Juliet Cheverly was not wearing an inquisitor’s uniform, however. In fact, she looked every inch the supremely-wealthy-if-not-titled lady she was, swathed in furs and ruby velvet, a diamond pin on her hat vying for attention with its feathers and braided trim. Hart knew beneath her kid gloves too many fingers were beringed. In the event the lure of a new carriage and all her baggage was not enough temptation, he and his outriders were all heavily armed in case some unlucky highwayman caught a sparkle emanating from her person and thought to take advantage. He hadn’t been to Hartford Hall since he was a child, but it was unlikely it had changed sufficiently to be as fashionable as his young aunt. She was bound to be disappointed. And overdressed.
“Tell me about these girls, Hart,” she asked for the umpteenth time.
Hart sighed. “I’ve already told you, Juliet, I’ve never met them. My father and my uncle had a falling out, as you know. I’ve not been to the Hall but once that I remember, and that was many years ago. I gather their mother was the local parson’s widow. A renowned beauty, as I understand it. Uncle Ivor took a fancy to her and married her. There were three children. The brother died at Waterloo, Lady Hartford not long ago, and the youngest girl is very ill. Some lung disorder, I believe. She stays abed most days. Miss Emery writes that the doctor has given up hope.”
“How sad. All that death.” Juliet shivered despite being cloaked in her furs. Her husband, Thomas, had been gone five years and Hart knew she missed him fearfully still. “Poor Miss Emery. Losing her blood family and then the protection of her stepfather. Do be kind to her, Hart. A woman alone is at such a disadvantage in this world.”
Hart reached for her hand and squeezed. “There’s not a person alive who can get the better of you, madam. Perhaps Miss Emery is made of the same stern stuff.” Lord, he hoped so. He was quite counting on his aunt taking the girl to her bosom and getting her out of his way. He had no objection to supporting Miss Emery and her sister financially, but he’d never be able to call Hartford Hall a home if he had an unmarried woman underfoot once the sister died. And whatever his plans for his estate were, they did not include falling prey to some compromising situation.
His aunt smiled sadly. “I may look brave on the outside, but I shall always suffer from my loss.”
Hart winced. Once Juliet started touting the virtues of her late husband, there was no stopping her. Diversion was essential.
“I daresay you might help Miss Emery and her sister with their wardrobes. Even if they’re in mourning, there’s no reason for them to be frumps. I can count on you to help them, can I not?”
“Certainly! I shall be most happy to bring out two young ladies when the time comes. Of course the poor sister—what is her name? Jenny?”
“Jannah.”
“That might be a bit of a challenge if she’s bedridden. But no doubt Miss Emery can benefit from my expertise. I wonder if there are adequate modistes to be found in the vicinity.” Juliet peered out of the carriage window as if she expected to see a row of shops pop up rather than the harrowing roads and the misty peaks of the Pen-nines. “If worse comes to worst, my maid might be prevailed upon to exert herself. She’s very handy with a needle. Perhaps I should have brought fabrics from London. Oh dear. I wish you’d spoken of this earlier.” Juliet prattled on, oblivious of the fact that her nephew was no longer listening.
Not three miles away, Eden Emery was inspecting her toilette, which would never in this lifetime have passed muster with Juliet Cheverly had she been consulted. Eden and the maids Charlotte and Mattie had refurbished her best mourning dress. Even Jannah had stitched a bit of ribbon on a cuff. The new baron’s valet and former batman, McBride, had arrived several hours earlier on horseback, informing them that Lord Hartford and his aunt would be along shortly. Eden was grateful there was to be an aunt as chaperone. She never wanted to find herself alone with another Baron Hartford. If he was anything like his depraved uncle, she would wish to follow Jannah to the grave as soon as possible. When Ivor was in his cups, he had often told her of his youthful exploits with his brother, counting on the tales to shock her. The son was probably cut from the same cloth.
