“I don’t mean a hurried conversation in your servants’ kitchen where you still go after only that which you want. I mean, bring her upstairs, give her a room and a clean dress, let her see that your world is not all breakfasts in bed and pastries at luncheon. If I understand your story correctly, she despises you for your wealth and… well, snobbery. The chance to steal something you value deeply is sweet revenge for your station, in her mind.”
“And what am I to do about that?” Callum shot back. “Give all my worldly goods to the poor and live atop a mountain in the netherworld?”
“No, of course not. But you could help her to see that there’s more to your life than… than… well, this!” Peter gestured to the house, the gardens, their formal attire. “Remember, you’re at a ball right now, about to partake of a very old brandy and talk about those peasants in the Americas while she’s lying on the cold floor of an empty room, most likely wearing the same dress she’s had on for a week. I’m sorry to say it, but I’d hate you too, if I were her.”
Callum paced back and forth, thinking over Peter’s words. If they had come from anyone but he, Callum would have felt no remorse for socking him in the mouth. But his friend not only knew Callum better than anyone in the world, he also came from the same stock, the same burden of wealth, power, and prestige. If his advice was to show more charity and kindness to this villainous thief, then there must be some wisdom in it.
“I’ll do it,” Callum announced. “I’ll bring her upstairs, treat her as a welcomed guest, help her to see that we are not bad people, you and I, and then ask her for my property back!”
“Nah ah,” Peter cautioned, holding up a finger and wagging it like a governess correcting her charges. “Your property is now secondary. What is more important is helping someone see that there’s a good reason people like you and I exist. We have the means to be generous and charitable, as well as the means to become educated enough to lead our people and look after their welfare. When this woman decides for herself—and that is key—that you are deserving of her help, only then should she make an effort to retrieve your property.”
“Why do I suddenly feel as though the schoolmaster has shamed me before the other pupils for not knowing my sums?” Callum joked, causing Peter to smile.
“If I do no other good in this world than this, my purpose on Earth will have been fulfilled!” he teased in return.
Chapter 12
Beatrix awakened the next morning with another stiff pain wrapping itself around her neck. Hers had never been a life of extreme luxury, but she had always enjoyed the small comforts of home. Here, with three nights now spent upon an unforgiving stone floor, she wondered if she’d ever again relish in the comfort of a familiar blanket and a soft bed.
Her eyes had barely opened to the morning sun when the door to her room slowly opened. Beatrix smiled when she saw Birdie peek in, followed by another girl of about her same age and position.
“Good morning, Birdie,” Beatrix said, and the maid held back a giggle behind her hand.
“See?” she whispered to the other maid, “I told ya she was nice.”
“But a thief? Can she be so kind as you say?” the taller girl asked, still looking at Beatrix with an air of suspicion.
“I told ya, Greta! She’s most kind,” Birdie said, opening the door wider and addressing Beatrix. “The master says we’re to take ya upstairs for a proper bath.”
“What? Why would he do such a thing?” Beatrix asked, confused.
“I know not, miss,” Birdie answered wide-eyed, shrugging her thin shoulders. “But ‘tis me orders. We’ve drawn a hot bath for ya, and I’ve told ‘em to send your breakfast upstairs, too.”
Beatrix couldn’t help but notice the newfound confidence with which Birdie spoke. Gone was her earlier stammer of fear. It warmed her heart to know the girl had placed some measure of trust in her now.
“If you’ve ordered it to be so,” Beatrix said, smiling and rising to curtsy at Birdie, “then let’s be on with it!”
“Gah, don’t be playin’ none of that fancy stuff now!” Birdie said, but she was smiling as broadly as Beatrix. “I’m only come to fetch ya and give ya a good washin’!”
The maids led Beatrix up the servants’ stairs from the kitchen and into a higher level where foods were often kept warm while awaiting serving during a dinner. The room was empty at this hour as the household had already been served in their quarters, most likely.
Beatrix fought to keep up the pretense that all of this gaudiness was beneath someone of her sensibilities, but in truth, she wanted to stand open-mouthed and gape like a country dweller come to court. Gold filigree covered most surfaces, and portraits in gilt frames lined every inch of the walls. Ornate tapestries hung in the alcoves behind marble statues of every kind. One entire level of the house seemed to be reserved for nothing but an enormous ballroom which surely would have rivaled the one Beatrix had read about at Versailles.
Overhead, great windows of leaded glass rose nearly to the ceiling, inviting in the sunlight from every side. Rich velvet draperies had already been opened to greet the day, but could be closed to ward off the chill and the dreariness of a winter’s day.
Beatrix followed the two maids along the marble-lined hallway until they reached yet another staircase. Could this palatial home go on forever? Beatrix leaned on the mahogany balustrade to steady herself as they climbed even higher, the smooth, gleaming wood feeling soft like lamb’s wool beneath her hand.
