The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  “I’m not sleepy, Beth,” she said, sitting on the royal blue velvet bench in front of the vanity. “I’m going to take a walk first. Did you happen to bring my half-boots?”

  Beth grimaced. “Aye.” She rummaged through the bag and extracted Elinor’s homely, worn walking boots.

  “Thank you, I will manage them, go ahead and finish your ironing.” Elinor kicked off her slippers. “When you are done with the dress, I’d like you to go back home. Somebody will need to feed Daisy and Matilda is probably frantic by now.”

  To her surprise, Beth merely nodded. “Aye. Doctor Venable already sent Mr. Worth’s postilion over yesterday to check on them.”

  Elinor looked up from her half-laced boot. “Ben Piddock?”

  Beth nodded. “It seems the boy is going to work for his lordship.”

  That was odd—why would Jago want a postilion if he was having money problems? And why would he hire Stephen’s employee if he did want a post boy? She shrugged and resumed lacing her boot. Men and horses and carriages and such; who knew what they did or why they did it?

  She took her cloak from the peg and tied on her rather worn bonnet.

  “I’ll send fresh clothes back with the footman, my lady.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t bother,” Elinor said, tying the faded brown ribbon beneath her chin. “I doubt I’ll need more than what you’ve already brought. I’ll most likely be leaving tomorrow.”

  Again Beth surprised her and merely grunted, rather than arguing.

  The gardens around Oakland were reputed to be some of the finest in the area. Elinor could see they’d suffered from long-term neglect although a veritable army of gardeners swarmed both the park that lay off to west as well as the cultivated areas on the south and east sides. She opted for the small section of wood that lay between the house and the road.

  The sun was unseasonably warm and she’d not gone very far before she regretted bringing her heavy cloak. Still, it was too beautiful and she was too restless to go back to the house so she tossed the flaps over her shoulders and pushed deeper into the spectacular stand of Cornish Elms.

  Spending time with Stephen today—even when he’d been sleeping—had made her realize she could not live in such proximity to him before he would eventually wear down her defenses. Unfortunately, she could also not go back to Trentham, either. That left her with the choice of going somewhere new.

  She gazed up at the thick canopy of leaves over her head. Although it was heading into winter in the rest of England the trees in Cornwall still held on to much of their foliage. She’d grown to love Cornwall in the brief time she’d lived here. She did not want to move. She also didn’t think Beth could survive another move. Oh, she’d come with Elinor—she was too loyal to leave her—but she’d be deeply unhappy.

  Elinor knew Stephen Worth wasn’t the only one hoping she’d change her mind and marry him. Beth was another, and Elinor even got the feeling Jago’s true feelings were that she owed it to her unborn child to give him or her a father—although not necessarily Stephen. Yes, Jago would marry her and she knew he would be a kind and good husband. But it was hardly fair to marry one man when you were in love with another.

  She stooped and picked up a twig, viciously stripping it to bits as she trudged through the trees, chased by thoughts of marriage and duty.

  She’d married for duty once before and look where it had gotten her. Oh, it was true her first marriage had not been her choice to make. But she could have fought it, even if it would have left her an outcast in her own family. Instead, she’d married Edward to save the family fortunes. Was this any different?

  Stephen was not the monster Edward had been, but he was still a man and he would expect his wife to obey him. She’d never seen him become heated. Indeed, even at his angriest he’d become cold rather than violent. He wouldn’t beat her, or, God forbid, their child. His servants and employees adored him, so he wasn’t cruel. Edward had been notoriously unkind, selfish, and brutal—nothing about his treatment after they’d married had been a surprise.

  Still, Stephen’s coldly, carefully plotted revenge was something she could not—indeed, should not—forget. Even though he’d come to care for her in their time together—and she knew he had—his feelings had done nothing to stop his unforgiveable behavior.

  Is it really so unforgivable? Yes, he behaved like a beast, but he certainly had motivation after what your family did to him. He could have shamed you publicly but didn’t. If word of your three nights got out it would be Charles or your family who said anything—not Stephen.

