The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

Opening his mouth was so difficult.

  “Murrrthhhh—”

  “HestryingtospeakJago.”

  “Idaresayhesjusttalkinginhissleepcomeletusgivehimsomepeaceandquiet.”

  Iain shut his ears. The noises weren’t loud, but they were frustrating. His stomach growled. When was the last time he’d eaten?

  A strawberry-filled cream cake the size of a dinner plate floated into view.

  Cream cakes were his favorite.

  Iain tried to reach for it. But his hand wasn’t working. The cake floated away and warm tears slid down his cheeks.

  “Oh, Stephen—”

  Who was Stephen?

  Who would milk the cow in the morning?

  ∞∞∞

  Rather than argue, Elinor let Beth take the first shift.

  “That Mrs. Kennett is a right bossy one,” Beth huffed, bustling around the small suite of rooms they’d been given and putting away Elinor’s few items with more force than was necessary. “And you should have let me tell her to give us another room. It isn’t right for you to have to share with me, my lady.”

  “You heard her. This is the only guestroom that has been finished, Beth. Apparently Mr. Worth is renovating the entire house to make it fit for him to live in,” she added under her breath.

  “Surely there’s room in the servant’s quarters?”

  “There’s a bed in the dressing room. Besides, we shan’t both be in the room at the same time, one of us will always be with Mr. Worth.”

  “Hmph! Not if that Mrs. Kennett has anything to say about it. The way she makes it sound neither of us has the—”

  Elinor thought she might just go mad. “Beth!”

  The older woman’s head jerked around, her eyes wide with surprise. “Yes, my lady?”

  Elinor forced herself to speak calmly. “Shouldn’t you relieve Mr. Worth’s valet? Doctor Venable told him one of us would take over shortly.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, of course. If you don’t need anything?”

  “I’m fine. Mrs. Kennett is having a tray sent up and then I will get some sleep. I’ll relieve you around five.”

  “You needn’t, my lady. I’m perfectly—”

  “I shall see you at five, Beth.”

  A loud sniff and head toss and Elinor was alone.

  She collapsed onto the bed and groaned, wishing she’d taken Jago’s suggestion.

  “You could return home and leave Beth here,” he’d said to Elinor once they’d stepped out into the hallway and left Stephen in the care of Nichols.

  Elinor had been more than a little tempted by his suggestion.

  She only realized her hand was resting on her stomach when she glanced down. She clenched her fingers and lowered her hand to her side before looking up, her face and neck hot.

  “I will stay.” She glanced away from his keen eyes, which had obviously caught the gesture. Neither of them said anything, but she knew they were both thinking similar thoughts: Worth was the father of her unborn child.

  Venable nodded. “I will feel better if you are here to keep a close eye on him, at least for the next forty-eight hours until we can rule out the chance of any damage to his head. I noticed some unusual pupil dilation in one of his eyes.”

  Elinor caught her breath. “But that could—”

  “Do not jump to the worst conclusion. Anisocoria can mean many things, Elinor. It’s even possible it is a condition that predates this accident. In any event, watch for signs of concussion and send somebody to fetch me if necessary.”

  Elinor smiled. “You are an earl now, Jago. I can hardly send a servant to fetch you.”

  He shoved his shaggy black hair from his forehead and made a noise of frustration. “It would be a relief to do something I am competent at. Besides, it appears I may need to continue my profession if I’m to keep Lenshurst Park in candles.”

  She grimaced. “As bad as that, is it?”

  “It is not good.”

  Elinor knew all too well how an estate could weigh upon a man and turn him bitter or mean. She could only hope her friend would avoid that fate.

  “Well, I had better get along,” he said when the silence became uncomfortable. “Don’t hesitate to send for me if you need me.”

  Elinor knew she wouldn’t send for him. After all, there was very little anyone could do for Stephen if he did have any sort of head injury. Only time and rest could heal such things.

