Hunter nuzzled her shoulder. “Such a lovely welcome.” She choked back further tears and glanced away. Clutching her cape around her, she became lost in the warmth. Like her mother’s arms. Arms that would never embrace her again. A face she would not see again and lips that had brushed her cheek good-night for the last time. Payton gathered Hunter into her arms and sobbed against his coat. He stood patiently as she used him to struggle to her feet. “There’s a fine fellow.”
He followed at her side as she traipsed after Mrs. Brewster, who pretended not to notice the display. Past the landing and along the tapestry-laden hallway into the east wing they marched. Even through tear-filled eyes, she recognized this could not be the servants’ section.
“This portion of the floor will be for you alone, dearie. No one to bother you unless we have guests.” Mrs. Brewster gestured along the hallway, and her voice resounded against the fine wooden panels.
The housekeeper then admitted her to an elaborate guest suite, definitely not servants’ quarters. The bedroom offered soft yellow papered walls. A spread of cream-colored tatting covered the four-poster bed like a spider’s web of silk. Tiny knots intertwined to form the delicate pattern dainty to the touch. Payton sat, losing herself in a softness she had never known. Was this what it meant to be rich? Mother had tried to explain to her what money could do, but she had not known firsthand the kind of life from which her mother had come. She always thought her family rich because of their love. Love of each other, love of God and love of life.
A small sitting room in browns, deep red and cream adjoined the bedroom through a closet large enough to hold the clothes of every member of her family. Centered in the room was a darling settee in damask far too beautiful for sitting.
Not wanting to dillydally, she retraced her steps to the bedroom where Mrs. Brewster, still huffing from the climb up the long staircase, had cracked opened Payton’s satchel. She pulled personal items from it with slow hands, and Payton blushed at her boldness. She wasn’t used to other people handling her things. Had life been lavish like this for her mother before she met and married her father? He’d been given a small property by old Mr. Lambrick when he was young, and then he’d married the distant cousin of the Lambricks, Mary Kent, her mother.
The quiet, personal life in the cozy cottage was more to Payton’s liking than this cold mansion.
“I’ll take care of my own undergarments, Mrs. Brewster.”
The old face lifted with a scowl that could not be misunderstood. “Very well. You should change into your best dress for dinner. Mr. Lambrick will be home tonight after all, and he always dresses for dinner.”
Payton swallowed over a lump. Dinner with Mr. Lambrick. She had expected her life to be with the servants. Her thoughts drifted to the only good dress she owned, the one on her back. Jutting her chin to quell the tears, she said, “This is my best dress, Mrs. Brewster. I’ve never found much need for silk gowns when I’m milking the cow and slopping hogs.”
With cheeks plump and red as an apple, Mrs. Brewster’s eyes softened into genuine kindness. “I meant no harm. Perhaps you’d like to freshen up then. I’ll fetch you a pitcher of water.”
The woman was only trying to help, and Payton bit her lip. Her mother would be shamed by Payton’s rude behavior. She tried to smile, but nothing came of it other than an uncomfortable grimace. She reached for the wrinkled hands knotted with old age. “I should ask your forgiveness. Shall I put my things away, or will I be staying here just for the night?”
“Foolish girl. This is your home now. Do whatever you wish. Use whatever you like.” Mrs. Brewster ambled through the doorway. “I may be able to locate a few suitable gowns for your use but not this night.”
“May I clear this case for my books? I study each day and I would prefer them near me.”
“Whatever pleases you,” she said as she left the room.
After a minute, Mrs. Brewster returned to the room, her hands straddling her hips and her mouth a line of frustration. “I think you should understand, miss. Mr. Lambrick is a generous man. Never knew him to turn anyone out. He respected your father. He’ll raise you up just fine. Don’t you worry.”
Payton lifted her chin again and tightened her lips. “Raise me? You talk as if I’m nothing but a child.”
Chapter 2
The storm lessened outside, but the storm in his heart still roared in his ears. A ward. Jonathan did not want to take care of a girl. She would be a reminder. A horrid reminder of the life he had lost. By now, he might have had a daughter of his own, or perhaps even a son to carry on the Lambrick name.
