The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  Nausea surged through her at the feel of his lips and hot breath. She could see it in his eyes: he was aroused by the memory of what he’d done to her that night. He would do it again.

  ∞∞∞

  Elinor greeted her guests and kept her eyes in constant motion. Edward had made it clear when he’d told her of this ball that it was costing money he did not have.

  “I am not giving this ball to engage in pointless frivolity, Elinor. I am giving it only because it is necessary to secure the backing I need.”

  Although he hadn’t told her, Elinor knew he was referring to the same project that had begun with their marriage. The colliery in Somersetshire, which had necessitated their marriage in order to exploit, had not done as well as Lord Trentham had expected. Elinor was unclear as to exactly what the problem was, but it appeared her husband had put more of his wealth into the project than he’d taken out. A fact that greatly displeased him.

  “Your duty is to make certain that Mr. Gormley and Mr. Singleton and their respective wives enjoy the evening more than any other event they’ve ever attended.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Elinor could only surmise the two men were bringing their wives to a function which, in other circumstances—those in which her husband did not desperately require their money—would be well above their social aspirations.

  “I want this evening to go off flawlessly. God knows I’ve asked little enough of you in the three years we’ve been married.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Elinor could have said the same about him, but she’d quickly learned such small rebellions had a dreadful cost. And, really, it was far more rewarding to let him think she’d been cowed, his creature. And now that there would be a baby? She smiled to herself. Well, what Edward did would hardly matter anymore.

  ∞∞∞

  The evening had gone smoothly so far. The City investors and their spouses had proven very easy to please. Elinor had dispensed with any pretense at precedence and seated the vulgarly dressed wives beside the earl and Lord Yarmouth. Their husbands she’d seated beside herself and a rather elderly duchess who was hard of hearing and mistook Mr. Gormley for Trentham’s cousin, a mistake he made no effort to correct.

  If attendance was a gauge of success then the earl was doing very well, indeed. Many of the people filling the huge ballroom had come all the way from London to attend the first ball at Blackfriars in over twenty years.

  Elinor knew Edward preferred to entertain in London and on a much smaller scale. Not that Elinor had ever been to any of those entertainments. They were not for wives. At least not for the wives of the men attending them. The reason she knew of the affairs at all was because of a chance comment her brother Stuart had let slip on his last visit—only the second time he’d come to Blackfriars. Elinor knew Stuart had only come because he was one step away from a sponging house.

  When she’d asked him what had happened he’d become irritable.

  “Why don’t you ask your husband, if you’re so damn curious?”

  “Why would I ask Edward about your gambling?”

  “Because I lost a packet at one of his bloody orgies, that’s why.”

  “Orgies?” Elinor had blushed furiously at the word.

  Stuart’s mouth had wrinkled with annoyance. “Oh, never mind.”

  For once, Elinor had pressed. “Tell me, Stuart. Tell me and I will give you money.”

  For a moment she thought he’d balk. But then he’d said, “How much money?”

  So that was how Elinor learned her husband threw debauches where gambling, illicit substances, and sexual deviance attracted a solid core of gentleman followers.

  ∞∞∞

  It was just past midnight when a footman notified her that a man awaited a word with the earl but Lord Trentham was nowhere to be found. Elinor went in his stead and found Mr. Franks nervously pacing the small receiving room.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  He stopped his agitated striding and his pale cheeks flared. “Ah, there must be some mistake, my lady. I sent word for your husband.”

  “My husband is not available. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Franks?”

  He glanced yearningly at the door, as if tempted to sprint through it. “I’m afraid I need to—”

  The door swung open and Trentham entered. His icy blue eyes slid from Elinor to Mr. Franks and his mouth hardened. “You are empty-handed, sir.”

  Franks swallowed so hard it made Elinor’s own throat hurt. “I tried, your lordship, but it didn’t matter how—”

  The earl’s jaw tightened until Elinor thought she could hear cracking. “Leave us, Elinor.” He did not take his eyes from the cringing man in front of him.

  Elinor shut the door quietly and leaned against it for a long moment. The heavy wood muffled the sounds, but she could hear raised voices.

  The butler approached from the direction of the ballroom.

  “What is it, Beacon?”

  “I wondered which champagne his lordship wished to use next, my lady.”

  “The earl has already marked those he’d chosen for tonight.”

  “Yes, my lady, but those are gone.”

  “Gone? But there were hundreds of bottles.”

  Beacon politely studied his feet.

  A loud thud came from behind the door and Elinor stepped away from it.

  “Under no circumstances should anyone disturb his lordship.”

  “Yes, my lady.” A knowing look flashed in his eyes before he could lower them.

  “I will go and choose the next case.”

  ***

  Elinor collapsed onto her bed.

  “You need to finish your drink before you go to sleep,” Beth reminded her from the open doorway of her dressing room.

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “’Tis not for you, my lady. ’Tis for the baby.”

  Elinor groaned but pushed herself up. “You are a horrid tyrant,” she muttered, picking up the mostly full glass and drinking it in two long swallows.

