A nervous giggle erupted from Betty, and she smothered it behind one fist. “Thank you, your ladyship. I shall try my best—my very best!”
“I’m sure you will.” Dorothy looked at the open double doors on the left to control a second urge to put a reassuring arm around Betty. Dorothy didn’t have a great deal of experience with servants, but she knew better than to be overly familiar, especially when she’d just met the girl. She could show sympathy, certainly, but not overly much. “Now, did you not say that Mr. Grover is waiting for us?”
“Oh, yes! This way, Lady Arundell.” Betty held out her right arm and took several jerky steps forward, cutting off Dorothy. Flushing again, she jerked to a stop, curtseyed, and gestured for Dorothy to precede her.
The large room at the front of the house had tall, wide windows set off by rich ochre-colored brocade drapes and Corinthian columns, bringing in a feeling of glorious sunshine. An additional set of half-columns were arranged near their taller cousins and were graced by blue and white vases. Furniture was scattered in comfortable clusters, arranged around thick carpets echoing the ochre, dark gold, sky blue, and white colors of the curtains and vases.
Dorothy barely had time to look around the room before a man approached her and bowed with solemn gravity. Beyond him, two lines of servants—women in front and men behind them—faced her. Although everyone maintained the carefully blank faces of well-trained servants, their eyes were alive with curiosity.
“May I welcome you to Arundell House, Lady Arundell,” the butler said. “I am Mr. Grover, and I serve Lord Arundell as butler here.”
“Thank you.” Dorothy nodded and smiled, despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. There were at least ten servants, and the thought of managing such a large household was daunting. Even the Polkinghornes had only had four, though Mr. Polkinghorne kept talking about hiring a butler, or at least a footman, to relieve poor Elsa from the task of answering the door.
Dressed formally and neatly in black and white, Mr. Grover still lacked a certain presence and seemed far more retiring than she’d expected from a man in his position. A fringe of pale, graying brown hair, nearly the color of rabbit fur, circled his hairless dome, and his eyes were fawn-brown in a soft-featured middle-aged face. He stood only a few inches taller than she was, and sunlight glinted off his wide forehead when she glanced at him. In fact, he was nondescript—so much so that he was remarkably easy to overlook. His features were so ordinary that when Dorothy looked away, she had a great deal of difficulty remembering his appearance—or even that he was there.
As he performed the introductions, his low voice droned through the names and positions in a very soothing cadence. Halfway through, she found her attention drifting away and had to straighten her shoulders and nod to focus on his words.
“Mr. Grover, the front door!” Betty exclaimed suddenly.
The butler clasped his plump hands behind his back and frowned at the maid. “Did I not dismiss you?”
Betty nodded, but remained where she was at Dorothy’s side, pointing at the hallway. “Yes—but there’s someone at the front door, Mr. Grover!”
“If you will excuse me, Lady Arundell.” He bowed, but didn’t move.
The clang of the brass door knocker echoed through the hallway.
“Certainly. You may answer the door,” Dorothy said at last when it appeared Mr. Grover wasn’t going to respond to the summons unless she gave him permission.
When she turned back to the servants, they were all staring at her, their eyes showing various degrees of speculation. She took a deep breath to keep a threatening blush from coloring her cheeks. There was no reason to be nervous, after all, even if she did wish more than anything to retire to some small room somewhere and have a cup of tea.
She clasped her hands at her waist. “I am very pleased to meet all of you. However, I am sure you have duties to which you must attend. You are dismissed.”
The plump, sandy-haired woman Mr. Grover had introduced as Mrs. Yornold, the housekeeper, nodded and flapped her hands. The servants seemed to collectively let out a long breath and scattered, melting away through the door as quickly as mice scattering at the sight of a cat.
Mrs. Yornold opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Mr. Grover returned. A very tall, slender man followed him into the room. When he caught sight of Dorothy, the stranger nodded.
“If you will excuse me, Lady Arundell?” Mrs. Yornold’s brows rose above nearly lashless blue eyes, and she took a step toward the door.
