by Kit Donner
She sighed in relief, blinking awake. If Mr. Westcott retired for the night, wherever that may be, she could conduct an exploration of the ground floor, which would be helpful when it came time for a quick departure.
Carrying the still-lit candle, she walked over to the door and opened it slightly to peek out. A window shutter banged, startling her, and she slammed the door shut. Holding tight to the doorknob, Madelene had to slow her heartbeat thundering in her ears to listen again outside her room. The wooden floor creaked outside her bedchamber. Surely this house wasn’t haunted or some such nonsense.
Several minutes went by and all was quiet. Terribly relieved, her pulse returned to normal, she opened the door again wide enough to see the dark hallway. Taking a deep breath, she decided to head back down the stairs. All doors exiting the house would be high on her list of places to investigate.
She stepped into the dark, her candle illuminating a small window of light, and pulled the door closed. Her eyes were still adjusting to the narrowed light when she tripped over a body in the hallway.
The candle flew out of her hand as she pitched forward.
“Staire attento, Signora!” commanded a low voice as Madelene yelped in surprise.
She slammed to the floor. Stunned. Out of breath.
Her candle, doused by the sudden toss, rolled down the hallway. In peril for her life, Madelene quickly turned onto her back and braced herself on the carpet. Her heart galloped in her chest, her breathing stopped.
Madelene swallowed hard, then gazed up at the stranger, a short, thin man who stood before her, holding his hand out to assist her.
She screamed.
Her scream must have frightened the stranger because he retreated against the wall and into the shadows. Madelene heard footsteps on the stairs and heard Mr. Westcott’s voice.
“Madelene, what is wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked roughly and slightly out of breath from running up the stairs in breeches and boots, his shirt missing.
In those brief moments, his comforting presence had slowed the beating of her heart and given her strength to rise to meet him. “Thank goodness. This person was outside my bedchamber,” she said, pointing to the figure in the shadows. “He probably plans to rob us or create some kind of havoc—”
He looked into the shadows, then surprised her by laughing. Walking over to the stranger, Mr. Westcott pulled him further into the light of a flickering hallway sconce.
“This is Alec, my friend. Alec, this is my, my wife, Mrs. Westcott.”
Madelene peered at this new house occupant. She could not make out his face in this poor light, particularly when he wore a dark hat low over his face. Slim of build, he dressed in a black shirt, vest, breeches, and boots, from what she could see in the wavering glow.
After patting her hair back into some semblance of order, she nodded at Alec. “Mr. Westcott had not mentioned you before, and I certainly didn’t anticipate tripping over anyone outside my bedroom door. Do you have a place to sleep here in the house?” She looked to Mr. Westcott for direction.
“Alec has watched the house these last few months. I met him during my recent stay in Florence. When he wanted to leave Italy, I offered him my home for as long as he needed one.” Mr. Westcott slung an arm around Alec before continuing, “He agreed to come with me to England as long as he could be of service to me.”
Madelene looked from one man to the other. “I believe I understand. However, I am still in confusion over one matter. What was Alec doing outside my bedchamber door?” she asked, her hands on her hips, her tone piqued.
Mr. Westcott hesitated before responding, “I’ve asked Alec to be your guard.”
Chapter Seven
“My what?” she shrieked. She couldn’t have been more surprised than if Mr. Westcott had told her she was free to leave and return home.
Her husband nodded to Alec, who slipped silently down the hallway.
“Madelene, we’ll talk about this in the morning. We both need some sleep.” His voice did indeed sound tired.
She opened her mouth to object, then closed it with a grim expression. Then she opened it again.
“Sir, I am aggrieved, simply aggrieved, that you would find the need to have someone guard me during my stay in your home. I don’t know whether to be offended that you don’t trust me not to escape or ask if you would like a diary of all my movements, which surely would make for dreary reading.”
She sensed he almost smiled before asking her, “Do you plan to escape before the year of our marriage is over?”
