by Regina Scott
She didn’t know how long they embraced, but eventually her tears dried, and the ache in her chest lessened. And even after he released her, and she stepped away, she still felt his embrace.
Chapter Six
Aaron watched as the shadows from night clouds racing past the moon played across the ceiling. He’d been staring at the shifting patterns for what felt like hours. It was certainly well after midnight, and except for Stanley’s snores coming from his bed near the window, the sounds of the house had fallen into silence some time ago. The dog seemed to have settled into the household quite well, and Aaron had seen Mr. Garner giving the old dog treats.
Yet Aaron had not expected to be confronted with so many emotions upon his arrival at Banfield. He especially hadn’t expected to find Lady Celia a woman of twenty-three, and to be so . . . fiercely stubborn and independent, yet in need of comfort at the same time. And he could not forget how she’d held onto him in the library that evening. How her hair smelled like lilacs in the summer, and how the silky-smooth hair brushed against his cheek and neck. He should not be noticing these things about a grieving woman.
But he could not get the image of her red hair, her bright blue eyes, and the slope of her neck out of his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to let himself drift into a world of dreaming, but all he saw was Lady Celia and the paleness of her skin beneath a sprinkle of freckles.
Aaron sighed. Giving up on sleep, he sat up in bed and threw off the covers. Stanley lifted his head, and Aaron told the dog to go back to sleep. There was plenty of work to do, and Aaron might as well start on it. Perhaps after an hour or two of poring over ledgers, he’d be tired enough to sleep.
He pulled on a dressing robe and left his bedroom. Mrs. March had told him that he occupied the master room, and Celia’s quarters were at the other end of the house, past the large staircase. As he approached the staircase, he spotted a square patch of light down the opposite hallway.
Aaron paused, wondering where the light came from. There were no windows in the hallway, of course, and no candles burning on a side table. Then he realized that the light was coming from beneath a closed door. Without venturing any further, Aaron guessed that it was Lady Celia’s room.
Could she not sleep either? Was she still too distressed over the song he’d played after dinner? Or perhaps she’d fallen asleep with a candle burning? Would that not risk a potential fire?
Although it made his pulse hum to do so, he entered the hallway and walked toward the patch of light. First he listened at the door, but he heard nothing. Next he knocked very softly.
There was no sound, but it was as if the air around him stilled. As if the woman inside had heard the knock, but didn’t know what to make of it. Or perhaps his knock had awakened her.
“Lady Celia?” he said in a quiet voice. “Is everything all right?”
He waited. And then he heard it. A rustle, followed by the turn of the doorknob.
When she opened the door a few inches, he saw that she hadn’t been crying—or at least her blue eyes looked clear enough. But she was dressed for bed, wearing a long, flowing night rail. Most remarkably, her red hair cascaded over her shoulders like a shimmering waterfall, ending at her waist. He doubted he’d ever seen anything so magnificent.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” Aaron whispered, regretting that he’d had the gall to knock on Lady Celia’s bedroom door in the middle of the night. “I saw the light and worried that you’d left a candle burning.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” she whispered back. “I’m a . . . night owl.” She kept the door open only a handspan, and he could see that her fingers were stained with drops of ink.
“Are you writing letters?” he asked, wondering why he was still standing here. If someone should come upon them . . .
Her eyes widened, and she removed her hand from the door as if she wanted to hide her fingers. Aaron took a step back. He’d already invaded her privacy enough, and there was no neglected candle to be concerned about.
Before he turned and left, he had one more question to ask. “I trust you are feeling better?”
She lowered her lashes. “I am.”
“That’s good to hear. Good night, then.” He took another step then turned. The door clicked shut before he reached the top of the stairs. Aaron wasn’t sure what to make of Lady Celia’s late hours, but it did make him wonder who she was writing to at such a late hour. Perhaps it was just as she said. She was a night owl.
