Lady Lost

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Lady Lost Page 5

by Jane Goodger


  “This is my room,” he said as explanation.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, my lord. I didn’t know. I do appreciate your hospitality and, of course, saving me from the moors. I fear I don’t remember what happened or even how I came to be here.”

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, as you know my name, but I do not as yet know yours. Who are you?”

  “Sadie did not tell you?”

  “Obviously not, as I am asking you.” His smile was painfully polite.

  Lilian swallowed down a bit of fear. Lord Granton was known to be a hard man, and she was certainly seeing proof of that now. What would he do if he knew who she was? Perhaps Sadie had not heard of the duke’s murder, but Granton certainly would have. Feeling tears pressing against her eyes, she looked down to the coverlet and worried the soft material between her fingers before looking up again, straight into his stony expression. “I am Lady Lilian Martin.”

  She watched him carefully. She’d certainly surprised him, but that was all. “Your sister is Weston’s wife. And you are the older one, the one who escaped.”

  Oh, God. He knew. He knew and he would turn her in. Of course, he would. That’s what any man confronted with an accused murderess would do. “Yes,” she managed to say, though her throat was constricted with fear.

  “I pitied your poor sister,” Marcus said blandly. “My own sister barely escaped marrying Weston. Do you know that story?”

  Lilian was besieged with confusion. Why was he talking about his sister escaping . . . ? He didn’t know! He’d been talking about escaping marriage, not the authorities. She nodded quickly, trying very hard not to smile, for that would have been completely inappropriate given the topic of their conversation.

  “What are you doing out here, my lady? I daresay it is not the usual place to find the daughter of a peer.”

  Lilian had a strong distaste for lying, and so gave the gentleman an honest answer. “I was living with my sister and we had a falling-out,” she said, swallowing down an unexpected and horrifying urge to laugh. Certainly, it was better than telling him the full truth. I am the prime suspect in the murder of one of the highest members of the peerage and will likely hang if I’m discovered. No, that would never do. “I was on my way to visit a family friend in Scotland but ran out of funds.”

  “And clothing.”

  She could feel herself blush, for the way he was looking at her, it was as if he could see through the bedcovers. “I left rather hastily, my lord.”

  “Indeed.”

  Lilian tried not to fidget beneath his level gaze, but it was impossible not to. He had a way of looking at a person that somehow made one feel self-conscious.

  “It appears you have recovered adequately,” he said after a long moment. “You may leave immediately. I can have my carriage bring you as far as Whitby, where you can take a train wherever you’d like. I don’t enjoy guests and am not set up to receive them. I have no other room for you.” He moved his lips slightly upward, and Lilian thought that perhaps he was attempting to smile politely to lessen the blow of his words.

  “I would like nothing more than to be on my way,” Lilian said. “But I have no clothes and no shoes. Certainly you would not send me out onto the moors in my shift.”

  Something dark flickered in his eyes. “No, I would not. I will talk to Sadie about procuring an appropriate dress.” He looked as though he were about to leave, but stopped. “You fainted twice, my lady. Is there any chance you could be with child?”

  Lilian’s jaw dropped slightly. “There is none. Unless it is a second Immaculate Conception, my lord.”

  He gave her a long look before letting out a soft burst of air, almost a laugh but not quite. “If I don’t see you again, my lady, I wish you well on your travels.”

  He stepped out of the door, a short journey indeed, for he hadn’t come into the room more than a few feet, leaving Lilian to stare at his departing back in shock. Had she ever in her life met a more disagreeable man? Actually, thinking of Weston, she most certainly had.

