A Treacherous Engagement

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  Phoebe was feeling much more anxious now they’d arrived at their destination. Had she done the right thing? Would she manage to find a husband in the next three months? Was everything going to turn out for the best? How would Mr Addyman react if he discovered her primary purpose in coming here was to meet eligible bachelors?

  She was worried about Cecily, their maid, forced to find new employment because Addyman insisted only his own staff have entry to the Dower House where she and Molly were to reside. She was concerned for Mrs Dauntsey the housekeeper, and old Philip the steward, both left behind to care for Blacklands as best they could until Phoebe had settled their futures.

  It was a big responsibility. She mustn’t put a foot wrong with her new employer, or she risked letting everyone down.

  With careful manoeuvring, their hired coach turned around, and they were helped to alight, followed by their luggage. The servant they’d seen earlier panted up, waved the carriage off, then bowed stiffly.

  “Miss Duvall, Miss Phoebe, my name’s Grant. I’m Mr Addyman’s steward. He has allocated you an hour in which to settle yourselves, after which he hopes you will join him for a late luncheon up at the house.”

  He pointed to a narrow, sandy path running between ranks of rhododendrons and azaleas. “That’s the quickest way up. Just cross the bridge and knock on the door, and someone will admit you.”

  He handed Molly a key, bowed again, then hurried off along the path to the house.

  She turned the key over in her gloved hand. “This ought to go to you, dear. This is your venture, not mine. I am just an adjunct with weak lungs and bad nerves—although I’m happy to assist by whatever means I can.”

  “Thank you, Aunt. Well, I can’t fault our surroundings. I never realised rhododendrons came in so many different colours—it quite cheers my heart to look at them.”

  “Shall we go inside and see what needs to be done?”

  Phoebe unlocked the door, ushered her aunt inside, then looked around. What a relief! The house both looked and smelled clean. It was not much bigger than a cottage, so she knew it would take them both some time to get used to it, and not feel confined in a place where the walls were so close together. They must make the best of it.

  “There’s tea laid in the kitchen,” her aunt called as Phoebe poked her head into the sitting room. “And a fire going in the range. Shall I put the kettle on the plate?”

  “Yes, please.” Phoebe retreated into the hallway, removed her gloves and bonnet and put them on the hall stand. Who had last occupied this place? Curious to find out more, she made her way up the dark staircase to the next floor, where she discovered two serviceable bedrooms and a linen closet, but nothing else of interest.

  Feeling a sudden need for air, she flung open the window in the smallest bedroom and leaned out over the sill. From here, through a gap in the trees, she could see the noble parapets and chimneys of Donhead House. A peculiar building—it seemed unable to make up its mind whether it was a domestic dwelling or a fortress, and she wondered how the ruins they’d seen earlier fitted into the scheme of things. Had the original castle been completely demolished, or was it still to be seen, meshed into the fabric of the current building?

  Beyond the main house, perched on the crest of a hill, was another edifice. It was not ruinous—a water tower or a folly maybe? Whatever it was, it made a perfect watchtower and looked to be in good repair. Scanning the grounds again, she noticed an irregularly-shaped hillock of exposed rock which appeared out of place. Another folly? Perhaps a grotto.

  Suddenly her mood lifted. This was a splendid place, with beauty both natural and artificial, so much mystery and so much to explore. She couldn’t wait. As long as Charles Addyman proved to be a reasonable employer, she could see no reason why she shouldn’t be extremely comfortable here.

  Should the Fates decree that she was to become Mrs Charles Addyman, it would be no sacrifice to have to live on such a splendid estate.

  Chapter 6

  “Welcome to Donhead, Miss Phoebe. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Duvall.”

  Phoebe stood aside while Charles Addyman shook her aunt’s hand. There would be no kissing of hands here, as there had been with Goodrich—this was a purely business enterprise, and relationships would remain on a formal footing. Bother. She was supposed to be forgetting all about him and the arousing effect of his kiss.