Apparently he was one too, tonight. He held onto the banister as he walked down the stairs in the dark. When he reached the library, he lit a couple of candles and set to reading through the most recent ledgers tied to the estate. The ledger on the desk was half blank, and the most recent entry had been made more than two years ago.
Aaron searched around the library for more ledgers. Finally he found several volumes neatly organized by year, but nothing that was recent.
Perhaps the ledgers had been moved? Had the solicitor of Banfield Estate taken them to his office? Aaron didn’t think he could knock twice on Lady Celia’s door in the middle of the night. He put the ledgers back in place and looked about the library. Then he crossed to the cupboards behind the desk and started to open them one by one. In the final cupboard, he found a box with stacks of receipts inside.
Using one of the candles for light, he held up the receipts one by one. They were the receipts and bills that should have been recorded in the ledger. Yet here they were. In a box in the cupboard.
Aaron sat back on his heels and rubbed his forehead. He was afraid that no accounting had been done since Bartholomew had traveled to the colonies. Apparently Aaron had his work cut out for him.
Morning found Aaron waking up in one of the library chairs, a severe crick in his neck. He stretched and stared with bleary eyes at the rows of books on the opposite wall as he slowly remembered how he’d ended up falling asleep in a chair.
Feminine voices came from somewhere outside of the library, and Aaron guessed that Lady Celia and Miss Kate were breaking their fast. He stood and made his way to the hallway. He should really change before encountering the ladies. And Stanley likely needed to be let outside. So Aaron hurried up the steps, taking them two at a time, and entered his bedroom, then stopped cold.
A man stood in the middle of the room, spectacles perched on his nose. He was close to Aaron’s age, but he looked like he hadn’t eaten a full meal in his life.
“Hello,” Aaron said.
The man executed a curt bow. “Lord Banfield, I’m Mr. Ferall.”
Aaron blinked.
“Your new valet, my lord.”
My new . . . Oh. “Mr. Ferall. Thank you for coming. I appreciate your willingness to . . . serve me.”
The man straightened his thin shoulders and lifted his chin. “It’s my honor, Lord Banfield.” His gaze flitted over Aaron, who was surely an eyesore in rumpled clothing. “Might I assist you? I’ve sent your dog into Mr. Garner’s care and laid out your morning clothes.”
Indeed, the man had laid out clothing on the bed.
Aaron swallowed, and tried not to think too deeply about the fact that he was a grown man and was about to have someone help him dress for the day. But he thought about the new expectations of his position, and how this job would likely put some meat on Mr. Ferall’s bones. “Very well. Thank you.”
The process wasn’t quite as painful as Aaron had thought it might be. In fact, Mr. Ferall was quick and efficient, and Aaron was dressed much faster than he would have been on his own. Mr. Garner brought Stanley to the bedroom just as Aaron was about to go downstairs.
The dog gave an approving woof. It seemed even Stanley was impressed.
The dog trotted by Aaron’s side as he walked down the steps to go to the dining room. The prospect of food always lightened the dog’s step. By the time Aaron reached the dining room, the two women at the table were nearly finished with their meal.
Miss Kate saw him first and smiled. “Good morning, Lor
d Banfield.”
Aaron wished everyone would call him by his Christian name, but it couldn’t be helped. So he smiled and said, “Good morning, ladies.” Before he reached the side table, his gaze shifted to Lady Celia. Although her hair was pinned into a smooth coiffure, he couldn’t help but remember the way it had tumbled over her shoulders, reaching her waist.
Her blue eyes connected with his. “Good morning,” she said in a quiet voice, then she picked up her fork. “I hope you like what Cook’s prepared.”
“I’m not finicky,” Aaron said. “And neither is Stanley.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly, then nodded. She looked down at her half-filled plate. He didn’t miss the flush that crept along her neck; his own neck felt warm.
He picked up a plate to serve himself. “I met Mr. Ferall.”
Miss Kate clapped her hands together. “He’s such a devout man. My father, who’s the vicar, you know, says that he’s always helping someone. When Lady Celia said he would make a good valet for you, I couldn’t have agreed more.”