Replying evenly, she told him, “I cannot say yes, and I cannot say no.”
Mr. Westcott nodded. “Until I know the answer is definitely no, Alec will ensure you don’t forget you’re married and heigh off back to London.”
She scowled at him, knowing she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Her annoyance was probably wasted, since in this dim light, he probably couldn’t see her clearly. Soon enough, she would get rid of Alec and be on her way.
“Then, I guess that is the way of it.” She conceded by retreating to her bedchamber.
Gabriel stared after her. Something was amiss; surely she had given in much too easily.
Late that night, Gabriel still couldn’t sleep. What had his new bride done to his thoughts of revenge? He had determined to harden his heart against any womanly wiles she could use on him, but it was the unconscious ones she used that could prove his undoing. He must forget her dimples when she smiled, the long arch of her neck, her graceful way of walking and remember Lucinda. Madelene was here because his dear sister wasn’t.
He tossed and turned, wondering if his plan to make Madelene suffer for her brother’s atrocity to his sister might envelop him as well.
Although Mr. Westcott was absent in the morning, his faithful friend and her ever-watchful shadow, Alec, looking much the same as last night, rose to his feet when he met her outside her bedchamber. Completely ignoring his presence, Madelene wandered downstairs toward the kitchen, since it was the only room she knew how to find.
She couldn’t very well complain to Alec, who had followed her, of eating in the kitchen again, since he understood little English. Shrugging, she told herself it wouldn’t be long before she could take breakfast on the ground floor. But until they at least had a housekeeper, she needed to manage on her own.
She knew she must look a proper sight because she had not had her hair done properly in over three days, but there was simply nothing that could be done. However, she did believe her pink morning dress showed her pale complexion exquisitely.
Perhaps a bit vain, she would admit to herself, but even if Mr. Westcott noticed her appearance and thought her handsome, it changed nothing. There had to be some way to extract her from this marriage and the wager. She sighed. I have certainly never felt so conflicted in my life.
Wherever could Mr. Westcott be? She hoped her husband was in the village hiring staff, especially a lady’s maid, since she was in most urgent need of one.
In the kitchen, Alec motioned to the coffee cup and the hard, crusty bread. When had the young man prepared this pauper’s meal for her? The rumblings in her stomach convinced her the answer wasn’t important. Oh, for French bread and smoked salmon, she mused. Her mouth turned down in wishful thinking as she sat on the lower chair provided for her. Do criminals receive more than bread and coffee for their breakfast? Indeed, she felt a prisoner.
At a loss for something of importance to do, Madelene sipped her coffee while looking around at the large kitchen. It reminded Madelene of the bricked kitchen in their old town house and their beloved cook, Mrs. Topkind, who had taught her many culinary skills. Madelene loved the smell of the kitchen when the cook baked sweet cakes or puddings.
Lovely times with Mrs. Topkind helped make her forget her mother’s loss at the age of ten but now brought tears to her eyes, remembering. They were so happy then, she, Matthew, their father, their cook, and the other servants. But time had a way of changing the present
and future, and the past must stay buried in memories.
Enough of this sentimentality! Remembering her new station in life, she was confident Mr. Westcott would hire suitable staff and a good cook. As she chewed the hard bread, she noticed her Italian guard staring into the fireplace, a mute inconvenience and quite bothersome.
There had to be more to this story than a sudden friendship blossoming in Italy. She wondered about Alec’s history. What was he really doing here?
As she reflected upon this intruder, a thought occurred. Perhaps, if she could make friends with Alec, he might help her to get away and return home. A little niggling thought about a bet and wedding vows were easily brushed aside. It just might be possible. After all, she could leave nothing to chance. But could she make herself understood?
Madelene brightened at the thought and prepared to beam kindness and charity like a patron of St. Agnes Home for Lost Children.
“Ah, Alec, do you like it here, at Westcott Close?”
The young man turned around to look at Madelene and frowned, as if to understand her question. He shrugged in reply.
