Into the quiet somnolence that had finally settled on a most unusual day, yet another unexpected knock reverberated on the outer door. Nerves on edge, I stifled a gasp. It was far too early for Josie to return for the remains of our supper, so who . . . ? Obligingly, Ivy hurried to unbolt the door. After the day I’d had, I admit I awaited our latest guest with considerable trepidation. But Ivy returned alone.
“For you, miss.” She held out a folded piece of paper, bobbed a curtsy, and resumed her seat at table.
I regarded the bold “Nell Scarlett” scrawled across the outside with mixed emotions. Just as I did the man who had penned it, for I had no doubt about who was the author of that bold script. “Excuse me,” I murmured and unfolded the note.
It was exceedingly brief. My study. 9:30. Miserable man. “Ivy,” I said as steadily as I could manage, “I fear I must ask you to stay up later than you may wish. I am summoned to speak with the earl at nine-thirty, and you will be needed to let me out and back in.”
“Of course, miss.” But the look she gave me was chock-full of speculation. Flora abruptly ducked her head but not before I’d caught a glimpse of her dancing eyes. My companions seemed to take delight in the earl’s interest in me, as if it were some grand and glorious thing . . .
Which it was, I supposed. If it did not lead me to ruin. My actual ruin, not the tall tales people had accepted as truth for so many years. I refolded the note, stuck it in my inner pocket, and hopefully made a good show of finishing my supper, though it was difficult to get even the smallest morsel past the lump in my throat. The time until half-nine seemed interminable. After exacting a promise from Ivy that she would not let Nick out of her sight, I lifted my wavering candle in my unsteady hand and headed for the stairs.
The only way to the nursery was a narrow, enclosed staircase similar to the servants’ stairs on other floors, with a door at the bottom and at the top. Heaven forbid the family should encounter servants or scampering children which might disturb the even tenor of their days.
To say the dark, narrow servants’ stairs made me uneasy is to put it mildly. Yes, I had traversed them before, but not at night. Fortunately, there was a banister—nothing more than a round wooden pole—which I clutched so hard with the hand not holding my candle I felt old and decrepit at three and twenty. How Josie managed all those steps up and down I could not imagine. I believe that is the moment when I fully recognized how privileged my life had been until the past few weeks.
I was the first to arrive in Thornbury’s study—no doubt he was finding it difficult to extract himself from his guests. I settled into the brown leather chair in front of his desk, folded my hands, and waited.
No, not his desk, I realized. This imposing expanse of mahogany, marquetry, and leather belonged to his father, the marquess. It was Thornbury’s only from necessity.
“Nell!” And there he was, looking quite magnificent in the black evening wear, white shirt and cravat dictated by Beau Brummel before his fall from grace. Not that Thornbury would not have looked good in sack cloth and ashes. Inwardly, I sighed.
He sat, and all my hopeful glance encountered was a face as stern as my father’s and a gaze as implacable as granite. My heart plunged to my toes.
“Here is what has been decided,” he said, “and I strongly advise you not to protest. There will be gentle hints that you tired of being unpaid companion to members of your family, and your godmother, learning you wished to see more of the world, arranged for you to stay here as companion to my mother.”
I gasped, but he moved inexorably on. “Since parting you from the babe seems hopeless, we had little choice, this the only possible solution. It allows you to remain here, where you will be free to keep an eye on Nick until we can uncover the true facts behind his existence. There will be questions from our guests, without doubt. Awkwardness, to say the least. But I am sending a carriage at first light to inform your parents of what has happened and to pick up your clothing. You will write them a letter—now—assuring them you are alive, well, and well cared for. I shall take it upon myself to write to your brother, who was good enough to give me a direction where he could be reached. As for your sister . . . ?” Thornbury shrugged. “I fear she must be allowed to think what she must. Impossible to explain away your running off into the night.”
