by Jane Charles
His housekeeper was not pleased, but she’d come around, once she understood.
“You’ve received an education, but did you have a Season before your father died.”
“Nay.”
Well, that was one concern out of the way, assuming anyone would have remembered her. However, if it became common knowledge that she’d fallen on hard times, and if Henry let it be known that her brother was a drunkard and gambler and left her destitute, the plan might work. A plan that Miss Doyle knew nothing about, and wouldn’t until he learned more. Of course, he’d only begun thinking matters through, but soon, he’d have a fully realized idea of what he was going to do with her.
Excitement coursed through his veins for the first time in a very long time. “This is almost irresistible.”
“Kilsyth,” Pickmore warned.
“Come, come, Pickmore, aren’t you the one who claimed I’ve become cantankerous? I believe the cause to be ennui. I’ve not had a challenge of late and Miss Doyle might just be the answer to brighten my spirits.” Henry marched to the entrance of his library. “Mrs. Peade,” he yelled.
A moment later she came scurrying down the stairs and followed Henry back into the library. “Yes Lord Kilsyth.”
“Take Miss Doyle to her chambers and order new clothing. I’ll expect her to be presented before me to begin instructions tomorrow morning.”
A challenge? Eve had no wish to be a challenge for anyone.
Anger boiled within. How dare Lord Kilsyth decide what was to become of her! Further, she’d not be ordered about. “I didn’t ask ta come here, and if it’s the same ta ye, I’ll be leavin’.”
“Did you forget that you now belong to me?” Lord Kilsyth waved the guardianship papers in front of her.
She grabbed them. “I’ll read for meself if ye don’t mind.”
“By all means and feel free to ask any questions if a meaning is unclear.”
Eve gritted her teeth and walked away from Kilsyth, Pickmore and Mrs. Peade and made her way to a window where she might have better light. As she strained to read the print, Eve slipped her hand into her reticule and drew out her spectacles. As the words unblurred her heart pounded anew. Brendan had relinquished all rights to guardianship and handed them to Henry Cochran, Earl of Kilsyth, until she achieved her twenty-third birthday. The document was signed, dated and witnessed.
This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. Instead of accepting the truth that was before her, Eve read through the papers once more.
“Is there something you don’t understand, Miss Doyle?” Kilsyth asked.
“I understand all ta well, my lord. I was just hopin’ I’d misread the first time.”
“Yes, well, you didn’t.” he reached out a hand. “Now hand them over so that I might secure them in a safe place.”
Eve clung to the documents. “Ye don’t trust me?”
“No more than you trust me,” he replied.
With reluctance and a sigh, she gave the papers to her new guardian.
Kilsyth frowned down at her. “How the blazes do you see anything out of those lenses.”
Instinctively Eve pulled them away from her face. “I see well enough.” They were scratched, which she was well aware, but new spectacles weren’t something she could afford.
“Hand them over.” Kilsyth held out his hand.
“Why?” She couldn’t part with them or she’d not be able to read anything.
“Give them to me.”
Reluctantly Eve placed them into his outstretched hand.
“Mrs. Peade, have a footman summon my man and explain that we need a replacement for these,” he said with disgust.
Eve was well aware that there were more scratches than clear spaces on the glass, but she saw well enough, for the most part. “I can’t afford a new pair.” She reached to take them back but Kilsyth closed his fist around the spectacles.
Her heart pounded. What if he crushed them, then she’d not be able to read a single word.
“As your guardian, I will not allow you to continue to try and read through such…dilapidation.”
They were in poor shape and Eve had wanted a new pair for months…but should she accept such a gift? Was it even right to do so?
“Eve, I have grand plans for you.”
It wasn’t his place to make any plans for her, and she wasn’t quite certain he was even in his right mind.
“You’ll have the world you were once used to. Horses to ride, carriages to ride in, new gowns, jewelry and pen money.”
