us too, so be sure the cook knows about the extra guests. I take it there is still a cook?”
“Yes, there’s a cook.”
Then he was gone.
She was anxious to yank him back, to ask him where he was headed and what he intended. He was awfully comfortable, as if he’d made himself at home. Was he staying on? For how long? To do what?
She hadn’t forgotten how, on Tenerife, he’d claimed to be Hayden Henley. Was he pursuing that ridiculous scheme? Would Helen be swept into the middle of it? Of course she would, so it would utterly ruin the safe haven she’d found for herself—and for Becky. Just from contemplating the drama he might stir, she felt sick to her stomach.
What about her father prancing in as if all was fine? He’d been specifically banished by Desdemona, so Helen couldn’t persuade herself that his presence was all right. He was even more of a danger to her than Nine Lives in her being able to remain in her sanctuary.
Simon watched Nine Lives stomp out. “He seemed pleasant. Well, not really.”
He laughed jovially, and she gaped at him.
What now? What next?
The prior decade, he’d brought her nothing but trouble and scandal. It followed him like a cloud. Yet she’d finally landed in a quiet place where she’d assumed she could pass the coming years with no surprises or difficulties. She wished a hole would open in the floor so she could drop into it and sneak away.
“Where have you been, Simon?” she demanded.
When she was vexed with him, she used his Christian name—in the same irate tone her mother had used it. It was her method of informing him she was very angry.
“It’s a long story, my darling girl. May I have a hug first?”
“Yes, you may, but then, you’d better start at the beginning.”
“And I’m parched from my travels. Have you any ale in this decrepit mansion?”
“We have ale,” Helen sullenly said.
He gave her a tight hug, and she hugged him back. She was glad to see him, glad to learn he was hale and unharmed, but she couldn’t imagine what calamities might be approaching.
As he drew away, Becky was lurking behind him. She was bristling with alarm, but with resignation too.
They were his daughters. There was no escaping that fact.
* * * *
Hayden stood in the driveway in front of the manor. He kicked at a pile of leaves that no one had bothered to rake away. Feeling livid and heartsick, he stared out at the empty fields. Around the corner, he could see the park, the once-manicured gardens overgrown, the flowers gone to seed.
The view down the lane toward the main road was probably the most depressing. It was lined with fruit trees that had provided a pretty canopy, but now, the trees were untended and mostly dead. No fruit would be harvested that autumn, that was for sure.
The entire property was in a grave state of deterioration. His cousin, Jasper, had let it fall to pieces and hadn’t cared about what had been lost. How could it be repaired? How much money would it cost?
He’d rapidly strolled through the house, searching for Helen, which had furnished him with the opportunity to verify that just a few servants were employed. He hadn’t recognized a single one. Becky had mentioned that the old retainers had left, that Jasper never paid their wages and they’d all gradually quit.
He hadn’t believed her, but on witnessing the shocking scene, he had to admit that he was a dreamer and a fool.
In his grueling decade away, when he’d been enslaved and indentured and forced to labor in the most trying of conditions, he’d soothed himself with visions of Middlebury and how it had looked the last time he’d visited.
It had been the Christmas before the duel. He’d been finished with his studies by then and spreading his wings as a gentleman in town. He’d started to gamble and revel with dissolute companions and doxies.
Almost against his will, he’d heeded his mother’s request that he spend the holiday with his family. His sisters had all come from school, and he’d enjoyed a perfect week with all of them.
When he’d been suffering so terribly on foreign shores, he’d close his eyes and recall Middlebury as it had been during that peaceful sojourn. But while he’d been fantasizing and reminiscing, naught had remained the same.
It seemed as if he’d staggered into an alien land where everything was vaguely similar, but in a rundown, ramshackle way. He was so disoriented he felt dizzy and ill. He was home, but wasn’t home. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to think?
After that lovely Christmas, he hadn’t seen his sisters again. He’d been at death’s door from the duel, and his parents had whisked him out of the country without informing them of what had happened, without giving them a chance to say goodbye.
Where were they? Why hadn’t they intervened in Jasper’s neglect? Why hadn’t they insisted he shape up and act as his station demanded?
The absurd notion flitted by, and he shook his head. His sisters had still been girls when he’d set all their tragedies in motion. Once Jasper had inherited, they would have had no role in how the estate was managed.
To add insult to injury, Helen was in residence, and she was cousin to Jasper’s wife, Desdemona. He was astonished to have stumbled on her, grateful to have stumbled on her, but he didn’t want her at Middlebury! Then again, he didn’t want her to ever leave.
Her father, the notorious Vicar Barnes, was present too—a further complication he hadn’t sought and didn’t need.
He was completely overwhelmed.
On the trip to England, he and Robert had endlessly debated how to announce his return. Robert had urged Hayden to bluster in in a very public manner, but Hayden had felt sorry for Jasper and what he was about to lose. He’d decided to quietly appear, to investigate the situation and discover how matters stood.