“Here ya are, miss,” Birdie announced outside of a closed door.
For a moment, Beatrix thought of the possibility that this was a trap, some ruse put on by the master of the house. What was his name again? Had she even heard it spoken? She paused, willing herself to go forward.
Greta opened the door and entered first, reaching for a long apron as she did and passing another one to Birdie. The girls donned their overgarments and waited for Beatrix, who stared in wonder at the oversized brass tub in the center of the room. Birdie was the first to explain.
“There’s a bathing gown on the stand behind the screen, miss,” she said, pointing towards the corner of the large room. “We’ll wait on ya here, so don’t be in no hurry.”
Beatrix did as she was told, leaving her rather filthy garments behind the dressing screen and donning the long white sleeveless garment that she would wear to wash. Greta managed a thin, hesitant smile as she loosened the leather tie that had been wound around Beatrix’s hair, letting it fall past her shoulders and down her back.
Birdie held out her hand for Beatrix to take as she stepped up on a low stool and over into the water. Not quite scalding, it took a moment’s wait to become accustomed to the heat of it, but soon, she relaxed as the scent of fresh garden herbs soothed her senses. While Greta tackled the knots in her hair with a boar’s hair brush, Birdie scrubbed delicately at the dirt that seemed to perpetually reside beneath her nails.
“Look this way, miss,” Birdie later instructed, “we’ll keep the soap from your eyes!”
Before she knew it, Beatrix was freshly scrubbed from head to foot. Her hair, scrubbed and rinsed clean with a fresh basin of hot water, was piled atop her head in a fresh coif, secured in place with more pins than she could count. She felt a twinge of selfish hope in wanting to stay beneath the fragrant water a bit longer, but she couldn’t hold Birdie and Greta from their duties any longer.
“Thank you, both of you, for fetching me here and letting me wash. I’ll just get dressed and we can return downstairs before anyone misses you,” she said, but stopped short when the girls stifled their surprised laughter. “What is it?”
“No, miss,” Greta finally said, and Beatrix was taken aback at the soft tremor of her voice. “These are to be your rooms now.”
Beatrix looked around for a moment at the spacious quarters, wrapping the robe around her tighter. A small writing desk sat by the window, adjacent to a space where a small table and chairs for taking one’s meals waited. Beyond the op
en door, she could see an elegant four-poster bed already made with a thick down coverlet and mounds of pillows. Turning to look behind her, Beatrix was astounded by the shelves of books that covered one wall, a ladder already in place on its track to reach those that were high above.
“I don’t understand,” she began, but Birdie only shrugged.
“Neither do I, miss. I only know what the housekeeper said to me this mornin’, that Greta and I was to wash you and fetch you a gown upstairs. If you’ll come this way, we’ll dress ya before ya tray comes this way.”
Beatrix patiently suspended her disbelief as Birdie and Greta retrieved several articles of clothing. To her great relief, the garments were lovely but simple, not ridiculous in either fashion or fabric. Still, they were fresh and clean and finer than any attire Beatrix normally wore.
Only moments after she was dressed, a soft knock at the door was followed by another servant rolling in a cart and wheeling it over to the small table. The covered dishes were set out and tea poured from a delicate pot before the servant left again without having uttered a word.
“Well then, we’ll be off,” Birdie said, tugging Greta’s sleeve. “I’m sure ya can ask for one of us should ya need somethin’.” They curtsied slightly and left the room quickly, and Beatrix noticed the familiar guard beside the door who shut and locked it after them.
“I see that hasn’t changed, at least,” Beatrix said aloud, not caring whether the guard heard her. “So the master of the house has only exchanged one prison for another…”
At least there is something of a diversion in the books, she decided, before wandering over to the shelves and sifting through the titles. She ran her fingertip along the leather-bound spines, cocking her head slightly to read the fine gold printing.
“Careful, you may develop a painful crick in your neck,” a man said behind her, causing Beatrix to jump.
“What are you doing in here?” she cried, turning to face the man.
“Well, it’s my house, and I tend to wander through it as I please,” he answered, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He smirked at her and asked, “Do you see anything that suits your liking?”
Beatrix’s eyes traveled the length of the room before settling on the man. She scoffed and replied, “No, nothing at all.”
The man coughed lightly, embarrassed by her rebuttal. “I’m glad to see you’ve had the chance to freshen up and put on something perhaps more to your liking.”
“What, this old thing? I had it stowed in my travel bag simply on the by chance that I should end up visiting with some noble lord of the manor for a few days,” she answered, rolling her eyes at his attempt at a compliment.
“This conversation is not going as I had intended,” he said by way of explanation, “so I will speak plainly. I had hoped that we might dine together today and have a chat.”
“Well, hope is a dangerous thing. It tends to lead to disappointment of the most severe kind,” she answered in a dull tone, still looking bored as she studied the shelves.
