The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  The older man’s eyes sharpened and the look he gave Stephen was less than friendly.

  “Because she told me not to, Iain. Can you imagine what would have happened to her if anyone found out what she’d done? Already she was in terrible trouble with the viscount and that other monster. Just think on what woulda happened if she’d been caught springing you from jail.”

  “She had nobody to blame but herself!” Stephen roared, no longer able to take his uncle’s accusing looks or his own shrieking conscience. “She threw herself at me, dammit!”

  “She was a sixteen-year-old girl, Iain.”

  “And I was a fifteen-year-old boy!”

  His uncle nodded grimly. “I know, lad. Neither of you deserved what happened that night. It wasn’t the girl and it wasn’t you. Her father should have known better; if not him, then surely the viscountess. But some form of madness possessed them all. It was a nightmare.”

  “You’re bloody right it was a nightmare.”

  His uncle’s eyes turned accusing. “You’ve done alright out of it, haven’t ye?”

  Stephen could hardly breathe. “Money?” The word came out a disbelieving gasp. “You think money made up for having to leave the only family I had left and run half-way round the globe?”

  “Of course I don’t, lad. But it is what it is. In other words, it’s life, Iain. And it’s messy and doesn’t always go the way you want. But the fact is you’re still alive. You’re also a healthy, rich, and powerful man. A body can’t say the same for her, though.”

  An odd jolt of energy ran up Stephen’s spine and made his head snap up. “What do you mean?” He scowled. “And what the devil do you know about her, anyway?”

  “I know plenty. I’m married to Beth MacFarlane’s sister, Mary.”

  “What?”

  “Aye, Beth MacFarlane, Lady Trentham’s maid. When her ladyship wrote me a letter of recommendation, she said her maid grew up outside Manchester, in a small village called Moston. She said Beth’s sister worked in Baron Mainwaring’s house and was well-treated. His lordship needed a man in his stables and I took the position. It wasn’t stablemaster, but I worked my way up. That’s where I met my Mary and she agreed to become my wife a year later.”

  “You married.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Aye, I’ve three boys.” He grinned, his face glowing with pride. “One of ’em I called Iain.”

  “And Elinor wrote you a letter of recommendation?” he said stupidly, unable to think of anything else.

  “Lady Trentham, aye. She was quite the little forger. By the time she finished puffing me up I could have worked in the royal stables.”

  Stephen could only stare. All these years. All these bloody years he’d believed his uncle either dead or destitute at the hands of Yarmouth and Trentham. The entire time he’d been secure, married, and fathering a veritable brood of children. All thanks to her.

  Stephen looked up from his clenched hands. “Why are you here now?”

  His uncle blinked. “I just found out you were back, din’t I?”

  “So, you read about me in the papers, eh?”

  “No, Beth wrote to Mary—when they finally learned who you were.”

  “Ahh,” Stephen drawled, pleased by how insulting he could make a single syllable sound. “Come to see if there was any money to be had?”

  Only his uncle’s tense jaw and the white knuckles of the hand holding the glass betrayed the anger inside him.

  “I guess you had to grow up without anyone to teach you manners, Iain, but—”

  “Stephen. My name is Stephen Worth and I’m not a boy in need of learning manners. I did what you told me to do and I chose a new name for a new life. Iain Vale is dead.”

  The air crackled between them. For a moment Stephen thought his uncle would either leave or grab him and administer a thrashing. In the state Stephen was in, he couldn’t do much to stop him.

  His uncle nodded, his eyes unreadable. He placed the glass gently on the table. “Well, thank you for the drink, son.” He picked up his hat, which had been perched on the sofa beside him, and held it carefully by the brim, the way a man unaccustomed to such finery would treat a hat he wore only a few times a year. An honest man, not a man who’d come looking for anything other than his nephew.

  Stephen dropped his head as a wave of suffocating shame washed over him. He was behaving like a mad dog, biting the hands of those who loved him. This was his Uncle Lonnie, for God’s sake! A hand landed on his shoulder and his head jerked up. His uncle stood in front of him, a tentative expression on his familiar face.

