by Holt, Cheryl
She finished the humiliating missive, then she pulled out a second sheet and penned a very stern letter to Jasper, apprising him that there was a man on the premises who’d moved in and was claiming to be Hayden Henley. She insisted he come to Middlebury with all due speed to see for himself.
She had no idea where to send it, but she’d begin with his town house in London. Supposedly, it was shuttered, but perhaps he’d opened it again. She made three copies of the letter and figured she’d send them to his gambling clubs too. Hopefully, he’d receive one of them before too much time had passed.
She could have ignored the whole debacle, but she knew—without a doubt—that however the disaster played out, she’d be blamed in some fashion.
She sealed the envelopes, then she hid them in her skirt and headed into the hall. As she approached the stairs, her sister was shouting for her, and she marched to the landing and peered to the lower floor where Becky was hovering and bellowing.
“Honestly, Becky,” she scolded, “what’s wrong? You’re hollering like a lunatic.”
“You won’t believe what happened.”
Helen sighed. “Yes, I will. What is it?”
“Nine Lives fired all the men out in the stables.”
“He what?”
“He fired them and chased them off the property. He drew a pistol and gave them five minutes to grab their belongings.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, and guess what else?”
“What?” She braced, almost as if a blow was imminent.
“He fired all the maids too. Except for Cook. He asked me if she was any good, and I told him she was, so he let her stay.”
“He fired the maids?”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“He doesn’t have any authority to fire people!”
“He’s announced he’s Hayden Henley. He’s bragging about it out loud.”
“He is mad as a hatter.”
“Yes, probably, but we can’t stop him from committing any insane act, and it’s chaos in the kitchen. The maids can’t decide if they should obey him and leave or what. At least he didn’t pull his pistol on any of the women. Can you come down and help me?”
Helen bristled. Could the day possibly get any worse? “Yes, I’ll be right there. And if you bump into Nine Lives—”
“He swears he’s Lord Middlebury.”
“I’m not calling him Middlebury. If you see him before I arrive, tell him to desist with his nonsense until I can speak with him.”
“Who could make him? Not me, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll handle it,” Helen muttered, even as she wondered how she ever would.
The letters to Jasper were crinkling in her pocket, reminding her to mail them immediately. It was a Henley calamity, and she wasn’t even a Henley. They could deal with their own problems. Jasper could clean up his own mess.
She was simply the housekeeper and an unpaid one at that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Oh, there’s no doubt he’s Hayden Henley.”
“You’re certain?”
Helen pulled up short. She was in the hall by the front parlor, and Becky and her father were in there and chatting.
She’d spent the afternoon extinguishing the fires Nine Lives had started, and she was exhausted. He’d chased off the men who worked outside and the housemaids who worked inside. Cook alone had been spared, and she’d announced that she’d been hired to prepare food and that’s what she intended to do until she was ordered to stop.
Earlier, Nine Lives had decreed that he and the Stone family would join Helen for supper, but she couldn’t imagine sitting through such a torturous meal. Especially with her father present too.
She’d advised Cook to set out a buffet in the small dining room so people could eat when they were hungry. The woman had lost her helpers though, so Helen had assisted her, mostly by arranging the dishes on the sideboard.
For hours, she’d searched for Nine Lives and Mr. Stone, but they’d managed to keep one step ahead of her in the large mansion. No matter the direction she walked, they’d been somewhere else.
Ultimately, she’d given up worrying about them and had gone about her daily routine, but she’d been on her own with no servants to provide their half-hearted aid, so she’d had to toil away harder than ever, which annoyed her very much.
So far, she’d avoided talking to her father, having notified Becky that they could feed themselves whenever they were ready. It was evening now, and she didn’t suppose she could steer clear of him forever.
She entered the parlor, and they were seated over by the hearth, logs burning in the grate. They’d used them all, and she had no idea who would restock them. Not either of them, that was for sure. They acted like royalty and thought they should be waited on hand and foot.
“Helen, there you are!” Becky said. “Where have you been?”
“Tamping down the chaos.”
“It’s quiet without the staff.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “Have you seen Nine Lives? I’ve been trying to locate him and Mr. Stone all day, but I haven’t had any luck.”
“They went upstairs a bit ago.”
“Why?”
“Who can guess what they’re planning?” Becky replied. “Have you ever witnessed such wild behavior?”
“No.”
Her father studied her in his kind, poignant way. “You’re tired, Helen. You shouldn’t labor to the point of extreme fatigue.”
“No, I probably shouldn’t, but I appear to be the last one left who’s willing to complete any chores.”
“You won’t believe what Father told me,” Becky said.
“What?”
“Nine Lives is Hayden Henley.”
Helen scowled at Simon. “How do you know that?”
“I met him and his father once. He was eighteen or nineteen at the time.”
“Nine Lives is more than a decade older than that,” Helen pointed out. “Why are you convinced it’s the same man?”
