Lady Lost

by Jane Goodger

  “How is it that they believed you were the murderer?”

  “I found him. I was on my way to my room from the library when I heard a strange sound and investigated. I saw his door was ajar and I could see from the door that his hand was dangling from his bed and so I called to him. When he didn’t answer, I entered the room and kicked an object on the floor. It was a small pistol. I remember thinking it was such a curious thing to find on his bedroom floor, so I picked it up. Then I walked further into the room and saw that he’d been shot. And that’s the very moment my sister’s maid and later my sister came into the room. I suppose I did look rather guilty, standing over him holding a pistol. Like a scene out of a bad dramatic play. I can hardly blame them for jumping to such a conclusion.”

  “And so you ran.”

  “I grabbed what I could and left immediately. My sister was hysterical, screaming that I murdered her husband when, all along, I thought she’d done it. She had enough reason,” Lilian finished darkly.

  “Weston had his share of enemies. My only wish is that the gentleman hadn’t committed suicide, for I would have liked to have shaken his hand.”

  Lilian could feel tears pressing against her eyes; the emotions swirling through her were nearly overwhelming. She rarely cried and never in front of another person, so she set her emotions as straight as her back and pushed the tears aside. Granton was looking at her with concern and so she forced a smile. It did no good to think about how lost she’d been, how lost she still was. She was free to go anywhere, but the sad truth was, she had no place to go. Lilian had little desire to live with a sister who had accused her of murder.

  “Do you really have a friend in Scotland?” Granton asked, then took a sip of wine, as if this were everyday dinner conversation.

  “I do, but I doubt he would welcome me.”

  Sadie entered with a pie, smiling brightly at the pair of them. “Some nice pork pie for you,” she said, setting the plate down. “My mother’s recipe and the best pork pie in Yorkshire, if I do say so myself.”

  “Thank you, Sadie,” Granton said, as Sadie cut into the steaming meat pie and gave each of them a large portion. “It is true I have never eaten better in all of England.”

  “Cinnamon is the secret, you see,” she said with a nod, and by the indulgent smile on Granton’s lips, Lilian suspected this was something he’d heard many times.

  “Palmer is going to town tomorrow to recruit some servants, and I would like you to go with him, Sadie, so you may interview any prospects. I ask that you be silent on the subject of ghosts and perhaps reassure anyone who asks.”

  “I dare not lie,” Sadie said, looking at the ceiling as if the ghost might hear the conversation. Lilian shot Granton an amused look, and he shook his head slightly, silently imploring her to indulge his servant. It was oddly intimate, that look, and for some reason, Lilian flushed and looked down at her plate.

  “Have you ever seen this ghost?” Granton asked Sadie.

  “No, sir, but as I’ve said, I’ve heard him plenty. All that moaning and walking, back and forth, back and forth. All sorts of noises in the night.”

  “If someone asks about a ghost, you can honestly say you have never seen one and leave it at that.”

  “I suppose that would do,” she said, sounding uncertain.

  “Thank you, Sadie. This seamstress, she works quickly, I hope. I am certain Lady Lilian is anxious to return home.”

  Sadie started slightly, as if word that Lilian was leaving was unexpected, and for some reason, Lilian found that statement rather jarring as well. Yes, she was feeling much better and could most certainly travel, but she realized she was in no real hurry to rush off. Strange that she shouldn’t want to, but there it was.

  “Why, then, we’ll have you on your way before the week is out,” Sadie said, an odd note in her voice. “Where is your home, my lady?”

  * * *

  Marcus turned his attention to his pie, but raised his head when he heard nothing but silence following his housekeeper’s question. Lady Lilian’s cheeks were flushed becomingly, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it without uttering a sound.

  “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to pry,” Sadie said, hastily gathering up the soup bowls.

  “Oh, no, Sadie, you were not prying, so no apology is necessary.” Lady Lilian looked up at him through thick, brown lashes, before fixing her gaze on her pie. “It’s only that I don’t actually have a home.”