“No!” Eve took a step back. “I’ll not have ye spend what’s left of me dowry. I’ll need it for meself when I reach my majority.”
“Hush, Eve, I’m not going to touch your ten thousand pounds. It’s yours when the time comes, along with this.” Lord Kilsyth reached around the desk and opened a drawer before taking out the sapphire and diamond necklace that had once belonged to her mother. “I’m assuming this is the necklace you mentioned earlier.”
She had to get it back. “Aye.” But that still didn’t explain how she could have everything he described without her dowry being touched. “Then how am I ta pay for everythin’?” Men had been offering her much of the same since she’d begun work at the theatre, but they were clear in what they were expecting in return. Kilsyth claimed not to want her in that way, but he must want something and she was afraid of what it might be.
“Kilsyth, I must interfere,” Pickmore objected. “If she is going to trust you, you must be thorough in your explanation, and not dangle a prize before her.”
At least Pickmore seemed a bit more pleasant than Kilsyth, not that Eve would trust him any more than she currently did her new guardian.
“Eve, you are to remain here as my ward. I shall take care of you in the manner of which is expected. You, in turn, will present yourself to me each morning to be taught whichever lessons I decide upon for the day.”
“Taught?” What could he possibly teach her that she hadn’t already learned?
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“What if I don’t wish ta be taught?”
“Then your life shall be quite dull as you’ll have nothing to do but wander about this townhouse until such time as I decide to give you a Season, which I’m loath to do since I abhor balls and whatnot.” He tilted his head and studied her. “However, it is unlikely to happen as it would be a waste of my time because the moment you open your mouth and your speech is revealed, no gentleman of character would consider you as a future wife.”
Eve let the insult slide as panic rose. “I won’t be allowed ta leave?”
“We’ve a nice garden behind the house, but I see no need for outings. You’ll have clothing, food, and a library to enjoy. What more could you want?”
A life of luxury with no worry sounded heavenly. But it would also grow quite tedious in a short time. “I’m ta be a prisoner if I don’t agree ta bein’ taught.”
“Hardly that, but your time here could be spent in a more enjoyable manner.”
“By bein’ taught?” Would it really be such a hardship to become his pupil?
“Yes! By being taught whatever I wish to teach you.”
What kind of gentleman wished to teach? He was a wealthy earl! “No outin’s?” he’d mentioned horses to ride. Would she not be given the opportunity if she didn’t do as he asked?
“I’m certain in time that I could arrange a ride or walk through the park, but in truth, Miss Doyle, I’m a very busy man with a demanding schedule.”
“Not so demandin’ if ye have time ta teach me,” she countered.
Kilsyth narrowed his eyes on her. “Perhaps I’d be more willing to allow outings if you were agreeable to my instruction.”
Bribery—that is all this was. Of course, his demands could be far worse and education never harmed a soul. However, she didn’t like being threatened. Not that he threatened to actually harm her person, but her life could become quite dull if she didn’t do as he asked.
Yet, did sh
e let pride stand in her way simply because she was affronted?
“Do we understand one another, Miss Doyle?”
Eve bit her lip. She did enjoy her studies when she was younger…
“Eve?” he asked, a warning edge to his tone.
“Are ye always dis impatient when waitin’ for an answer?” she asked, not willing to let Kilsyth intimidate her.
“Only when the one making the decision is taking too long to come to the correct conclusion.”
“Well, if it’s all the same to ye, I’d like to consider me options.”
“By all means, consider away,” Kilsyth crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk, her necklace dangling from his fingers. “You’ve but two options, and neither of them allow you to leave the house without my permission.”
A prison it was. However, it would be to her advantage to learn more of Kilsyth and she could only do that by spending time in his presence. Once she learned all that she needed, then Eve would decide whether she’d remain in his home or not. “I’ll let ye teach me.”
“I knew you’d come around to what was best for you.” He pulled away from the desk. “Bundle her away, Mrs. Peade and see that she is presented to me first thing in the morning.”