He groaned. That would not happen now. He had only memories.
The smells before him did not entice him to eat. His stomach churned at the thought of a heavy meal. A succulent ham surrounded by spicy, sweet apples had been placed there by Emily Brewster in an attempt to tantalize him, but the events of the past twenty-four hours bothered him more than he liked to admit. Where was the girl? Perhaps she had decided to eat with the servants. If so, he would have to put a stop to such foolishness. He intended to see she was brought up a proper lady, not like an urchin running about as he had seen her do on so many occasions.
He lifted his glass and allowed a small sip to pass his lips. He set it back on the table when Emily entered. “Where is Miss Whittard?” he asked.
“Don’t be cross with the child. She has been through a great deal and will no doubt take time settling in. I have carried her a pitcher of water to wash her face.”
“Emily, you and I both know there’s no sense in her feeling sorry for herself. Pity is a tough master. She’ll have to accept her new circumstances and move forward with the living. Isn’t that what you taught me?” He heard Payton’s steps too late.
A gasp followed by undeniable courage in her face moved him. “I will accept whatever is necessary, Mr. Lambrick. I realize the choice is not my own. Yet know this—I have never been one to waste time on self-pity. Thank you for offering your home, but I intend to return to the cottage in the morning. This arrangement simply will not do. I shall have to learn to take care of myself.”
She spoke well. He indicated a chair. “Sit down. We’ll discuss your circumstances after dinner. You haven’t eaten today, have you?” He turned to Emily, who immediately heaped slices of ham, potatoes and apples onto a plate and placed it in front of Payton along with the glass of fresh milk. The girl seemed well-fed, but he understood the importance of nourishment in times of difficulty.
Payton frowned at him. “You’re not eating?”
“I finished long ago,” he lied. No need to explain himself to a child. She thought she had lost loved ones? He had lost loved ones. And the weight of guilt fell heavily on his shoulders.
* * *
On closer inspection, Payton recognized a different hunger on Jonathan’s face. But for what, she wasn’t sure. She shook her head. What did it matter? As the master of Kent Park and this great hall, he owed her no explanations. Nor was it her business to address him on such a serious matter. No sense worrying and guessing about someone with whom she did not plan to spend another day, but the words escaped her before she could stop them. “Forgive my saying so, sir. Your plate is quite empty. And I must say, clean as anything.”
His face darkened and his eyes narrowed. She swallowed hard as he pressed his hands against the table. “My eating habits, young lady, are none of your concern.” Lambrick stood and strolled to the window, ending any further discussion of his dinner.
Payton, sorry she’d spoken out of turn, lowered her gaze. He had offered his home and his table, and she was allowing her grief to speak before she thought. She closed her eyes and calmed her emotions. “Please accept my apology. And I appreciate Mrs. Brewster for cooking the meal.” Her mother had often warned her of speaking instead of listening. Payton swallowed against the words she longed to
say, that she didn’t want to be here any more than Lambrick wanted her here.
“I am sorry if I speak out of turn, but you look hungry. I know I’ve disrupted your comfortable ways by being here, and I’m terribly sorry.”
“Give it no thought.” His hand waved away her words as if she were nothing more than a stable boy.
Face burning with indignation, she crossed her arms. A noise from outside drew her attention. She tilted her head toward the door. What was that odor? “Do you smell smoke?”
* * *
Jonathan spun about, cocking his head to the side. “Emily?” He stepped nearer to her.
The woman planted her hands on her hips, her favorite posture, and gestured with her eyes in the direction of the back room. “I never can trust that girl in the kitchen. Clarisse will burn the hall down around us.” Her steps clattered on the floor as she marched back to the kitchen.
Jonathan gasped. No, it couldn’t be. He crossed the floor to the window once again. Searching through the darkness, he choked. Flames flickered in the distance. The Whittard cottage. He turned to the girl, trying his best to remain calm. “If you will excuse me, I must tend to a matter. Please, Miss Whittard, remain seated. Finish eating. Mrs. Brewster will see to your needs when she returns.”
