by Sunny Brooks
“No, please,” Rebecca replied hastily, bending to pick up the books so that he would not help. “I am quite able to – ouch!”
Unfortunately for her, Lord Catesby had leaned forward just as she had done and their foreheads had collided. It felt as though she had been hit across the head by a large rock. Stars sparkled in her vision as she rubbed furiously at the growing lump on her forehead, seeing Lord Catesby do the same, albeit with a lesser intensity.
“I am truly sorry,” he said, his voice muffled through his shirt sleeve as he rubbed his forehead. “I thought that I was assisting you, Mrs. Harrington.”
“I do not require your assistance, Lord Catesby,” she replied, as firmly as she could. “Why do you not seat yourself and I will find you something to drink?” Seeing him nod, she let out a small sigh of relief and picked up the books again, despite the ache in her head.
Suddenly, she found herself desperate to be away from him. At another time would she look into her heart and find out why she was feeling such things for the lord of the manor. A jumble of frustration, irritation, and a growing confusion over the sudden warmth she had felt when he’d smiled at her made her head ache all the more. Setting the books on the shelf, she turned to see Lord Catesby still standing, looking at her with a puzzled frown.
Her heart turned over.
“Might I assist you into a chair, Lord Catesby?” she asked, thinking she ought to, at the very least, pretend to be helpful. “Do you wish for another brandy? Or I could fetch you a tray of coffee if you would prefer it?”
Grunting, he let her help him sit down, his hand catching hers as he did so. When she rose to stand, he did not let it go but rather looked at her or a long time, considering things carefully.
“You are unhappy, I think,” he said, patting her hand. “And I think that has a very good deal to do with me.”
She shook her head, not quite sure what to make of the heated sensations running up and down her arm as he held her fingers tightly. “I am quite content, my lord.”
“But not at peace, Mrs. Harrington,” he stated, firmly, his eyes drifting closed for a moment as he tried to look up at her. “You have not found contentment, just as I have not. You are struggling with something.” His eyes opened again and the intensity of them burned into her soul all over again. “Pray tell me, what is the matter, Mrs. Harrington? I am quite sure I will be able to help you should you wish to discuss the matter with me.”
Rebecca made to dismiss the question outright, only for her to find a moment’s pause. There was sincerity in his expression, despite his slightly drunken state and for a second, she found herself desperately longing to tell him everything that was on her heart. It was foolish to even consider it, of course, for she was nothing more than a housekeeper to him and she could not tell what he would do with such information should she tell him.
But despite her fears, the urge was there. It grew steadily as she looked down into his face and felt his fingers grasping hers tightly. He was no longer the calm and collected gentleman who said very little and often appeared to be ill at ease with her, but rather his expression was open, his small smile appearing genuine as he looked up at her waiting for her response.
“You are very kind, Lord Catesby,” she said, slowly, “But I feel as though such matters are not for your consideration. You have more than enough to deal with, I am quite sure.”
He shook his head firmly, although his eyes took a moment to refocus on her. “No, indeed, Mrs. Harrington, you are quite mistaken. I wish to know what troubles you. I saw it in your face the moment I mentioned Lord Rapson. Is there something wrong with that particular gentleman? Do you truly fear him? Is that it?”
A little unsure as to what to say, she hesitated for a moment, only for Lord Catesby to speak again.
“I cannot remove you from my mind, Mrs. Harrington,” he said, hoarsely, his voice and expression now terribly earnest. “Release me from my torture. Tell me what it is that troubles you. I can assure you I will do all I can to aid you in this.”
Her smile became sad, her heart slowly dropping down to the floor. “You are very gracious, Lord Catesby, but I am afraid that such matters do not require your input. Lord Rapson, I know nothing of. I believe what you are speaking of was when I was simply feeling a little overwhelmed by all that was to occur. I am so afraid that I shall not have the dinner as perfect as you hope it will be. The additional guest was a little…. surprising, I will admit.”
She had not meant to speak too plainly but given just how open Lord Catesby appeared to be at this very moment, she had found the words tripping from her tongue regardless. Blushing furiously, she made to tug her hand from his but found that he held her fast.
“I did not inform you of Lord Rapson’s arrival in due time, did I?” Lord Catesby murmured, sounding most apologetic. “Tell me, is cook utterly furious with me? Did she begin to throw flour all over the kitchen in anger? Did you have to dodge a swipe of her rolling pin?”
A little astonished at Lord Catesby’s carefree and mirthful comments, Rebecca struggled to keep her face expressionless. “Cook is quite content, my lord, I assure you.”
His eyes glinted with humor, his lips curving into a wide grin as he retained hold of her hand. “Are you quite sure, Mrs. Harrington? You did not need to have a glass of wine and a lie down after telling cook the news that there would be one additional guest?”
She could not help but laugh, despite the awkwardness of the situation. Cook was, in fact, known to have a dragon-like temper and could put fear into any man’s soul should they anger her, but Rebecca knew that the lady would never once show such a failing to the lord of the house. And yet, the picture he had drawn her with his words made her laugh. It echoed around the room and had the surprising effect of allowing her to look at Lord Catesby in a very different light. It was almost with fondness that she took in his grinning face, his bright blue eyes and disheveled hair. This was a very different Lord Catesby from the gentleman she was used to.
