Tempting Eden

by Margaret Rowe

  “I don’t want your gratitude,” he said, his voice bitter.

  She leaned down and kissed his forehead as he’d first done to her when he meant to gentle her into submission. Fortunately, he made no move to pull her back down into the bed. “Take care of yourself.”

  He said nothing. She picked the nightgown up from the carpet and left the room without a backward glance.

  She heard him leave at first light, barking orders to the drowsy servants. A tearful Mattie came to her room with a breakfast tray. “I’m to pack your trunks, Miss Eden,” she said, sniffling. “The carriage is already here. Oh, what has happened?”

  Dully, Eden shrugged. “It’s over.”

  Mattie rubbed her eyes. “Lord Hartford’s sending my Jeremy with us. He has some heart, at least,” she said, trying to smile.

  “He has gone then?”

  “Yes. He said he won’t be back.”

  “Very well. No maudlin good-byes. Let’s make haste, then. There is one stop I wish to make before we leave town, however.”

  When Mattie heard the destination, her eyes were round as saucers.

  The carriage was slightly overcrowded and very busy, Eden observed with a smile. Jeremy had taken one look at Eden’s little party and fled up top with the driver. Despite her initial misgivings, Mattie seemed to have made peace with the idea of traveling north with four ramshackle young girls and one very irritated cat in a cage. She had already braided Josie’s taffy hair and was now set on repairing the one more-or-less respectable bonnet the sisters Mary and Barbara had shared between them. Barbara had insisted Mary take it with her, as Barbara was not going to be respectable very much longer. Helen and Jane chattered like the city children they were, exclaiming over every rook and rock and tree. They kept themselves to a corner of the squabs, but Jane’s unfortunate fragrance was unmistakable.

  Before leaving London, they had made a detour to a seedy section of town to gather up an astonished Jane. Helen, Mrs. Brown’s newest reclamation project, had begged Eden to find her old friend and take her away, too. Eden did not have to negotiate with anyone to remove Jane from the street. The child had nothing and no one.

  Mrs. Brown had proven to be harder to convince of the wisdom of Eden’s scheme. “After my life experiences, I consider myself immune to surprise, but you have truly shocked me. What shall I do when you spirit my girls away, Eden?” she’d asked, querulous. “The Pantheon shall be at sixes and sevens.”

  “Mrs. Brown, you know you need only snap your fingers to find their replacements. I only want to take a few of them, after all. Two or three. Only if they wish to come.”

  “And I suppose you want me to supply their wardrobes? I am not made of money, you know. They may take the clothes on their backs and two changes, that’s all.”

  Eden smiled. For all Mrs. Brown’s bluster, she had not fought very hard to keep the young maids. And Eden couldn’t help but see her press coins into the girls’ hands as they lined up to say good-bye. Then she turned to Eden and gave her a brief hug and an air kiss.

  “I think you are quite mad, Eden. Lord Hartford will not like this when he learns of it.”

  “Lord Hartford did not restrict whom I could take with me to Hartford Hall. I see no reason why he should even find out.” Eden examined her feet, unable to meet her former patroness’s eyes. “It’s only until November. Then we’ll be back.” At least the girls would. She hoped she would have secured proper employment by then.

  She nearly shied away as Iris reached out and patted her shoulder in pity. “He has settled something on you, hasn’t he? The girls are always hungry.”

  “Oh, yes. His man Calvert has taken care of the details. Never let it be said that this Lord Hartford is clutch-fisted.”

  Mrs. Brown squeezed her hand. “I am so sorry, my dear.”

  Eden shrugged and retied her bonnet strings. She had suffered worse. “Well, girls, it’s very chilly out, but we shall be snug together under the carriage blankets,” she said with false brightness.

  Indeed, they were snug. The warm little bodies radiated excitement and heat. When they tumbled out at a posting inn for the first night, they were awed by the sweep of stars above in the clear sky.

  “Just wait,” assured Eden. “Hartford Hall is the most beautiful place. There will be snow—pure white snow, not all sooty as it is in town. The mountains are taller than anything you’ve ever seen. By spring you will all be country girls.” And perhaps Brutus would be happier freed from his wicker bondage.

  If the innkeeper wondered why Miss Emery kept such odd company, her coin and a dark glance from Mattie held his tongue. A bath was brought promptly for Jane, and Helen volunteered a dress. Eden insisted on a private parlor for her wards’ dinner. The fare was not quite up to Mrs. Brown’s standards, Josie declared. Certainly there was no French chef in the modest kitchen of the White Birches Inn. Eden decided it was time to set a few ground rules.

  “Now, girls,” she said over the pudding, “it will not do to mention Mrs. Brown or her house. This trip is a fresh start for all of us. No one need know any of the sad things that have happened.”

  “Mrs. Brown’s weren’t a sad place!” Josie objected.

  “No, of course it wasn’t. But ordinary people will not understand how kind she was to you. The servants at the Hall are forgiving of much, but I do not think you need to unburden yourselves with your previous employment. When we get there, I am going to put it about that you all were in a charity school training to go into service. Do you think you can remember that?”

