The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  The boy’s face lit up. “Aye, sir.”

  Stephen couldn’t help smiling at the enthusiasm. “Come see me at Oakland next week. I’m sure I’ll have something that will suit you. What’s your name?”

  “Jory Williams, sir.” The boy could hardly spit out his name he was grinning so hard.

  “I’m Stephen Worth.” Stephen held out his hand and could see the gesture startled the younger man. It wasn’t done in Britain to shake hands, but he considered himself an American.

  “Aye, sir. Everyone hereabouts knows of ye.”

  Jory’s hand was almost as big as Stephen’s. The boy would be a giant if mine work didn’t kill him before he reached his full size.

  He turned to leave and noticed Elinor talking to the group of patients. He glanced at the little building where she did her doctoring and frowned. She needed a larger building, a place for people to wait. A ball of anger heated and expanded in his stomach. Why wouldn’t she let him help her? He could build her a proper hospital and fill it with supplies and equipment. He could—Stephen realized he’d been glaring at her and stopped.

  She studiously avoided meeting his eyes when he went past her, but Stephen felt the heat of her gaze on his back as he walked away.

  Chapter Thirty

  Redruth, Cornwall

  1817

  Elinor didn’t know what irritated her more—the constant chattering about Stephen Worth and all the wonderful things he was doing for the people of Redruth, or her nagging, incessant, burning desire to always want to hear more about him.

  True to his word, he’d not been to see her since their last meeting. But his presence in the small community made it feel like he was practically living under her roof. She was torn between relief at not having to see him in person and irritation that he seemed to have forgotten her.

  “He’s cleaning up that wretched mine,” Beth said, her tone nonchalant as she placed Elinor’s meal on the table that was set for one. Her maid steadfastly refused to sit down to eat with Elinor, no matter how ridiculous it was for the two of them to eat exactly the same meals in two separate rooms at exactly the same time.

  “Is this the guinea fowl Mrs. Polgaren gave us?” Elinor asked, ignoring the comment about Stephen, no matter how tempted she was to use hot irons on Beth and extract every last drop of gossip about the annoying American.

  Beth heaved an irritable sigh. “Yes, it is. And the potatoes Mr. Bevan paid you with and the cream is from the—”

  “All right, all right, Beth. I don’t need to know the provenance of every item on the plate.”

  “No use using those smart foreign words on me, Mrs. Atwood. If you’re wanting to have such conversations you should have them with one of your own kind.” Beth punctuated her advice by plunking the butter crock on the table and flouncing away, the swish of her skirts louder than words.

  Elinor made a childish face at her back before turning to her meal. She refused to wish that she’d let Beth tell her more about Stephen. She already knew plenty.

  Stephen Worth had increased wages at the mine, taken steps to implement safety measures that were long overdue for most Cornish mines—but particularly the ones around Redruth—and he’d also employed a veritable army of people to refurbish Oakland. He was a one-man whirlwind.

  He was obviously determined to demonstrate his kindly, giving nature to her.

  “Ha!” As if such transparent acts were likely to convince her that he’d changed his stripes.

  The sound of hooves pulled her from her contemplation of the rich American. Beth bustled out of the kitchen just as Elinor stood.

  “You just eat, my lady. No doubt it’s some needy soul come to interrupt your dinner. I’ll get it,” she muttered under her breath as she went to the vestibule.

  Elinor sat. It hardly took two people to answer the door.

  Her mouth was full of food when the door to the dining room flew open.

  “It’s Doctor Venable, my lady. Should I have him wait?”

  Elinor finished chewing, swallowed some water, and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Do we have any food to offer him?”

  “Don’t you worry, my lady, I’ve got plenty.”

  “Show him in.”

  Beth disappeared and the handsome figure of Jago Venable filled the doorway.

  “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your meal. I told your maid I could—”

  Elinor gave him a genuine smile. She was always glad to see him, even though his visits were generally not social calls. “Come in, Jago. Please.”

  He glanced down at his dusty clothes.

  Elinor stood. “If you don’t come in and eat, I won’t eat. And then Beth will lecture and scold you.”

  He gave her one of his gradual, serious smiles. “Well, we don’t want that. I’ll sit. Thank you, my lady. Er, Mrs. Atwood.”

  “Elinor.”

  He nodded. “Elinor.”

  “Did you just arrive?” she asked, making small talk until Beth brought food.

  He gestured to her plate. “Please, eat. There is no point in your food becoming cold out of politeness.” He saw her hesitate. “If you don’t eat, I will leave and come back after dinner,” he said, a mocking smile on his face as he echoed her chiding tone.

  Elinor laughed and picked up her fork. “Well, we don’t want that. You are a persuasive negotiator, Jago. While my mouth is full of food why don’t you tell me why you are here? Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course.”

  “I’m here on family business.”

  Elinor lowered her forkful of food. “You have family here?”

  “Yes, this is where I am from. My brother was the Earl of Trebolton.”

  “Trebolton. But didn’t he—”

  “Yes, he died in a carriage accident at the beginning of the year.”

  “I’d heard that,” she said, and then frowned. “But why have you only come now?” She grimaced. “I’m sorry, that was a forward question.”

