Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

  “Miss Cooper,” he blurted. “Where is she?”

  “I’ve sent her to the herb garden, My Lord,” said Margaret. “She’s fetching parsley for the stew.”

  Algernon smiled to himself. There was something endearing about the thought of Molly Cooper kneeling in his herb garden, snapping the stems in her thin white fingers.

  “How is she getting on?” he asked.

  Margaret made a sound from the back of her throat. “Well,” she said carefully, “to be honest, My Lord, it’s almost as though she’s never set foot in a kitchen in her life. I don’t know anything about this Earl she says she used to work for, but he must not have had high standards when it came to his meals. Either that, or she’s out of work because she inadvertently poisoned the poor Lord.”

  Inexplicably, the thought made Algernon chuckle. Somehow it seemed fitting that Molly Cooper would be a dreadful kitchen hand. It was almost as though she were destined for something far less menial.

  Margaret looked surprised at his laughter. “She almost lost a finger cutting potatoes this morning,” she huffed dramatically. She lowered her voice and looked at Algernon conspiratorially. “I rather think, My Lord, that you might manage to find someone far more competent.” She lifted her chin. “Given that it seems you have decided I need some assistance.”

  Algernon gave her a reassuring smile. “I assure you Margaret, my hiring of Miss Cooper has nothing to do with your work not being competent. I simply thought you could use a little assistance. You work so hard, after all.”

  But his words did little to placate the elderly cook. “If you’ll please, My Lord, this is my kitchen. I’ve always managed on my own. And I would prefer I be allowed to continue to do so.”

  Algernon bit back his sharp words. “Miss Cooper is staying,” he said firmly. He turned on his heel. “Good day, Margaret.”

  He heard Margaret huff loudly behind him. “Good day, My Lord.”

  * * *

  Letitia made her way upstairs, the scent of parsley clinging to her hands. She carried a hunk of bread and cheese up to her room, eager to eat her afternoon meal in the stillness of her room. After a busy morning of preparing stew and bread, all the while dodging Margaret’s barbed comments, Letitia was craving a few blissful moments of solitude.

  She pushed open the door of her attic room, starting at the sight of a small figure on the floor of her room.

  Harriet Fletcher looked up at the sight of her. She had the book in her lap, Letitia realized.

  Harriet grinned. “This is wonderful!” Her blue eyes were sparkling.

  Letitia smiled. “Yes,” she said. “It is, isn’t it? It’s one of my favorites. I must have read it at least twelve times.” She placed her plate of bread on the nightstand. The urge for solitude had dissipated, Letitia realized.

  She knelt beside Harriet on the floor.

  “I hope you’re not angry that I came in here,” the girl said suddenly. “I was just curious. And I… I wanted to see you again. I wanted to say thank you for helping me get away from those dreadful men.”

  Letitia smiled faintly. She wasn’t angry. Not even a little bit.

  A part of her wished she could be more like Harriet. More open, more fearless. As a child, Letitia would never have dared venture into someone else’s room, let alone escape her manor. She had barely managed to do it as an adult.

  She took the book from Harriet and turned the pages to an illustration plate in the center. The painting showed a sailing ship bucking over a tropical sea. “Look,” she said. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just look at the color of the water. Such a vibrant blue. Just the way I’ve always imagined it.”

  “You’ve never seen the sea?” Harriet asked incredulously. “But how is that possible? You’re a grown-up! You must be at least…” She faded out. “How old are you, Miss Cooper?”

  “Eighteen,” Letitia told her.

  “Eighteen.” Harriet repeated. “Then you truly ought to have seen the sea.”

  Letitia smiled, more to herself than to Harriet. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose I ought to have.”

  “My papa took me to see the sea when I was a little girl,” Harriet told her. “We walked along the boardwalk and listened to the water crashing against the pebbles. They make the most wonderful sound when the waves drag them into the water.”

  “It sounds very beautiful,” said Letitia. She felt a strange tug of longing inside her.

  Harriet was right. At eighteen years old, she ought to have seen the sea. She ought to have done many things. Ought to have gone on a holiday, or ridden a horse, or attended a ball. She ought to have played in the rain, ought to have danced a waltz, ought to know her way into the city. Letitia had never realized before just how sheltered her life had been. Had never considered all the things there were to experience.

  “It wasn’t quite as beautiful as you’d think,” Harriet said with a shrug, yanking Letitia from her thoughts. “It rained most of the time. Even though it was summer. My boots got soaked through and I caught a cold afterwards.” She turned back to the beginning of the book. “Shall I read it to you? I used to like it when my nurse read to me.”

  And Letitia found herself asking, “What of your mother?”

  “I never knew her,” Harriet said matter-of-factly. “She died when I was born. Papa says I look like her.” She didn’t take her eyes from the page.

  Letitia felt a strange ache inside her. How dreadful such a thing must have been for the Marquess, she thought, that he might find himself a widower and a father on the same day. Algernon Fletcher had shown himself a kind gentleman. How unfair it seemed that someone so decent might suffer such a cruel blow.