At that moment I hated him. With godmama a close second. I had been in charge of my life for some time now, and no one had seemed inclined to pry me from my self-imposed isolation. Yet now . . . Now that I’d bloodied my brother-in-law, delivered a baby, and ended up in the country seat of a marquess, albeit in the attics . . .
I had gone from the frying pan into the fire, and Anthony was doing his best to rescue me. I had to keep telling myself that.
“Sandridge will not trouble you further,” he said. “Trust me. We have come to a clear understanding.” On that matter, I was inclined to believe him.
“Thank you,” I murmured, adding with considerably more bite, “When does the unveiling begin?”
“As soon as you have suitable garments and the nurse I have hired arrives from Bath.”
The beast! Of course he’d hired my replacement. And without a word to me.
“As early as tomorrow evening, I should imagine,” he added. “So be prepared.”
Prepared? How could I possibly be prepared to descend from the nursery and once again become Miss Lucinda Neville? Lucinda Neville had thrown away her life, rejecting everyone who had torn her from her true love, encasing herself in grief to the exclusion of any possibility for happiness. Hitting Geoff, running away, changing my name had been the best things I’d done in years. I could not go back to the woman I’d been. I simply couldn’t.
“Yes, my lord,” I intoned. I rose to my feet, made my most formal curtsy, and headed for the door.
“Nell! Lucinda,” he said more softly, “no one wishes to be unkind, least of all, I. We welcome you into our household as a guest.” His lips curled into the first smile I’d seen since he entered the room. “But before Nell leaves us, I assure you she will be paid the full exorbitant wages promised. A young lady needs pin money, after all.”
I wanted to scream at being so neatly manipulated.
I wanted to run back and throw myself on his chest.
I, of course, did neither. “Good-night, my lord,” I whispered and left, closing the door behind me. My wits were churning so wildly, I scarce noticed the dark, precipitous climb back to the nursery—the wariness I had drawn around me since the attack on Nick flown on dreams of a nobleman who might, just might, look on me with favor.
A smile tugged at my lips as I paused before the closed door at the top of the stairs. Selfish beast that I was, I did not consider that this might be the last time I used the servants’ stairs, that I would be leaving the safety of my fourth floor aerie for God alone knew what. That I was deserting poor little Nick. Oh no! My vision of Nick was obliterated by a noble face, stern gray eyes that could light with humor, enticing lips, broad shoulders on which to rest my burdens . . .
I paused, staring at the door in front of me. My wits had wandered so far I had no idea if it opened to the third floor or the fourth. Silly. What did it matter? Except as a shameful indication of my jumbled thoughts. I heaved a sigh at my foolishness and opened the door.
A great shadow rose over me, black and menacing. Looking back, it was surely a masked man in a black domino, but at the time I saw only a winged creature out of legend rearing up before me, five-fingered talons suddenly jutting towards me . . .
I fell, tumbling from step to step, my head cracking against the wall on one side, my feet striking the other. Pain everywhere. I thudded hard against the door I had so carefully closed at the bottom of the steps and lay still, crumpled in a heap, fighting to gather my wits, understand what . . .
The world around me wavered, faded to a black void, then burst back to life as a flicker of light against my eyelids screamed for my attention. Candle! My skirt! A burgeoning fire at th
e hem of my skirt. Fortunately the cut of my gown was generous, leaving ample folds of muslin to protect my hands as I smothered the incipient flame. I don’t believe I ever quite lost consciousness, but I lay there, quivering, for some time, unable to move, unable to call for help.
Finally, a feminine shriek—Ivy?—as the door at the top of the stairs opened. Horrified murmurs. Comforting words. Hands touching me, feeling for broken bones. Strong arms carrying me . . . At some time I recall summoning enough strength to order Ivy back to the nursery, leaving me with Mrs. Randall and . . . Thornbury? Yes, of course it was Thornbury. I’d know his voice anywhere.
When at last my mind broke through the numbness encompassing it and I opened my eyes, the voices around me suddenly snapped into focus.
“Ah miss,” Josie cried, “you’re awake at last.”
“How long?” I murmured.