  She stared up at the blue brocade canopy above her bed and considered the conversation. She hoped Jago had exaggerated the extent of his financial problems because there was only one way to pull a large estate out of such problems—as Elinor knew only too well. She hated to think Jago would be forced to marry for money.

  ∞∞∞

  “He slept through the night,” Beth said, the lavender half-moons beneath her eyes proof that she herself had not slept a wink.

  Elinor squeezed the older woman’s shoulder. “Go get some sleep, Beth.”

  For once her maid did not argue.

  The sun had yet to come up and Stephen’s room was lighted by a single candle and that behind a screen beside his bed. He lay in the same position he’d been in last night—as if he’d not moved. His chest moved up and down evenly and his brow was cool and dry to the touch; his fever seemed to have abated.

  Elinor sat in the chair beside the bed and put her book on the table. It was too dim to read and she would prefer to watch him, in any case.

  His copper hair was striking against the white bed linen but his skin was pale, nothing like his usual vibrant coloring. She could see his freckles, which were normally obscured by his heathy glow. His mouth—those strong, shapely lips—was far softer in repose and there were faint crescents etched at the corner, lines that came from that mocking, lopsided smile he was so adept at flashing. His jaw and chin glinted with flecks of red and gold and Elinor’s fingers twitched to stroke him.

  She sat on her hands.

  His right arm lay atop the blankets, splinted from his fingers to his elbow. He wore a nightshirt, which he’d not done during their three days together. It was fine white linen, open at the throat, exposing a tangle of auburn hair. She’d never seen him in even this much light. The darkness she’d hidden in when they’d made love had hidden him, as well.

  She bit her lip. What a pity she’d missed all those opportunities to explore him with her eyes. He was lovely, muscular and bronze and—

  She realized her breathing had quickened and forced herself to look away from him, studying instead the toes of her blue slippers. Beth had, naturally, packed her nicest day dresses and her best two pairs of slippers, neither of which she’d worn during the months she’d lived in Redruth.

  You should leave, the prudish, hectoring voice in her mind advised.

  Elinor knew that to be very good advice. Even asleep he could discountenance her. What would it be like when he was awake and—

  “Ellie?”

  Her head shot up.

  His green eyes were wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse. He lifted his arm, as if to shove back the hair on his forehead and winced. “What happened?” He looked at his arm, a wrinkle of confusion forming between his eyes.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “Yesterday—at the mine?”

  He blinked rapidly.

  Oh God, please don’t let him have lost his memory! Please don’t—

  “The men were trapped.” He shot her a frantic glance. “Are they, did they—”

  Elinor was almost dizzy with relief. She shook her head. “They’re fine, Stephen. All of them. In fact, you are the only one who was seriously injured.”

  He looked at his arm.

  “It was a clean break and should heal nicely.”

  He carefully laid his arm down. “Did you . . .”

  “No, Doctor Venable set it. You don’t recall any of it?”

  He stared at the ceiling, as if searching for
answers. “The last thing I remember is Fielding and I levering up the fallen section and then,” he paused, his forehead creasing, “and then there was a loud snapping sound.”

  “One of the timbers gave way and you were caught by it.”

  He nodded, turning away from the ceiling to look at her. “My mouth—there’s an odd taste?” He wrinkled his nose.

  “Laudanum. Doctor Venable gave you some when he set your arm.”

  “Ah, that explains my head.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Like the devil.” He grimaced, lifting his left hand to rub his temple.

  “Would you like me to fix you a headache powder?”

  He shook his head and then made a pained face. “I’ll just wait it out.”

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  “What I’d really like is some coffee.”

  Elinor hesitated. “One cup—but only if you eat something along with it.”

  His mouth twitched into a smile; there was the blasted dimple. Elinor went to the door before she gibbered like an infatuated fool. A footman sat on a chair beside the door and shot to his feet.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Would you please have the kitchen send up breakfast?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Beggin’ your pardon Mrs. Atwood, but is he—”

  “He’s alive and well and wants his coffee.”