Aaron finished piling eggs and ham onto his plate, then took his seat.
“Are you pleased with Mr. Ferall?” Lady Celia asked.
Aaron met her blue gaze. “Yes. Although I am sure I have much to adjust to here at Banfield.”
Lady Celia set down her fork. “I’d like to offer you my brother’s clothing. You are about the same build as Bart, and there’s no reason to let his clothes collect dust.” The flush returned to her cheeks.
Aaron wondered if redheads blushed more readily. He was also aware of how this gesture was not to be taken lightly. If hearing her brother’s favorite music played could reduce Lady Celia to tears, then offering her brother’s clothing to him was a grand gesture indeed.
“I don’t mean to insult you,” she continued, “but a man in your position is expected to dress according to the current fashion. I should be the one to tell you so that you don’t find yourself in any uncomfortable situation.”
Aaron felt his mouth quirk. “I will not take it as an insult, then.”
The edges of her mouth lifted. “Very good. If you’d like, we’ll start with a tour of the upper rooms, then work our way throughout the house.”
“That sounds agreeable.” Aaron glanced over at Miss Kate, who was giving him a brilliant smile. Goodness, he hadn’t had this much female attention in, well, ever. He turned back to Lady Celia. “I do have a question before we start the tour. Do you know if there are ledgers for the estate financials that cover the last two years? I can’t seem to find anything current in the library.”
It was not in the least comforting to see the color drain from Lady Celia’s face.
Chapter Seven
He already knows, Celia thought as dread pooled in her stomach. She had not been exactly negligent with the finances. She had kept all the receipts. But she supposed she had let her temper get the best of her when the estate solicitor visited in her brother’s absence and made her feel like she was a dim-witted female.
The solicitor had given her a talking-to about her sticking to her pin money for extra expenditures. Then he’d insisted on coming every quarter. Instead, Celia wrote to him and said that she had been instructed by Bart to retain the receipts and wait until he returned home before meeting with the solicitor again.
She’d turned down all inquiries from the solicitor as the months went on.
“Perhaps I should explain things later,” Celia said, feeling her face warm up. Why was she blushing so much around this man? She only had to show him the box of receipts and let him sort it out. But this morning, she was noticing all kinds of things about his appearance.
The brown of his eyes reminded her of the color of a dark brandy. His hair had been expertly combed, unlike the ruffled look of yesterday. She hadn’t paid attention to his hands until now, when he was sitting across from her, holding his fork. He had long, elegant yet strong fingers, made for playing the pianoforte, as he’d so well demonstrated.
Kate had mentioned more than once how handsome she thought Lord Banfield was. Perhaps Lord Banfield wouldn’t marry a woman of Kate’s station, but that wouldn’t prevent a man in his position to take his pleasures. The very thought of intimacies concerning Lord Banfield should have never entered Celia’s mind, and she looked down at her half-eaten food before she could be caught blushing at her very un-spinster-like thoughts.
“Very well, then,” Lord Banfield said, and even though she was no longer looking at him, she could feel his gaze on her.
It took Celia a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. Oh, yes. The receipts. She merely nodded, then reached for her teacup to take a sip. The tea had cooled considerably, and now it was much too sweet. She took the smallest of swallows, then set the cup down on the saucer. Porcelain clattered against porcelain, drawing Kate’s attention as well.
Celia needed some air. Space and air.
“If you need a private conversation, I can wait in the drawing room,” Kate said.
Celia snapped her head up. “Oh, no, we should keep our promise to give Lord Banfield a tour of the estate. Finances can always wait.”
Lord Banfield cleared his throat, and Celia heard the disagreement in the sound. But she refused to look at him.
“All right,” Kate said with a pretty smile that any man would be dazzled with. “If you’re sure.”
“I am sure,” Celia said with much more confidence than she felt. “If the rain holds off this afternoon, we can tour the grounds as well after lunch.”