  * * *

  Marcus stepped out of his room more determined than ever to have the lady gone. When he’d opened his bedroom door to find her there, silhouetted against the window, her auburn curls a wild mass down her back, he’d briefly lost his ability to draw air into his lungs. It had been longer than he wished to consider since he’d been with a woman, and to have one as lovely as Lady Lilian running about half naked was a temptation he could do without. He’d stood there far longer than the lady knew, far longer than he should have, gazing at her like some adolescent boy catching his first sight of a woman. If he chose to think of her feature by feature, she was not a particularly remarkable woman. He didn’t really care for red-toned hair, and her jaw was a bit too square, her nose too strong, her mouth too pink. But somehow all her features came together to produce something rather astoundingly beautiful.

  Most remarkable of all, he had a feeling she was completely unaware of this fact. She was also a terrible liar. He had no idea what she’d been doing walking on the moors by herself, but it certainly wasn’t because she’d had a “falling-out” with her sister. More likely than not, it had probably been something to do with Weston. With that old goat’s penchant for young girls, it was likely the duke had had something to do with her mad rush to get away from Mount Carlyle.

  Marcus went directly to the kitchen, where he found Sadie and Mabel chatting, an empty plate in front of the girl.

  Mabel turned to see him and smiled, and Marcus was struck by the thought that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d entered the room and someone had looked pleased to see him.

  “You were right, sir. I do like tea cakes. They don’t taste like tea at all,” Mabel said, making Sadie laugh.

  “I am correct about most things,” Marcus said solemnly. He turned to Sadie, who was frowning at him, probably for ruining the happy mood in the kitchen. “Lady Lilian needs her clothing and shoes so she can leave. Would you please deliver them posthaste?”

  Sadie immediately found a light dusting of flour on the table distracting, and began sweeping it up with her hand. “I burned the dress, and the shoes are beyond repair, my lord. I’ll have to go to Whitby tomorrow and buy her something. It’s far too late to set out now. Truly, I don’t know what I’ll be able to find at any rate. Certainly nothing befitting a fine lady. I could travel to Pickering, perhaps. Then again, Mrs. Thornbush, she’s a fine seamstress and could probably fashion something suitable for the lady in less than a week.”

  “A blasted week?” Marcus said, earning him another frown. “Why on earth did you burn her dress? All it needed was a good cleaning.”

  Sadie sniffed. “Less than a week, my lord. And the lady’s dress, it were ruined, my lord, beyond my abilities to repair. I’d loan her one of my own dresses, but I hardly think that would do.”

  No, it would not. Sadie was probably not much taller than five feet and rather plump, and Lady Lilian was tall and lithe. The image of her standing before the window was etched in his brain so vividly that, if pressed, he could probably tell the seamstress her dimensions. Putting her in one of Sadie’s dresses and sending her on her way would be impossible.

  “Give her my robe for now,” Marcus said, intending to retreat to his study.

  “And what of Mabel, sir? What shall I do with her?”

  Her question stopped him cold, left him staring at the old wooden door that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house, its lower half dented and smooth from years of servants entering and leaving. He wanted to leave, to ignore Sadie’s question, but he turned instead, spying his wife’s daughter looking up at him with wide eyes. Hell and damnation, he didn’t need all these complications. If the lady was going to stay in his room, the girl could stay with her. It was certainly a large enough bed. And he could stay in his study on that damned uncomfortable settee that was far too small for his frame. He’d hardly slept at all the previous evening.

  “We need a day maid
, sir. I can’t do it all, you know. I can’t be cook and housekeeper and maid and nanny all in one. And perhaps another strong back around here. My brother isn’t getting any younger, you see. I could convince someone to come out during the day, as long as they could return to the village before the sun sets.”

  “You mean before the ghost appears.”

  “Ghosts, sir,” Sadie said, eyes looking about as if she feared the apparitions were listening in.

  What was the good of being a recluse in a house full of other people? Marcus thought darkly. It seemed he was no better at being a recluse than he was at being a husband. Or a brother. Or, he thought, looking at Mabel, a father.

  “Very well, Sadie. A maid and a footman would be in order. Two maids, if you can find them. I’m of a mind to open up a few more rooms.” He ignored Sadie’s beaming smile.

  “I knew she was a good omen.”