  He smiled. “It was a logical question. I’ve been coming here each month to spend a week, just until I could find a replacement doctor for Trentham.”

  ​“Oh, Jago—I wish you’d told me, perhaps I might have helped you search for somebody.”

  ​“I had somebody in mind but needed to wait until he was free; he just arrived in Trentham a few days ago. So,” he shrugged. “Here I am.”

  The door opened and Beth entered bearing a tray heaped with bread, half a fowl, most of a meat pie, a mountain of potatoes, and a tall glass of amber liquid that could only be beer, no doubt yet another payment from some patient or other.

  Jago’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Miss MacFarlane, you needn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

  “Pish-tush,” Beth muttered. “You look like a skellington, doctor. Doesn’t that fool Mary Fardle know how to feed a man?”

  Jago smiled at Beth’s chiding. “Mrs. Fardle is an exemplary housekeeper and cook. I’m afraid I’m often too busy to partake in the wonderful fare she prepares.”

  Beth shot Elinor a dirty look. “Oh, aye, I’m familiar with that, doctor.”

  Elinor fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Thank you, Beth. We’ll ring if we need anything else.” Like a lecture on eating habits.

  Beth sniffed loudly at this obvious dismissal and closed the door with a firm click.

  “I’m sorry, Jago. I’m afraid Beth and I have settled into the way of two old spinsters and don’t hesitate to give each other the word with the bark still on it.” She watched him cut a piece of meat and put it in his mouth. She’d have to let him eat before she could indulge her curiosity. Instead, she had news of her own.

  “Stephen Worth has bought a house not far from here. He has also bought the Redruth mine.”

  Jago chewed and washed his food down with a gulp of beer. “I know.”

  Elinor blinked.

  “My sister-in-law sent me a letter,” he explained. “She lives at Lenshurst Park with my two nieces.”

  “Ah, yes of course.
I have not met Lady Trebolton, but I’ve heard of her good work in the area.”

  “She is a kind and very sweet-natured woman. I believe you would like her, Elinor. And my nieces are charming girls.”

  “These past months must have been a terrible time for them all. How did you find things at Lenshurst Park?”

  He put down his fork and took a deep swallow of beer. “I’ve not yet gone there.”

  “You came here first?”

  His pale cheeks tinted. “I felt I owed it to you. I should have told you all those weeks ago, when I brought you here, but—”

  Elinor waved his concern aside. “It doesn’t matter.” Something occurred to her. “I thought the family name of the Earls of Trebolton was Crewe?”

  “It is. Venable was my courtesy title—Viscount Venable. I took the name as a surname to spare my family the embarrassment of being associated with my low profession.” He picked up his fork and for a few moments the clink of cutlery was the only sound in the room.

  Elinor was no longer hungry but continued to eat; it was better to have something to do than to figure out what she should say next.

  Jago saved her that worry. “I know how deeply you care for the people of Trentham—I just wanted to come here first to reassure you that they are in excellent hands. I’m sorry I must abandon them.”

  “You are not abandoning them, Jago, you are being called to your duty. There is plenty of good that can be done in this area. As you well know.”

  His smile was fleeting and bitter. “As I well know,” he echoed. “You have seen Worth?” he asked, his already flushed skin darkening a little more.

  She nodded and stared at her half-full plate. If she didn’t eat, Beth would scold her. She took another forkful of food and chewed.

  “Did he tell you of our meeting?”

  Again she nodded, taking a drink of water to wash down food that now stuck in her throat like gravel.

  “I’m sorry, Elinor.”

  “Why? Because you struck him?”

  He gave her an almost boyish grin. “No, I enjoyed that. I’m sorry for what my actions told him, though. I didn’t know if you’d want him to think—”

  “You did nothing wrong, Jago. He’d already learned enough from his uncle to put everything together.”

  “Are you sure you won’t—”

  “Yes, Jago, I’m sure I won’t marry you, but again, thank you for your kindness. You are an important man and there will be many contenders for your hand.” She grinned. “Even more than when you were just a humble doctor.”

  He grimaced. “Please don’t remind me. That is a part of my new role I do not relish.”

  That was the first time Elinor had ever heard the man even vaguely reference women. What had happened to make him so bitter about women or marriage? The thought surprised her. Surely she should be the first person to sympathize with somebody who didn’t want to marry? But Jago was a man, what danger did a man face in a marriage?

  “There is something else I must tell you, Elinor.” He removed his glasses and began to polish them with a small cloth he pulled from a waistcoat pocket. The action was a nervous one and the removal of his spectacles—his vision—told her he didn’t want to see her when he shared his news.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Worth. He’s offered me a great deal of money to design a hospital.”

  “But . . . but that’s wonderful, Jago! Why do you look so nervous?”

  “He wants to build the hospital in Camborne.”

  “Oh, he wants to build it here.” She would no longer be necessary.

  “You will still be necessary, Elinor,” he said, as if reading her mind. “And I don’t believe he is doing it to, er, lessen your contribution but perhaps to relieve some of the pressure.”