  “You don’t have your nurse any longer,” Letitia guessed.

  Harriet shook her head. “Just Miss Scott. My governess. Sometimes I’m not sure she likes me. She scolds me a lot.”

  “Perhaps you just give her a fright,” Letitia said gently. “Running off as you like to do.”

  A knock at the door made her leap to her feet. Was she late to return to the kitchen? Surely not. She had barely taken ten minutes’ break. She winced as she pulled open the door, hating the thought of Harriet witnessing Letitia’s reprimanding at the hands of the cook.

  But when she opened the door, the panic was replaced by a strange fluttering in her chest. It was not Margaret coming to scold her; instead, Lord Radcliffe. His blonde hair was slightly tousled, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Letitia could see a tiny ink stain close to the hem of his waistcoat.

  She swallowed heavily, taken aback by his sudden appearance. She had not seen the Marquess since she had first arrived at the manor more than a day earlier. She had been doing her best to push him from her mind. This strange pull she felt towards the Lord was alarming, to say the least. Not entirely unpleasant— rather the opposite, in fact— but alarming, nonetheless. “My Lord,” she spluttered. “I—”

  “I do beg your pardon, Miss Cooper,” he said, raking a hand through his sandy hair. “I was searching for Harriet. I was concerned she had disappeared on us again.” He looked down pointedly at his daughter. “I do hope you’ll forgive her intrusion. And mine.”

  Letitia found herself smiling. “Not at all, My Lord.”

  “Look Papa!” Harriet held out the book. “It’s all about pirates and mermaids. Isn’t that wonderful?

  Lord Radcliffe’s eyes darted between Letitia and Harriet. His lips parted, as though he were about to speak. But before he could manage a word, Harriet said:

  “Do you want to stay, Papa?” Her eyes were shining. “I’m going to read it to Miss Cooper. You can listen, too, if you like.”

  Letitia kept her eyes down, unable to look at Lord Radcliffe. How forward of her it must seem, inviting his daughter to stay here and read with her.

  “No,” said Lord Radcliffe. “No, Harriet, you know that you…” His words tangled. Was he flustered, Letitia wondered? Was his heart racing too?

  Of course not. What possible reason would the Marque
ss of Radcliffe have to feel so frazzled in my company?

  “Come on now, Harriet,” he said firmly, putting his big hand on her shoulder. “Miss Cooper has work to do.”

  Yes. Work. Of course.

  Letitia’s cheeks colored. Not only had she been so forward as to invite Harriet to stay, she was also lazing around the attic, instead of working in the kitchen where she belonged.

  But as she opened her mouth to apologize, Lord Radcliffe said, “I’m sorry again, Miss Cooper. Harriet ought to know better than to invade your privacy this way. I’ll see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

  She shook her head dismissively. “It’s quite all right, My Lord. I rather enjoyed the company.”

  And that, Letitia realized, was the truth. The strange and most unexpected truth.

  Harriet clutched the book to her chest. “May I borrow it?” she pleaded. “Just for a little while?”

  Letitia hesitated. The book was her last fragile connection to her bedroom back in the Mullins manor. In a way, it was her last fragile connection to the life she had once lived. She had thought to read it tonight. Escape the challenges of this exhausting new life for a time by losing herself in a fantasy. But the thought of Harriet Fletcher reading it in her place made something warm inside her.

  She smiled broadly. “Of course.”

  Chapter 6

  Margaret kept Letitia so busy in the kitchen that it was not until the end of her third day at the Radcliffe manor that she began to think of her parents.

  She was standing in the kitchen, mixing the bread dough, when her thoughts veered towards the Baron and Baroness.

  They would know, surely, why she had left. Her distaste at the thought of marrying the Duke had not been a secret. They would have seen the open window in her bedchamber, seen the underskirts missing from her wardrobe. And they would know she had run away to avoid the life her father had mapped out for her.

  Are they looking for me? Or are they happy to see me gone now I have been bold enough to refuse my betrothal?

  Yes, she decided, she was sure they would look. She was their only child. They had always done right by her. Up until it came to securing her a husband, at least. Letitia felt a sharp stab of guilt. Her parents would look, and they would worry.

  But what was to be done? Stay, and she would have found herself the wife of the Duke of Banfield, a gentleman who saw no issue with marrying to see his ledgers squared. She would rather spend the rest of her life kneading bread dough.

  Especially if I might be kneading bread dough here in the manor of Lord Radcliffe…

  The thought swung at her suddenly, catching her by surprise. She tried to push it from her mind. This attraction she felt towards Lord Radcliffe was something she couldn’t even begin to put her mind to. Her life had been utterly upturned. Everything felt so strange. There was no room in her head to explore these foreign feelings.

  Besides, even if there was, what right did she have to do such a thing? What right did she have to feel this pull towards the Marquess? No longer was she Letitia Caddy, daughter of the Baron of Mullins. Now she was plain old Molly Cooper, the kitchen hand who struggled to peel a carrot.