  The young man grinned, his expression one of relief. “Very good, ma’am.” He was half-way down the hall before she’d even turned around. Elinor had noticed the servants appeared to adore their master.

  When she returned to the bed, he’d pushed himself up and was leaning against the massive mahogany headboard. He looked remarkably awake. And remarkably handsome.

  She frowned and went to the table Nichols had set up beneath the window. There were several vials labeled in Jago’s careful hand. Two doses of laudanum and a headache powder.

  “Elinor?”

  She schooled her face into an impassive expression and turned.

  “Yes, Mr. Worth.”

  His eyes reproached and caressed and pleaded. “Elinor.”

  She scowled. “I did not give you leave to use my name.”

  “I love you.” He spoke the words in a quiet dignified way that sucked the air from the room.

  She opened her mouth but no sounds came out.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t press my suit.” He threw both dimples at her this time. “At least not while you are here as an angel of mercy. But I don’t see the sense in pretending we are strangers. Besides, you used my name only a few moments ago.”

  The door opened and saved her from further gaping.

  “Good morning, Mr. Worth.” It was Mrs. Kennett, herself, carrying the tray.

  Elinor could only stare. How had the woman even made it from the kitchen to the bedroom in such a short time? Not to mention how she’d managed to assemble a tray of food.

  The housekeeper turned her beaming face from Stephen to Elinor and it was as if a cloud passed over the sun.

  “Mrs. Atwood,” she said flatly.

  Good Lord! What had the woman heard about Elinor to cause such frosty treatment?

  Stephen didn’t seem to notice. He grinned up at the older woman. “Mmm, it smells delicious, Kenny.”

  Mrs. Kennett preened at the nickname.

  Elinor couldn’t decide if she wanted to vomit or choke the smug, boyish look from his face. She did neither, instead, moving toward the bed to assist with the tray.

  “Sit up,” she ordered more sharply than she’d intended.

  He did so, his face a study in complacent satisfaction, as if having two women fretting over him was his natural due.

  Elinor rammed a cushion down between his back and the headboard and he grunted and gave her an innocent, questioning look.

  Mrs. Kennett came between them, her expression of mortification proclaiming more loudly than words what she thought of Elinor’s violent nursing.

  “Here, you are, sir. Cook has made your coffee nice and strong, just as you like it.” She lifted a lid from one of the chaffing dishes. “And here are two nice eggs with some soldiers.”

  Elinor glanced down; sure as anything, there were uniform slices of toasted bread along with two boiled eggs with their tops already removed, as if the invalid might not be able to wield a butter knife.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Thank you, Kenny.” He went to rub his hands together and then stopped, glancing from his incapacitated right hand to the tray.

  “Do you need assistance eating, sir?” Mrs. Kennett asked in a nauseatingly worshipful tone.

  Elinor would pack her bags before she’d witness such a thing.

  Stephen shot Elinor a sly look, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Thank you, Kenny, but I shall do just fine with my left hand.” His smile grew. “And Mrs. Atwood will be here to assist me if I should need help.”

  Mrs. Kennett made a hrmphing sound that showed what she thought of that. She cast several suspicious looks in Elinor’s direction before finally closing the door behind her.

  “Disgusting,” she muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?” Stephen looked up from the cup of coffee the housekeeper had poured for him.

  “Nothing.”

  He smirked. “Would you like a cup of coffee? It seems Kenny brought a pot.”

  Elinor considered rejecting the offer—just so she could reject the offer—but decided a cup of coffee was more important than putting him in his place.

  She poured herself a cup and sat down.

  They sipped in silence.

  He dipped one of his “soldiers” into the decapitated egg and offered the yolk-drenched tip to her, his auburn eyebrows forming elegant arches.

  She snorted. “You’d best concentrate on feeding yourself.”