  Jane shook her head. “It won’t do, miss. I can’t read. I ain’t never been to school.”

  Eden laughed. “We shall soon fix that. You may depend upon Helen to help show you the ropes, I’m sure. We all learn by example and learn by doing.”

  Helen nodded in assent and swallowed another mouthful of apple tart, being not half as fussy as Josie. Jane had already finished two pieces. Eden wondered if the child had had a decent meal recently. She thought not.

  Eden picked up her teacup and took a sip. “I’ve known the people at Hartford Hall half my life. Shall I tell you about them?”

  The girls nodded. Mattie rose and put another stick on the fire. Everyone had napped half the afternoon away as the carriage bumped along, and none of them were especially anxious for bed in a strange inn. The little parlor fire crackled cheerfully.

  Eden folded her napkin and waited for the girls to do the same. They might not be ladies born, but she would try to civilize them as best she could. “Mattie, where shall I start?”

  “I should think with the dragon,” Mattie said, grinning in mischief.

  “Yes, you’re quite right. It’s always best to get the unpleasant tasks done first. We’ll save the best for last.”

  “A dragon?” Mary said in a small voice.

  “Indeed. The dragon’s name is Mrs. Burrell. She is the cook, and she hates children.”

  “Coo! Does she roast and eat them?” Jane asked.

  “She hasn’t yet, but you must mind her well. I’m thinking our Josie is the one to sweeten her up.”

  Josie gaped. “Me?”

  “Yes, dear. You know a bit about food. Henri and Claude were quite fond of you and taught you a bit, oui? I imagine Mrs. Burrell could use a new hand in the kitchen. She runs through kitchen maids like water. I think you’ve got the bottom to weather her out.”

  Josie’s chin rose in determination. “All right. I’ll give the old bat a try.”

  “Good. Then there is Collins and his daughter, Charlotte. He is the butler and she the maid of all work. Collins has been at the Hall forever, since my stepgrandfather’s time. Charlotte will be thrilled to share her chores, I’m sure.”

  “Lazy, she is.” Mattie’s lips curled in contempt.

  Eden knew Mattie thought Charlotte sometimes got lighter duty because of her father. Charlotte had come late in his life with a surprising and brief marriage and was the apple of his eye. Mattie and Charlotte were
of an age, and there had always been a bit of a rivalry between them. Footmen, cast-off clothes, the last heel of bread. Eden hoped Charlotte wouldn’t think Jeremy was fair game. Mattie would scratch her eyes out over her man. “Hush. Mrs. Washburn is the housekeeper, though I do wonder how much longer she’ll stay. She’s getting up in years. But she’s kind.”

  “That’s it? That’s the best?” Jane asked. She didn’t sound as impressed as she should, considering she’d been swept off a street corner, a rather homely urchin in rags.

  Eden’s eyes twinkled. “No. There are some stable lads. And Billy, who is a very handsome footman. I don’t want you girls fighting over him.”

  “Pooh,” Mary said. “I’m not going to get mixed up with another man.”

  “Very wise,” murmured Eden. She wished she had gone with her first instincts regarding Hart. She looked up at the tap on the door. The landlord’s wife curtseyed briefly.

  “The rooms are ready upstairs, Miss Emery, if you and the children are done with your dinner.”

  “I think, if you don’t mind, we’ll stay down here a bit longer and enjoy the fire. This is a lovely snug room you have, Mrs. Packer, and the meal was delicious, wasn’t it, girls?”

  There was polite nodding and murmuring. “But we don’t want to keep you up late, Mrs. Packer. Perhaps the girls can help clear the table?”

  Mrs. Packer looked dubious, but allowed as she could use the extra help. In minutes, under Mattie’s supervision, the girls gathered up the crockery and disappeared into the kitchen. Eden found she had the parlor to herself.

  She’d better get used to being alone.

  She was going back to the home of her shame, where people suspected if not knew what had transpired between her and Ivor Hartford. But it was home. She would have the companionship of her pupils, and Mrs. Christopher and other people in the village. She would make a family blanket of torn patchwork squares, stitch by careful stitch. Until November.

  When they arrived at last, after rutted and snow-sprayed roads, at her rugged corner of Cumbria, the girls were frightened of the emptiness and the stiff, cloud-shrouded peaks. But they exclaimed over Hartford Hall, standing gray and blocky on a field of snow, the bare creepers looking like fine spiderwebs on the stone.

  “Coo!” cried Jane. “It’s a castle!”

  “Fiddlesticks. Castles got towers,” Josie said. “But it’s a fair-sized house. Who washes all them windows?” She squinted at Jane meaningfully.

  The door opened and Mrs. Washburn bustled out. “Miss Eden! We’ve been looking for you. Lord Hartford wrote and—” She stopped. Four youngsters had alighted from the carriage and were giving her the once-over. A desperate, alarming yowl came from somewhere inside the conveyance.

  “Is that the dragon?” came a whisper, then a squeak as fingers pinched her quiet.

  “Mrs. Washburn, let me introduce you to my new wards. I have been teaching in a charity school, you know, and these girls came to my particular attention. They have come to take lessons here and help with household tasks, so that they may go into service when they’re a little older. Josie, Mary, Jane and Helen.”