“I have to admit he’s suffered some wear and tear. He’s not the green boy he was back then, but it’s him all right.”
Helen sighed with resignation. Her father might—or might not—be telling the truth. If there were schemes brewing, she couldn’t have Simon participating with whatever plot Nine Lives was hatching.
As to herself, she couldn’t decide what to think. She’d never met Hayden Henley before he died, and there were no portraits of him in the manor. Who could guarantee that Nine Lives and Hayden Henley were the same person? He definitely carried himself like an aristocrat. He had the bearing and demeanor of someone who had been raised to a very high station in life.
“Where have you been, Simon?” she asked, even though she wasn’t eager to be apprised. “We arrived on Tenerife, but you weren’t there. If Nine Lives hadn’t—”
Her father interrupted. “He’s Lord Middlebury, Helen. We should call him by the correct designation.”
She wasn’t about to have that argument. “If he hadn’t rescued us, I can’t predict what would have happened.”
“It was a huge misunderstanding,” her father claimed.
“Was it?”
“Yes. The Missionary Society had erroneously assigned me to the region. A different preacher had been sent there, so the house and church weren’t available to us.”
“Really?”
Helen was so skeptical her glare could have shot daggers, and Becky flashed a visual message to inform her he wasn’t being candid.
“What else, Simon? What haven’t you told me?”
“Well, there was an…incident after I debarked.”
“What incident?”
“I stumbled on an acquaintance who was aware of my problems in England.” He waffled his hand as if the encounter was of no importance. “He took umbrage at my being on Tenerife.”
“And what? You were kicked o
ut by the authorities?”
“I suppose kicked out is a little harsh to describe what occurred.”
“But you weren’t permitted to remain.”
“No. I was forcibly put onto the next ship that was sailing. Didn’t you get my letter? You must not have. I wrote immediately and advised you not to come after all.”
“Where have you been since then?”
“I’ve been making my way to England. As you might imagine, I had to travel a circuitous route. I’ve had dozens of adventures and ran into scores of interesting folks. I can’t wait to tell you all about them.”
She’d rather poke her eyes out with a sharp stick than listen to a single word.
“You can’t stay at Middlebury, Simon,” she said.
“Helen, dear girl, don’t be so grouchy or so angry. Of course I can stay. I’m your father. Would you toss me out on the road?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“We’ll spend a few weeks together, and we’ll quickly smooth over this wretched impasse.”
She’d already mailed the letter to her friend, Evangeline, inquiring about a teaching post. She envisioned it flying across England, her desperate request drifting to the exact spot she was anxious for it to be. With any luck, she’d escape Middlebury very soon.
“I’ll confess to being tired and grouchy,” she said, “but I’m not angry.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not, but I’m merely the housekeeper in this deserted mansion. Cousin Desdemona was just here, and she specifically stated—if you slinked in—I was not to allow you on the premises.”
He frowned. “You’re worried about Cousin Des?”
“Yes. My position is precarious, and I won’t jeopardize it. I have to think of Becky. If Des evicted us because of you, where would we go?”
“We don’t need to worry about Desdemona,” he asserted.
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“Hayden Henley is back from the dead, Helen! This won’t be Desdemona’s home much longer.”
“You sincerely believe he’s the earl?”
“Yes, so Jasper and Des are about to surrender all of the good fortune they’ve accumulated.” He smirked. “With how uncharitable they’ve been, I declare the debacle couldn’t crush a more deserving pair.”
“Let me get this straight,” Helen said. “You assume you can tarry at Middlebury because a stranger has blustered in and seized control?”
“He’s not a stranger, Helen, and Becky has confided that he’s sweet on you.”
Her glower at Becky was caustic. “He’s not sweet on me. I have no idea why she’d tell you that.”
Her father ignored her denial. “If Jasper and Des are about to be sent packing, and Hayden is back and smitten besides, there will be all sorts of boons winging our way in the future.”
“What boons?”
“Why, a profitable alliance with a rich and powerful nobleman! He’s so besotted with you! Becky and I feel marriage is a possibility. We have to begin working on that conclusion.”
She shook her head with derision. “Me and Lord Middlebury? He might wed me, and that will save the three of us?”
“Yes. Why shouldn’t he pick you?” her father enthusiastically gushed. “You’d be perfect for him. You’re beautiful, educated, and patient. People love you, Helen. They always have.”
“In some fantasy world, they’ve loved me. You’ve made esteem a bit tricky to generate.”
“He’ll face many trials, both with establishing himself and with repairing the property after Jasper’s neglect. You’re the partner he requires to help him get his life back on track.”
“In what insane universe would you suppose I have the skills to be a countess?”
He scoffed. “You always underestimate yourself. Haven’t I encouraged you to be more confident about your abilities?”
“Father has a great suggestion,” Becky interjected.
Helen’s tone was sarcastic. “I’m absolutely on pins and needles, waiting to hear what it is.”
“He thought Lord Middlebury could grant him the living at the parish church. He could preach here, and we could move into the rectory.”