“You are quite remarkable, Mrs. Harrington.”
His words cut her laughter dead, seeing something burning in his eyes that both confused and unsettled her.
“I confess that I find you quite…..extraordinary,” he continued, his voice now a little thick. “What am I to do with you, Mrs. Harrington?”
She could not breathe. Her chest was tight, her throat constricting as he slowly got to his feet to gaze down into her eyes. The air was crackling with tension, the heat from the fire washing over them both and seeming to set her body alight.
“You impossible, impossible woman,” he whispered, tugging her even closer. “Why can I not forget you?”
His lips were brushing hers before she could react. Her body froze stiff, her arms down by her sides as he held her there. What was she doing? Why was he doing this? What did he mean that he was unable to forget her?
Slowly, her body began to relax, his lips a little more persistent as he kissed her again. The stiffness left her frame, warmth slowly unfurling in her belly as one of his hands slipped about her waist.
And then the reality of what she was doing crashed over her like an icy wave.
She was kissing Lord Catesby, the gentleman who was both her employer and, in a way, her protector, even though he did not know it. This was not a good situation. He could easily turn around and tell her that he had made a mistake and did not want her to remain here any longer under his roof.
She jerked away from him, one hand pressed to her lips as horror sank into her bones. Was he doing this purposefully, so that he had a reason to ask her to leave? It would not be the first time a gentleman had attempted to press his attentions onto his staff – and more the fool her for allowing herself to become so caught by his advances.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, backing away from him. “Lord Catesby, I –”
His face was flushed, his eyes boring into hers without a single hint of regret within them.
But why would he
regret it, if this was his intention all along?
“Excuse me, please,” she whispered, turning on her heel and practically running from the room, tears filling her eyes as she stumbled away, torn apart by her own foolishness and regret.
Chapter 5
Francis woke on Friday with a blinding headache. It did not dissipate even though he drank copious amounts of coffee and it was only when he was in his study, attempting to read some of the papers that were requiring his attention, that it began to fade.
The throbbing behind his eyes was still painful and, despite the fact that it was a little less agonizing than before, he ran the bell in order to request a cool compress. He was in no fit state to greet his brother and his wife, his mother and now Lord Rapson, for which he had no-one to blame but himself. In his struggle to prevent himself from considering Mrs. Harrington, he had turned in desperation to the one thing he knew would wipe his mind completely – brandy.
Clearly, he had drunk far too much of it. Last evening was almost a blur, although he was quite certain he had spoken to the lady in question at some point. The last thing he had recalled was staggering into the library, not quite sure where he was going or what he was doing. Had Mrs. Harrington been within? Was that when he had seen her?
“Ah, Mrs. Harrington,” he mumbled, as she answered the bell pull. “No, it is not more coffee that I require. Might you, in fact, fetch me something cool to put across my brow?”
To his surprise, his housekeeper seemed incredibly ill at ease. She was jittery, moving from foot to foot as though something was terribly wrong. He did not know what to make of this and looked at her through slightly narrowed eyes. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Harrington stared at him for a moment, frozen in place with wide eyes. “N – no, my lord,” she managed to say with an effort. “It is just that I thought…..” Trailing off and with a look of pure relief on her face, she turned from him and made her way back through the door. “I will fetch you something at once.”
The minutes ticked by slowly. Francis closed his eyes and tried not to think of the lady who had just left his presence, reminding himself that this was how he had managed to get himself into such a sorry state in the first place. How much time he had wasted either chastising himself for thinking of her or allowing his mind to return to her again!
She had such a quiet beauty about her that it almost drew him towards her, almost forcing him to have her near him. They had talked many times but always about nothing of importance – menus, maids, staffing, guests. There was nothing of significance, not really. Of course, for a lord of the realm, that should not make any particular difference. What gentleman wanted to talk to those beneath him? And yet, he could not remove the desire from himself. She caught his attention like no other lady before.
Frowning, Francis opened his eyes as a memory tried to make its way into his mind. A memory of Mrs. Harrington standing near him. It began to piece itself together with such slowness that he wanted to scream, feeling it burning in his mind with more fierceness than he had expected. For whatever reason, his heart began to quicken, his stomach knotting itself painfully as he tried to remember.
“Here you are, my lord.”
Mrs. Harrington stepped back into the room with a small bowl and a wet cloth.
“I have tried my best to have it as cold as could be,” she continued, her feet faltering just a little as she moved towards him. “Where shall I place it?”
A small smile tugged at his mouth, the memory gone altogether. “Here,” he said, pointing at his forehead. “Would you mind terribly, Mrs. Harrington? I know I ask a lot of you, but my head is aching terribly, and I fear that if I move, it may fall from my shoulders altogether!”
Her lips quirked but soon returned to the thin, tight expression that she had worn ever since she had come into the room. “Of course, my lord,” she murmured, wringing out the cloth carefully so that the remaining water stayed in the bowl. “If you would just lean back in your chair.”