She tapped her foot, wishing she could at least recall a smattering of Italian when she studied at Filmore’s School for the Proper Raising of Today’s Young Ladies to Become Shining Examples of Womanhood. Nothing came to her.
It didn’t take long for Madelene to realize befriending her guard would take more than a friendly smile and hand signals to communicate. Her plan needed more thought and less impulsiveness.
She tapped her fingers on the table. And what about Matthew? Surely, he must be consumed with worry about her whereabouts and her condition.
There was simply nothing for it. She imagined Mr. Westcott would try to contact her brother and assure him of her continued good health. She shook her head, realizing she had no idea what her husband had planned for her, and if her brother fit into those plans at all.
Here against her will, she had to find a way back to Town and her brother soon, or Mr. Westcott would—well, she might not be able to obtain an annulment.
And that would simply never do. She finished her coffee and rose wondering when Mr. Westcott would return, resigned knowing she would receive no details from Alec.
With time on her hands, she determined to have a look at her surroundings, since her opportunity last night had been thwarted. Not looking over her shoulder to see if Alec shadowed her, she walked up the steps and into the main house, strolling past each room on the ground floor, taking a cursory look.
She found a blue-and-gold parlor, a drawing room, a music room, and a library of primrose, copper, and celery with more books than even her father had owned, and his books could have filled almost one wing of a lending library.
What it must have been like to entertain in these great rooms while his sister and aunt were alive. Or had they entertained? She didn’t know much about her husband’s history. Had they all been happy, like her family, before the death of their uncle?
Scolding herself, she determined to think only bright thoughts, instead of gloomy ones. Returning to her exploration, she noted with a bit of dusting, polishing, and shining, these rooms could be prepared in no time. The house was surely large enough to accommodate a party with dancing. She smiled thinking how a dance would enliven her stay. It had been ever so long since she had attended a ball.
A local ball. It sounded wonderful; she couldn’t remember the last ball they had been invited to or the last new gown.
Closing her eyes, she reminded herself she wasn’t planning to stay long enough to play hostess at an affair at Westcott Close, for it could surely never be her home.
Fresh air might just be what I need to invigorate myself and clear my head. She walked to the front of the house and opened the large doors, which led onto a smooth-stoned porch. Before continuing outside, Madelene remembered to gather a parasol from the hall in case the sun might be too harsh. One must never be too cautious, for pink skin was not at all attractive.
Once outside admiring the view of the terraced gardens, she heard a voice shouting.
“Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Westcott!” cried a high-pitched voice behind her.
Madelene heard the call again before turning to greet her unannounced guest, still unaccustomed as she was to hearing herself referred to as “Mrs. Westcott.”
In puzzlement, she watched a short rotund woman in black-and-purple raiment with matching turban wave at her, then amble her way up the driveway, which took no short amount of time.
Finally arriving and out of breath, the older woman dropped down on the bottom stone step, as if her legs could carry her no greater distance.
“Ooh, this is much farther than I thought!” She huffed and puffed, while fanning herself with one glove.
Madelene stood askance watching the woman and wondering who she was and what she was doing at Westcott Close. Her only summation was this old woman must be from the village, which was how she knew Madelene’s name.
The older woman breathed deeply, winded from her walk, and looked up at Madelene, wiping her brow. “Oh, dearie, dearie me. Well, that be the way of it. I thought a brisk walk from the road might do me some good, but clearly, I am not wearing my sensible bonnet. The day is a bit heated, is it not?” She affixed her turban to ensure it remained on top of her head. “Very good. Yes, well, I must make my introductions. I’m here as your new housekeeper. Mrs. Lavishtock. Another moment, while I catch my breath,” she gasped.
Nothing could have surprised Madelene more. She walked down the few steps and leaned against the stone wall above her visitor, studying her more closely. The older woman’s sparkling blue eyes dominated a wizened old face, her cheeks rosy red. She had a kindly demeanor that seemed to say that all your troubles could be handled with a smile.
