Lady Blackwood shrugged. “I’m sure he enjoyed his time here. Anyway, let me look on the social pages.”
While her mother regaled them with stories, Jenny excused herself and got ready to leave. In truth, a tiny sensation of eagerness sizzled through her at the prospect of seeing the earl again.
“Enjoy your morning,” Maggie called after her as she climbed onto their two-seater. “Say hello to Lord Despair for me.”
Glancing back, Jenny watched Ned questioning Maggie on her remark, and she sat back on the worn leather seat, happy to be escaping the confines of their country home and the oppressive Ned Darrow.
*
Soon, Jenny almost wished for the ease of dealing with her cousin, or at least of handling merely the innkeeper’s books. The Belton ledgers were in a terrible state. Money that should be there was simply not. How Mr. Binkley continued to run everything to their normal standards, she could not imagine. He must be a magician.
When the library door opened, Jenny hoped it was the butler for she had a few more questions for him. She had nearly decided to recommend to him that someone embark on a trip around the earl’s vast holdings to get some understanding of how such a mess could have occurred.
Instead of Mr. Binkley, however, a woman she’d never seen before entered the room. By the style of her gown, Jenny could see she was not a servant. By the color of it, unwavering black, she could be only one person.
“Your ladyship,” Jenny said, standing and bowing her head briefly.
“Do you know me?” The woman’s voice betrayed the slightest of French accents. Obviously, she had as perfect a command of English as her native tongue.
“No, my lady. I assume you are Lady Tobias Devere.”
Of medium height and slightly plump, the blonde-haired woman was dressed in an elegant black brocade gown and carried a crumpled handkerchief, which she seemed to be passing from hand to hand.
“I am. You’ve met my children, I understand.”
“They are charming. My sister will be attending them shortly.”
Lady Devere smiled, perhaps at the thought of her children.
“Miss Blackwood is excellent with them. Their French is much improved. My family’s home is in Nice, and when Alice is another year older, I intend to take them both there for an extended stay.”
Jenny nodded. She had nothing to contribute to the notion of such a wonderful journey, having never set foot off of the British Isles.
Then she glanced at the much-worn handkerchief and considered what it represented.
“I am very sorry for your loss.”
Maude Devere looked down at the ground. “Thank you. I know people think I’m silly for my grief. After all, according to Lord Lindsey’s account, my Tobias has been deceased for over two years, but for me, it is as if it has only just happened.”
“I am sure it is very difficult. Also, to lose your home.” Jenny would like to know why the widow was left penniless and to whom she’d sold Jonling Hall.
The woman eyed Jenny, who confessed, “We, too, had to leave our home in London because of my father’s death. It has been an adjustment.”
Without commenting on Jenny’s family’s fate, Lady Devere walked toward the library windows, overlooking the back of the estate.
“The children and I were lucky that the earl’s staff took us in without his being in residence.”
Jenny considered that. It was, in truth, quite remarkable that Lord Lindsey’s staff should take it upon themselves to open his home without his permission. It testified to the closeness of the cousins, she supposed.
What would happen when Simon regained his faculties and took control of the earldom and the estate? Would he allow his cousin’s widow to remain until she left for France? It would certainly raise eyebrows in certain circles.
Maude Devere spoke again. “My husband was content to stay here in Sheffield and handle whatever his uncle needed. I am not sure that his contribution was fully appreciated.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes.
“It seems,” Jenny said gently, “perhaps poor planning that both cousins should go away at the same time, leaving the aging earl alone.”
“I doubt that my husband would have gone, but he felt it his duty to fight beside the heir.” A note of bitterness had crept into her voice.
Was that why they both went? Perhaps the old earl, himself, had sent Tobias to guard his only son. Certainly, neither of the men could have foreseen the Earl of Lindsey dying while they were away.
“Yet, if something had befallen both men …”
Apparently, Jenny had overstepped her place, for Maude visibly bristled. “My son was here, in case both men did not return.”
“Yes, my lady, but I didn’t mean because of an heir. I meant the necessity of having someone run the Devere estate.”
The woman made a noise that was incomprehensible and very Gallic before saying, “There was always my husband’s father, the old earl’s brother.”
“Oh?” This was the first Jenny had heard of such a person.
Then Maude seemed to think better of her words. “I do not believe my father-in-law has any involvement in anything here at Belton, not since the current earl returned to his rightful place.”
Jenny’s ears perked up. “Do you mean your father-in-law was here during the time that your husband and the earl were away?”
“Yes, of course. When the former Lord Lindsey fell sick, his brother came at once. Why, it was my father-in-law’s suggestion that I move with my children into this house. After all, he could see that Jonling Hall was simply a terrible drain on my resources.”
“The earl’s brother suggested you sell?”
Maude stiffened. “Yes.”
“If your husband had returned, wouldn’t he have been upset at the loss of his home?”
Jenny realized she might have overstepped her bounds. The lady confirmed it by lifting her chin and offering Jenny a withering glare.
“I’m keeping you from your work,” Maude said, ignoring the question, and emphasizing the difference in their stations. “I intended only to meet you since you have already spent time with Peter and Alice. Normally, I interview personally each of their tutors.”