“Of course,” Dorothy murmured.
The visitor waited in silence. His black hair was tinged with silver at the temples, and wrinkles around his dark eyes and mouth gave his long face an attractive, distinguished look. A general air of quiet command, coupled with a hint of steel, made him seem like an older, thinner relative of her new husband. She flushed and clasped her hands at her waist.
For all she knew, he was a relative of her husband’s.
“Lady Arundell, may I present Mr. Gaunt. He is here to see Lord Arundell, who is not at home at present.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grover. You may go,” Dorothy said, her gaze never leaving their visitor’s face. “Perhaps I may assist you in my husband’s stead, Mr. Gaunt?”
A polite smile curved Mr. Gaunt’s mouth. “I beg your pardon.” He gave her a shallow bow. “However, my business is with Lord Arundell.”
“If that is so, I am at a loss to explain why you wished to see me. Surely, Mr. Grover explained that Lord Arundell is not at home when he answered the door.” Her head tilted to the right as she studied Mr. Gaunt’s face, but his features seemed to be fixed in a permanently pleasant but uninformative expression. A sense of irritation rippled through her at her profound ignorance of her husband’s affairs.
She had agreed to marry Lord Arundell despite the fact she barely knew him, and now she was paying the price. Nonetheless, she was determined to make a success out of her impulsive action, and that meant that she had to ensure she was included in his life. If their marriage was to have any meaning, they had to share the burdens and joys that lay ahead of them.
To her surprise, Mr. Gaunt’s eyes crinkled and amusement passed over his face in a blink. “I confess that I wished to meet the new Lady Arundell. I apologize for my curiosity and forwardness.”
“Well, now that your curiosity has been satisfied, it is only right that you satisfy mine.” Her chin rose, and her hands knotted together more tightly at her waist. Asserting herself made her stomach clench, but now was as good a time as any to practice the art. The new Lady Arundell would not be a shy, retiring wallflower. She waved to one of the small clusters of chairs. “Please be seated. I am sure my husband would not object if you explained the nature of your business.”
Mr. Gaunt took a step forward before a frown creased his brow. He cleared his throat behind a fisted hand. “Unfortunately, my business depends a great deal upon my discretion. I am afraid that I cannot divulge the details of your husband’s case without his permission.”
The flutter in her stomach felt like an entire flock of blackbirds taking flight, but she would not retreat now. “Discretion… And you used the word case, did you not?” She gestured more firmly to the gold damask upholstered chairs. “You are an inquiry agent, then. Perhaps involved in investigating the tragic events surrounding the death of my husband’s older brother?”
His black eyes flickered over her face. His polite mask slipped sufficiently to reveal astonishment as his brows rose and his mouth partially opened. Before she could feel a sense of triumph at finally discommoding him, his bland expression returned.
“I am an inquiry agent,” he admitted, his hands clasped behind his back. He did, however, move closer to the chair she indicated. “That much is certainly accurate.”
Dorothy sat down, forcing him to sit, as well. “And you are investigating the matter to which I referred?” she asked coolly.
“Has your husband spoken to you about the matter?”
Ah, there it was. She could tell the truth and the conversation would end here, or she could lie.
Or perhaps she could simply equivocate and leave him to draw his own conclusions. “It was such a horrific event—I am relieved that Lord Arundell has your assistance.”
He nodded, but didn’t offer anything helpful to move their conversation forward. Discreet, indeed. She swiftly searched through her memory of what her cousin had told her. It wasn’t much.
“That poor little girl,” she murmured.
“Unfortunately, it does seem likely that she perished. It is possible that she will never be found.”
“I understand she was thrown into the Thames. I can only hope her death was quick and merciful.”
“Indeed.”
She shifted in her chair, irritated by his lack of a more lengthy response. He seemed determined to avoid telling her anything of importance, and she couldn’t quite remember everything Cecilia had told her.
Well, if the girl was thrown into the Thames, she was probably tossed from a bridge. The only bridge with which she was familiar was the one they had clattered over when they traveled to London. “Is it true that she was thrown off London Bridge?”