  She said it without even a hint of self-pity. Of course, Sadie, who liked to mother everyone she came into contact with, said, “Oh, poor dear. Where will you be going then?” Sadie looked at him as if he were the reason the woman was homeless.

  “I’m certain your sister will be happy to see you,” Marcus said. He didn’t want Sadie to get any ideas about Lady Lilian staying on at Merdunoir. He was already taking a terrible risk by allowing an unmarried woman to stay in his home without the benefit of a chaperone. As was the lady. At this point, no one knew where Lady Lilian was, and as far as he was concerned, that was the way it was going to remain. Men had been forced to marry against their will for far less a breach than this. She was not only sleeping in his bed and wearing his robe, he’d also seen her naked in her bath. Not nearly enough of her, but he had seen her. If word got out about any of this, he would be forced to marry the chit, and God above knew he’d had enough of marriage. He’d just as soon let his brother Adam take his title when he died than marry again. In short, Lady Lilian had to go, and she had to go as soon as it was physically possible for her to do so.

  Lilian gave him a tight little smile. “I fear my sister will not be happy to see me, my lord, but see me she will as I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Have you no aunts or uncles? What about Redding?” Granton asked, referring to the loathsome cousin who had inherited her father’s title.

  Lilian actually shuddered. “Have you met Lord Redding?”

  “Indeed I have.” Marcus remembered a reed-thin man who barely topped five feet tall and spouted Scripture at the least provocation. Within five minutes of meeting the man, he’d quoted Proverbs: Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished. To which, Marcus had laughed, much to the man’s disgust. “I see your point.”

  “I have thought about setting up my own house, hiring a companion.”

  “There you go. Capital idea.” Marcus turned his attention back to his pie.

  Sadie, who was still in the room on the pretense of cleaning the side table but was most likely shamelessly eavesdropping, let out a small snort.

  “You don’t agree, Sadie?”

  The older woman’s cheeks turned ruddy. “If she were on the shelf with no prospects, I’d say she should. But she’s practically a girl. No one will want to marry a young girl who lives by herself, companion or no. Unless you don’t want to marry?”

  Lilian was clearly embarrassed by the conversation, but gamely answered. “I have not gone out into society for three years. My mother died shortly after my sister’s wedding, so I was in mourning for a year. Weston disliked society and rarely went to London, much to my sister’s dismay, and he saw no need for me to have a second season, given, as he put it, I had a man to care for me. Instead, we stayed in the country no matter how much Her Grace complained.”

  “You dislike the country?” Marcus asked, praying she was longing for London. She was far too tempting sitting there, her hair barely tamed, the robe showing tantalizing glimpses of her creamy skin. It was all he could do to concentrate on his meal; he found himself staring at her, feeling almost drugged by lust. It was not a state he found at all enjoyable.

  Lilian shook her head. “I’m happy anywhere.”

  “And how do you like our lovely moors?” Sadie asked, impertinent woman. Marcus had suspected the older woman of matchmaking when she’d burned Lady Lilian’s dress, and now he was quite certain of it. Did she not know that as a servant she should not be i
nserting herself into the conversation? Then again, he had invited her response.

  “I do not know the moors well enough to form an opinion. When I was wandering about, I hardly had time to appreciate their beauty.”

  “Poor lass,” Sadie said, clucking her tongue. Marcus controlled the urge to roll his eyes.

  “Perhaps, when you are feeling better, his lordship can show you about. Or perhaps you can tour the secret tunnel.”

  “Sadie, thank you,” Marcus said, dismissing the servant.

  Sadie looked at him, seeming slightly annoyed, but made her way out of the room.

  “Tunnel?” Lady Lilian asked.

  Marcus let out a sigh. No doubt when he told her about the tunnel, she would want to explore it, and he could hardly send her down by herself. That meant she would need clothes and shoes, which meant when she should be in a carriage on her way to London, she would be with him, exploring the tunnels. “For smugglers. Brandy, mostly, during the Napoleonic Wars.”