Jenny refrained from asking if Maude found her acceptable to be around her children. She merely bowed her head once more and raised it to see the retreating form of Lady Tobias Devere.
She couldn’t help but wonder if the woman’s father-in-law had purchased Jonling Hall to keep it in the family. Yet, why wouldn’t that have been in the records? And if he had, why wouldn’t he have let his daughter-in-law and his grandchildren stay in their home?
No, Jenny decided she must be surmising incorrectly.
Another two hours passed, the teapot that had been brought to her stood empty, and Jenny decided to stretch her legs and perhaps visit her sister, who would be assisting the children in the blue parlor.
As she began to wander the hallways of Belton, though, Jenny couldn’t pretend that she was going anywhere other than to the earl’s chamber. Since the moment she’d arrived that morning, all she had wanted was to see him, to speak with him again, and to make sure he was well.
As she approached his chamber, this time, it was quiet. Was he sleeping peacefully or wide awake, staring alone into the darkness?
She nearly turned tail and fled, but at the last moment, tapped on the door.
*
Simon had been listening for hours, waiting, beginning to think the female demon had been a dream after all, when he thought he heard footsteps. Indeed, he prayed he had.
The light knock on his door nearly had him jumping from his chair. But sudden movement sometimes caused him to awaken. He remembered that and froze, recalling vividly the time he dismounted from an enjoyable ride on Breton only to find his horse gone and his liberty once more curtailed by the confines of the dreaded cell.
“Enter,” he said. Nothing happened. Was it the unknown woman? Had she heard him? Had he imagined her
entirely? Most likely he had, for a stranger’s existence in his home was entirely improbable.
Then the door opened. He held his breath, knowing by the cautious, slow movement that it was not Binkley.
A face appeared in the dimness of his room, and then the rest of her.
He felt like smiling. To think that his own private apparition had returned.
“Good day, my lord.”
“Good day, phantom beauty.”
Simon watched her falter. “No, don’t hesitate. Come in,” he told her. “Come closer so I can see you.”
She did as he asked, but still, he couldn’t see her well. All at once, the darkness of his room irked him instead of comforting him as it had done.
“Is it daytime?”
“Yes.” Her voice was as soft and gentle as he recalled.
“Open the drapes,” he said.
She didn’t move.
“Why do you hesitate? When you open them, will I see the jungle?” He hoped his voice didn’t betray the fear he felt at that prospect.
“No, my lord. You are in Sheffield and there is no jungle. But I am not a servant and am not used to being spoken to in such fashion.”
“I see.”
He thought about that. Why was a woman wandering around his home if not a servant?
“Please open the drapes.”
“Certainly.” She brushed past him, and he smelled the same scent as before.
He’d forgotten about it, but there it was, crisp and fresh, like lemons and white flowers. He liked it even more than the Pears soap he was going through like fire through dry kindling ever since his return. To be clean, to smell good, two luxuries he’d thought never to experience again. Because of this, he bathed more often than he ever had before.
As the woman drew open the drapes on the window directly next to him, it was as if she’d lit a hundred candles. The sunlight streamed into his room. Fear shot through him for a second, causing his heart to race.
Gripping the chair’s arms, he held his breath, fighting not to scream, aware of the sudden clamminess of his own skin and the sweat that trickled down his back, dampening his shirt.
“My lord,” she said, sounding concerned.
She was able to see his distress. He should feel humiliated but didn’t. There were too many other emotions for him to contend with, including annoyance for he still couldn’t make out her features. She was now entirely backlit by the bright light, which turned her hair into a shining halo.
“Are you well?” she asked, stepping toward him.
He couldn’t speak to her. Couldn’t reassure her. He just needed a moment. Shaking his head, hoping he was imparting his need to get his bearings, he closed his eyes. That only made things worse. What if he opened them and he was in his cell? What if she disappeared?
Tears sprung to his eyes. He was trapped. Too afraid to reopen his eyes.
What if? What if?
Simon heard himself scream before he realized he was doing so. It felt good. He yelled and there were no reprisals though he thought he heard the woman gasp. He screamed over and over. No one ran him through with a saber however. He was alive.
Yes, he was alive and screaming, and too afraid to open his own goddamn eyes.
“What is going on here?”
Chapter Six
Binkley!
Simon knew he was home if Binkley was there. Instantly, he opened his eyes. There was his butler, whom he’d known most of his life. There was his room, lit by the warm sun that made a pattern of crosses on his carpet from the window’s many panes and glazing. There was the woman, her hand over her mouth in distress, her eyes open wide and afraid.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her immediately, and he was. He had never been the kind of man who would frighten a member of the fairer sex. He’d been extremely fond of one and bedded a few, but never had he scared a woman.
Still, she said nothing.
“Stand over … please stand over there,” he gestured to the other side of his chair, “in order that I may see you better.”
