A bout of giggles welled up from her center. The chocolate might have been spirits for how silly she felt. “You should see for yourself. It is delicious.”
He took a bite. “Mmm.” Closing his eyes, he chewed and smiled. “You were right. This is delicious. Perhaps these could replace my drinking habit.”
“Then you would grow fat, my lord.”
Raising a brow, he sighed and ate the rest. “Perhaps, but I would be sober.”
She took a drink of milk. “I am pleased that you have not had a drink tonight. It cannot be easy.”
“I could not sleep.”
“Nor I, but with not so good a reason.” She pulled another biscuit from the jar and ate.
Rounding the table, he took his handkerchief from his pocket. “You have as much reason as anyone.”
“Have I?” she asked.
His eyes glimmered like a deep lake in the candlelight. The spark of something lit them in a way she had not noticed earlier in the day. He closed the gap between them.
Her heart pounded against her chest.
Leaning down, he said, “You have milk on your lip, Miss Hallsmith.” Hesitating with his handkerchief raised, he handed it to her.
She dabbed away the mustache and wondered at how close he’d come to doing it himself. Embarrassment and the energy of his closeness merged until she didn’t know which was more acute. “If you like, you may call me Phoebe.”
He eased back and met her gaze looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time and seeing more than the girl who’d come to visit Emma. “Indeed?”
“We will be living in the same house for a few weeks, perhaps months. It seems silly to continue with so much formality.” She was making a fool of herself, not to mention breaking another companion rule, though she forgot which one. He would think she had no manners or sense of propriety. “In Scotland, it was less formal. I suppose I preferred that to how it is here in England. I apologize if I have offended you, my lord.” She stood, grabbed a third sweet and backed toward the door.
“You are running away.” He sat.
“I am just going to bed. We should have warmed the milk. It would have helped our sleep.”
Staring at his handkerchief, he shook his head. “I would be honored to call you Phoebe in private if you will call me Markus.”
A boulder settled in her throat. She was losing her mind. This was Emma’s husband, and she was the disowned daughter of the viscount of Thornbury and had three brothers to boot. She was no one and would never be anyone but the disappointing old maid and daughter of a wealthy gentleman. Whatever admiration she had seen in his eyes was only a trick of candlelight. Her heart beating like a hell-bound carriage was due to the late hour and lack of food and sleep. Chocolate was like coffee. It had been a mistake to eat it so late. She drew a long breath. “We have made progress, my lord.”
He cocked his head.
“Markus. I apologize. We are on speaking terms. It will be no time at all that your house and daughter are taken care of and you will be rid of me.”
Sorrow eased back into his eyes. “Good night, Phoebe.”
She ran up the steps, down the hall, and into her bedroom as fast as her feet could take her. The biscuit crumbled in her fist by the time she pressed her back to the inside of the door. Tossing it in the trash bin, she lamented the waste of such a treat, but she’d gone downstairs to ease her insomnia and found only things that would keep her awake.
Maybe she should have stayed in London.
Chapter 4
No. 22
The purpose of the agency is not to find a spouse. Everton Ladies will refrain from flirting.
—The Everton Companion
Rules of Conduct
Waking without an aching head and blurry vision was something Markus had only a vague memory of, but the sensation was not at all unpleasant. The sun crested the horizon in pink, orange, purple, and gray, inviting a promising day. He penned a note to Mr. Blunt, his secretary, and had to stop twice due to the shaking in his hands.
A bleary-eyed Watson took it for delivery.
Damned inconvenient having no footmen. It would take over an hour for Watson to ride to the village of Benton, deliver the letter, and ride back. He was getting up in age, and the task should have fallen to a younger man. Watson was also charged with announcing the news of Rosefield hiring maids and footmen. Hopefully, Markus had not chased off all prospects with his behavior.
He penned another note to his sister, Dory. He had much to say, but settled for telling her he was feeling better and hoped she and Thomas were well. He’d post it later or in a few days. No need to overtax Watson by sending him running again the moment he returned.