Helen’s jaw dropped. “Simon? Ministering to the lost souls at Middlebury?”
“It could happen,” Becky sullenly said. “Why couldn’t it?”
“You mean other than the fact that he’s been defrocked for moral turpitude?”
Becky was resolute. “Maybe—if Lord Middlebury demanded it—church authorities would relent and reinstate him.”
“And then what?” Helen inquired. “We’d hunker down in the rectory until the next scandal explodes?”
“Helen, Helen,” Simon chided, “don’t be so negative. My recent ordeal has been a revelation to me. I’ve changed.”
Helen rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad you have.”
“Wouldn’t you like to marry Lord Middlebury?” Becky asked. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Why shouldn’t we hope for it?”
“There’s just one problem with the notion,” Helen told them.
“What problem?”
“He’s decreed—in no uncertain terms—that he intends to marry a princess. I am too far beneath him, and he would never consider me.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” her father said. “Men choose unusual brides all the time. You’d be amazed by how often it transpires.”
“Name one husband who chose a low bride. You can probably name a dozen who wed higher, who found heiresses and wed for money. But I can’t think of a single bachelor who deliberately selected a penniless vicar’s daughter.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Simon said.
“I’m not being hard. I’m being realistic.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Now then, I’m weary, and I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight,” they replied in unison.
“First though, I’m heading upstairs to find Nine Lives, so I can talk to him about tomorrow. I can’t abide all this upheaval, so he has to calm down and cease his rampaging.”
“He’ll soon have matters squared away,” Simon insisted. “He’s quite adept at taking charge.”
Helen didn’t comment, for of course Nine Lives was proficient at barking orders and being obeyed. He’d been born to command, born to rule, born to lord himself over others.
“In the meantime,” Helen said, “you two will desist with this fantasy you’re spinning. You are not to ever discuss a marriage for me. If Nine Lives heard you, I’ve be mortified. I want this subject dropped.”
“Oh, yes, we’ll drop it.”
Simon grinned, and Becky grinned too, providing every indication that they wouldn’t listen to her, but she was too drained to fight about it.
She stomped out and wound up the grand staircase. It was eerily quiet with all the servants kicked out. The house was hundreds of years old, and if a ghost had floated by, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
When she got to the third floor, she peered to the end of the hall, and the doors to Jasper’s bedchamber were open, a lamp burning in the sitting room.
Apparently, she’d located who she was looking for without too much searching, and her irritation spiked. He had no business being in Jasper’s personal quarters, but he was extremely deranged. Who could prevent him from engaging in any mad conduct?
She marched down and entered the suite. Jasper’s possessions were stacked in piles to be hauled out.
Almost afraid of what she’d encounter, she tiptoed over and peeked into the bedroom. He was over by the window, leaned on the sill and staring across the park. His shirt was off, his boots and stockings too, so he was wearing only his trousers. She had a full view of his ruined back, the scars a painful reminder of his violent past.
“Hello, Helen.” He didn’t turn around.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I’d recognize your stride anywhere—and the smell of your skin
and hair.”
“Why are you in here?” she asked.
“I’m moving in.”
“Nine Lives, you can’t—”
He glanced over at her. “Would you call me by my Christian name?”
“What is it?”
“You know what it is.”
It was late evening, the sun having set, the sky a soothing lavender color that would swiftly fade to purple, then to black.
He was silhouetted in the waning light, his skin tanned, his shoulders and arms lined with muscle. His eyes were particularly blue—and very troubled—which was odd. He’d never previously exhibited a hint of maudlin emotion.
He held out a hand to her, inviting her to approach. Every pore in her body was urging her to hurry over and snuggle herself to his side, and she realized that she shouldn’t relent.
Their prior meeting had been earlier in the kitchen when he’d balanced her on the baker’s table and kissed her senseless. She’d joined in with an incredible amount of relish, and she was embarrassed by her out of control display. Yet there was such torment in his gaze that, despite her best instincts, she couldn’t refuse.
She walked over, and he pulled her close. She should have remained strong and kept her distance, but whenever she was in his presence, she simply felt that they belonged together, that she was his and he was hers, and their connection was destined to be.
“I wrote to Jasper about you,” she said.
“I figured you would.” He dipped down and kissed the top of her head. “I wrote him too. I suppose he’ll slither in before too much time has passed.”
“You can’t take over his bedchamber.”
“I already have.” He stared out at the park again, and for a lengthy interval, they were silent, his anguished thoughts pelting her, then he said, “You don’t believe me, do you? You don’t believe I’m Hayden Henley.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s Jasper’s dilemma. Not mine.”
“You’re just the housekeeper?”
“The unpaid housekeeper. I’m not earning a sufficient wage to unravel the truth of what you’re claiming.”
He chuckled. “Why would I lie about it?”
“I have no idea, but I’m sure—in that convoluted mind of yours—you have a scheme progressing, and there’s a conclusion I can’t fathom.”