  “There, that’s better. They won’t—”

  The door to her room flew open and smashed against the wall. The earl stood in the open doorway, his normally pristine person wild and disheveled. He fixed his burning blue eyes on Elinor.

  He spared barely a glance for Beth. “Out, now.”

  Only when his hand jerked toward Beth did Elinor notice it had a whip in it.

  Beth took a few steps toward the bed and Edward lunged toward her. “I said out, you disobedient bitch!” He swung the crop hard against her shoulder.

  Elinor flew from her bed.

  “Go, Beth,” she said in a low voice, edging her body between her cringing servant and furious husband. “That is an order,” she barked when the woman failed to move. A muffled cry and slamming door told her when they were alone.

  “Turn around and grasp the post.”

  “My lord, the baby—”

  He swung with the same brute force he’d used on Beth, aiming the whip at her midriff rather than her shoulders.

  Elinor cried out and clutched at her side.

  “Put your hands on the post.”

  He began whipping her even before her hands closed around the thick wooden spindle of the bed. “You.” Crack. “Worthless.” Crack. “Whore.” Crack.

  Elinor’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor, raising her arms over her head and shoulders and curling into a ball.

  “Get up.” His foot struck her hip and she gasped with pain. “Damn you, get up or I swear I will—”

  “Trentham?” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

  “Father!” Elinor pushed herself onto her hands and knees and turned. The earl had also turned and his back blocked Elinor’s view of Lord Yarmouth’s face.

  “What do you want, Yarmouth?” Edward demanded, his voice labored, as though he’d been running.

  “The maid came to my chambers, frantic. I came to see if aught was amiss?”

  “And now that you have seen
?”

  Elinor heard her father take a deep breath, as though steeling himself. “I know you are disappointed, Trentham, but it is hardly the girl’s fault.”

  The girl. Elinor knew in that instant her father would not save her. He could not even say her name.

  “She is my property to do with as I please, Yarmouth. You have no legal rights over her person. You sold those rights to me, along with a bill of goods that will most certainly leave me a pauper.”

  “But surely—” her father began, sounding old and tired.

  “Enough!” Edward thundered. “I have heard the last I ever care to hear from you, my Lord Yarmouth! On anything. Get. Out. Now.”

  Elinor held her breath.

  The soft click of the door was her father’s only answer.

  “Now,” the earl said, turning to look down at her kneeling form. “Where were we?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Village of Trentham

  1817

  “Are you in your right mind, my lady?”

  Elinor would have laughed at the shocked expression on Beth’s face if her wits weren’t in such a muddle. Instead, she handed her the brief note she’d composed.

  “Send this along with Mr. Worth’s gift, Beth.” Beth recoiled from the note as if Elinor were handing her a live spider. “Now, Beth.”

  Elinor waited until her angry servant had flounced from the room before collapsing into her chair. She massaged her pounding temples. Why was he doing this to her? A horse? Did he understand the gossip such a gift would cause even though she’d returned it?

  She closed her eyes and tipped her head against the high-backed chair.

  Since when are you concerned with gossip? The meddlesome little voice in her head demanded.

  As of right now.

  Why have things changed?

  Because this is different!

  How?

  Elinor had never minded the gossip that circulated about her and Doctor Venable because it was unavoidable: if she didn’t go to his surgery twice a week, she couldn’t learn what he had to teach. So, it had never mattered to her if people believed she and the doctor were engaged in an affair, because they weren’t.

  You’re not engaged in an affair with Stephen Worth, either. So why does it matter?

  Because her thoughts about Stephen Worth were nothing like her thoughts about Doctor Venable. The thoughts she entertained about the beautiful American were the sort she couldn’t—wouldn’t—put into words. They were the sort of vivid, sensual thoughts that woke her in the middle of the night, breathless and sheened with sweat.

  And now this gift. What had he been thinking? As if he only needed to give her a horse and then she could go blithely riding about the countryside like Laurel Lewis.

  You are a far better rider than any of those girls, the nasty little voice pointed out.

  It was true, she was. Riding had been the only activity she’d really been good at when she was a girl. It was unfortunate she no longer could afford such an indulgence. And it was downright cruel of Stephen Worth to tempt her with things she could ill afford. Especially as he was most likely going to send her pitiful finances even deeper into despair when he finally purchased Blackfriars.

  His ill-conceived gift was a result of their last conversation, which took place the day after they’d encountered Laurel Lewis and her companions in the lane. Elinor’s unfortunate encounter with Worth was largely Beth’s fault because she wouldn’t stop nagging Elinor about the state of her clothes.

  “I’ve done all I can to the day dresses you have, my lady. Don’t hold me accountable if one of them blows away completely in a strong wind.”

  Bearing that hideous scenario in mind, Elinor had grudgingly taken herself to Trentham’s only milliner to be fitted for two new day dresses.

  “I hope you chose something in pink?” A familiar voice asked as she stepped out of the shop.

