Dilemma of the Earl's Heart (House of Catesby Book 6)

by Sunny Brooks

  “But why have you come here?” she asked, hoarsely, not understanding the reason for his presence. “I was quite safe here.”

  He shook his head. “Cousin Jefferson is doing all he can to try and force me to reveal where you are. The last thing he did was attempt to burn down my home.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “A fire?”

  “Fortunately, it was put out very quickly,” he said, calmly, one hand on her arm. “You need not concern yourself, my dear, the damage was not great. However, I thought it best to avoid the manor house for a time. I need to secrete myself away and, in addition, I needed to warn you about Jefferson’s heightened determination. I confess I am quite at a loss as to what to do. I called him to a duel, but he simply laughed and refused to meet me. He does not care about his reputation, of course, for all he wants is you and your money.”

  “But I will not marry him,” Rebecca whispered, her voice not strong enough to speak with any firmness. “I cannot. I will not.”

  “You may very well do,” her brother replied, darkly. “After seeing what he can do and what he intends to do, I would suggest that you are on your guard, my dear sister. Together I am certain we can find a way through this. We can find a way to set Jefferson apart from us for good – but I could not think of a way on my own.”

  Closing her eyes, Rebecca dragged in air, trying to keep her thoughts in careful order. There was so much he had said, so much she would have to try and take in, and yet it was difficult to see past the lurching fear that now filled her.

  “We can ask the dowager also,” her brother continued, trying to reassure her. “She has been more than helpful already. And,” he finished, looking a little awkward. “We ought to tell Lord Catesby also. He may be able to advise us.”

  “No.”

  The word shot from her mouth like a speeding bullet. Shaking her head fervently, she shut her mind off from considering what Lord Catesby would do should he discover her deceit.

  “Why ever not?” her brother asked, with a frown. “He is a good man, Rebecca. Good and kind-hearted, with a steady character and true moral compass. You need not shirk from him.”

  She shook her head again. “No,” she replied, with as much firmness as she could muster. “Here, I am safe. What if things become worse and all and sundry in this house know the truth of who I am? That will make things all the more difficult for both of us, even for the dowager. Besides, we cannot guess at Lord Catesby’s reaction.”

  Given that she was quite sure he was still attempting to remove her from her position in his house, Rebecca did not want to imagine what he would think or say or do should he find out the truth, not when it was so apparent that he was dissatisfied with her already. Even now, she believed that he wished to get rid of her in whatever way he could, finding herself waiting for him to dismiss her.

  Her brother shook his head, clearly disagreeing with her decision. “Very well, my dear sister. If you wish to remain as you are, then I cannot disagree with you. However, if the time comes to tell Lord Catesby the truth, then I will not step back from that.”

  If, as you say, our cousin does not yet know of my whereabouts, it is not quite likely that he has followed you here?”

  At that, her brother shook his head fervently. “When last I saw him, he was blind drunk in the gatehouse by our home. I took the opportunity to leave soon after. The staff knows only that I intend to go to London and have no knowledge of my intentions to come here. I do not think that you need worry, my dear.”

  A slightly frustrated look crossed his face, as though he had been unsure as to what to do when it came to their cousin and, putting one hand on her shoulder, he dropped his head. “In truth, Rebecca, I was afraid for my life. I had no knowledge of how you fared, and the attempt on my life made me afraid for you.” Sighing, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I will need your wisdom when it comes to dealing with our cousin once and for all,” he finished, hopelessly. “Everything else I have tried has failed utterly.”

  For a fleeting moment, Rebecca recalled what it had been like to have Lord Catesby kiss her. She considered if there was anything in his kiss that could possibly be the answer to their difficulties. But then she remembered that not only had he been drunk but that she believed it to be a reason for him to dismiss her. Why he had not used it as yet, she could not understand,. Thinking to herself she wondered if either he simply had not recalled it or that he was holding it carefully in his mind until a more suitable time – mayhap after his guest had gone. Whatever the reason, she was still uncertain around Lord Catesby, despising her own reaction to him, her body growing warm, whenever he drew near.