  “You’re being eaten away, boy. I can see it as plain as the nose on your face, even as I sit here watching. You’ve hate in you and it’s like an acid corroding your soul. You need to let bygones be bygones.”

  “It’s too late for that.” Stephen shook his head. “I’ve—I’ve done horrible, unforgivable things.”

  “It’s never too late.”

  “You don’t know, Uncle. You just don’t know.”

  His uncle sat down on the sofa beside him. “And I won’t, son. Not unless you tell me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Redruth, Cornwall

  1817

  Elinor put the bloody cloths into the worn pillowcase before washing her hands in the basin of lukewarm water. It was only three o’clock and she was already exhausted. She thought fondly back to the days when she’d had only a pig or mule to doctor.

  She dried her hands on the rough cloth and smiled. It was hard work, but at least it left her too tired to think when her head hit the pillow at night.

  For once in her life she was making a difference; she mattered to these people. The thought made her frown. If only she could advocate for them. Unfortunately, the advocacy of a widow who was about to have a child out of wedlock was hardly likely to carry much weight with the local mine-owner, Peter Cantwell. When it came to his employees and tenants, Peter Cantwell treated people like cheap and shoddy tools he expected to have to replace.

  The Redruth mine was among the most dangerous in Cornwall, an area not renowned for safety in such matters. Cantwell owned two other mines, each of which were far more productive and lucrative, meaning the Englishman gave very little of his attention to the conditions or maintenance at Redruth. Hardly a day went by when Elinor didn’t treat a miner who’d suffered a crushed limb or had been poisoned by the foul air in the deep, unstable tunnels.

  The door to the surgery opened and Beth’s face appeared in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled.

  What was this? Beth had not smiled since they’d come to Redruth.

  “You’ve a visitor, my—er, Mrs. Atwood.”

  Elinor froze.

  Beth bustled into the small surgery, frowning at the basin of bloody water.

  “Come, you must change into a different gown.” She took Elinor’s hand and her eyes flickered dismissively over the old brown day dress she wore.

  Elinor pulled her hand away.

  “Who is it, Beth?”

  “It’s Mr. Worth.” She worried her lower lip. “Or perhaps he prefers to be called Mr. Vale?”

  Elinor’s heart stumbled into action and her lungs strained painfully for air. “I don’t wish to see him,” she said in a high, brittle voice that sounded nothing like her normal voice.

  You’re lying, Elinor.

  “Tell him I am from home.” It was all she could do to force the words through clenched jaws.

  “My lady,” Beth admonished, forgetting where she was and who she was supposed to be speaking to. “You cannot do that.”

  Elinor gave Beth her most haughty look, the only useful thing she’d learned from Edward. “You heard me.”

  Beth bit her lip. “I’ve already told him you were here.”

  “Beth!”

  The older woman winced, her cheeks beet red with shame. “I know, my lady. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it. I was so surprised to open the door and find him standing the
re. It was quite shocking to see a man dressed so beautifully out here in the wilderness,” she added, almost to herself.

  Ha! Overcome by fashion.

  Elinor gritted her teeth. He was a persistent man. Most likely he would not leave her in peace until he said whatever it was he’d come to say.

  “Very well, I will see him.”

  Beth’s smile was radiant.

  “Don’t look so pleased. I’m not changing my clothing,” she said, taking childish pleasure in dashing her maid’s happiness.

  “But—”

  Elinor left before she said something cutting. She took a detour past Daisy’s yard on her way to the cottage. Jory Williams, the youngest Williams boy, was expanding the chicken coop that abutted Daisy’s house.

  He stopped hammering and touched his forelock when she approached.

  “How goes the construction, Mr. Williams?”

  He flushed delightedly at the grown-up form of address. From his size, Elinor had guessed him to be eighteen. It turned out the boy was not yet fifteen. Like every other lad in the area it was his hope to get work at the mine. Until that day, he helped his family in their meager business.