“The new London Bridge is certainly a possibility.”
“Could she swim? What did she look like?”
“The earl has decided to keep such details private as a way of sorting through true reports and false ones.”
She smiled, desperately trying to find some other way to elicit the details she wanted. With a sad grimace, she shook her head. The memory of the urchin who had stolen the apples from Farmer Cavell’s cart unexpectedly rose when she considered the bridge.
Without considering, she said, “I saw the strangest child stealing an apple from our cart when we arrived in London. It is too bad that the earl’s niece was not so distinctive in appearance.”
“Distinctive? How?” He sat up. His expression sharpened into the predatory look of a circling hawk that has sighted prey.
“The child had one blue eye and one gold. That is certainly distinctive enough, is it not?”
“A girl?”
“I don’t really know. Most likely not.” She shook her head. “Mrs. Cavell thought it was a boy. He wore trousers, even if he had what appeared to be a blue skirt knotted around his waist.”
Mr. Gaunt opened his mouth and then glanced at the door to their left, apparently hearing something she had missed.
“Mr. Gaunt!” Lord Arundell exclaimed as he walked into the room. Brows raised, his gaze flickered from his visitor to Dorothy before his expression solidified into a polite mask. “Lady Arundell. I trust everything is well?”
Mr. Gaunt stood and faced Lord Arundell.
Heart pounding, Dorothy hesitated a moment before she, too, rose and faced her husband. “Everything is quite well. Mr. Gaunt arrived and elected to wait for your return.”
“You were discussing a child when I entered the room,” Lord Arundell—Marcus, her husband, said. His mouth thinned as he studied Mr. Gaunt. Abruptly, he smiled at Dorothy, although his eyes remained dark with emotion.
She had the distinct impression that he was angry at what he’d overheard when he walked into the room.
“I am sure you would like to retire. Have you met Betty?” Marcus asked abruptly.
“Yes, I have met all the servants, including Betty. However, I am not the least bit in need of rest. Perhaps we may be seated?” She smiled and gestured to the chairs surrounding them.
“We have business—you would not be interested,” Marcus stated.
“Indeed, I am very interested.” Dorothy sat down gracefully, arranging her skirts and smoothing them over her lap. “Mr. Gaunt has been very discreet, of course, so I have been unable to discover anything of importance. I hope that your arrival will persuade him to speak more freely.”
Marcus sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. Standing in front of her, she was reminded again of his broad shoulders and muscular legs. He was younger than his guest, but despite their relative ages, he seemed to have a natural leadership and a presence that made her pulse race. His brown eyes, square chin, and the fleeting dimple in his right cheek made him infinitely more handsome, too—too attractive for her peace of mind.
She wanted to stand next to him and press her hand against the side of his face as she breathed in the faint salty scent of his skin. Their kiss lingered in her memory, along with his scent of spicy bay and the more pungent fragrance of leather.
To her relief, her statement seemed to ease his tension. His dimple appeared with his quick smile, and gold flecks of amusement sparkled in his eyes. “He is paid to be discreet, my dear, so you cannot blame him too much.”
“You cannot blame him, perhaps. I certainly can,” she replied, waving at the two empty chairs across from her.
He looked at Mr. Gaunt and a wrinkle appeared between his brows as he took a seat. He gestured to the chair next to him. “You were speaking of a child, Mr. Gaunt?”
“Your wife was simply recounting a story,” Mr. Gaunt said, taking a seat.
“Yes.” Dorothy laughed. “I was describing an urchin we met upon our arrival to London—a boy, I think. He stole one of Farmer Cavell’s apples, directly from his wagon! Quite an impudent little soul.”
“A boy…” Marcus repeated, an expression of disappointment drawing the corners of his mouth down.
“Yes, I am sorry.” Dorothy sighed. “It is too bad, though, for he was certainly distinctive.” She waited for one of the men to request details, but both men appeared to be brooding over other concerns and ignored her comment.