  Her brother was looking down at her and, with an effort, she drew herself back to the present.

  “We will think of something,” she said, carefully, looking up at him and trying to smile despite the fear in her heart. “I am just glad that you are safe.” He leaned down to hug her again, and she felt her heart lift just a little. How much she hated that her brother had been forced from his estate, simply to ensure that his life was not in danger from their cousin! She would marry Jefferson if that was what it took to keep her brother safe, but she knew full well that Mark would not allow her to do so. There was a strong bond between them and oft times she was grateful for the kindness and affection of her brother. It was not every lady who had such a sibling, and for that, she was truly grateful.

  “I suppose I had best let you go,” Rapson murmured, as she stepped back from his embrace. “It will be very strange seeing you as the housekeeper, I think.” He took her hands and smiled at her. “Mrs. Harrington, is it?”

  “Yes,” she replied, with a small chuckle. “It is. Mrs. Harrington took a little time to become used to, but it comes very naturally now. Not that you will see much of me, I do not think.”

  Her brother frowned. “But I must see you again. How will we speak?”

  She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. “I can sometimes meet in the library. We are short of maids at this present moment, and often I go in there to ensure everything is as it ought to be.” She tipped her head, thinking quickly. “Perhaps tomorrow evening, a little after supper?”

  He nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “It will give me some time to consider the matter of our cousin and attempt to come up with some kind of solution,” she said, shaking her head a little. “Thank you, Mark.”

  Letting go of her hands, they turned together to walk back into the house – only to see a figure coming towards them. Rebecca stiffened at once, seeing it to be Lord Catesby. Had he seen them talking together?

  “Ah, Lord Rapson,” Lord Catesby said, ignoring Rebecca completely. “I can see you have met our staff.” He threw a curious look at Rebecca, who blushed furiously. It was a little strange to see the housekeeper out of doors at this hour.

  “I had a few minutes and thought to take a turn outside,” she explained, hastily. “I have greeted your guest, of course.”

  Lord Catesby shrugged. “Of course. Come, Rapson. My brother and his wife have only just now arrived, and I would be glad to introduce you.”

  Rebecca stayed where she was as her brother and Lord Catesby walked back towards the house, feeling her heart break just a little. It was difficult to be the housekeeper, difficult to remove herself from her former station – particularly now when her brother was here. Consoling herself with the fact that she would soon be able to speak to him again, Rebecca quickly made her way towards the servant’s entrance and tried to push the worry about her cousin from her mind. She had the dinner to think of now. The rest she could consider later.

  Chapter 7

  Three days later

  Francis was not altogether pleased. There was something very strange going on between his housekeeper and Lord Rapson, although he was not quite sure what it was. When Lord Rapson had first arrived, Francis had come upon his friend walking with Mrs. Harrington, which was in itself somewhat surprising, but even more so to see her smilin
g up at him. That had irritated him a good deal, although he had dampened such a feeling down.

  And then, only last evening, he had heard voices coming from the library and had listened hard at the door, which had been slightly ajar. Having expected his friend to be in the drawing room, which was where he had been going, to hear Lord Rapson and Mrs. Harrington’s voices from the library had stunned him. They were talking with a good deal of familiarity although he had been unable to quite make out what had been said. Hearing Lord Rapson state that he would have to return to the drawing room, Francis had torn himself away from the library and sauntered to the drawing room to await his friend, feeling not even the smallest fragment of guilt over listening to what had been a private conversation.

  When Lord Rapson had entered the drawing room, he had apologized for being late by stating that he had thought to search for a novel with which he might read in his bedchamber during the early hours of the morning, should he waken. This was not, perhaps, a lie, but there had been no mention of Mrs. Harrington, and Francis had not yet found a way to ask his friend about her.