A high-pitched shriek rent the early morning quiet.
Markus followed the sound to the breakfast room. Mrs. Donnelly was attempting to spoon porridge into Elizabeth’s mouth while Elizabeth screamed with delight over a wooden horse clutched in her hand.
Banging the horse on the tray sent the spoon to the carpet.
With the hint of a smile tugging at her full lips, Phoebe put the newspaper down, reached over, and took the horse away. “Perhaps you might break your fast first, Elizabeth. Then play with your new toy.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes on the horse, standing on the table too far away for her to reach.
“That toy is far from new.” Markus strode through the doorway and picked up the toy. “I spent long hours riding this horse across the African desert and even spanned the wilds of India.”
Whatever protest Elizabeth was going to make vanished as she gaped at him.
Mrs. Donnelly shoveled a spoonful of porridge in before Elizabeth could close her mouth.
Markus held back his laughter. It had been so long since he’d had the urge to laugh, he almost let it out. “If you eat all your breakfast, I shall take you to the library and show you the routes I took on my journeys. Would you like that, Elizabeth?”
Clapping, Elizabeth opened her mouth for more food.
Becca delivered a steaming cup of coffee, its bitter aroma swirling around the breakfast room. Toast, butter, and jam already waited at his place setting.
His stomach grumbled in favor of the fare. “Thank you, Becca.”
Beaming, Becca scurried back to the kitchen.
“Impressive,” Phoebe said, nodding at Elizabeth, who now ate without complaint.
“I loved that horse as a child. Where did you find it?”
She blushed the most stunning peach color. “I stole into your attics last night and found a box of old toys. I thought it might be nice to bring one down for Elizabeth. I would have brought the entire box, but it is too heavy for me to carry. I’m going to ask Watson to get it later today.”
“I will bring it down. Watson has enough to do.” Markus didn’t want Watson injured doing the job of a footman or kitchen boy. Another wave of guilt washed over him. How much danger had he already put his household in? These people were under his care and he had let them down, let himself down. Worst of all, he had let Emma down. The pain lurking in his chest tightened.
Mrs. Donnelly lifted Elizabeth from her chair. “Come now, Miss. We’ll get you cleaned up so you can have a nice visit with his lordship.”
When they had left the room, Phoebe covered his hand with hers. “Whatever you are thinking, you must not punish yourself too severely, Markus. Everything is going to be all right.”
Staring at her tapered fingers and creamy skin where she touched his sun-darkened hand stirred more than his doubts. “Will it?”
Her eyes lit up as the smile spread. “Of course.”
If his heartbeat sounded against the large window overlooking the courtyard, it would not have surprised him. Shaking away his reaction, he pulled his hand away. “I had thought the entire situation hopeless.”
“
There is always hope.”
Bells tinkled in the hall. Honoria breezed into the breakfast room, a chain of tiny bells on each wrist. Stopping, she lifted her arms and gave them a good shake in case anyone hadn’t heard her approach. “Don’t you just love the sound of bells?”
“Good morning, Lady Chervil. Did you sleep well?” Phoebe folded the newspaper and handed it to Markus.
Honoria flounced to the table, her frilly morning dress billowing around her. “Like a dream. Oh, that reminds me. I had such a wonderful dream about fields of flowers crushed under the massive feet of elephants.”
There was something perfect about Honoria’s timing and even her ridiculous dialog that made Markus wonder if she had been standing outside the room listening. Had she burst in on the scene to rescue them from the malaise of the conversation or did she possess a gift for arriving at just the right moment? Either way, he was glad for the distraction. “Have you seen an elephant, Lady Chervil?”
“Oh, no. Now you have done it.” Phoebe muffled the words with her napkin.