  Her life had become unrecognizable.

  She too, was almost unrecognizable, Letitia thought, as she sprinkled flour over the bench and upended the dough for kneading. She could barely believe she had the courage to run from her home the way she had. She was not an adventurer. Not a risk-taker. She was a lady who did as she was told.

  At least I used to be…

  With marriage to the Duke looming, Letitia had found a new strength. A strength to not only run from her home, but to exist in a house full of new people, without longing to curl up in a ball and hide from the outside world.

  Molly Cooper felt somehow bolder, less timid than Letitia Caddy. True, she was exhausted at the end of each day; exhausted not only from the physical work, but also the effort of conversing, of following Margaret’s orders, of introducing herself to the array of footmen and gardeners and housemaids at the manor. But it was not an unpleasant exhaustion. Letitia Caddy, she knew, would never have made such an effort to get to know the people around her. Molly Cooper had no choice.

  She began to knead the dough, pummeling her knuckles into it as Margaret had taught her.

  Was she well-hidden here, she wondered? London was a big place. A city that allowed anonymity. Allowed a person to hide. Surely no one would come looking for her in a Marquess’s kitchen.

  Letitia kneaded the dough harder at the thought of being found. For all she missed her mother and father, she did not miss the life she had run from. Nor did she miss that submissive, pliable lady she used to be.

  * * *

  Colin Caddy found himself pacing his daughter’s bedroom. He had been doing a lot of pacing of late, and much of it had been across his daughter’s bedroom.

  He had not been expecting her to disappear like this. He had known, of course, how unhappy Letitia was with her betrothal, but he had dared to believe his heartfelt spiel about his debts had been enough to convince her to go through with the marriage.

  But to run away? The Baron had not thought that his daughter might even have had such a thing in her. Letitia had always been an obedient young lady, as timid and quiet as a mouse. She had been that way ever since their carriage had been held up on the heath when she was just a child. She had hated leaving the house. Had been too full of nerves to even attend social events. And yet she had thrown open the window of her bedchamber and climbed from the roof? Run out into the heaving mess of London?

  The Baron let out a sigh of frustration.

  Most young ladies would leap at the chance to marry a Duke. And yet my daughter saw fit to run away?

  Foolish girl. Letitia knew nothing about the world around her. She would not have the first idea of how to go about surviving on her own. The thought of her roaming hopelessly around the city made the Baron’s chest tighten with worry. Letitia had been gone for several days now. Where had she been sleeping? Who was she with? Was she managing to stay warm and fed?

  He found himself running a finger over Letitia’s pillow, as though trying to catch a fragment of her. He only hoped his daughter had enough sense to return home before she found herself in real trouble.

  He had men looking for her, of course. His footmen had spent the past three days searching the city. The Baron had ensured all the watchmen and local constables had been notified of Letitia’s disappearance. So far, not one of them had returned even a scrap of information. It felt as though his daughter had simply vanished.

  And then there was the Duke. He would need to know all that had transpired. Would need to know his wife-to-be had disappeared.

  No. I can’t bear to tell him.

  This marriage was supposed to a great thing for the Mullins family. It would see their status soar. See their name synonymous with greatness. Admitting to the Duke that Letitia had escaped would have the opposite effect. Their name would be forever shamed.

  No, the Baron could not admit to anyone what had happened. He couldn’t handle the embarrassment. He had worked tirelessly to build a name for himself in the tobacco trade. There was no way he was going to let everything he had strived for crumble like this.

  Letitia would be found, he told himself. Wherever his daughter was hiding, he would find her. And he would bring her home.

  * * *

  Algernon kissed his daughter goodnight, then pulled her bedroom door closed and made his way downstairs. The smell of the roast partridge they had eaten for supper lingered as he passed the dining room.

  He went to the sitting room and tossed a log on the dwindling fire. He stood by the hearth for a moment, holding his hands close to the tiny flames.

  Distant sounds were filtering up from the servants’ quarters. The clattering of dishes and pots. Surely, such a sound must echo through this house every night after supper.

  Why am I only noticing it now?

  Algernon almost laugh
ed at the thought. He knew well why he was only noticing it now. Because now, there was every chance it was not portly, beady-eyed Margaret responsible for the clattering. Now, it was far more likely to be Molly Cooper.

  He lowered himself into an armchair and stared intently into the flames. He tried not to focus on the noises from the kitchen. Tried not to imagine his new kitchen hand standing over the washing trough. Tried not to imagine the way a strand of blonde hair might fall across her cheek as she bent to scrub the pots.

  Allowing himself to think of such things would be of no use to anyone. Algernon was sure the last thing Molly Cooper would want was the man of the house leering at her while she tried to make a living. And he’d been far too distracted from his work since she had arrived on his doorstep. Soon, he would be the one sending out invoices with miscalculated sums.