  Frowning hard, Francis rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, groaning aloud as he saw his mother’s carriage pull up the graveled path. She had not been about for a few days since their dinner together and, as much as he hated to admit it, he had rather enjoyed her absence. She had kept Lord Rapson entertained with good conversation over dinner. however, he did have to admit.

  He had not recalled that Lord Rapson had known his mother from a prior acquaintance but, then again, Francis had been forced to admit that he had no great knowledge of his friend’s acquaintances nor even his family! When his mother had expressed her sorrow over Lord Rapson’s late father, he had colored hotly, realizing he had not done such a thing himself – not that Lord Rapson seemed to mind.

  Francis’ frown deepened, recalling the rest of the conversation. He had asked Lord Rapson what family he still had, and Lord Rapson had seemed quite ill at ease in answering him. Finally, he had stated that his mother had passed away some years ago and that he had a sister, a Miss Rebecca Armitage. For whatever reason, this had appeared quite difficult for Lord Rapson to say and Francis got the distinct impression that the man did not want to speak of her.

  Shrugging to himself as he walked back to his study table, Francis sat down to look through the sheaf of papers on his desk that required his attention but still the matter of his guest and Mrs. Harrington dogged his mind. Why was it that Lord Rapson was able to have Mrs. Harrington laugh and smile within a few moments of meeting her, whereas he struggled to garner nothing but fear and anxiety whenever they spoke? Even though some days had passed since the night he had been rather drunk, Mrs. Harrington still eyed him with slight suspicion, as though waiting for him to do or say something terrible. What made it worse was that Francis found himself longing to take her in his arms and reassure her that everything was quite all right. Worse, he dreamt of placing his lips on hers as she looked up at him, finally able to fulfill his greatest longing.

  It was quite ridiculous. He ought not to be so upset over Lord Rapson’s ability to ease Mrs. Harrington into conversation and laughter. It was foolish to consider it so deeply. Mrs. Harrington was simply a little ill at ease with him for whatever reason.

  His hand curled into a fist, and he thumped the desk. “I must know why that is!"

  His words echoed around the room, filling him with a sudden determination that had not been there before. He would find out Mrs. Harrington’s reasons for behaving as though he was a tiger crouching in the reeds, ready to attack her at any moment. Perhaps then he would be able to press such questions away from his mind.

  “Lord Catesby?”

  The door opened slowly, and Francis realized that Mrs. Harrington had evidently knocked and had assumed that his loud mutterings to himself were, in fact, a call for her to come in.

  Never mind, this could simply be the opportunity for such a conversation.

  “Mrs. Harrington, sit down.”

  She stared at him for a moment, the color leaving her cheeks as he rose to his feet.

  “Please,” he added, trying to gentle his tone. “I would like speak to you.”

  Slowly, she shut the door behind her and came to sit down in the seat he indicated by the fire. Her eyes looked up at him with anxiety, faltering a little as he sat down opposite. He noticed that her fingers were almost white as she clasped them together in her lap, evidently frightened about what he was to say. His frustration grew. He had to discover why she was so afraid.

  “Mrs. Harrington,” he began, in rather more of a harsh tone that he had intended. “Why is it that you appear to be shaking whenever I ask you for a simple conversation?”

  Keeping his gaze steady, he watched her closely as she took in his question, although she did not immediately answer it. Instead, something flickered in her blue eyes, her lips pulling tight for a moment.

  “I – I am not afraid of you, my lord,” she replied, slowly. “I apologize if I have led you to believe such a thing.”

  This was not the answer he wanted. Rather, this was the answer he had expected for a servant did not ever question the master.

  “No, Mrs. Harrington, that is not true,” he said, slowly, leaning forward in his chair just a little and seeing her shrink back. “There is something that you are not telling me, and I wish to know what it is. Why are you always so afraid to speak to me? What is it you think I will do?”