Chapter 4
“What exactly are your plans, Kilsyth?” Pickmore eyed Henry after Mrs. Peade had taken Eve to her chamber.
“To make a lady out of Miss Doyle.” The more he thought about the changes he could make and the challenges she presented, the more anxious Henry was to begin.
“To what purpose?”
“Perhaps none, perhaps for the challenge, or perhaps to spy.”
“Spy?”
“Think on it. Once I’m finished with Miss Doyle, nobody will ever guess that she was raised on a stud farm in Cork, Ireland. Instead she’ll be a much-sought-after debutant, even without lady attached to her name. Afterall, she does bring ten thousand pounds.”
Pickmore narrowed his eyes.
“Gentlemen will flock to her side and her manner of speech will be no less than that of a princess. Once she’s out of those filthy rags and into the latest fashions, Miss Doyle will captivate them all.”
“You mean to make her your spy amongst the ton?”
Was he not speaking English? Why was Pickmore having such a difficult time understanding the plan? “Of course, and why not?”
“It’s not been requested,” Pickmore reminded him.
“Well, one mustn’t ignore opportunities when they arrive.” Henry paused to look around the library. “Where is the coffee, or even tea?”
“We were pulled from our beds, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Henry marched across the room and yanked on the bell pull.
“You can’t just pluck someone up off the streets and decided to make them a spy.”
“I didn’t pick her up off the streets, she came to me.”
“Not by her own volition.”
“Yes, well, she’s mine now.” Henry took a seat behind the desk, anxious to begin making plans for his latest student.
“I must object, Kilsyth,” Pickmore paced before the settee. “What do we know of her?”
“What do we need to know?” He shrugged and leaned back in the leather chair. “She has no family, to speak of at least, and she isn’t of use to anyone but me.”
“It isn’t our place to choose those who will work for the crown, but that of our superiors,” Pickmore reminded him.
“Yes, well I’ve trained enough to recognize a good candidate when I see one.” Henry wagged a finger at Pickmore, “And an excellent opportunity for you as well.”
“Me?” Pickmore took a step back.
“Aren’t you to assist me in the training now? Where my emphasis is dialect and culture, yours is history and cyphering.” At least that had been the plan when Pickmore was returned to England. The two of them were to work together teaching any new recruit. As far as Henry was concerned, they’d just met their newest student.
“Lord Hopkins will not be pleased,” Pickmore warned.
Ah, yes, their immediate supervisor, but Henry wasn’t concerned. The marquess had always trusted Henry’s judgement in the past and would trust him in this as well. “Hopkins is at his home in Cornwall and I’d wager that by the time Miss Doyle is competent, he’ll be glad we showed the initiative.”
Skepticism darkened Pickmore’s already deep brown eyes. “Are you so certain?”
“Of course.” Henry hadn’t ever been more certain of anything in his life. “By the time we are finished, Hopkins will find her quite valuable indeed.” Warming to his plan, Henry rose from his seat. “In three months, or maybe even half that time, if she’s a good study and half as intelligent as I suspect she is, the Home Office will have a spy amongst the ton.”
“I’m not so certain.” Doubt laced Pickmore’s tone.
Of course, Pickmore had been away for a few years and wasn’t aware of everything Henry could accomplish. “One month.” He decided with determination. “I’ll take that costume maker and turn her into the most sought after and trusted debutant to ever grace London.”
Pickmore pulled back. “Costume maker? She said nothing about costumes.”
Of course, she hadn’t but it wasn’t until she was standing by the window reading the guardianship papers that Henry remembered that he’d seen her before. “She works at Drury Lane. I’ve seen her on occasion, her head bent as she repaired costumes backstage.”
Pickmore settled onto the settee. “Others might recognize her.”
“I doubt anyone paid the slightest bit of attention to a quiet seamstress when they visited the actress backstage.”