  “The child?” he asked, looking skeptically at the girl.

  “No, sir, Lady Lilian.”

  Marcus scowled at his cook. “Would you mind very much introducing the child to our guest?”

  “Oh, no, sir, I can’t leave my bread.” Sadie made a show of checking the large oven, where, indeed, several loaves of bread were baking.

  “Very well. You may come with me,” he said to the little girl. “I want you to meet Lady Lilian. You will be sharing a room with her until we can set something special up for you.”

  “In the attic?” Mabel asked, looking slightly fearful as she peered up to the ceiling.

  Sadie, who had been wiping down the table, stopped as if she was holding her breath, as if he actually would put a tiny girl child up in the attic, where the ghosts apparently resided. Mabel, who had climbed down from her stool, stood holding her stocking against her stomach.

  “No. You shall have a pretty room on the same level as I.”

  The little girl smiled, showing a dimple in her right cheek, and Marcus’s heart wrenched just the smallest bit.

  “I lived in the attic back home,” Mabel said happily, as if living in an attic weren’t awful. She skipped up to Marcus, holding out her hand for him to take. Good God, Mrs. Broom would pay for mistreating this child.

  “I see.”

  “There were rats.” This was said with a certain amount of gleeful disgust.

  “I detest rats,” Marcus said.

  Mabel giggled. “Me too. Are there rats here?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. I don’t allow them and certainly not near little girls.”

  “Good. Mrs. Broom said they might eat me. I shouldn’t like to be eaten by a rat.”

  Marcus made a mental note to write to his solicitor and inquire about how he could most harm Mrs. Broom without sending himself to prison. He now regretted giving the harridan even one penny. Still, Mabel seemed like a sweet little thing, unaffected by her terrible upbringing, and he wondered if there had been someone else in the household who had been kind to the child. There must have been. It would be unthinkable if there had not been.

  The two began walking up the stairs, and when Mabel struggled a bit to keep up—it was a rather long set of stairs—Marcus hoisted her up so that she clung to his neck, her little legs wrapped around his torso as best she could, which was to say not very well.

  “Who is Lady Lilian?”

  “An unwanted guest,” Marcus said, knowing the child likely wouldn’t understand what he meant. “She was ill, but is feeling better now. Nothing contagious, I assure you. She’ll be leaving soon enough.”

  “What’s ’tagious?”

  “She doesn’t have an illness that you can catch.”

  Marcus knocked this time, slightly irked that he was forced to knock on his own bedroom door but not wanting to catch the lady in her shift again, and only went in when Lady Lilian called out for him to enter. She was sitting up in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and her hair was slightly tamed into a knot at the base of her neck. Next to her was a thick volume, which could only be Marcus’s collection of short stories by Edgar Allan Poe, perhaps not the best thing to read whilst in an old, decrepit mansion reported to have ghosts.

  “Lady Lilian, may I present Miss Mabel Dunford,” Marcus said, setting Mabel onto the carpet. “You may curtsy.” He gave these instructions even though he wasn’t entirely certain the little girl would know what he meant, but was pleasantly surprised when Mable executed a passable curtsy, even still clutching his hand and holding on to her stocking.

  “Hello, Mabel, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Lilian looked up to Marcus, obviously waiting for some explanation as to whom the child belonged, but Marcus remained silent. “How old are you, Mabel?”

  “Very nearly five,” she said, looking up to Marcus as if for approval. He nodded, and she shuffled slightly closer to him, her little body nearly an attachment to his right leg. His first instinct was to step away, but he decided quickly he could tolerate her nearness and so remained in place.

  “As you may be unaware, my lady, sleeping accommodations at Merdunoir are very few. I would appreciate it if the child could share a room with you at least until I am able to enlist additional servants to ready two more rooms. Apparently, you will be forced to remain here until we can procure you clothing.” He felt his face heating slightly, though why he couldn’t say.