But on observing the extent of Jasper’s neglect, Hayden wasn’t about to skulk in the shadows. He’d arrived. He was back with a vengeance. He would seize what was his, and Jasper had better watch out.
As he was fretting and stewing, Tom hurried up. He, Will, and Robert had proceeded on to the stables to tend the horses and find a spot to bunk down while they devised a plan of action. Hayden had left them to it, being eager to speak to Helen and not able to delay a single second.
“Father sent me to fetch you,” Tom explained. “He said you should come quick. He has to show you something.”
“Will it irk me more than I already have been?”
“Most likely.”
Hayden marched off, Tom tagging behind. He approached the stable doors as Robert exited, his fury evident.
“What’s wrong?” Hayden murmured.
Robert nodded to the building. “Go inside and take a peek at what passes for servants on this despicable property.”
“Guard my back,” he said as he went in.
“I always do, but I don’t believe you’ll require any assistance with this pathetic lot.”
It was the middle of the afternoon, and there were eight men sitting in a circle, playing cards and drinking brandy from a crystal decanter that must have been pilfered from the manor. They were wagering, betting silverware and candlesticks that had to have also been pilfered from the manor. Had they stolen every item that wasn’t nailed down?
There were a few horses out in the pasture, but their stalls hadn’t been mucked out in ages. The smell was rank, the whole place disgusting.
“Hello, mate,” one of them said, and the others grunted
various greetings.
“I’m not your mate,” Hayden replied. “Stand up when you address me.”
The man glared at him, then scoffed. “I don’t think I will.”
Hayden kicked him very hard. “Get up.”
“Who are you? The bloody King of England.”
“Near enough,” Hayden retorted.
Still, the idiot didn’t rise, and Hayden reached down, grabbed him by his shirt, and dragged him up.
There were frowns and grumblings from the others, then outright gasps as Hayden tossed the man away as if he weighed no more than a feather.
“I am Hayden Henley,” he told them.
They simply gaped as if the name meant nothing to them, and it probably didn’t. They weren’t from Middlebury. Their ancestors hadn’t served the Henley family for centuries.
“Well, if you’re determined to be a prick, Hayden Henley,” one said, “you can just sod off.”
Another added, “You’ve interfered with a perfectly good card game.”
A third complained, “You have some nerve, butting in and being an ass.”
“All of you are fired,” Hayden declared.
He was met with shocked utterances: “What!” and “You can’t do that!” and “You have no authority here!”
There were more frowns and anxious shifting.
“You have five minutes to get off my property,” Hayden decreed.
The oaf he’d tossed away had the audacity to crawl to his feet and strut over.
“Mr. Henley, you should—”
Hayden whipped around so they were nose to nose. “It’s Lord Middlebury to you.”
“What are you? Demented? Everyone knows Jasper Henley is Lord Middlebury.”
Hayden pulled out a pistol, and he set it on the man’s forehead. The dunce tried to lurch away, but Hayden clasped him by the neck and held on tight.
“Five minutes.” He kept his focus on where his pistol was aimed. “Robert, do you have your timepiece on you?”
“Yes.”
“Time them. At the end, if they are still on the premises, I will turn them over to the magistrate and have them prosecuted for theft and trespassing.”
“What are you up to, Henley?” one of them whined.
“It’s Lord Middlebury!” Hayden bellowed so loudly they all blanched. “Five minutes, Robert. Starting now.”
More protests erupted: “But…but…where are we to go?” and “We work here!” and “You can’t kick us out!”
“Five minutes,” Hayden repeated.
They glanced at each other, then one of them mumbled, “Bugger this! He’s a bloody lunatic.”
He slid away, then another followed and another and another. The place quickly emptied as they rushed up to the loft where they slept at night. He could hear them dashing about, snatching up belongings, stuffing them into bags. Then they were tromping down, running out of the building and down the lane.
Hayden lowered his pistol and stepped away from the miscreant he’d been holding.
“What’s your pleasure?” Hayden asked him. “Will you leave too? Or shall I shoot you where you stand for stealing from my family?”
“I didn’t steal nothin’!” the cretin sullenly groused.
“It will be your word against mine, and I doubt—if I murder you—that anyone will notice. Who would question me over the likes of you?”
“You can’t just…just…murder a fellow.”
“Yes, I can. I’ve done it all over the world, so I can certainly do it in my own yard.”
The prick wanted to argue, wanted to object, and perhaps even to fight over the eviction, but he assessed Hayden’s superior size and wrath, his myriad of weapons, and Robert hovering at Hayden’s back.
He slinked away, then raced up the stairs to collect his things. Hayden stoically waited, and it was coming up on five minutes when the man flitted down and left.
Once he crept out, Robert snorted with amusement. “Welcome home, Lord Middlebury.”
“Sweet Jesu!” Hayden muttered. “What a disaster.”
“In all your dreams while you were away, could you ever have imagined it quite like this?”