  Her eyes widened with excitement and Marcus couldn’t help but be charmed. He remembered with fondness exploring the tunnels with his brothers. Only during their summers at Merdunoir had he been sometimes allowed to have fun and engage in activities his father normally prohibited.

  “Secret tunnels? How exciting. I would like to explore them. Perhaps Mabel can come along if it’s not too dangerous.”

  “It’s only dangerous at high tide, and I will be sure not to show them to you then. It is rather an ingenious system. There are a series of caves, some of which are completely submerged at high tide and others that stay dry, and they are all connected via a tunnel to the basement. My brothers found out the hard way to watch the tide. They got stuck in a dry cave overnight, unable to leave. Worse, they had let my sister tag along with them. She was six at the time.”

  “Your parents must have been terrified,” Lady Lilian said. She took a bite of her pie and smiled. “It is quite good. Go on with your story.”

  He hadn’t talked to anyone about his childhood in years, and he hadn’t a clue why he was sharing such stories with this girl. Perhaps it was because he would never see her again, or maybe that she actually seemed interested in what he had to say. Or maybe he knew that if he kept their conversation going, their time together would be extended before he went off on his own to spend the night in his study. Alone. “My father was in London, thank God, but my mother was here. My brothers and sister were laughing when they walked up the stairs, full of themselves and the adventure. She stood there holding a switch, so angry she couldn’t even yell at them properly. And then she started crying and hugging them. I think they all felt worse about making her cry than if she’d struck them with the switch.” Marcus smiled at the memory.

  “Why weren’t you with them?”

  His smile slowly faded and he could feel that old resentment churning in his stomach. He’d been sixteen, and his mother had had a list of duties he was to perform while his father was in London, duties that did not allow for him to be with his siblings on that day. It was just as well. Had he been with them, the blame would have fallen squarely on his shoulders. Even as it was, his father hadn’t been angry at Adam, but at him for allowing them down too close to high tide.

  “I’d grown bored with the tunnels by that time,” he said, the enjoyment of the conversation gone. It was almost as if his father were there, frowning and shaking his head that he was having too grand a time with his lady guest.

  “Or are you afraid of the dark? Mabel can hold your hand.” She lifted one brow, clearly teasing him, and he found himself smiling, his dark thoughts swept away with a speed that was stunning.

  “Do you really want to see them?” For some reason, he began hoping that she truly did. What would it harm to have her stay one extra day? Or two? That was a dangerous thought, intoxicating, and he pushed it solidly away.

  She smiled, a full smile that lit her face, that made her look even more stunningly beautiful and terribly young. “I do. I love exploring ruins and such. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a bluestocking when it comes to history.”

  “What an old-fashioned turn of phrase. Bluestocking, indeed.”

  “I’m a bit old-fashioned, I suppose.”

  Marcus studied her face as she turned her attention to her pie. Her nose was straight, with a slight uptilt, just enough to make her look a bit impertinent, her mouth soft and pink and . . . He tore his gaze away and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hating the hot wave of lust that consumed him. “How old are you, my lady?”

  She looked up, swallowed, and even that filled him with desire. God, he was depraved. “Twenty-two.”

  He’d thought her younger. She looked younger. He’d wanted her to be younger so she would be unsuitable, so he could banish completely the lust he felt when he looked at her. He wished she were seventeen so he could pat her on the head and shove her up into his carriage and be rid of her. But she was twenty-two, only six years younger than he, an age that made her perfectly suitable to be a man’s wife. Some other man. But her being twenty-two and not seventeen made her, if not available, then damn more tempting than she’d been not two minutes prior.

  “And how old are you?” she asked, looking mischievous.

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “I thought you much older.” She said the words casually, but he could hear the teasing in them. He knew for certain when she darted a look at him and her lips tightened a bit as she tried not to smile.

  “How old did you think I was?”

  “I was thinking closer to thirty-five. Perhaps older?”