  “I am very grateful for your kind hospitality, sir. I do recognize this as an inconvenience for you.”

  “It is more than an inconvenience, my lady, and it is not kindness that has forced this decision. It is damnably bothersome, but as I have no choice in the matter other than sending you on your way unclothed, I will allow you to stay.”

  Mabel tugged on his arm to get his attention. “That’s a naughty word,” she whispered.

  “Not for me. You may not say it, however.”

  Marcus thought he heard what sounded like a soft snort coming from the direction of the bed, and he glared at the lady, whose face was carefully blank.

  “In the meantime,” he continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “you may wear my robe if you are inclined to walk about. I shall return momentarily with it. You two ladies may become better acquainted until I return.”

  * * *

  Lilian watched with a small amount of bemusement as the gentleman walked from the room. She had a feeling that, as acerbic as he seemed, he wasn’t as awful as she’d originally thought. Any man who would carry a small child up the stairs, then allow said child to hold his hand, couldn’t be all unkindness. It was quite obvious he didn’t want her here, and to be honest, Lilian didn’t want to be at Merdunoir either. But as Sadie had burned her clothing, she hardly had any choice in the matter but to accept his hospitality, such as it was.

  “Do you live here, Mabel?”

  The little girl shook her head, then nodded. “Now I do.”

  “And how long have you been here?”

  “Since this morning.”

  “Ah.” It was a syllable that meant understanding, but Lilian had no understanding of whom the child belonged to or why she was here. Perhaps she was a niece? She really didn’t know the Dunford family well enough to know whether she could be or not. Then she decided not. The child looked rather like a ragamuffin, with a drab, ill-fitting dress, soft brown hair that needed a good combing, and a general air of neglect. She’d seen children in London, hands held out for coins, who looked much like this little girl.

  Mabel took a few steps toward her, eyes wide, clutching something with her little fists. Lilian patted the bed and said, “Come on up so I can braid your hair.”

  Mabel smiled and, with a bit of assistance, climbed up and knelt beside Lilian. She was a pretty child, with big hazel eyes below a wispy fringe of bangs.

  “Who is that?” Lilian asked, indicating the bit of cloth in Mabel’s hands.

  “It’s my dolly.”

  Though Lilian’s heart clenched a bit, she smiled. “Does she have a name?”

  “Alice, after the princess.”

  “A lovely name. An
d what color hair does she have?”

  That question seemed to tickle Mabel, for the stocking obviously didn’t have any hair at all. Then she looked at the sad bit of cloth thoughtfully and said, “Yellow. And she has blue eyes and is wearing a pretty blue dress. With lace.”

  “With lace? What a grand doll you have.”

  Mabel’s eyes twinkled and Lilian was completely charmed. It didn’t matter whom she belonged to, for she was a pure delight.

  “The man said she was a stocking,” Mabel said, a bit of challenge in her tone. Odd that she called his lordship “the man” as if she herself didn’t know her connection to the Dunfords.

  “A stocking? Anyone with any sense can see she is a doll.”

  And of course, when Lilian looked up, the man with no sense was standing there, one brow raised, as he looked at the two of them.

  Mabel turned about on the bed to face Lord Granton, and Lilian immediately began braiding the girl’s hair. It was thick for a young child’s and a bit matted, making the task difficult. “Do you have a comb or brush I can use to untangle Miss Mabel’s hair?” Lilian asked, not looking up from her task.

  Without a word, Lord Granton laid a robe at the foot of the bed, then walked to a set of drawers, producing a comb and a brush. “Mind you get all that hair out of my things when you’re finished,” he said, handing them over so Lilian could begin her task.

  “Ow,” Mabel said, turning to give Lilian a scowl, and Lilian pulled in her lips so she wouldn’t smile.

  “I’m sorry, Mabel, your hair is very tangled. I will try not to pull so hard.”

  Mabel turned back around and placed two hands atop her head. “This helps,” she said. “Laura always started on the bottom.”

 

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