  Elinor’s emotions were like a tangle of embroidery silks. How could she not be happy the area would have something many larger, more populated towns and counties did not boast? How could she be so childish as to feel as if he were disturbing her world? Was that really why she was here—to gather admiration from people? Or was she here to make their lives better? A hospital would without a doubt improve people’s lives. She looked up and found Jago watching her.

  “This will be a very good thing for the area.”

  “Very good.” He swallowed. “The amount of money he has pledged is, well, it is astronomical. Enough to have a proper hospital and a dispensary. And he has placed the design and implementation under my control. Do you know what this means, Elinor? A hospital created by the people who will actually work there?”

  “It is a dream come true—better, really. I am glad for you, Jago. You are a good doctor—and a good man—Mr. Worth couldn’t have chosen better.”

  He flushed. “I hope this is not forward of me, Elinor, but I will need your help.”

  It was her turn to blush. “My help? What do I know of hospitals or their design?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Worth put you up to this? Is this part of the condition for—”

  “Your name was never mentioned. Do you really think I would conduct negotiations with you as some sort of powerless pawn?” For the first time in their almost five-year association the retiring doctor looked haughty and proud. He looked, she realized, every inch what he was: an earl.

  “I apologize, Jago. Of course you wouldn’t. And I would be pleased to help in any way I am able.”

  He seemed to deflate before her very eyes and she realized just how worried he’d been about the disclosure. She also realized he’d cleaned his plate.

  “Would you like some desert? I know Beth has an apple tart.”

  He shook his head. “As delightful as that sounds, I’d better complete my journey.”

  “You came all this way on horseback and without any possessions?” she asked as she accompanied him toward the vestibule.

  “Worth’s man—Fielding—was bringing Worth’s carriage and another coach and offered to take my few possessions. It would have been wasteful and churlish to refuse the kind offer. They have gone on ahead to drop my things off at Lenshurst.” He picked up his dusty hat and gave it a few turns before meeting her eyes. “Please know that I am always your friend first, Elinor. My association with Worth is—”

  Elinor put her hand on his and squeezed lightly. “I know that, Jago. I’m not at war with Mr. Worth and I don’t fault you for your association with him. He’s a powerful, wealthy man who seems interested in doing good.” She smiled wryly, “At least at the moment. I think you are just the man to advise him.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I certainly will help him spend his money on a hospital.”

  Elinor watched as the doctor cantered down the rutted drive under the moonlight. It did not surprise her to hear he was the son of an earl. She’d always known he was a gentleman. Obviously there was more to his story than she would have guessed. An estrangement with his brother at the very least.

  As for the hospital? She’d been honest with him, but not entirely so. Stephen had embarked on a campaign and she was the ultimate objective. This time, unlike the last, he was leaving acts of kindness in his wake. But he was still working on a plan. A plan that involved her but did not consult her. He might have changed—although she wasn’t sure of that—but his methods had not.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Redruth, Cornwall

  1817

  “It needs to go up a little on the right,” Stephen said.

  The workmen jostled the priceless painting while trying to lift it and Stephen fought the urge to squeal like a little girl as the gilt frame smacked against the wood paneled wall.

  “That’s good enough,” he yelled the instant they came anywhere close to what he wanted. He would level the damned thing later himself. Maybe he’d get Fielding to—

  Like a djinn summoned by Stephen’s thoughts, Fielding’s voice came from behind him.

  “Why is it okay to show women getting their kit off if you throw in a few cherubs, some harps, and a table ful
l of food?”

  Stephen turned to find his huge employee eating an apple. His black eyes moved from the painting to Stephen as he chewed, his expression curious and patient.

  Stephen snorted when he realized he was waiting. “Oh, I apologize. Was that a question you actually wished me to answer?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Did you bring everything I asked for?”

  Fielding made him wait while he chewed before finally swallowing. “Aye.”

  Stephen began walking before he gave into his urge and throttled the man.

  “You haven’t changed your mind?” he snapped without looking back to see if Fielding was following.

  “No.”

  “Well, come and get your final pay packet and then you can bugger off.”

  A low chuckle floated behind him. “You miss me already, I reckon.”

  “Ha!” Stephen flung open the door to his library. The room was the first he’d seen to after buying the place. Peter Cantwell had squeezed a fortune out of his mine but he hadn’t spent a groat on Oakland or its tenants.

  Naturally, Stephen had investigated the man before making the offer and knew exactly what Cantwell spent his money on: gaming and young girls. Very young girls.

  He could only hope he and Fielding had instilled enough fear into the loathsome pedophile that he wouldn’t look at anyone under fifty until he was far too old to do anything about it.

  Stephen had stripped the house to the bare bones before he could spend a night in it. He didn’t like to think of touching anything Cantwell had put his hands on. The library and master suite had been the first to enjoy a complete renovation but he was almost finished with the house’s common areas and was applying some of the finishing touches, like those he’d just been supervising in the gallery.

  He flung himself into the plush leather chair behind his desk and took a small ring of keys from his waistcoat pocket. Inside the lowest drawer was a pre-prepared packet for his now ex-servant. Stephen tossed him the money.

  The burly man caught the leather pouch and peered inside before closing his massive fist around it.