“You did,” Pickmore pointed out.
“Yes, but I study people. I observe and listen. The other gentlemen were there to…well, you know what their intentions probably were and it had nothing to do with Miss Doyle.”
“Others may know her, or recognize the name. Several gentlemen have gone to Ireland and visited the Doyle Stud Farm.”
“I don’t plan to hide her identity. In fact, I intend to make it work to our advantage.”
“Exploit her, you mean.”
“Of course not. Once we are finished, it will be her choice, of course. I simply want to see it done. When I’m finished, all of London will know Miss Doyle to be the daughter of an Irish landowner, who once operated a successful stud farm, where he made his riches, and she’s now my ward.” She’d also remain in London, seeking out Napoleonic and French sympathizers amongst Society. A trusted miss who had fallen on hard times and suffered the loss of her parents and been abandoned by a derelict brother. Her situation, who she was, was almost too perfect. “The Home Office has wanted someone who could move about the ton and gather information in such a manner, but none of the gentlemen would do, as they were too well known. However, a miss, who had recently become the ward of an earl, would not be questioned. Especially when he plucked her out of the gutter and freed her from a life of living in squalor.”
“You don’t know that she lived in squalor,” Pickmore argued.
“Don’t I?” Henry pulled back. “Did you not note the worn cloak and filthy skirt, not to mention the stains on the material were not only disturbing, but carried a rather offensive odor?”
“As did Mr. Doyle’s breath.” Pickmore shuddered.
“Yes, well, he is not our concern and I wish him good riddance. However, Miss Doyle is another matter entirely.”
Pickmore frowned at him.
“You don’t think it’s possible?” Henry leaned against his desk. Oh, he did enjoy a good challenge and they’d been seriously lacking of late. “I’ll bet you that in one month when we attend my mother’s ball, no one will even guess that Miss Doyle once lived in Covent Gardens and will fool everyone into thinking she’d been born to riches—”
“—She was,” Pickmore reminded him.
“Yes, that’s true, but by the time I’m finished with her, nobody will ever guess
that she’s from Ireland. At least, not until they realize her connection to the stud farm.” Excitement filled him. “I even promise that before anyone ever learns the truth, or learns her name, that they will assume she is nothing short of a duchess.” Henry grinned, quite pleased with himself.
Pickmore rubbed his chin and studied Henry. At least he seemed to be warming to the idea, and as soon as he thought about it more carefully, Pickmore would come to agree with Henry.
“Your coffee, Lord Kilsyth,” Mrs. Peade announced as she entered carrying a heavy tray. “Miss Doyle is being cared for, a footman has been sent to see about spectacles, and I’ve sent a note to Mrs. Halford.”
“Very good, Mrs. Peade. Thank you.”
“Who is Mrs. Halford?” Pickmore inquired as he accepted the cup of coffee from the housekeeper.
“A modiste who can be counted on to be quite discrete about her customers. She’s the only one I call on when outfitting my students.” She also outfitted his mistress, but that was another matter entirely and not to be discussed in the presence of Mrs. Peade.
“She works for the Home Office?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Henry took the cup of coffee from Mrs. Peade and once again began to pace. “Better, actually, in that she doesn’t ask questions.”
“Oh, do tell me that you do not intend to train Miss Doyle as the others,” Mrs. Peade begged.
His housekeeper worried too much. “She is perfect for the task, don’t you agree?”
“She’s only a miss of one and twenty,” Mrs. Peade argued.
“The perfect age to embark on a new career. Besides, what else would I do with her?”
“Your mother could see to her,” Pickmore suggested.
Why the blazes were these two being so difficult? “Where is the fun in that?” Henry sipped from his coffee. “I’ll tell you what. If Miss Doyle doesn’t take, then I’ll turn her over to my mother to do with what she wishes. I daresay, Mother will enjoy having a female to parade around during the Season.”
“You really should hand the girl over now,” Mrs. Peade insisted.