  “I have delayed luncheon to allow you time to find your feet,” Addyman announced this as if it was a great sacrifice on his part. He took his place at the head of the long table, then remained standing while a footman seated her aunt and herself. Well, she couldn’t fault his manners, even if there was no warmth in them.

  Luncheon was a cold collation of ox tongue in aspic with pickled beets and new potatoes, accompanied by a game pie and crab apple jelly. Delicious fare, but nothing too complicated. She was keen to meet the cook and kitchen staff—she would need a positive relationship with them in her new role as charity hostess.

  “So, are we only raising funds for the creation of a new foundling hospital, sir? Or did you have other causes in mind?” She smiled at him encouragingly, while the footman poured her a glass of wine.

  Addyman busied himself, cutting a slice of pie into bite-sized pieces. “Mostly that. But I have an interest in a couple of other charities. I favour—” He paused and looked at her for a moment before continuing, “I favour a hostel of sorts for veterans of this wretched war with the French. Not entirely altruistic, as my hope is to keep them from rioting and fomenting rebellion amongst the underclasses.”

  “I’m sure they are most deserving.” She didn’t like the way he was staring at her, as if the conversation was a test. “And what is the other good cause?”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “I would like to contribute to the pensions of sailors no longer able to take to the sea.”

  “So, you are eager to help ex-military men as well as children. Do you have potential donors or subscribers in mind?”

  “I have a list of those who might be prepared to contribute. I’ll pass it on to you forthwith. I’m keen to see what a feminine influence can achieve.”

  There was still no friendliness in his manner, nor any attempt to flatter or flirt with her. But after all, this was the dining table, and her aunt and various footmen were present. Nonetheless, she must consider his suitability as a potential husband. He was quite handsome, with his thick dark eyebrows and eyelashes. The irises of his eyes were such a dark brown they verged on black. Would so young a man—she reckoned he was little more than thirty—make the best hasty husband for her? He might regret his choice and discover he had more furrows to plough, leaving her isolated and miserable. An older gentleman would be better—a widower whose young children needed a new mama, perhaps.

  She jabbed at a piece of tongue. “I would appreciate as much information as possible about those on your list. The more one knows about the subject of one’s efforts, the easier it will be to persuade him to part with money.”

  He nodded. “You will have access to my collection of newspapers—they are bound into monthly volumes in the library. You will also find there gazetteers of the local gentry. I’m still familiarising myself with my neighbours—I only lease Donhead from the Crown, you understand, and haven’t been here long.”

  Mr Goodrich was one of those neighbours. She fidgeted in her seat. “I have already met one of your neighbours. A Mr Goodrich.” Her voice sounded high and unnatural. Hopefully, no one noticed.

  Addyman sipped his wine. “I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Oh, you can’t miss him. Wears a yellow suit and has a great fondness for lace.”

  Her description was met with a frown. “Are you certain? I know nobody like that.”

  Curse it! Had Goodrich been lying to her? “Perhaps he has not yet attempted to make your acquaintance. He didn’t say whether or not he lived particularly close.”

  Wait, she had Goodrich’s card in her r
eticule—she must look up his address later. Why she had kept the thing, she couldn’t say. Would he keep his word and send her the cloth and ribbon he’d bought? Or bring it himself? If so, she hoped he’d be subtle about it, as she didn’t want to annoy her employer. And it was definitely best if they weren’t left alone together, or that blasted fluttering would start all over again.

  She rolled her eyes. The words ‘subtle’ and ‘Mr Goodrich’ could never be used in the same sentence.

  “I would ask you, Miss Duvall, and you too, Miss Phoebe, to respect my privacy. I don’t wish to be rude, but I’m a very busy man. A number of business acquaintances are liable to visit me, and I don’t want to be disturbed. Please curtail your wanderings about the place, particularly in the evenings, when I entertain my most important clients.”