Marcus stared down at his clasped hands while Mr. Gaunt’s black eyes were fixed on some distant point beyond the open door.
When no one asked, Dorothy forced a smile and said brightly, “He had one blue eye and one amber. I have never seen anyone with such a combination before.” She laughed again, trying to be amusing in order to see the gold flecks in Marcus’s eyes again. “And he had a tattered blue skirt tied around his waist. I imagine he wanted it to hold whatever he might be able to steal—” She broke off abruptly when Marcus leapt to his feet. “What is it? Is something amiss?” She glanced at Mr. Gaunt.
Mr. Gaunt’s gaze was locked on Marcus, and he appeared as startled as she was.
When Marcus rose to his feet, so did Dorothy.
“Why did you not say something?” Marcus towered over her, his face thunderous.
“Say something?” She looked at Mr. Gaunt and then back at her husband. What was the matter with him? With both of them? “What should I have said? It was simply an amusing tale—nothing of consequence.”
“Your niece…” Mr. Gaunt said in a low voice. “Did she also have one blue eye and one amber?”
“What did it matter?” she asked. “As I mentioned, the child was a boy.” She stopped abruptly in thought. “Or so Mrs. Cavell said, and she has seen the child more often than I have. I only saw her—him—that one time.”
Marcus gripped her arm, his gaze flashing with heat. “Where? Where did you see her?”
“Him! I saw a boy!” she insisted, despite the flutter of doubt.
Her husband’s touch sent a tingle through her and coherent thought fled in the face of her reaction. His nearness raised a tumult of emotion coursing through her, anger with his repeated questions collided with the desire to reach up, touch his stubborn chin, and breathe in his warm scent.
When had her sensible side deserted her?
“Where?” Marcus demanded.
“Well, we were in the alley next to Mr. Cavell’s home—Mr. Frank Cavell, that is. Not his brother, the farmer who brought us to London in his wagon.” Words tumbled out. She couldn’t organize her thoughts. “She—he—was waiting for us. He stole an apple. I suspect he heard the wagon and knew what it meant. Farmer Cavell mentioned he always turned up when he came with a wagonload of goods…” She drifted off, glancing from Marcus to Mr. Gaunt and back, aware that she sou
nded like a nervous fool.
Marcus stared at her, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
Mr. Gaunt stared at him.
She flushed, shook her arm loose from her husband’s grip, and studied the lovely carpet covering the floor. After a long breath, she lifted her chin and met her husband’s gaze. “Perhaps you would be good enough to explain why the child interests you?”
Once more, Marcus raked a hand through his dark hair, making the thick curls stand up in wild waves. He turned to Gaunt. “We must find where this Cavell fellow lives. She must have survived—she must have!” He jerked around and strode to the door.
Gaunt nodded. “We know where Mr. Cavell has his shop. The question, however, is if the urchin can be found since no one seems to know where the child goes.”
“But my lord!” Dorothy called. “Marcus!”
He flicked a glance at her over his shoulder and gave her a nod, though his eyes were already distant, focused on his own thoughts.
Mr. Gaunt had the good grace to bow to Dorothy before following.
Mouth open, Dorothy watched the men go. Abandoned. They’d gone out without her, without even giving her the courtesy of an explanation. Was this her future, then? To be ignored and pushed aside, even when she might be of assistance?
Was she that inconsequential?
Her previous sense of longing, to be with him even when he was clearly irritated with her, returned. She flushed in embarrassment at her weakness in wanting him even in such a revealing moment. He could not have made it clearer that he had no real affection for her. There was only one conclusion, then. All he was interested in was her five thousand pounds.
Well, he could have that and enjoy it, as he certainly would.
She’d never wanted or expected to have such an inheritance, and it had clearly done her future more harm than good. No wonder her uncle had been so disappointed when she’d accepted the earl’s offer.
Well, what was done could be undone. It was not too late. She would seek an annulment. After all, no one could pretend that this single day was a true marriage. Not when he’d left her alone just as soon as their vows were said.
Seduction Regency Style Page 102