  “It’ll be t’only ’en ’ouse in Redruth with a flowerbox.” He chortled, his eyes on the small rectangle Elinor had asked him to attach to the little wooden house.

  Elinor felt something brush against her fingers and looked down to find Daisy rubbing against her hand. The pig was flourishing in her new home but she still gave Elinor a yearning look whenever she came to visit.

  Elinor scratched the huge sow between the ears. “Daisy will like a flowerbox,” Elinor said, her mind on the man waiting for her in the cottage.

  Jory Williams thought that was hilarious. “She’m more likely to eat flowers, missus!”

  “He is maligning you, isn’t he, Daisy?” She scratched the furrows on Daisy’s forehead.

  Daisy’s eyes closed and she wore an expression of pure porcine bliss and gave a deep grunt of contentment as Elinor’s fingers encountered the perfect spot behind one ear.

  “Whatever are you doing, my—er, Mrs. Atwood?” Beth popped up behind her, her chiding voice making Elinor jump. “He’s waiting for you,” she hissed, giving the boy a hasty glance, grimacing at Daisy, and pushing Elinor toward the house. “You should wash your hands after touching that filthy animal.”

  “Daisy is cleaner than most humans,” Elinor protested, allowing her maid to shove her toward the little cottage.

  Beth grunted, a sound which was remarkably like Daisy’s. Elinor doubted her maid would appreciate the observation.

  A magnificent post-chaise sat in front of the cottage and Elinor wondered how she’d failed to hear six horses approaching.

  Mr. Fielding leaned up against the carriage box, his expression oddly pensive and his disturbing, flat gaze fixed on one of the postilions, a tall, blond lad who was eating an apple beside one of the jet-black leaders. The horses’ ears were pricked forward and Elinor absently wondered how the boy would share out one apple core between six horses.

  “Mr. Fielding,” Elinor greeted the silent giant with an abrupt nod but did not stop.

  “Ma’am.” He lifted his hat and bowed, his lips bending into their usual amused sneer.

  Beth caught her arm as she opened the front door. “Are you sure you won’t—”

  “No.”

  “I’ll bring the tea tra—”

  “No. He won’t be staying that long.”

  Beth drew back, aghast. “But, my lady—”

  Elinor turned on her argumentative servant. “If I hear one more word about my clothing, tea, or Mr. Worth, you’ll be accompanying him back to Blackfriars in that magnificent carriage when he leaves. Are we understood?”

  Beth chewed the side of her cheek more ferociously than a dog worrying a soup bone.

  “And my name is Mrs. Atwood.”

  Beth made a sound that was part huff and part squawk and spun on her heel, disappearing into the little kitchen.

  Elinor took a deep breath, exhaled, and then did it again before flinging open the door to the parlor-cum-library-cum-sitting room.

  ∞∞∞

  Stephen’s back was to the door and he was examining the books that covered one wall of the small room when the sound of wood slamming against plaster made him startle and turn.

  “Why are you here?”

  Elinor stood in the open doorway, her hands on her hips. She was wearing the most hideous garment imaginable and her hair looked as if she’d combed it with a pitchfork.

  She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  He realized he was gaping and closed his mouth. “Elinor.”

  “You may call me Mrs. Atwood,” she snapped. “Now, why are you here?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to sit?” His heart leapt like an exuberant puppy under her steely gray glare.

  “You won’t be here long enough.” She tapped one foot, her eyes never wavering from his face.

  “I spoke to my Uncle Lonnie.”

  She lifted one brow but remained silent.

  “He told me where you were. He also told me that you are with child. My child.”

  She gave him a look he’d never seen before: a sly, nasty smirk.

  “Sure of that, are you?”

  Stephen considered his next words very carefully; the subject was more dangerous than a nest of vipers. “The only other man you’ve spent any amount of time with was Venable and I already spoke to him.”

  Her eyes widened. “And he said he was not the father of my child?”

  “No, he said nothing. He did give me this, however.” Stephen tilted his head so that she might see the purple stain on his jaw.