Kate clapped her hands together. “And ride horses?”
Celia couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, of course.”
Kate turned her charm onto Lord Banfield. “We only have two carriage horses at the vicarage, so I don’t get to ride nearly as much as I’d like to.”
Lord Banfield smiled back. “Then I hope the rain holds off.”
The knot that formed in Celia’s stomach had nothing to do with the cold tea or thick ham. Would the next fortnight be full of flirting between the earl and the vicar’s daughter? Was she to watch the pair fall in love, and then be witness to Kate’s heartbreak?
“Well,” Celia said abruptly, scooting her chair back and rising to her feet. “I am finished. I will let Mrs. March know of our plans so that if there are any morning callers, she will know to put them off.”
Lord Banfield had risen to his feet as well, and his brows arched at her comment.
Celia didn’t wait for any reply from either of them before she hurried out of the dining room and continued toward the kitchen. Air and space.
Chapter Eight
Aaron could not fathom collecting receipts week after week and not writing anything down. Not one line in a ledger. Nothing. Lady Celia’s embarrassment had been clear, and he didn’t wish to make her think that he was upset, but he was worried about the state of finances for the earldom.
Lady Celia’s quick exit from the dining room had made Aaron feel like he’d received a blow to the gut. He hoped to the good Lord that he hadn’t caused her to cry again. Blast it all. As Miss Kate talked about her favorite horse in the Banfield stable, he inspected the food he’d piled onto his plate. He couldn’t get the image of Lady Celia’s flushed cheeks out of his mind. Or how her open neckline had exposed a smattering of freckles across her collar bone.
He took a bite of food, not tasting it at all. He had to refocus on matters of the estate. He’d worked with enough solicitors to know that sometimes an inheritance could be more of a curse than a blessing. If an estate wasn’t profitable, or at the very least could not support itself, then it became subject to parceling off land to the auction block.
Aaron gave up on eating and set down his fork. He realized Miss Kate was still talking about a particular horse. Laws, the young woman could chatter. “Might we join Lady Celia?” he said, hoping that his interruption wouldn’t be perceived as rude.
He felt as if he already had enough strikes against him at Banfield.
Miss Kate smiled. “Celia is like this. She disappears sometimes.” She shrugged. “She did it as a child too. Would be gone for hours.”
“Does it have to do with her poetry writing?”
Miss Kate looked surprised. “Lady Celia doesn’t write poetry.” Then she wrinkled her brow. “Although it would explain the ink stains on her fingers that I’ve spotted more than once. How did you know? Did she tell you?”
Aaron couldn’t elaborate that he’d seen the same ink markings on Lady Celia’s fingers in the middle of the night.
Just then, the woman herself came into the dining room. Her complexion hadn’t yet returned to its creamy paleness, and Aaron wondered if she was still upset. Aaron rose to his feet.
Lady Celia gave him a quick glance, then said to Miss Kate, “Are you ready?”
“I am.” Miss Kate pushed back her plate, so Aaron reached over and helped her up from her chair.
Aaron followed the women out of the dining room and up the grand staircase. Lady Celia gave a very thorough tour, telling him of each room and former occupants. When they reached the corridor of paintings, they stopped before each one as Lady Celia spoke of each relative. She was certainly well-versed in her family history.
Miss Kate interjected with small tidbits of village lore, and Aaron found himself smiling at a tale of Lady Celia’s father when he was young and was known to be found asleep in the strangest places. “My father said that once he’d found the young lord asleep in the vicarage stables when his parents were on a visit.”
“He always was a night owl,” Lady Celia. “Read through half the night.”
The fondness in her tone was unmistakable, and Aaron had to stop himself from saying, “Like father, like daughter.” It was clear she’d cared deeply for her family, and he couldn’t help but think that a woman like her would be a caring mother. Was it too presumptuous of him to think she’d dearly value each child?
The final suite of rooms they entered on the upper floor had been Bartholomew’s.