  To his surprise, two spots of color appeared in her cheeks, and she looked away, her gaze resting on the fire. “You do not intend to let me go then, my lord?” she asked, in something of a flat tone. “From what has occurred, I fully expect you to do so, and I cannot understand why, as yet, you have not done so.”

  Confused beyond words, Francis took a moment or two to think carefully, letting Mrs. Harrington’s words enter his mind and settle there. He had already reassured her, had he not, that he had no intention of removing her from his employment, so why was she still under the impression that he would do so?

  “Mrs. Harrington,” he replied, softly. “I do not have any plans to remove you from your post. I thought I had made that point clear.”

  She looked at him disbelievingly. There was no smile of relief on her face, nothing to suggest that she was glad of his words.

  “Lord Catesby, if I may speak plainly for a moment, I am well aware that there is a good deal of truth in the supposed rumor that you intended to find another housekeeper and what has clouded my mind for many days is that I do not know why you intend such a thing.” Her expression grew somewhat frustrated, as well as a little scared. “I cannot tell what it is that I have done to offend you, what I have done to bring you to such a conclusion, but I know that the intention is still within you. Why, only last week, you attempted….” Trailing off, her eyes widened, and she clapped one hand over her mouth, as though she had said too much.

  Francis let out a long, slow breath, trying to keep a hold of his temper as he realized that, yet again, he had no understanding of what it was Mrs. Harrington spoke of.

  “Mrs. Harrington, I can assure you that I have no plans to remove you from your post,” he said, firmly, striking the flat of his hand on his knee for added emphasis. “I considered the matter at one time but have discarded it.”

  “But why?” she asked, softly, her hands now back in her lap. “Why did you consider removing me from my station here?”

  It was a question he could not answer, not truthfully at least. As he looked at her, he saw that, for the first time, she looked as confused as he felt. The anxiety was no longer there, the fear was gone completely – and that opened her expression all the more. His heart lifted, filling him with a new appreciation for her. My goodness, she is beautiful.

  Clearing his throat, he passed one hand over his eyes in order to give him a few more moments with which he could consider his answer. “Mrs. Harrington, the reasons are of little consequence. I –”

  “They
are not of little consequence to me,” she interrupted, showing a good deal more spirit than he had ever seen from her. “Am I failing you in some way, my lord? Or is it simply that you have taken a dislike to me?” Her words were coming faster now, accentuated by anger. “Is that why you tried to shame me? So that I would have a reason to leave of my own accord and, if I did not, you could use that reason to force me out?”

  Helplessly, Francis spread his hands. “My dear Mrs. Harrington, I have very little idea of what you are speaking of.”

  Her mouth closed tightly. “I see. I should be grateful that you have either evidently forgotten or have chosen not to use it against me. I cannot tell which one to believe.”

  “Why do you think so poorly of me?”

  Francis was on his feet in a moment, his anger bursting to life.

  “I have not harmed you, I have not shamed you, and yet you speak as though I am some sort of conniving rogue who…..” Trailing off, he saw her wide eyes and slowly, so slowly, a memory came back to him.

  A memory of the night he had been drunk. A memory that had only been fragments and shards. A memory that told him he had done something altogether foolish.

  “Oh…..”

  Slowly, he sank back down into his chair, seeing Mrs. Harrington watching him with a good deal of astonishment on her face. His cheeks colored at once as he finally remembered what he had done that night. He had not injured her nor brought her to harm, which was a relief, but rather, he had kissed her. Kissed her soundly.

  “You remember, then,” she stated, bitterly. “Am I to be sent from your house, Lord Catesby?”

  Groaning aloud, he put his head in his hands. “No, Mrs. Harrington. No, you shall not be sent away. That was my own foolishness, my own drunken idiocy. There is no blame for you in that unfortunate circumstance.”

  Daring to send a glance in her direction, Francis was surprised to see that she was blinking back a sudden flurry of tears.