“I heard that, Phoebe Hallsmith.” Honoria gave Phoebe a stern look, which lasted half a second before she brightened and turned her attention back to Markus. “I traveled to India with my second husband, Whittaker Moorewhistle. He was an emissary to the crown. The first time I saw one of the lumbering beasts it was sent to carry us from the border to our home in India. I thought, surely this animal will kill me. But Kesavan was a sweet girl and would not hurt anyone. Not true of all elephants, my lord. Some are quite dangerous. Whittaker screamed down all of India on the journey. Not much of a man, if you must know. Terrified of everything. However, I loved the ride and made similar trips with my servants to shop and see the country.” She nattered on about India, elephants, Bengal tigers, and rhinoceros until distracted by the arrival of a plate of food.
The sausage on her plate made his toast seem a paltry fare. His stomach grumbled at the rich spicy steam wafting from her plate of meat and coddled eggs. “Becca, is there more of that in your kitchen?”
A wide smile spread across Becca’s face. “You always ask for coffee and toast, my lord.”
Normally he would be nursing a headache and his stomach would be in knots. “I find I am hungry this morning.”
“I’ll bring you a plate, my lord.” Becca bounced out of the room.
Markus opened the paper, but only for a moment before Phoebe’s staring drew his attention. “Miss Hallsmith, you are staring. May I help you with something?”
“I am just happy to see that your appetite has returned.” She sipped her coffee.
Honoria gazed up from her plate. “Perhaps yours will return as well.”
Taking a bite of her toast, Phoebe narrowed her eyes on Honoria. “I eat plenty.”
With a grumbled word, Honoria returned her attention to the food.
Intrigued by the information and relationship between the ladies, Markus decided it better to change the subject. “I heard you sent word to the village for footmen and maids?”
Checking a gold watch hanging from a chain around her neck, she practically jumped from her chair. “Yes. I have a lot to do before they start arriving. I must find Mrs. Donnelly.”
“Will you find a nanny in Benton as well, Miss Hallsmith?” Markus didn’t know why the notion turned his stomach.
Shaking her head, Phoebe stacked her dirty plate and silver, folded her napkin and looked as if she might clear the table too. She touched the edge of the plate, took a breath, and left the mess for Becca to clear. “Probably not, my lord. I will have to advertise for a reputable nanny with references. It will not be as easy as replacing a scullery maid.”
“I see.” Though he didn’t. How hard could it be to find a woman to care for Elizabeth?
She brushed out her skirts. “What are your plans for the day, my lord?”
“I plan to meet with my secretary. He should return with Watson this morning.”
With a nod and a curtsy, she dashed off in search of Mrs. Donnelly.
Honoria popped the last of her coddled eggs in her mouth and watched him.
“Miss Hallsmith is quite tenacious, my lady.” Taking the newspaper, he opened it to a headline of the goings on among the ton in London.
“She is an angel disguised as a hoyden, my lord. You would do well to remember that.” Honoria patted her lips with her napkin and pressed the cloth next to her plate.
“I do not have the slightest idea what you mean. She is a bit bossy, but hardly a hoyden. I have not been in her company long enough to determine if she is an angel.”
Eyes narrowed, Honoria sat forward and propped one finger on the table between them. “I am going to tell you about her, not because you deserve to know, but because she will never tell you herself.”
Part of him wanted to run from the intensity of Honoria’s gaze, but curiosity kept him rooted to his chair.
“Phoebe gave up her best chances of finding a husband by going to Scotland to care for her grandmother, Lady Gower. No one expected the old woman to live more than a few months after her apoplexy. Phoebe would not hear of it. She worked like a dog to teach her grandmother how to walk and talk again. Nothing can stop Phoebe Hallsmith once she sets her mind to a thing. All the doctors said her ladyship was a lost cause. I know Phoebe’s mother quite well. She indulged Phoebe because she thought her mother would die in a few months and she would have many years to marry her daughter off to some rich Englishman. Despite the predictions of several doctors, and through Phoebe’s determination and Lady Gower’s will, she recovered almost entirely before her heart gave out. Lucretia should have been thrilled to gain five additional years with her mother, but she only complained about an unmarried daughter. It might have all turned out right, if she married in Scotland. She was engaged, you know?”