“No.”
“What fire shall we tamp out next?”
“We have to rid ourselves of all those who’ve been skimming and thieving. I won’t have them here another second.”
“Shall we go into the house and chase away all the slovenly housemaids who’ve been harassing Miss Barnes?”
“I’m happy to do that,” Hayden agreed. “I want a clean slate.”
Robert called to his boys and put them to work shoveling out the stalls. Then he and Hayden proceeded to the manor.
“Will Miss Barnes be upset if you throw everyone out?” Robert asked.
“It doesn’t matter. None of these people can stay.”
“You can’t have a mansion with no servants. She’ll need some help.”
“I’ll send a request to the village. I’ll find some of our prior retainers and lure them back.”
“You might have to pay the wages they’re owed in order to convince them.”
“I have the funds, and it will be money well spent.” Then Hayden inquired, “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“The indomitable Vicar Barnes has arrived from parts unknown. He strolled into the kitchen, bold as brass, when I was talking to Helen.”
“I’ll be damned. Where’s he been all this time?”
“I can’t guess. He seemed like a wily character, and I didn’t have the patience to chat with him about it.”
Robert laughed. “Let me get this straight. You thought you’d ride in for a poignant homecoming. Instead, your cousin, Jasper, is a worthless sluggard who’s destroyed all you held dear. Your estate is ruined. Your servants are sloths and criminals. Your sisters have fled, and you have no idea where they are. Helen Barnes is in residence—with her sister and her father—even though she’s the one woman you swore you didn’t care about and never planned to see again. Have I forgotten anything?”
“I’m sure you must have left something out.”
“I say it again, Lord Middlebury. Welcome home. Are you glad to be here?”
“Not yet.”
Hayden bounded up the grand stairs, eager for a few more heads to roll.
* * * *
Helen peeked up and down the hall to be certain she was unobserved, then she snuck into Jasper’s bedchamber and shut the door. It was as good a hiding place as any.
The manor was huge, with dozens of bedchambers and literally hundreds of parlors in various sizes that were used for various purposes. In many ways, it was like a castle, the sort of abode where a king would have felt comfortable.
Well, he’d have felt comfortable if there had been a cadre of servants to keep it all running smoothly.
She’d fed her father and had dawdled a bit, pretending she was delighted to see him, but she wasn’t ready to be regaled with his tales as to why he’d urged them to sail to Tenerife, why he’d vanished, and where he’d been since then.
She’d traveled to Middlebury with the best of intentions. She’d tried to exert some authority over the servants, had tried to muddle through without any help. Suddenly, she was drowning in dilemmas.
She didn’t want any part of whatever scheme Nine Lives was hatching. Nor could she bear to be sucked back into her father’s life. She’d had enough!
During his painful escapades when she’d been a dutiful and obedient daughter, she’d often wondered if Simon wasn’t a tad deranged. His behavior in the Canary Islands proved that he probably was.
What if she hadn’t met Nine Lives on Tenerife? What if he hadn’t rescued her? What then? She couldn’t imagine what might have happened to her and her sister.
She wouldn’t loaf at Middlebury while catastrophe festered. She wouldn’t let Nine Lives or her father pester her. What if Nine Lives was rea
lly Hayden Henley as he’d claimed? What if a miracle had occurred and he was back from the dead?
He’d been very clear on Tenerife that he would marry very high. Would she tarry at his ancestral home, trudging around as his housekeeper and greeting his new bride when he carried her in the door?
No! She simply couldn’t do it.
She went over to Jasper’s desk and sat down, having to first tidy his mess. He never paid his bills and the drawers were stuffed with demand notices from creditors. Many of them had fallen out onto the floor and were scattered haphazardly.
She picked them up and was arranging them when one of them caught her eye. It wasn’t a bill, but a wedding invitation. A female relative, Abigail Henley, was marrying a man named Alexander Wallace. Helen wasn’t positive, but she thought Abigail was one of the prior earl’s daughters, so she would be Hayden Henley’s sister.
Jasper and Desdemona had been invited to the wedding. There was a letter enclosed too, where Abigail Henley pleaded with Jasper to walk her down the aisle.
She tossed them aside, then she pulled out a clean sheet of paper, dipped a quill in the ink jar, and wrote a letter to her childhood friend, Evangeline Etherton. They’d gone to school together back in the day when Helen’s father had been gainfully employed and had had the money for her to be educated. They’d always kept in touch.
The walls of the world Helen had built for herself at Middlebury were about to start crumbling, and she was determined to escape and not be buried in the rubble.
Evangeline had wed an aristocrat and was Lady Run. Her husband was rich, and he’d bought the school they’d attended and had given it to her as a gift. She was the owner and—the previous year—when Helen’s situation had been very dire, Evangeline had offered her a teaching position.
By now, the post would have been filled, but she wrote to inquire anyway. She advised Evangeline that she was still in trouble and still searching for a job.