  Elinor snorted at the weaseling voice. So, I should be grateful he didn’t behave more appallingly and forgive him, is that what you’re saying?

  The sound of a baby crying broke into her futile mental argument and she stepped off the well-worn path, following the sound through the trees to a tiny cottage. Elinor caught her breath—it was utterly charming, like the oversized dollhouse she’d had as a child. There was a tiny porch with vine-covered trellises and a rocking chair where a woman sat with a squalling bundle. Elinor was about to turn around when the woman looked up and smiled.

  “Hello,” she called, her voice that of a girl, or at least a very young woman.

  As Elinor came closer, she saw the other woman was beautiful—one of the loveliest she’d ever seen. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

  The girl—she couldn’t have been more than sixteen—giggled. She tossed an escaped blond curl over her shoulder. “You’m not trespassing, mum. This be Mr. Worth’s land.” She gave Elinor a shy glance from beneath lashes that were thick like tiny blonde brooms. “You’m the doctor lady, aye?”

  Elinor smiled and bent low to look at the child. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Atwood. And your baby is very lovely.” She spoke the truth. The child had the same shock of strawberry blonde hair and china blue eyes as her mother. “What’s her name?”

  “Emblyn, after me mabm vejydh.”

  Elinor’s eyebrows shot up and the girl laughed at whatever she saw on Elinor’s face.

  “What your sort call a godmother, mum.”

  “Ah, I see.” Elinor glanced at the blue-and-yellow gingerbread trim that edged the top of the porch. “And is this your godmother’s house?”

  She shook her head and one of her curls brushed the baby’s cheek and made her gurgle. “No, mum, my own home, Mr. Worth seen to it. Oh!” Her hand flew to her lips, which were pink, bow-shaped pillows.

  “Is something the matter?” Elinor asked.

  The girl kept her hand over her mouth tightly, as if more words might slip out, and violently shook her head. Her enormous blue eyes shimmered with tears.

  “My goodness, there is no need to be afraid. Please, don’t cry, I won’t—”

  “Kerensa! What are you doing?”

  Elinor jumped at the voice, knowing before she turned who it belonged to.

  “Mrs. Kennett,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise.

  The older woman’s eyes swiveled between Elinor and the girl and back. “I didn’t leave Mr. Worth alone,” she said, defensive. “Doctor Venable was there and said I might return in an hour.” The look she fixed on Elinor told her it was her turn to explain her presence.

  Elinor refused to do so. Instead, she turned to the girl—Kerensa. “It was a pleasure to meet you and your baby.” She smiled into the girl’s wide, startled eyes, and nodded to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Kennett.”

  Elinor felt two sets of eyes on her back as she left the small glade.

  ∞∞∞

  Stephen eyed Venable from beneath lowered lids as he re-wrapped the bandage on his right arm.

  “How is your head feeling today, Mr. Worth?” The doctor asked the question without looking up.

  “A bit muzzy, but otherwise I feel fine.”

  He saw the other man’s lips curl. “And your vision? Any problems?”

  Stephen hesitated. What was he getting at? “No, it’s the same as usual.”

 
Venable glanced up. “Which means you can’t see out of one of your eyes?”

  Stephen’s mouth opened.

  “I guessed as much from our brief, er, confrontation in Trentham.”

  Stephen snorted. “You mean when you gave me a leveler?”

  “Come, Mr. Worth, you’ve got a good three stone on me and we both know the only reason I knocked you down was because you let me. You never even flinched when I swung—I thought about it later and realized you never saw my fist coming.”

  His dry words and wry expression made Stephen laugh. “I deserved what you did and more.”

  “Yes, you did,” Venable agreed, fastening off the bandage that held the splint in place.

  “So why are you helping me, Venable—or Trebolton now, I guess? That is what you’re doing, isn’t it? Getting Elinor here by falsely claiming my brain is addled?”