  Phoebe was alarmed by this command. She had hoped to have the run of the place, both day and night if she wanted to. She made up her mind there and then she would do her explorations in the early morning when Mr Addyman and his friends were still a-bed after their night-time business meetings. She nodded. “I understand, sir.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Molly. “A gentleman must conduct his affairs without interference. May I enquire what line of business you are in?”

  His dark brows came together, but he answered politely enough. “I won’t bore you with the details, but I can tell you I’m involved in transport. Both by land and sea, in fact. Please don’t trouble yourselves about it—I assure you it is extremely dull.”

  His studied politeness, and the way in which his voice had become a monotone warned Phoebe he thought he’d answered sufficient questions for one meal time. Would they ever be invited to dine with him again, or would they be treated strictly as staff hereafter?

  “You may visit my library after luncheon, Miss Phoebe. Grant will show you where. I have left a lot of instructions for you. Once you have a list of dignitaries to invite to my next function, we’ll talk again and decide upon the date, and the nature of the refreshments to be provided. Now, let us not talk of labour. What, in your opinion, would be a fitting tribute to Lord Nelson, and what should become of his notorious mistress, Lady Emma Hamilton?”

  Luncheon continued in a more jovial vein. Phoebe assumed their host felt relaxed now he’d made his requirements clear. It was a shame to have one’s freedom thus curtailed and would take a while to get used to, but she’d make every effort to comply. She needed to keep him in a receptive mood if she was going to convince him to hold his first event within the next three weeks.

  She also needed to make sure she was permitted to go out and about and mingle with local society, using the excuse of sizing them up to see which charity they’d favour. And she must exhort Addyman into letting her have the use of a riding horse, as travelling everywhere by carriage was so slow and didn’t let her show herself off to best advantage.

  A tart of honey-glazed peaches was brought in, and she set to with ladylike gusto. Tomorrow morning early, she’d explore the near environs, then later in the day go further afield, possibly even venturing into Shaftesbury to see what manner of place it was, and what the opportunities for husband-hunting might be there.

  The hourglass was emptying, the candle burning down. The three months before the trust fund was released had now reduced to two months and a half. She could not afford to waste a minute.

  Chapter 7

  Early morning mist made a magical landscape of the fields around Donhead. It was a chill, damp magic, however, despite the golden promise of the sun, and Robert pulled his collar up and tied his scarf more tightly.

  Doing his best to look like a gamekeeper on his rounds, he strode towards the wall that enclosed Donhead’s gardens. Deer feeding amongst the wilderness of bushes lifted their heads to stare at him as he slithered down into the ditch of the ha-ha, then up the steep slope on the other side. It didn’t matter that he was covering himself with mud and grass stains—it all added to the impression he was trying to create.

  The climb up the wall hiding the ha-ha’s ditch from view taxed him not at all—he had become a very accomplished climber during his misspent youth in Venice when big-bosomed sweethearts had been confined to upper stories and balconies, and the usual means of access for lusty lovers had been bolted and barred. Now, surrounded as he was by dew-soaked greenery, Venice seemed a million miles away.

  No one was about, so he paused by the wall a while, watching his breath cloud in the still air, trying to decide where to search first. Somewhere, there must be a secret access to Donhead, through which the French prisoners-of-war passed. Mayhap two, one for them to enter the place, and another for them to leave the instant a boat became available to meet them at the coast.

  Thus far, he’d drawn a blank. He was positive the access and egress must be via a tunnel—he’d never seen any vehicle arrive or depart from Donhead that could hold a group of escapees. It was possible, after a recent break-out, that there were as many as fifty desperate Frenchmen on the loose in the English countryside, hunting for a way home. Whether Addyman was the only traitor running an escape route, he didn’t know, but the man was unlikely to be dealing with all fifty—it would attract notice and be a logistical nightmare.

  Making a decision, Robert slid in between the glossy leaves of the rhododendrons, which covered the grounds like a multicoloured tide, and pushed his way through the leathery stems until he reached the yew walk he remembered from childhood. This took him to the first of two follies built in the form of grottoes.