“Over an hour,” Thornbury said, moving into my line of sight, evidently understanding that I dared not risk the pain of turning my head.
“But how did Ivy find me? She was not supposed to leave the nursery.”
“Fortunately, when you did not return, she thought it best to look for you.” Most astonishingly, Thornbury’s cheeks flashed a scarlet that did not match the innocuousness of his words. Josie turned bright red as well. Behind me, I heard Mrs. Randall cough.
What on earth . . . ?
And then it came to me. When I failed to return in a reasonable time, Ivy had thought the worst but was bravely willing to risk Thornbury’s wrath if it meant saving me from the traditional fate worse than death. And bless her for not thinking I might have lingered with a right good will. In that moment of acute embarrassment for us all, I still managed to vow that if I ever had a household of my own, Ivy would be there with me.
As for tonight . . . instead of finding me attempting to fend off the earl, Ivy had discovered there were other dangers lurking in the corridors of Winterbourne . . .
Except . . . they didn’t know. They all thought my fall an accident.
In the single-mindedness brought on by shock, I compounded any suspicions Mrs. Randall, Ivy, or Josie might have had about my late-evening rendezvous with the Earl of Thornbury. “My lord, may I speak with you in private?”
Mrs. Randall harrumphed and cast a minatory look in the earl’s direction, just as if he were still a small boy careening through Winterbourne at top speed. “Josie, you may go up to the nursery and assure Ivy and Flora that all is well. I,” she added with some asperity, “shall be just outside the door.”
And that is when I managed a look, albeit narrowed, at the room I was in. A fine bedchamber, done up in shades of rose and cream. Definitely not the fourth floor.
Anthony pulled up a chair and sat down. His gray eyes seemed to darken to black as I told him what had happened. “Why?” he muttered. “Why? An attack on you makes no sense.”
“Geoff?” I offered, but truthfully I did not think he would stoop so low. He was, I speculated, capable of spreading rumors that might harm my reputation, but since that had been less than sterling since I attempted to elope with Brant . . .
Thornbury shook his head. “After what I said to him earlier, I doubt it. He may be a lecher, but he’s not a fool.”
“The same person who opened Nick’s window?” I offered, adding as Anthony sucked in a harsh breath, “Surely it is not logical to suddenly have two villains in the same household.”
He offered me a faint smile. “As much as I would like to think otherwise, I am greatly reassured that your brain is functioning clearly. And, yes, it is possible you may be right. You are a fierce protector, Nell Scarlett. The villain may fear he cannot get to Nick without getting rid of you first.”
“I cannot leave the nursery,” I gasped. “I must stay with—”
“You have already left the nursery,” Thornbury returned, his tone brooking no protest.
“But Nick—”
“Nick will have an army to protect him,” he assured me. “In addition to his new nurse, I will assign footmen outside the nursery entrance—”
“What about secret passages?” I demanded.
Anthony laughed. “My dear Nell, I grew up in the Winterbourne nursery. Believe me, if there was so much as a hint of a secret passage, I would have found it.”
A knock on the door interrupted our wrangle. “My lord, the doctor has arrived,” Mrs. Randall announced.
“Trust me,” Anthony urged, and patted my hand. And then he was gone, allowing Dr. Hobart and Mrs. Randall to enter the room.
Trust?
If only . . .
With my breakfast tray the next morning, I received a lengthy letter from Thornbury.
My dear Miss Neville,
To my astonishment, I find I am enjoying the challenges you and young Nick have brought into my life. So much so, I am considering changing the family motto to “Et fabricantium”—I shall contrive.
I choked on the toast I was nibbling and was forced to put Anthony’s letter aside while I coughed, followed by applying judicious amounts of tea to the problem before I once again took up his missile.
Your “accident” has provided us with an opportunity to adjust the story we discussed earlier. If we remain a bit vague about dates and time, I have contrived a tale that, I believe, will suit you better.