  The quiet aristocrat flushed at Stephen’s taunting tone. “To be perfectly honest, Worth—or is it Vale now, I guess?” He smiled, his tone a mocking echo. “I’m not entirely sure your brain is not addled after what you did to her.”

  Stephen’s blood rushed to his head at the other man’s words. But he bit his tongue. You deserve that and more, he told himself. Yes, he did. He took a deep breath to calm the near-deafening pounding in his head.

  “You’re correct, my lord.” He looked down at his left hand, which had clenched into a fist without him realizing it.

  Trebolton stood. “Yes, well, all men are fools at one time or another. Tell me about your eye,” he said, turning away to place his instruments and rolls of cloth in his black leather bag.

  Stephen shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “When did it happen?”

  “The night of June 11, 1802.”

  Trebolton nodded, not looking terribly surprised. But Stephen knew he’d read Elinor’s statement to the magistrate. “What happened?”

  “The former Earl of Trentham kicked me in the head. When I woke up, my vision had an enormous black spot in the middle. I suffered a couple more knocks a week later and then there was nothing.”

  “Any changes with this latest blow to the head?”

  Stephen glanced up quickly. “No. Will there be?”

  “Probably not, if there hasn’t been already. Sometimes a subsequent trauma will change things, but usually not so long after the initial injury. My guess is the damage is permanent after so many years.” He paused. “Does she know?”

  “About my vision?”

  Trebolton nodded.

  “No, I didn’t tell her.”

  The earl opened his mouth but then closed it without speaking.

  “What?” Stephen demanded.

  “I was going to say that perhaps you should tell her. And then I realized it was none of my business.” He snapped his bag shut and stood. “I shan’t call again, unless she sends for me. You may get up any time you like.”

  Stephen nodded.

  “By the way, Ben Piddock came asking for a job at Lenshurst Park. It seems your man, Fielding, gave him the sack.”

  Stephen knew he’d sustained a knock on the head, but he distinctly recalled the surly man quitting. Fielding had sacked an employee on his way out the door? He frowned up at the earl. “Now I’m without a postilion?”

  “So it would seem,” Trebolton said coolly.

  “Why do you need a postilion?” he snapped, annoyed by the other man’s superior tone. He immediately wished he could take back the impertinent question. He’d heard about the earl’s situation and knew the man was as poor as a church mouse.

  Trebolton turned without answering, clearly finished with both the matter and Stephen.

  He was about to close the door when Stephen stopped him. “Why?”

  The earl sighed loudly but turned. “Why did I hire the boy?”

  “Not that, why are you helping me?”

  “I’m doing it for her—not for you.” Trebolton’s spectacles glinted and Stephen couldn’t see his eyes. “She doesn’t know how hard life will be for her and the child if she continues alone. And she will not marry me, although I have asked repeatedly.” He shrugged. “Perhaps she will marry you.” He turned away, leaving Stephen with his mouth hanging open.

  “You cheeky bastard,” Stephen muttered, glad the other man was gone after delivering such a bomb. He might be injured, but he might not have been able to resist trying to deliver his own leveler.

  He considered the doctor’s parting words. As annoying as it was to hear he’d had the audacity to ask for Elinor’s hand in marriage, Stephen did feel a bit more optimistic to hear he wasn’t the only one she insisted on not marrying.

  There might be hope for him, but he had so very little time to make his mark on her heart and no idea how to do it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Redruth, Cornwall

  1817

  Elinor had just stepped out of her bath—a luxury she’d not enjoyed since leaving the Dower House—when there was a knock on the door and one of the maids entered.

  She curtsied to Elinor and held up a gown—one of Elinor’s best gowns. In fact, it was the one she’d worn to dinner that last evening in London, the only item of clothing she couldn’t bear to part with.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” the girl said, her eyes going to Elinor’s towel-clad person and blushing. “But Miss MacFarlane sent this along for you.”

  “Thank you. You may hang it in the dressing room and go.”

  The girl hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s just that Mr. Worth has invited you to join him for dinner, ma’am.”