She cast a worried glance at her sister, who was dozing again. Jannah had been in high spirits over news of company, and had made numerous suggestions as Mattie arranged Eden’s wavy brown hair into a smooth bun. But the fun of watching her older sister dress up had worn her out. Eden slipped out of Jannah’s bedroom and into her room, to stand in front of her own mirror.
She was not a vain woman. Since her stepfather’s death, she had filled out some and was no longer her scarecrow self. God had not seen fit to grace her with any particular attributes save an overgenerous bosom, which was presently tamed by rigorous lacing. Her eyes were as large as they needed to be, her thick dark brows straight. Mattie had done a rather creditable job confining her hair, but Eden saw a pale specter in black before her. That would never do. She’d need every negligible charm to persuade Lord Hartford to let her stay here with Jannah until the end. After that, it didn’t matter. Perhaps she could turn governess or companion if Kempton could be satisfied. She shut out from her mind her true calling.
The letter from Kempton had arrived yesterday, as though he knew exactly when the new baron would arrive. There was no return address, nor did he name the figure he expected for the next installment of extortion. He meant to keep her off-balance, just as her stepfather had. Once Stuart Hartford settled his affairs and left, she would scrape together whatever she could for Kempton. But she would not give him her body. If she ever bedded a man again, it would be by her choice.
Kempton might even have the book, although he had made no mention of such a bargaining chip. Eden’s search had been fruitless, though she hadn’t quite given up hope. The new baron’s visit would interrupt her methodical sweep of every place a devious mind like Ivor Hartford’s could have chosen to hide it. She’d gone so far as to pick apart seams of sofa cushions and remove rear panels of furniture, unlikely as it was for Ivor to have had time to conceal the horrible thing in such a way. If anyone came upon it—if the new baron found it—her position here with Jannah would be in jeopardy. She could not imagine trying to explain the drawings of her wickedness to a stranger.
She could not explain it to herself. She had needed to submit to Ivor in a way that would always bring her shame. Of course, it had all gotten well out of her control, given Ivor’s nature. What had initially thrilled her had become a living hell.
Eden pinched her cheeks and bit her lips, but she still looked pasty and ill. She found her mother’s rouge pot, somewhat congealed after all this time, and set to smoothing a bit on her face and mouth. Not enough to shock. Her mother had been a very beautiful woman, beautiful enough to overcome her humble birth as a farmer’s daughter and catch the eye of a serious young curate, and then, more exaltedly, a baron. Beautiful enough so that neither man seemed to object to her lack of mental acuity. Eden didn’t want to catch anyone’s eye, nor did she want to look a fright. This new Lord Hartford was an unknown entity, but most men liked a pretty woman. Eden might never consider herself pretty, but now at least she looked presentable.
She heard the commotion in the drive. The baron’s dogs set to barking hoarsely and Collins shouted at them. The hounds were both toothless things, but they were too old to remember their shortcomings. She went to the window and stared down at the golden-haired man in a greatcoat who bent to them, stroking their heads with both hands. An exquisite blond woman remained in the carriage, leaning out the window. Eden had never seen such finery, even if it was just from the shoulders up, and immediately she felt deflated. That red hat must have cost as much as Eden’s yearly clothing allowance. Of course, her stepfather had balked at spending money on clothes, when he much preferred her out of them.
No. She must not think of Ivor. He was dead and her servitude was over. She had survived it with her reputation intact thanks to the loyalty of the staff, save for conniving Kempton. She had forgiven her
sickly mother for being too distracted and drugged to notice that her husband had formed an unhealthy attachment to his impressionable stepdaughter. Though her body had betrayed her time and time again, she had almost forgiven herself for responding to the calculated manipulations of an experienced seducer. Eden had never planned to marry anyway. Her stepfather had merely robbed her of a useless membrane and her dignity but had not stolen her soul. In time, she might even retrieve some of her heart.