  Ducking under the low entrance, he decided not to strike a light, but to use his other senses to discover any secret tunnel. A cold draught, a hollow echo, the sound of underground water dripping—all these could be signs that his supposition was correct.

  He penetrated the grotto more deeply, tapping on the rocky walls of the structure, poking his fingers into gaps in search of hidden mechanisms, scuffing his feet along the floor to locate a trap door. What had seemed a labyrinth to him as a child, now proved little more than a short tunnel with a couple of chambers leading off, dimly lit by circular holes above. He was just about to explore one of these chambers when he heard footsteps.

  He froze. He’d been lucky when trapped in Duvall’s study that his presence had gone unnoticed by Addyman. What were the chances his luck would hold this time? Well, at least he had his dagger with him today, in case an enemy needed to be dispatched in self-defence.

  There was a long niche in one wall of the chamber which had, his papa had told him, once held the statue of a reclining river god. The space should be large enough to hold him. He stripped off his coat, set it down in the niche and lay on top of it, pillowing his head on his arms in a believable pose.

  If the person entering the grotto were not familiar with the place, hopefully they’d mistake him for a statue in the gloom. If they were familiar, however, and knew there could be no effigy there—well, his dagger was ready.

  Whoever had entered moved slowly, but without obvious caution, for he could hear every step. Indeed, the newcomer was humming under their breath. In a feminine tone.

  Amusement welled up inside him, accompanied by a delicious feeling of wickedness. Miss Phoebe Duvall, if he didn’t miss his guess. What a fright he would give her. Should he make his presence known immediately, or wait and see what happened?

  When she entered his chamber, he kept absolutely still, maintaining his pose as a classical deity, no more than a dim, white shape in a shadowy niche. Or so he hoped. But this was no jest—she’d be quite within her rights to betray him to Addyman. Unless he threatened her.

  This was so unpleasant a scenario, he held his breath, closed his eyes, and prayed fervently she wouldn’t notice him and would turn around and explore somewhere else. The blood pounded so noisily in his ears, he could no longer tell whereabouts in the chamber she was, until a hand skimmed his chest. It was withdrawn, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. She knew she’d touched a living being. Her fingers then brushed over his face, an
d the urge to nip them and hear her squeal was almost overwhelming, but as he didn’t know who else might hear, he resisted.

  “Miss Phoebe, I beg you not to scream. It is only I, Goodrich.”

  In a single movement, he rolled out of the niche and got to his feet, then pulled her into his arms and planted his lips firmly over hers. She squirmed against him in her battle to escape, arousing in him a surprising surge of lust.

  Taking control, he kissed her until she quietened. Her hands were on his shoulders, the fingers digging in, but she wasn’t trying to fight him. Her grip flexed with the rhythm of the kiss—she was enjoying it. He preened inwardly, then reluctantly drew his lips away.

  “Forgive me, but I couldn’t have you scream.”

  Her voice was breathy and low as she replied, “I would be quite justified in screaming for help, sir, as I’m sure you cannot have permission to doze in Mr Addyman’s grotto. When you said you were a near neighbour, I hadn’t expected you to be quite as near as this.”

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t asleep in that niche, foolish wench. I’ve been here barely longer than yourself.”

  She still held his shoulders, her touch like a blessing. But he shouldn’t be thinking about the feel of her—it was her mind he needed to convince, not her body. He slid his hands to her waist, keeping her close, just in case any further kissing was required.

  “So, who are you today? Mr Goodrich the macaroni with the lace handkerchief and expensive snuffbox, or his shy brother, the evasive Mr Frederick, who looks like a parson, but isn’t?”

  “I am myself, Mr Robert Goodrich. But I’ll be whoever you want me to be, dear lady, if only to win myself a place in your heart.”

  He heard her huff of annoyance and pulled her nearer, but she pressed her hands against his chest to keep him in check. His mind worked frantically to resolve this unexpected encounter to his advantage, even as his body did its utmost to distract him. He could feel her delicate fingers through the thin linen of his shirt and wondered what they’d feel like against his naked flesh.