  Now that was a stunner. “You did not.”

  She grinned. “No, I did not.”

  He let out a sound that might or might not have been a laugh. He wasn’t quite sure, and he could see she wasn’t either, for she looked at him cautiously. His eyes drifted to her mouth and she stilled. If he leaned a bit, he could place his hand behind her head and draw her to him, and kiss her. He wondered what she would do. It was a useless thought, for he’d never do such a thing. But, he realized grimly, it was rather a nice thought. She swallowed, and his gaze dropped to her throat, creamy and smooth, and trailed downward to the V in his robe, that dark shadow that prevented him from seeing the curve of her breasts. How easy it would be to pull apart the edges of her borrowed robe and see what lay beneath. Would she be completely naked? Or was she wearing some undergarment? God above, he was tempted to find out.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m getting your robe full of crumbs.” She hastily batted at them, rubbing the velvet material where indeed some crumbs had fallen, and he jerked his head back, stunned by where his thoughts had gone.

  Marcus let out another short laugh and forced his attention back to his meal. She’d thought he was staring at her chest because of a few errant crumbs? Good God, she was more innocent than he’d thought.

  * * *

  When Granton finally lowered his eyes to his meal, where they belonged, Lilian glared at the impertinent man. Really! Staring at her chest. She fought the urge to pull the robe tighter and thanked goodness she was at least wearing her shift beneath. The way he’d been looking at her it was as if he could see right through the thick velvet material. Rogue.

  Lilian had once been an innocent girl, but she could hardly have remained so living in the same house as the Duke of Weston. He had cornered her more than once and tried to molest her, pawing at her and pressing his stiff thing against her. Lilian had done her best to avoid ever being alone with the man, but it had been a nearly impossible task. At first she thought it strange that whenever she had been cornered by His Grace, a footman would happen by or a maid would suddenly get the urge to dust or stir the fire. After some time, though, Lilian became aware that she had several protectors in the house, led by Weston’s butler, a stern man whom Lilian had at first disliked.

  Mr. Dawson was as stiff and proper as a man could be, but he ran the house like clockwork and Lilian had never seen a more proficient nor hardworking staff. A year into
her stay, she came to realize that no female servant was ever alone. They moved in pairs, ever watchful, and a footman was almost always nearby. At some point, they had collectively taken Lilian under their wing, though no words had been exchanged. Lilian had simply become aware that she had protectors in that house, who made it their mission to stop anything untoward from happening to her.

  Once it had become clear what was happening, Lilian had approached the stalwart Mr. Dawson and thanked him. “It has not escaped my notice that the staff is watching out for me. It means more to me than you could ever know, Mr. Dawson. Please convey my thanks to the staff.”

  Mr. Dawson had lifted his chin and drawled, “I am afraid I do not understand what you are referring to, my lady.”

  “Thank you just the same, Mr. Dawson.” He’d finally looked down and, still frowning heavily, winked.

  Nothing else was ever said, but Lilian adored each and every one of the staff. It was odd, though. Here she was, sitting at a table with a virtual stranger, a stranger who had seen her naked, who stared at her chest like some lecher, and she not only wasn’t offended, she was, if she were perfectly honest, vaguely intrigued. Which was quite shocking.

  As it was quite clear his lordship wanted her gone from his home at the soonest possible moment, she decided to push any warm feelings she might or might not be feeling to the furthest recesses of her mind.

  “My lord, I was wondering something.” He lifted his head in inquiry. “You’ve seen Mabel’s doll.”

  “The stocking, you mean?”

  “That’s just the point. I was wondering if when Sadie goes into the village tomorrow, she might purchase a real doll.”

  He was silent for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully. “No. It is not necessary.”

  Lilian was outraged, but remained outwardly calm. “She’s a little girl, and little girls need toys. I understand the situation, but certainly you cannot deny a child just a little enjoyment. The sins of the father, or in this case the mother, should not be visited upon the child. It seems to me—”