  Elinor’s steps stuttered but she kept walking. “Lurking outside of milliner shops, Mr. Worth? Can the local constabulary be aware? Surely you have better things to do?”

  He caught up with her easily, matching his long strides to her short, frantic ones. “I can’t think of a better use of my time than waiting for you.”

  “I would not have thought you so lacking in imagination, sir.” Elinor nodded to Mr. Siskin, who’d come out of his small butcher shop and was polishing his already clean window. No doubt hoping to get a better look at the rich American sprinting after the Countess of Trentham. Elinor winced at the thought of how this must appear.

  “I used to be a terribly imaginative fellow.” Worth said, breaking into her thoughts with his plaintive tone. “You see what you’ve reduced me to?”

  Elinor laughed—unable to resist his mournful look, no matter that she knew he was merely mocking her. She decided she would pretend their last meeting, including the kiss, had never happened.

  “Was your business in London successful, Mr. Worth?”

  “It was wildly profitable.”

  “Are profit and success interchangeable concepts to you, sir?”

  “You make a fine point, Lady Trentham. Not all successes involve profit. Take you, for example.”

  “Me?” She turned to look up at him, which was a mistake. He deployed his dimples.

  “Yes, you.”

  Elinor forced her eyes back to the road.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what I mean?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “I would never have believed you were a coward, my lady.”

  “I daresay you will weather the disappointment.” Her voice was breathless from the effort of trying to keep ahead of him.

  “Why don’t you ride? Would not these trips to town and the good Doctor Venable’s be much easier on horseback?”

  “I do not keep a horse.”

  “Do you not enjoy riding?”

  “I have little time for such activities.”

  “That is not an answer, my lady.”

  Elinor heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Very well, Mr. Worth. Yes, I do enjoy riding.” To her surprise, he’d let the matter drop and they’d spoken of other things. That had been two days ago. This morning one of the grooms from Blackfriars, Joe Paling, had shown up with a delightful chocolate-brown mare with pink ribbons woven into her mane and tail.

  The groom had doffed his cap and grinned at her. “Ain’t she a picture, my lady?”

  “She certainly is, Joe. Is there any reason you have brought her here?” she asked, fearing his answer.

  “Aye, the American, Mr. Worth, told me she were yours, my lady.”

  Elinor’s face heated all over again as she recalled the man’s knowing look.

  It had been painful to send the pretty little mare away. Where had he found such a wonderful mount—and one so perfect for her—in less than two days?

  The sound of carriage wheels pulled her from her musing.

  “What now?” she muttered. She would need to answer the front door as Cook would not hear it from the kitchen and she’d sent Beth to Blackfriars.

  The door opened before she could reach it and Beth stepped inside.

  “Oh, my lady,” she said, a healthy pink glow on her cheeks.

  “Whatever is going—”

  Stephen Worth’s face came into view over her maid’s shoulder as he mounted the front steps.

  “Never mind,” Elinor said, adding in an undervoice, “We will talk about this later, ma’am.”

  Beth scurried from the foyer as Worth took off his hat and bowed. “Don’t be hard on her, my lady. I didn’t give her a choice about bringing me with her.”

  “I hardly wish to discuss my servant’s behavior with you in the middle of the foyer, Mr. Worth. Please come into the sitting room.”

  Rather than look chastened, he grinned at her ungracious invitation.

  Elinor took a seat behind her desk and he lowered himself on the settee with a knowing smile as he eyed the vast expanse of desk.

  Yes, tha
nk you very much, she did wish to keep a large chunk of wood between them.

  “Now, perhaps you will tell me what I can do for you, Mr. Worth?”

  “Why did you reject my gift?”

  “Didn’t you read my note?”

  “I read it.”

  “Well?”

  “It makes no sense. You say you have no means of keeping a horse yet Dower House has a fine stable.”

  “It also has room for a dozen more servants.”

  He frowned. “Are you telling me your husband left you so ill provided for you cannot afford to keep a horse?”

  “That is an impertinent question. My finances are none of your concern, sir.”

  “I apologize.” His serious gaze surprised her, but not as much as his next words. “I would like to make it my concern. I would like to make you my concern.”

  Elinor’s lungs ceased working. And her voice along with them.

  “I am asking you to marry me, Elinor. Elinor?” He half-rose from his chair. “Elinor, you are very pale. Are you well?”

  She swallowed.

  “Can I fetch you anything? Er . . . water?” His forehead creased with concern and he looked toward the bell pull.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice breathy but firmer than she’d hoped.

  “Are you certain I cannot call for something? Perhaps some tea?”

  “You hate tea.”

  For the first time since she’d met him, he looked nonplussed. That was the moment Elinor knew she’d made a dreadful mistake: she’d fallen in love with him.

  For some reason, the admission calmed, rather than upset her. Maybe it was because the worst had finally happened. Or maybe it was because she was tired of lying to herself.

  Yes, she’d fallen in love with this wildly handsome, wealthy, beautiful, fascinating, mysterious man. She’d done the stupidest thing a woman like her could do. She no longer had anything else to fear.