Stomach knotted, Markus shook his head.
“That idiot Durnst broke her heart with the things he said and still she stayed in Scotland and ignored all the rumors.”
“What rumors?” He shouldn’t have asked, but he was so engrossed in her description of Phoebe, he longed to know more.
Snapped out of the moment, Honoria sat back and blinked. “That is Phoebe’s story to tell. I am no gossip. I only tell you about what she did for Lady Gower because you should know joining Everton Domestic Society, and therefore helping you, she gives up a lot.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rolling her eyes, she drew closer. “At her age, her time to find a husband was wasted on a scoundrel in Scotland and her kindness to her grandmother. Lucretia was determined to take her directly to London and pray for a nice man to fall in love with her before she is put on the shelf for life.” She wiped a tear from her papery cheek. “Phoebe could not take the constant badgering from her mother and eldest brother, Ford. She left the country home and joined Everton against her families wishes. They have not spoken to her since. It’s a shame really. Phoebe deserves to be worshiped and adored.”
“I did not ask her to come here.”
Honoria chuckled. “No. Of course you did not. Your mother insisted that she was the best person for the job. And for Phoebe’s part, she saw a need and will do whatever she can to fix this mess you are in. There is no stopping her now that she’s set her mind to it. I learned long ago, to adore this drive in her. I wish Lucretia was as understanding. She threw a fit when Phoebe said she was moving to London to take employment. Any other woman would have cowered under the wrath of Lucretia Hallsmith, but Phoebe smiled and continued to pack her things as if her mother were singing a lullaby rather than screaming down the house.”
“I should send her away. My problems are my own. It was never my intention to cause trouble in the Hallsmith home. I have known the family all my life. Miles and I attended school together.” Even as he said the words, he knew he didn’t want her to leave. The house wasn’t so hard to be in, with
her there. He had to get his finances in order and if he let his mind linger on Emma’s death, he would have to leave again or drink her away. Phoebe and Honoria took his mind off his grief. It was selfish, but he wanted her to stay.
Standing, Honoria fluffed her skirts. “Just do as she says and stay the course, my lord. It would take an act of God to pull her away from this house until she sees her mission through.”
Despite his worry over Phoebe’s fate when she left Rosefield, he nodded his agreement rather than voice his concerns.
Becca arrived with a scrumptious plate of food.
Honoria patted her stomach. “I am going to walk in your wild gardens. It will be a shame when Phoebe hires a gardener. I love how natural they are with no one tending them.” She flounced out of the room.
* * * *
Markus’s secretary, Jared Blunt, examined the office as if he’d stepped through the gates of hell. It was the first time in weeks Markus had not stormed out of the room and told the poor man to go to blazes. The papers, picked up by the maid and stacked haphazardly, had Blunt huffing and restacking. “I do not understand how this could have happened, my lord. I had everything in perfect order for you to go through. These piles were perfect.”
He’d repeated the same thing a dozen times already and Markus was getting quite sick of hearing it.
Markus longed for a just a sip of brandy to take away his care over Blunt’s insidious complaining. “I’ll show you exactly how it happened, Blunt. Someone annoyed me as you are doing now, I picked up a pile and…” Markus rained papers down over his desk and Blunt.
“My lord, have you lost your mind?”
Rubbing his forehead, Markus thought the same thing. “Perhaps. I apologize for that.” It was all he could do to keep from laughing over the distraught expression on Blunt’s face. At least he hadn’t punched him in that long, pointed nose or blackened his eyes. Some paper on the floor was easily fixed.
“Maybe you should go regain your composure outside the office, my lord. I will put this all back in order and we can reconvene in an hour to go over the accounts.”
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