  She barked a laugh. “I hope he did not hurt his hand.”

  Stephen knew he deserved that, even though her words were like broken glass in his guts. “No, he’s fine. The man knows how to throw a punch.”

  “I hope you did not engage in a brawl with him. He is too important in Trentham to be laid up with injuries.”

  The implied message being that Stephen was not. Well, he had to give her that; nobody’s life would be the worse if he was too injured to walk around.

  “No, I didn’t strike him. I deserved what he did and I honor him for it.”

  Elinor snorted and dropped into a chair. “He had no right to fight for my honor. I don’t need any man to guard something I am more than capable of defending.”

  Stephen would have sworn ice crystals formed in the air between them. He gingerly took a seat without being asked. “I know you must be angry with me and I—”

  “You don’t know the least thing about me and that is exactly the way you planned it.” Her chest rose and fell violently, belying her cool voice. “You came back for revenge, and you got it. I don’t fault you for blaming me for that night. I was, without a doubt, entirely at fault for what happened. Believe me, you cannot abhor my behavior any more than I have done these past fifteen years. If you’ve come to thank me for my letter, please save your breath. It was the very least I could do and cost me nothing.”

  “That’s not why I came,” he cut in when she paused to catch her breath. “I came to beg you to forgive me.”

  His words seemed to breathe more life into her.

  “I forgive you—freely and completely. I understand what you did and why you did it. I daresay I would have done something similar had I been in your shoes. I hold you in no blame and you may go about your life.”

  “I want to go about my life but I want you in it. I know I’ve behaved badly—”

  She snorted.

  “—terribly,” he amended. “But surely we can get beyond that now that there is to be a child—our child.”

  She gave him a look that should have flayed the skin from his bones. But the words she spoke next were worse. “You are not the kind of man I would allow near a child of mine.”

  Stephen flinched away as if she’d thrown hot coals at him. Anger flared in him. “That i
s unfair, Elinor. You know I’m capable of good and kind behavior.”

  “When you want something in return.”

  “But that could be said of all people.” Her eyes narrowed and he hastened to continue. “I’m not trying to excuse my behavior, merely saying I have it in me to do better. You know I could give our child anything their heart desired.”

  “You could give my child creature comforts, but could you give love, Mr. Worth?” She paused and cocked her head. “Or is it Mr. Vale?”

  Stephen grimaced at the tiresome subject of his name. “I will continue to go by Stephen Worth. And yes,” he added, “I am capable of love.” He pushed up from his chair and sank to one knee in front of her. “It took losing you and almost facing a hangman’s noose to accept the truth about myself, Elinor—that I love you. I know now that I was in love with you even when I behaved so unforgivably.

  “When I was in Newgate and thought I’d lost you forever I didn’t see the point of going on. I was grateful to face judgement and punishment. And then you came forward and saved me without even being asked. Instead of taking that opportunity—that chance—and coming to you then and begging forgiveness I went to Blackfriars and wallowed in my own misery and self-pity. It wasn’t until my uncle told me what you’d done for him—and what was done to you—that I wanted to crawl into the deepest, darkest crack in the earth and hide.”

  “Perhaps that is where you should have gone instead of coming here.”

  Stephen nodded. “I deserve that. I deserve everything you can throw at me.”

  “You are under a great misapprehension, sir. I have no intention of throwing anything at you. I hope never to have anything to do with you again. Now, if you’ve quite finished—” She started to rise and Stephen took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  “For weeks I did crawl into a deep, dark place. However, the more I thought about it—about what I’d done to you—the more I realized I owed you an apology, even if you didn’t want it, even if you couldn’t forgive me, even if you refused to see me.” He took a deep breath and held her cold stare. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, even though I know I do not deserve it. You refused my offer of marriage once before, but now things are different—there is a child’s future and wellbeing and reputation to consider. If you would consent to be my wife, I would spend the rest of my life proving my love and making myself worthy of you.” He kissed her palm.