  He grinned and bit the toast in half. Elinor studied him while he chewed, unable to look away. His hair stuck out at odd angles, he had a plaster on his forehead and bruises on his cheekbone and chin, yet he was still as enticing as an open flame.

  Elinor wished suddenly—and fiercely—that their child would inherit his coloring, his physical beauty, and, yes, even his clever, relentlessly scheming mind.

  He cocked his head at her and swallowed his mouthful of food. “What are you thinking about to make you look so intense?”

  “I was thinking I need to go and feed Daisy and Matilda,” she lied.

  His eyebrows dipped. “Daisy and Matilda?” He slathered another sliver of toast in egg yolk and again offered it to her.

  She shook her head. “My pig and cat.”

  “Mmmmmph.” He chewed and washed down the mouthful of food with a swig of coffee before wiping his mouth. “Send one of the servants to do that.”

  Elinor’s eyes narrowed at his arrogant, peremptory tone and he lifted both hands in a placating gesture and then winced, lowering his right arm back to the bed.

  “I’m sorry, Elinor, I didn’t mean to command. I only meant to offer.”

  She bit her tongue, reminding herself she was here to help him rest, not to bicker with him.

  “I would have a bite of toast and egg.”

  He brightened and quickly prepared another soldier. When he handed it to her she took the toast with her fingers, ignoring his obvious disappointment that she hadn’t allowed him to feed her.

  “I’d like to thank you for coming, Elinor.”

  She chewed, glad her mouth was full of food so she didn’t have to answer.

  “I know you’re very busy and this is an inconvenience.” He paused. “As much as I would love for you to stay, I want you to know Mrs. Kennett and Nichols would be able to take care of me. I daresay I will be up and about tomorrow, if not today.”

  Emotions warred inside her at his words. Did he want her to go?

  “Although I do wish you would stay.”

  She blinked. Was her face really that easy for him to read?

  She finished her piece of toast before speaking
. “Doctor Venable is concerned you might have a concussion.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, he noticed some unequal pupil dilation in your eyes, which is sometimes a sign of head trauma.”

  “Is that so?” he asked politely, as if they were discussing the weather rather than possible brain damage.

  “Yes, that is so,” she said a bit tartly. “I’m to stay and observe you until the immediate danger has passed.”

  “Excellent!” He smiled as though she’d just told him his horse had won pots of money at Epsom.

  Elinor’s lips twitched.

  “How long am I in immediate danger?” He poured himself a second, unauthorized, cup of coffee.

  She looked pointedly at the cup. “If you survive until tomorrow you will most likely be fine.”

  “Any chance of a relapse?” He raised his cup, a hopeful look on his face.

  “Only if something else hits you on the head.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Redruth

  1817

  Mrs. Kennett came to relieve Elinor a full hour before the agreed-upon time.

  “He’s been sleeping since he finished his lunch,” Elinor told her after they’d stepped out into the hallway to converse. Indeed, Stephen had fallen asleep directly after breakfast and only woken long enough to eat again and fall asleep. The rest was not only good for him, but also good for her frazzled nerves. It was far easier to watch him sleep than to talk to him.

  The housekeeper nodded stiffly and Elinor once again wondered why the woman seemed to dislike her.

  “Doctor Venable—that is, Lord Trebolton—asked that I stay through tomorrow. My maid will be going back to my cottage, so there will only be me for dinner. I will relieve you at ten o’clock.”

  Mrs. Kennett opened her mouth, an argumentative gleam in her eye, but then must have seen something in Elinor’s expression that made her close it and nod.

  Elinor left the woman to tend to her patient and went to find Beth.

  She wasn’t surprised to find her in the dressing room, but she was not asleep. Instead, she was ironing Elinor’s best gown.

  She looked up when Elinor entered the generously sized room. “Good afternoon, my lady. You’ll be wanting a nap. I’ll finish this later so you can lie down.”