She met the traveling party in the entryway. A massive number of boxes and bags were being carried in, and the servants the new baron had brought with him were orchestrating their disposal under Collins’s direction.
“Welcome to Hartford Hall, my lord.” Eden curtseyed quickly, her eyes lowered.
“Come, come. We are cousins of a sort, are we not? Please call me Hart, as my family and friends are wont to do. You must be the older sister. Cousin Eden, I think.”
Eden had to look up. She was tall, but Baron Hartford was much taller. His bronze gold hair curled beyond his collar, the tanned skin around his blue eyes crinkling as he smiled. The smile revealed healthy white teeth set between full, firm lips. Her lover’s lips.
Eden felt the room tilt. Hartford was the image of his uncle, much leaner of course, the debauchery washed clean, the hair not faded with traces of silver. She never fainted. Never. Not even when she pushed her dead stepfather off her own exhausted body. But her last conscious thought was that there was a first time for everything, and she fell to the floor in a wrinkled black heap.
“Good heavens! You’ve frightened her to death! Suzette, my vinaigrette,” Juliet called to her maid. “Quickly. Do step back, Hart. The poor thing is done in. Miss Emery. Eden. What an unusual name, dear. Wake up. He shan’t bite, you know. He is rather large, but quite gentle beneath all that hulk.” Juliet patted Eden’s cheek with her ruby kid gloves. “Perhaps some water, Suzette. See if someone here can fetch it.”
Juliet was in her element, ordering and commanding. Hart moved to a corner of the hallway, keeping out of the way. He looked around, not remembering much about this house. To his knowledge, he’d only visited once. His father and uncle had spent the week arguing and very likely inebriated, although he hadn’t recognized the signs as a young boy. His mother had not come and he was left to his own devices. He walked the land with some scruffy dogs and befriended the farrier’s son. Idly, he wondered if the boy was now a man somewhere on the estate.
The house itself, while not architecturally imposing, was handsome. It seemed well maintained, the interior scented with the usual beeswax and lavender. He glanced into the double parlor, finding the furniture simple yet gleaming, although the walls were covered in a most unfortunate pink paper. A fire crackled in the rose marble hearth and a tea table was being set up by a maid.
Perhaps Miss Emery was merely hungry. Young women were known to skip meals to slim. Lord knows she was a scrawny thing. Or maybe an overzealous maid had laced her mistress too tightly. Miss Emery had seemed rather wooden as she walked down the stairs, her eyes focused on her slippers. Everything about her had seemed tight, from her scraped-back hair to the long sleeves of her ugly mourning gown to her solemn lips. Her voice though—now, that was not wooden. It was low and soft and quite possibly the most fascinating thing about her.
The sooner he could send her away with Juliet, the happier he’d be. Of course, that meant that the poor girl upstairs—at least he presumed she was upstairs—would have to die. How very uncharitable he was being. He was sure he wished Miss Jannah Emery a long life indeed.
“Oh! I do beg your pardon. I’m not usually prone to such behavior.”
Evidently, Juliet had met with some success. Hart turned to the musical sound. A viola, perhaps. No, a cello. Mellow. Soothing. So sensual and so at odds with Miss Emery’s appearance.
Juliet fussed at her charge. “You’ve had a dreadful time of it, my dear. Losing your stepfather so suddenly and worrying about your sister. All the excitement of our visit. I promise you, you shall not have to lift a finger to keep us entertained. Hart! Come help me move Miss Emery into the parlor.”
Hart smiled. At least his brawn was good for something other than frightening a plain virgin. He noticed Eden shudder as he took her arm, and had to stop himself from tucking a glossy strand of chocolate brown hair back into its pins. Her face was as white as the starched linen on the tea table, save for two perfectly round spots on her cheeks. Rouge! Miss Emery had planned to make a conquest of him then. He’d have to tell her she could stay at Hartford Hall as long as she liked so she didn’t go to further trouble. Black was not her color, and virgins were not his style.