“You’re the new housekeeper? But where do you come from? I understood a Mrs. Henchip was to be our housekeeper. You see, Mr. Westcott, my husband, went into the village to collect her and other servants for the house. How come you to be here?”
Mrs. Lavishtock rocked her head back and forth. “Yes, well, I heard Mrs. Henchip was feeling poorly, and I was told you’d be a-needing someone to look after you, I mean the house. So I came along to be of help,” she replied in a singsong voice, reminding Madelene of a Welsh nanny she had had so many years ago.
Madelene could not quite keep the astonishment out of her voice. This seemed quite improper for their housekeeper to suddenly appear, as it were, on their doorstep. “I have no doubt we would appreciate your service, but I must speak with my husband, of course.”
Mrs. Lavishtock braced her hands on a higher step and pulled her bulky self to a stand. Ignoring Madelene’s comment, she asked, “Do you think someone could collect my things I left down the way? The carriage left me off at the main road, but I couldna carry my things and me.” Not waiting for a reply, she tottered past Madelene and into the house while Madelene could only watch in surprised bemusement.
Collecting her thoughts, she followed Mrs. Lavishtock into the house. Although a seemingly friendly soul, Madelene didn’t know what Mrs. Lavishtock was about and meant to seek answers. She found their potential new housekeeper resting on a linen-covered chair in the front parlor.
“Ah, Mrs. Lavishtock, I’m afraid there is no one but myself and a young servant. You’ll need—”
Mrs. Lavishtock smiled broadly at Madelene. “Ooh, you are a pretty one. No wonder—dearie, would you mind fetching me a glass of water? ’Fraid I cannot move until I have something very wet. Yes, I think tea would be best.”
Madelene looked out the hallway for Alec, but strangely, he was nowhere in sight.
She sighed, quickly discarding her parasol. “Of course, Mrs. Lavishtock. You rest, and I’ll go—bring you tea.” Madelene left the parlor and walked down to the kitchen, trying to remember the last time she had served anyone in this manner. Usually, someone served her.
Indeed, though, she thought with a smile, she didn’t mind, for Mrs. Lavishtock seemed harmless, a
nd kind, and rather old. How much trouble could the older woman be? Especially if she knew the ways of housekeeping and could provide suitable menus and see to the staff? Was she capable, and where were her references?
She needn’t worry, for Mr. Westcott would handle everything upon his return. Madelene started to breathe easier. Perhaps Mrs. Lavishtock could be a confidante, that is, unless Mr. Westcott brought a lady’s maid home for her. She needed someone to talk privately with in this completely foreign house.
“Here you are, Mrs. Lavishtock,” she said graciously upon her return and handed the cup and saucer to the older woman. As their potential housekeeper swallowed her tea in seemingly one gulp, Madelene stood awkwardly nearby, uncomfortable to sit on the covered furniture and wondering what to do next.
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Lavishtock, you’ll need to wait until Mr. Westcott returns home so you can discuss the position with him. I do not know this house at all to show you around, except to the kitchen. Would you like to see the kitchen?” She smiled, gesturing down the hallway.
“Och, then let’s be to it. You show me to the kitchen, and I’ll start gettin’ acquaintain’ with things until the master returns home.”
Although Mrs. Lavishtock needed Madelene’s assistance to pull her out of the chair, once on her feet, the housekeeper appeared well enough to manage on her own, and prepared to follow Madelene to the kitchen. Conscious of the older woman’s slower pace, Madelene matched her lumbering gait, keeping slightly ahead to direct her.
Before she reached the stairs to the kitchen, Madelene saw movement out of a nearby window and thought it might be her husband returning. Anxious to see what staff he had brought home, she motioned the stairway to Mrs. Lavishtock.
“The kitchen is down these stairs. I’ll be with you shortly. I believe my husband has returned home.”
She hastened down the corridor to see her husband. With trepidation, she opened the front door and saw Alec already on the porch. A carriage rocked past the porch toward the stables.