Once clear of the house, he dashed to the stable. The girl would have nothing but the small satchel she had brought from her home if he didn’t hurry. This bad luck was turning into a nightmare. A nightmare he wanted no part in fixing. But here he was.
Arriving at the cottage at the same time as half a dozen of his tenants, he directed them in putting out the blaze, but already fire had consumed most of the interior of the structure, the outside charred and circled with skeletal bushes and leaves of ash. He kicked aside an old humpback trunk carried out by one of the men. The top fell into pieces and the glassware inside was nothing but a bundle of shards.
“The dogs! We haven’t moved them yet!”
Jonathan whirled around to see Payton clawing at the lady next to him. “We have to save the animals!”
Jonathan yelled at his tenant, old Mrs. Grandy. “Hold her back. Don’t let her near the fire.” He moved quickly in their direction.
As he tried to reach her, Payton vaulted from Mrs. Grandy’s grasp straight to the shed where the hounds were kept. “Kenny, get her. Take her now!” Lambrick knew the animals were already gone. From the look of it, the shed may have been where the fire started. Boys playing with a lantern, lightning from the storm—he couldn’t be sure which.
“My dogs! Oh, dear Lord, please don’t let them die. Help me find them!”
Payton fought against Mr. Kenny, scurrying for the ruins. Before Lambrick could restrain her, she pushed her hands against the charred frame of the doorway and pressed into the smoke-stained wood.
“Payton!”
She tugged at the boards until he reached her side. She faltered at the opening and collapsed in the heat. Scrambling to free her from falling timber, he shoved two men out of the way and dropped to his knees. He cradled her against his shoulder while shouting at Kenny. “Fetch Dr. Finley. She’s burned.”
“I’ll be...fine. Find my...animals.”
With gentle fingers, he pushed back the scorched hair around her face and stared into red eyes, wide with fear. Her hands pushed against him as she struggled to get out of his grasp.
“Oh, please free my dogs.” Her swollen lids closed against the smoke and heat, tears dribbling from the corners as at last she gave in and stopped fighting him.
Recognizing time was of the essence, Jonathan lifted her easily and ran the entire way to Kent Hall. There was no way any pups had survived that fire.
* * *
Strong arms enclosed her, but the pain only increased from the pressure. Heavy footfalls thudded as they neared the hall. Payton’s gut wrenched at the smell of her burned skin and hair. Or...the puppies. Without a doubt, they were gone. Her dry, scratchy throat stung when she swallowed. All she had left in the world lay in ruins.
The heat had penetrated her boots as if her skin had melted into the leather. So much pain. She reached up. Brittle ends of scorched hair met her fingers, and she cried over the loss of her one beauty. “What happened to them?”
“Shh. Don’t fret now. We need to get you inside.”
Words stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to look up. “Did any of the hounds... Did you—”
“You’ll be fine,” Mr. Lambrick’s deep voice soothed. “Quiet now.”
“Please,” she buried her face deeper into his chest, “tell me you found them.” Her parents gone, her brother, her home. Please don’t let the animals be gone, too. How could she live without her family? Her precious hounds? She had let her father down.
Spoken with surprising gentleness, his words calmed her. “The men are searching as we speak.”
That wasn’t the answer she longed for. She pulled her head from his shoulder. “Why has no one lit...any candles?”
* * *
Jonathan stared. Candles blazed in the hallway, brighter than the fire they’d just left. Guilt overwhelmed him as he looked into the blank eyes rimmed with patches of raw, red skin. A few more seconds and she would have died in that fire. He must slip her safely into bed. Carrying her up the staircase two steps at a time, he stopped only long enough to shout to Emily Brewster. “The doctor will be here shortly. Send him right up. Fetch water and bandages immediately! The child’s hurt. And for heaven’s sake, send Birdie to help hunt for those dogs.”