Eden felt his fingers at her elbow, burning through the bombazine. Her stomach roiled with fear at his touch. Mattie and Charlotte hovered near the tea tray, their concern for her clear. “Thank you. I am fine now, Lord Hartford. Lady—?” She looked quizzically at Juliet.
“Mrs. Cheverly, but Juliet will do nicely, my dear.”
“Surely you both will want to freshen up before we have our tea. I’m a dreadful hostess.” Eden colored. “I am not actually your hostess, am I? This is Lord Hartford’s house and I am here on sufferance.”
“Don’t be silly. This has been your home for half your life. My nephew is not going to throw you out in the cold.” Juliet laughed. “And I’m perfectly ready for tea. Even something stronger, if you have it. It is terribly chilly and dreary up here, is it not? However do you stand it?”
Eden thought that Juliet didn’t really expect an answer, certainly not an honest one. And it was true; Juliet Cheverly looked ready for tea, ready for anything. She was as neat as if she had stepped from within a fashion plate. Eden watched as she removed her furs and tossed them casually on the back of the sofa. Her maid Suzette was quick to remove them and scurry upstairs after the men and the baggage.
“Silly girl. She could have taken my hat and gloves, too. I shall make myself at home.” Soon the jeweled hat and gloves were laid next to her. Juliet’s buttery curls frothed in elegance around her face. Eden had never seen such a beautiful woman save for her mother, whose darker coloring had been very much like Eden’s own. “I do hope you are not offended that I have come to you in scarlet,” Juliet chattered. “There was not time for new mourning clothes, although you may rest easy as I have some in my baggage should you require me to wear black for propriety’s sake. While I never met your stepfather, you can be assured I am very sorry for your grief. I know what it is like to lose someone you love—”
“Juliet,” Hart interrupted, “which would you prefer? Sherry or brandy?”
“Brandy will be lovely. I’ll put a drop or two right in my tea. Hart, do say you’ll join me. I expect you’d like a brandy, too, after being trapped with me in a confined space for so many days. No doubt I’ve driven you to distraction,” she said cheerfully.
Eden nodded at Charlotte, who disappeared down the hall to the library where her stepfather’s liquor was kept. She had drunk quite a bit of it lately herself in her fruitless quest for sleep. “Mattie, my sister might wake at any moment. Why don’t you go upstairs and sit with her?”
“Yes, Miss Eden.”
“How is your sister, Cousin Eden?” Hart asked.
His concern appeared genuine, but Eden found herself unable to look him in the face. He was too handsome, too much like Ivor for any sort of comfort. “One day is much like the next, my lord. She has an inflammation of the lungs. Incurable, or so the doctor says. She has been ill these past two years.”
“The poor dear,” whispered Juliet. “How old is she?”
“Just sixteen. She is the baby of the family.” Eden gathered her courage. “I hope, my lord, that you permit us to stay at the Hall until—” She swallowed hard, unable to complete her sentence.
“There is no need to say more, Cousin Eden. Of course you and your sister are welcome to stay here. This is your home. I shall endeavor to treat you with the kindness and comfort that my uncle did.”
> Hart reached for her ice-cold hand. She shrank back against the sofa, unable to stop the tremor at his touch. He must have known it was unwelcome, and he quickly released her, giving her a puzzled look. He was trying to be kind, but she wanted nothing more than for him to get back into his shiny new carriage and ride away.
“And when the time comes,” Juliet said firmly, “I shall take you to London so you may experience a season. You’ve been quite buried up here, have you not? A bit of town bronze and some pretty dresses and I have every expectation you’ll catch yourself a husband!”
Eden nearly choked. The woman meant well, was trying to be kind, too. But Eden had no intention of ever falling prey to any man again. She might lose herself forever, and this time not live to feel regret. “I will never, ever marry, ma’am. It is my intention to seek a position as a governess or a companion.”
Tempting Eden Page 3