The way she moved closer to him had his breath catching. The fragmented memory of last evening began to return to him, and he stared at her, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes and finding that such a look brought him a sense of awareness, as though he should know something.
“Mrs. Harrington,” he said, holding up one hand to stop her approach, ignoring the stab of pain right between his eyes. “Did I…?” He trailed off, not quite sure what to say and saw her step back just a little, her cheeks paling.
“I was rather drunk last evening,” he continued slowly, seeing her glance away and lick her lips, evidence of her nervousness. “You were present, I think.”
A jerky nod.
“Did I treat you terribly?”
All of a sudden, her face was aflame. “Indeed not, my lord. You cannot recall last night, it seems, so I hardly think that it matters.”
That was not an answer at all, he realized, growing coldly aware that whilst he had either done or said something he ought not to have done, Mrs. Harrington was not about to tell him what it was. That was the thing with staff. They always were to ignore their employer’s less than perfect behavior, even if they had been injured in some way.
Closing his eyes tightly, he let his breath shudder out of him, feeling suddenly lost and a little afraid. “Did I hurt you in some way, Mrs. Harrington?” he asked, hoarsely. “Please, say I did not bring you any kind of injury!” He could see her now, in his mind’s eye, looking down at him. What had he been doing? Had he fallen? Had she come to his aid in some way?”
Mrs. Harrington’s face was still a delicate shade of pink. “My lord, pray do not ask me any more questions. You did not injure me in any way, I can assure you.”
A small wave of relief crashed over him, despite the frustration that he still was quite unaware of what he had done. “Very well, Mrs. Harrington,” he muttered, shaking his head at himself. “If you will not tell me and I cannot recall, then it appears we are at an impasse. Whatever behavior I exhibited, however, I must beg for your forgiveness, for I can see that it affected you somewhat.”
Mrs. Harrington did not deny this, her eyes darting from here to there before continuing on with her task of laying the cool cloth on his forehead.
The reprieve was immediate. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes and let the coolness take some of the pain away. “Thank you, Mrs. Harrington,” he murmured, lifting his hand and accidentally catching hers with his fingers. He did not jerk away from her, however, even though he knew he ought to. Instead, he lingered for a moment, feeling the softness of her hand and marveling at it, given that she was a housekeeper and not an elegant lady.
It was she who stepped back first. “Of course, my lord,” she replied, in a hoarse voice. “Is there anything else I can get you? The staff is all hard at work preparing for this evening, and I am quite sure that everything will go to plan.”
He did not open his eyes, feeling the warmth flood his soul at what had been the briefest of touches. “Thank you, Mrs. Harrington. No, there is nothing more. You may go.”
Waiting to see if she would respond to him, he was filled with disappointment to hear the door close quietly behind her. It irritated him that he could not recall what he had done, upset him that he had somehow upset Mrs. Harrington, and still the desire to have her in his arms and in his life continued to grow steadfastly.
The ache in his head intensified with such thoughts and so, with a good deal of strength, Francis pushed the lady from his mind. He had to recover quickly so that he would be able to meet his guests. They would soon be here, and he could not exactly be found lying in the study with a cool cloth over his eyes, although silently, Francis vowed not to drink so much brandy again. It had done him no good – and done Mrs. Harrington no good either. Perhaps, with his friend Lord Rapson here, he would be able to forget about Mrs. Harrington entirely, and all would go on as normal, just as he had always intended.
Chapter 6
“Mark!”
Rebecca s
tumbled towards her brother, tears pouring down her cheeks unabated. It had been some months since she had last seen him, but the complete separation had been difficult to bear. She had seen his carriage arrive and had allowed him to see her from a distance, pointing towards the gardens so that he would know where to find her. At last, he was here.
“My dear sister,” he said, grasping her hands before holding her close for a moment. “My dear, brave sister. How are you?”
She shook her head, trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand but finding it almost impossible to do so such was the sheer number of them. “I am well, brother. Whatever are you doing here?”
The jut of his jaw had her stomach tensing.
“Our dear cousin has made it plain that he intends to pursue you no matter where you are,” Mark replied, darkly. “He wants your fortune, Rebecca. I have offered him a sum of money to stay away from the both of us, but he refused it outright.”
Rebecca closed her eyes tightly, refusing to cry over a cruel man’s actions. “I see. That was good of you, Mark. You did not need to do so. I am quite safe here I am sure, and it is only a few months until I am of age. I shall have my fortune and will be able to live wherever I please.”
To her chagrin, her brother’s expression did not change. There was not even a hint of a smile on his face.
“He intends to pursue you regardless of whether or not you have your fortune in hand,” he said, slowly. “Wed to him, you will be forced to give up your wealth. You know how the law sees husbands and wives.”
Unfortunately, Rebecca did know. She had seen it all too often – a downtrodden, mistreated young wife who was seen as nothing more than her husband’s property, to do with as he pleased. To be married to Stephen Jefferson would give him the liberty to treat her in any way he saw fit. She did not have to imagine what that would involve.