He hadn’t been a praying man since the death of his lovely Alithea, but with Payton securely in the protection of his arms, he prayed with the heart of a man starving for answers. Let them find her puppies. Let her have at least that much to sustain her.
With care, he placed her atop the bed and began peeling away boots that steamed beneath his fingers. Mrs. Brewster entered and thrust him away. “Here now. You’ll be waiting below for the doctor. I’ll take care of Miss Whittard. Bring the doctor up soon as he arrives.”
How much help would the doctor be? “Emily, she said she can’t see.”
“Go, dearie.” Her outstretched finger pointed him toward the door.
Once again taking the stairs two at a time, Jonathan hurried to the entrance. He heard footsteps and expected to find old doc Finley on the stone walk. But instead, Kenny appeared with a sooty face and a scraggly puppy in his arms. Smoke-streaked, it whimpered in his arms. “Just one, sir. Only one and she won’t make it through the night, I’m afraid.”
Tired of bad pronouncements, Jonathan straightened to his full stature as if that might force away the pup’s poor prognosis. “She will if you attend to her. All night, Kenny, if that’s what it takes. Payton Whittard must have something by which to remember her family. Tell Birdie to help. He’s as good with animals as you. This puppy must live.”
He glared out the doors and saw Dr. Finley’s carriage arrive as Kenny removed the dog to the stables. Finley followed Kenny’s retreating steps with his eyes and hurried from the buggy. “What’s this?” He lifted his small black bag. “You brought me all this way to care for a puppy?”
Jonathan’s patience wore thin. “No. A girl. Young girl who lost her family yesterday. We buried her people this morning.”
“The Whittards?”
“Yes. Their house burned and the girl attempted, unsuccessfully, to save the animals. No more talking. She’s upstairs and gravely injured.” They didn’t need to stand here carrying on a conversation when she fought for her life. He could not be responsible for another girl losing her life on his watch.
“Lead the way.”
Jonathan waited in the hallway while the doctor went in. As the doctor attended Payton, Jonathan felt he could stand her cries no more. He needed to be of help. Be sure she was getting the best care possi
ble. He peered through the crack in the door.
Bent over the girl, Dr. Finley slathered Payton’s eyes in oil and poured more tepid water over the sheet. “She’ll need care all through the night. Mrs. Kirsten is about to bring forth her sixth child and the babe is turned. I’ll have to stay with her until she delivers. Just do as I’ve told you, Mrs. Brewster.”
Jonathan stepped through the door. “I’m here. What can I do?”
He glanced in Emily’s direction, steering clear of the pain etched on Payton’s face. “Emily, fetch one of Anne’s nightgowns for her.” At least she would be more comfortable in a soft gown.
“No.” The doctor shook his head, his big earlobes bobbing like turkey waddles. “Nothing but a dampened sheet under her and one over her. Only wet sheets to keep the burns moist. You understand? Mrs. Brewster, you will need to put this salve on the burns every two hours and moisten the sheets again. Can you and Mr. Lambrick handle it?”
Mrs. Brewster’s eyes narrowed as she joined hands to hips again. “I’ll be taking care of her, doctor. Mr. Lambrick needn’t be in the room at all. Not at all.”
Lambrick scowled. He wasn’t used to being ordered about. “What’s come over you, Emily?” He spoke and his tenants obeyed—period. Why was she behaving so strangely? His hands could smear salve as well as hers.
“No, sir. She’s my responsibility and I’ll see to her. Give Clarisse orders to handle affairs below while I’m up here. I won’t leave Miss Payton’s side until she’s able to care for herself. And get one of the manservants to see if any of her belongings survived the blaze.”
Confusion played in his mind and he ran fingers through his hair. Why was Emily being so secretive about the girl?
* * *
Mr. Kenny, seated on a wooden stool near the door of the barn, fumbled with the puppy, lively in spite of her condition. He patted her gently, but she whimpered and scratched at his knobby hands in an effort to escape. The fire hadn’t squelched her feisty behavior. She’d been raised by Payton all right.
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