It seems that you did indeed feel the need of new horizons—no need to mention why—it is generally understood that being the family drudge can lose its appeal after a certain number of years. You, therefore, asked your godmother for help in finding a position as a paid companion, and you were on your way to Winterbourne for an interview with my mother when your coach went off the road. You suffered a serious blow to the head and have been recovering here at Winterbourne ever since. Another young woman was killed in the accident, and we have taken in her babe until we can find his relatives.
Clearly, my mother’s letter informing your parents of the accident went astray, etc., etc. And do not worry about your brother—I will see that he is apprised of all aspects of the current situation. He struck me as a most reliable young man, surely far more so than I at his age. I will also ensure the cooperation of the nursery staff—not a problem as they are clearly devoted to you.
Therefore, my dear Nell—my dear departed Nell—kindly assimilate this new tale, which has the merit of sparing your sister from discovering her husband’s perfidy. I shall visit you in the early afternoon to see how you go on.
Thornbury
I read the letter three times, I confess it. I let my hand rest on the parchment, feeling the connection where his hand touched the paper. Stupid, stupid girl. You cannot even trust him, let alone care for him.
I ignored my inner voice. At seventeen I had learned that love has no logic. That young girls could not elope with soldiers and follow the drum just because the heart insisted on it.
Six years . . . and the lesson in logic remained unlearned.
Chapter 15
“Lu-uce!” My sister Emilia burst into my room later that day, her cornflower blue eyes sparkling with a nice mix of indignation and relief. “How could you disappear like that?” she cried. “And in the middle of the night?”
I shrank back against my pillows, my mouth as agape as a fresh-caught fish. Clearly, Thornbury had not considered my sister’s possible reaction to his much-vaunted contrivances. Or if he had, he’d dismissed it as inevitable There was, after all, no way to get around the fact that Emilia knew I had fled her home in the middle of the night.
She plopped herself down on the edge of my bed and huffed a sigh. “When Thornbury told us, I was so overjoyed to know you were safe that I did not think . . .” She paused, clearly reluctant to voice the obvious. “He was not quite truthful, was he?” she finally ventured, her solemn gaze pinning me to my pillows. “I know quite well you did not plan to leave me so soon after Sarah’s birth. It was Geoff, was it not?”
I found an urgent need to study the pattern of the bedcovering. I wanted to lie, tell he
r one of the footmen had precipitated the crisis, but that would only result in dismissal for some innocent young man who desperately needed to keep his position. I closed my eyes, bit my lip, while struggling to find words for a conversation I had desperately hoped to avoid. “He . . . frightened me, Em. Quite unintentionally, I’m sure,” I added hastily. “It was late and I was tired. I quite mistook the matter.”
“He was not injured by mistake.”
“No-o,” I admitted, my words slow and painful. The truth was, at the time I’d thought only to strike as hard as I could, no matter what the result. “I panicked and ran,” I said. A palpable truth. “And I am heartily ashamed of myself if I have caused the family anxiety.”
I would not, could not, apologize for felling Geoff.
“Luce,” Emilia said, “Thornbury did his best to hint that you simply tired of being the family drudge and slipped off in the night to avoid any confrontation. Since I am neither blind nor an innocent schoolroom miss, I did not believe a word of it. And it took very little thought to realize what must have happened. I have known for some time that Geoffrey has his faults, that for the sake of peace I must learn to live with them. I just had not thought he would . . . well, dabble so close to home. I am most heartily sorry for it. I should have known your extraordinary looks would be too much of a temptation. Forgive me for putting you in such a position.”
At that, I finally looked up, eyes wide with astonishment. Emilia was not accusing me of seducing her husband, was not declaring the incident entirely my fault?
“Emmy . . . I don’t know what to say.”
Chin high, she cocked her head to one side, her golden hair haloed by the sunlight pouring in through my bedchamber’s windows, illuming the perfect portrait of a lady of title and good breeding. “I must admit,” my sister confessed, “there have been moments when I have wished him dead, but all in all I am rather glad you did not kill him. I do not care to have my children grow up without a father.”
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