“Then let me rephrase my request,” he said, standing up straighter and speaking seriously. “It is my intention that you dine with me this evening.”
“Why is that?” Beatrix asked, finally turning to face him. She stared him down, taking delight in his uneasiness.
“I wish to discuss our impasse and see what resolution we can reach.”
“I did not realize we were at an impasse,” she answered. “I knew only that I’ve been kidnapped by a terrible stranger, locked in an underground room, then brought up here to be toyed with mercilessly.”
“You have not been kidnapped—”
“Wonderful news! Then I shall be taking my leave now,” she answered, striding towards the door.
“—but I cannot let you depart until I have my mother’s property back,” he said, blocking the door when his arm shot out to grip the frame.
Beatrix stopped, the man’s arm mere inches from her. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of seeing her recoil from the closeness of him. Instead of staring her down, though, he smiled kindly as though to reassure her of his reason for being there.
Beatrix was not so easily won over and refused to return his gentle smile.
“Is there something else you require? I wish to be left alone in my cell,” she stated, noting how he winced at her description of the room.
“I should have thought this would be so much more pleasing to you,” he said, nodding towards the spacious suite.
“What does it matter? A fancy room in the Duke of Snooty’s mansion or a thatched-roof cottage in the wood… tell me, which would you prefer if only one of them meant you were free?”
“Free? Free to rob others and steal that which does not belong to you?” he asked, his temper starting to rise.
Beatrix smiled wickedly, knowing she’d gotten the best of him. “What has convinced you so of my guilt? Did you see me remove your bag?”
“No,” the man finally admitted. “But I do know that you were the ruse your associates used to distract my men and ambush us. You said they were your ‘family,’ if that’s to be believed.”
“You don’t even know that then, do you? You assume it to be true, despite what I have told you myself of the event. Yet in your obvious superiority…” Beatrix gestured to his fine garments and the cut of his hair, “…it must be so.”
The man was taken aback by her insinuation, and for a moment Beatrix thought he might storm away. Instead, he surprised her by smiling ruefully.
“However do you manage to keep doing that?” he asked.
It was Beatrix’s turn to look wary. “Doing what?”
“Speaking to me so politely while pretending as though you despise me!” he answered, laughing lightly.
“Make no mistake, I am not pretending,” Beatrix answered, baiting the trap she’d set for him with her words. “But I could never despise you as that word doesn’t come close to how much I loathe you. I absolutely detest you.”
“I will not insult your obvious intelligence by asking what would prompt you to hate me so,” he explained patiently, “but I do wish that you would allow me to explain. I would much prefer if we could work out a bargain that provides both of us the thing we desire.”
Beatrix waited, certain that this was some sort of trap. In truth, though, he’d already held out her freedom as an offer several times. Perhaps he truly did only wish to see his property again… but what could she do about that?
Once he discovered that she neither possessed it nor had knowledge of it, Beatrix feared he might do something vile. So long as he was willing to discuss its location at length, it would buy her the time to wait for her father’s men to rescue her.
“I see. Then, all loathing and ill-will aside, I will meet with you,” she replied stiffly, attempting to sound magnanimous in her acceptance. “When is the appointed time?”
“As I requested, will you dine with me this evening?” he asked.
“I will,” she said firmly after a few moments’ thought, “though I do not see why there’s a need to wait so long.”
The man came closer until he nearly filled the doorway, standing only inches from Beatrix. She dared not move back a pace, refusing to give him the upper hand in thinking she was moved by his proximity.
“Tell me,” he said softly, “why did you say you were a lady?”
“Because I am,” she answered haughtily, looking up into his warm, brown eyes. “I control my own property, I stand to inherit the greatest wealth any daughter could desire, and I am far more worthy of the title than any of your ilk. I stand for no one appointing titles upon others solely based on the nothingness of birth and breeding.”
“That answer tells me both nothing and so much about you,” the man replied, but there was humor to his words.
“Then you’ll simply have to go to your grave still pining for the truth,” she teased, eliciting a surprised laugh from the man.
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“I bid you good day, until we meet this evening,” he said, then he bowed politely and walked away. He stopped short, then said, “And what was it you called me just now? Duke of Snooty, I believe?”
“Was I mistaken?” Beatrix asked, feigning innocence and putting on an apologetic expression. “Was it the Earl of Snootworth instead? Pray, tell me you are not royal! Are you the Prince of Snootshire?”
The man shrugged his shoulders and said, “I am Callum Ahern, the Marquess of Bellton. It is a pleasure to formally meet you.”
“A pleasure? Either you do not know what that word means, or you have strange tastes in pleasant pastimes!” Beatrix said, laughing again. At that he smiled and resumed his long strides, leaving the corridor while she watched him disappear.
The Stolen Diadem of a Castaway Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9