  Eden was pleased to see each girl smile and bob when her name was announced, even Jane, whose edges were going to require thorough and continuous sanding.

  “Come inside, girls. It’s cold,” Mrs. Washburn said, quickly recovering. “Miss Eden, Lord Hartford made no mention of these children. I’m afraid we haven’t prepared—”

  “Oh, don’t worry about a thing, Mrs. Washburn. The girls can settle themselves. It will be excellent training for them. I thought, actually, that we could put them in the nursery instead of the attics.”

  “I made up your mother’s room and your old one, not being sure . . .” The housekeeper trailed off.

  Neither room held good memories for Eden, but she could imagine having a tea party with the girls, teaching them manners and conjugating verbs in her mother’s sunny sitting room.

  Eden gave the woman an impulsive hug. “My mother’s room, I think.” Eden looked around the foyer. Everything gleamed, except her charges, who stood fidgeting on the flagstone. She turned to Mattie. “Do you think once Jeremy brings the luggage we might get some bathwater sent up? The girls and I need to get out of our travel dirt.”

  “A bath!” protested Jane. “I had me one when we stopped at that inn the first night.”

  “And it’s time for another,” Eden said firmly. She rather suspected it was going to take more than one dip to properly cleanse the little wretch. Mrs. Brown’s girls were models of godliness in comparison. “Let me show you to your rooms. We’ll get an extra bed or two moved up there as soon as the men are able. Mattie, could you see to the linens? And there is the matter of Brutus.”

  Mrs. Washburn looked confused.

  “My cat,” Eden smiled. “A gift from Lord Hartford. He may be a bit surly to start. Travel has not agreed with him. But I expect he will settle in. We are home now.”

  And so, with just a few words, Eden took control of her unconventional household and took one step from her past even as she returned to it.

  Chapter 17

  LONDON, APRIL 1819

  Hart had tried every amusement available—except, of course, for going back to Mrs. Brown’s Pantheon of Pleasure. Des still held his membership voucher in any case, not that he was using it. Hart was positively nauseated to watch his old friend and his young aunt in their courtship ritual. Juliet was blazing with sexual satisfaction, and Des—footloose, feckless Des—was now the epitome of a quiet gentleman of the ton. Juliet had supervised his new wardrobe, arranged for an opera subscription—Opera! Des!—and trotted about town with him on an invisible yet very real leash. Des seemed to have no objection to his neutering. In fact, Hart thought him the happiest he’d ever seen him. Certainly an affair with Juliet was preferable to the wet trenches, shooting and starvation the army had provided for entertainment, and the deadly dull postwar billeting they had both chafed under.

  It was near midnight. Hart sat in his dressing gown, a decanter of brandy at his elbow. McBride had lifted one woolly eyebrow some time ago but had had the sense to hold his tongue and put himself to bed. The bedroom was warm enough without a fire. In fact, spring had come without Hart’s invitation or interest. People were at this very moment waltzing and supping, trysting and tupping.

  He opened the window overlooking the back garden and breathed deeply. All his fortune could not erase the smell of the city, but there were daffodils below. A gardener had come today to cut the patch of lawn, too. He was happy here, living a life he’d never truly expected, with not a care in the world—

  Hart frowned into the dark. He’d never touch Eden again. Not after the last time.

  Nor, it seemed, touch any other woman. He’d found himself unable to perform for the first time in his life, on the one misguided occasion he’d sought to erase her from his mind. He was eight-and-twenty, not some doddering oldster. The whore had pitied him and he’d wanted to snap her neck.

  My God, what was happening to him? He poured himself another glass and listened to the night noises. Somewhere down the street came strains of music and laughter. A carriage passed, the horses’ hooves clipping smartly on the cobblestones. The world was out enjoying itself, and he was unshaven, undressed and more than half-drunk.

  He could remedy some of that. He tossed his robe aside and rummaged through his drawers. It was a fine spring evening. He was going out on the town.

  Iris Brown’s face betrayed no emotion when her butler whispered in her ear. She excused herself from the gentlemen in her parlor with a flirty air kiss.

  “I took the liberty of putting him in your parlor, madam. He objected—quite vociferously—to the green room, and he wasn’t fit to stand in the hall for any length of time.”

  “Barrel-fevered, is he?”

  “I should not go quite so far as to say that, but he is not himself.”

  “Are any of us?” Iris muttered as she made her way to he
r little inner sanctum. “Foster said you wished to speak with me. You are forever turning up on my doorstep, Lord Hartford,” said Iris Brown sweetly, closing her parlor door behind her. She arranged her ivory skirts and relaxed back in a chair. “But am I mistaken? I believe you resigned your membership. And now I understand I’ve lost the custom of Major Desmond as well.”

  She could tell he had not come to discuss the unlikely love affair between his aunt and his best friend. She could not remember when she had seen a gentleman quite so acutely uncomfortable, except when one requested a brisk caning, of course. Lord Hartford refused her offer of libation—she thought he’d already had enough somewhere—but did sit down.