  “I will be joining him at ten. But I will have eaten by then.”

  The girl looked unhappy.

  Elinor let out a heavy sigh. “I take it he meant in the dining room?”

  She nodded, her expression of relief almost comical.

  “Very well. And you are here to assist me?”

  Again she nodded, a hopeful smile spreading across her face.

  “What is your name?”

  “Betsy, ma’am.”

  “Well, Betsy, you’d better start with my hair.”

  ∞∞∞

  The girl chattered nonstop while her clever hands dressed Elinor’s straight, heavy hair.

  “Have you worked at Oakland long?” Elinor asked when there was a break in the conversation.

  The girl looked up from the small cask of jewelry Beth had sent along with the dress and undergarments. “Only since Mr. Worth bought the place, ma’am. Me parents would never let me work here before.” She rooted through the sparse collection of jewels. Elinor felt a pang when she recalled the star sapphires and how lovely they’d looked with this gown.

  “Why is that, Betsy?” she asked, forcing her thoughts away from the lovely jewels and the fact she’d sold them.

  “’Cause of Mr. Cantwell.” The girl pulled a simple strand of pearls from the jewel box and frowned at them.

  “Because of Mr. Cantwell?” Elinor persisted, nodding when Betsy held up the pearls for her approval.

  “Aye, mum,” Betsy said, her eyes on Elinor’s reflection and her mind on something else as she lapsed into the local patois for “Missus.” “It wern’t good for girls here. Leastways not young ones.”

  Elinor half turned, until she’d garnered the girl’s attention. “You mean Mr. Cantwell interfered with his servants?”

  The girl’s face flamed and her eyes widened, as if she’d only just realized what she’d been saying and whom she’d been saying it to.

  “Oh, please, mum, I’d get that much of a wallopin’ if Mrs. Kennett knew I’d said such things. Please don’t—”

  “Shhh, Betsy,” Elinor said, turning back to the mirror. “Of course I won’t run and tell tales to Mrs. Kennett.”

  “Oh, thank you, mum. I’ve a way of runnin’ on, so me tas says.” She stepped back to admire her work and it was clear that Elinor would get no more out of her tonight.

  ∞∞∞


  Stephen was surprised when Elinor actually came to dinner. He’d told the stables to be prepared with a carriage if she decided she wanted to go home. He wanted her here, but he would not keep her if she meant to go.

  She wore the purplish-blue gown—the one that made her look like a serious, beautiful fairy. She was as slim as she’d been that night and he couldn’t help wondering if she wasn’t eating enough.

  He went to meet her as the maid left her at the door. He held out his arm and she laid one small kid-gloved hand on his sleeve. He was surprised to see her wearing the matching gloves he’d bought, as she’d not done so the first time.

  “I wore them for Betsy, not for you.”

  He looked up to find her piercing gray eyes on him.

  “Ah,” he said, grinning at her ability to read his simple male mind. “I’ve heard it said more than once that women dress for other women, rather than men. I didn’t know that included one’s maid.”

  “You’ve obviously never had extensive dealings with a lady’s maid.” Her eyes flickered over the long dining room table, which had settings for only two, and her expressive sable eyebrows arched.

  He pulled out her chair. “Yes, we are dining a deux. While I feel well enough to dress and leave my bed I’m not sure I am up to formal entertaining.”

  She snorted and snapped her napkin before laying it across her lap.

  Laughter—even if it came in the form of a sarcastic snort—was better than silence. He was a pitiful husk of his former self in many ways, one of those being his ridiculous hunger for attention from her. Attention of any kind. He loved her scoffs, rebuffs, abuse—anything was better than nothing. Yes, he was pathetic, but he’d never been happier in his life than when he was with her. He smiled at the thought and nodded to the footman to begin serving before turning back to her.

  “I wanted you to know I’m not disobeying orders by being up and about. Both Doctor Venable and Lord Trebolton told me I was free to leave the sickroom.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that. He must believe the concussion threat has passed.”