Lowering her hand, she did as he asked. Her face was pale, making her lips appear quite red. And she had the most entrancing eyes he’d ever seen. Dark lashes, rich coffee-colored eyes that reminded him of his favorite horse when growing up, and they were beautifully large. Intelligent eyes in a pretty face. Currently those eyes were scrutinizing his own appearance, and briefly, with ridiculous vanity, he hoped she liked what she saw.
He nearly laughed, for how could she find him appealing when he’d just been screaming like a madman?
“I’m fine, Binkley,” Simon told his butler. “I’m sorry to say that I ordered this lady to open my drapes, and the results were a tad abrupt.”
“She should not be in here,” Binkley asserted.
“I invited her.” Why shouldn’t she? he wondered. This was his house. He could entertain in it whomever he wished. And right then, he wanted to talk to her. Alone.
“I will call you if I need you,” he told his butler.
“She has duties to which she must attend,” Binkley argued.
He looked at the woman again. “You said you weren’t a servant.”
“I’m not, my lord.”
“She is a bookkeeper, my lord.”
“Is she?” He was correct. Those were intelligent eyes staring back at him.
“She will be along soon enough, Binkley.”
His butler nodded to him, glanced at the woman, whom Simon realized, now that he could see her clearly, was younger than her voice, manner, and disposition indicated, perhaps barely out of her teens. Then Binkley left and they were alone.
“Have you come to Belton to look over the accounts?”
“Yes, my lord.”
A flash of rage shot through him. Toby should be handling the ledgers. Toby, who had been murdered with utter disregard for his life or his family awaiting him. The quite awful truth was that his cousin’s life had been wasted. The man never should have gone to battle. Better he had remained at home in his study, hunched over the numbers. Certainly, he never should have been in that infernal cell!
Simon pushed the impinging dark thoughts out of his mind. They would return later, he was certain. Meanwhile, he concentrated on tamping down his futile anger. The girl certainly hadn’t earned it.
“What is your name?” he demanded, not caring if he sounded rude. He’d gone past caring about niceties. After all, she’d heard the uncivilized wounded animal that lurked inside of him.
“Jenny,” she offered at once.
“Jenny! Sounds like a housemaid’s name.”
She seemed to take no offense. Rather, a puzzled expression crossed her pleasant face.
“How can a name sound like a servant’s? That’s ridiculous.”
She had called him ridiculous.
“I don’t think so,” Simon said. “How many Betsys do you know in high society? None, I’d warrant. Elizabeths all. Perhaps if you’d said ‘Guinevere.’”
“Pish! What if I were standing in the middle of the Strand and about to be hit by a carriage.”
It was his turn to feel puzzled.
“Why on earth would you do that? Are you simpleminded?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
If not simpleminded, then maybe merely illogical? “Then what are you asking me? If you are going to stand in the middle of a busy street, you deserve to be hit whether your name is Jenny or Guinevere.”
“I wouldn’t actually do it, of course. Besides, that’s not my point.”
Simon felt the urge to scream again. Normally, he gave in and did so. Instead, he kept his tone level and said, “There is no point.”
“There is. If you were to yell out to me, ‘Guinevere, take care,’ why, I would be dead before you got to the third syllable of my name. But if you yelled ‘Jenny,’ I might have a chance.”
Her meaning, though she’d taken a roundabout way to get there, came clear to him and lightened the moment. In fact, he
had the strangest urge to smile.
“I see. In that instance, I might say ‘Jen.’”
She paused and considered him. Then she smiled, and her face went from interestingly pretty to breathtakingly lovely. A surge of desire shot straight through him, completely taking him off guard. It had been a long time since his body had had a reason to come to life in such a manner. It felt damn good.
“In that instance,” she continued, “I hope, my lord, that you would take liberties with my person and push me out of the way in order to save me.”
They stared at one another for a long moment, her words in the air between them, and in his mind, at least, the idea of her person.
“Indeed,” Simon said, unable to stop himself from taking the briefest of glances down the front of her blue gown to her feet that were hidden under her skirts. She was certainly shapely, lithe yet curvaceous, completely to his liking, and utterly off limits. At least for the moment.
As his gaze returned to her face, it skimmed over her décolletage noting the generous swell of her bosom and the mysterious valley between. Yes, his body was definitely awake.
“I might take liberties with your person,” he agreed, “but what if I were to perish in your place under the horse’s hooves.”
They stared at one another for an even longer moment. Her cheeks were decidedly pink. What was she thinking? Was she still dwelling on his impolite assessment of her person?
She took a step back and broke the tension that had been created so swiftly.
Hands clasped before her, she said, “I would be extremely grateful and attend your funeral.”
At her words, he not only smiled, Simon began to laugh. He laughed harder than he thought possible. He laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks, and then he sobbed and, quite surprisingly, he felt her put her arms around him.
For a moment, he froze at the entirely unexpected and strange sensation of being held and comforted.
Burying his face in the soft place of her neck, which held her appealing fragrance even more strongly, Simon cried in a way he hadn’t done since he was a child. He didn’t feel embarrassed. He didn’t feel anything except intense sadness. Then, as the tears flowed and the minutes passed, he started to feel a little relief.
Beastly Lords Collection Page 7