by Jane Charles
“But, if they did, it wouldn’t affect those who actually took the mummy from Mayfair since they weren’t the ones who took the mummy from the tomb, right?” Eliza questioned.
“Oh, not necessarily,” Rosemary answered. “From what my mother wrote, some curses follow the mummy wherever it goes and anyone who comes in contact with it, or even near it, outside of the tomb, could suffer in one manner or another.”
Some of the color left Eliza’s cheeks. “Such as death?”
Rosemary frowned. “Perhaps, but I don’t think it’s so strong a curse, otherwise everyone who has viewed the items on exhibit at the British Museum would now be dead. Certainly hundreds of people suddenly meeting their demise would not go unnoticed.”
Eliza sank to a chair, as if she were relieved, much to Sophia’s surprise. In the past, Eliza would have latched on to the impossible and exaggerated. Was her friend finally maturing?
“If you’d read my mother’s journals you’d already know this,” Rosemary insisted.
At that, Eliza rolled her eyes. “I’ll read when it’s required. I don’t have the patience to do so for fun.”
“Journals?” Olivia questioned.
“From my mother,” Rosemary answered. “She and Father have traveled to some of the most fascinating places and once they’ve moved on, Mother usually sends me her journals so that I can read about her experiences.”
“Rosemary recently received three journals from her mother’s time in Egypt,” Sophia added.
“I hadn’t realized.” Miss Hamilton sat forward. “Might I borrow them when you are finished?”
“Of course.” Rosemary grinned.
Miss Hamilton’s eyes widened. “Goodness! Fairview. You are the daughter of Sir William Fairview?”
Rosemary grinned. “Do you know my parents?”
“Yes,” Miss Hamilton cried. “I met them in Egypt, before I was required to return to England with my father. Your mother was nearly as excited about the tombs and artifacts as my father. And, she often had her journal out, sketching what she’d seen.”
“I’ll be happy to share them with you, Miss Hamilton.”
“And, perhaps we’ll use them in our lessons.”
At that Eliza groaned.
Mayfair, London
By the end of the first week, Eve was more fatigued than she’d ever been in her life. Even taking care of her brother, their small set of rooms, mending, cooking, and working at the theatre each night had not left her this exhausted.
Every morning she was awakened with the sun, dressed for the day then reported to the breakfast room where she dined with Lord Kilsyth. During these moments, he was nearly pleasant as he asked after her sleep. Then they adjourned to the library where she read aloud and he continue his instructions, interrupting nearly every other word with the correct pronunciation. She’d yet to finish an entire novel because of him.
Even though he corrected her, and was her teacher, he was kind, and not harsh as he’d been that first day. Though, she also realized she tried his patience because he’d often quit the room suddenly, as if he needed to be away from her.
Eve understood that she wasn’t making the progress that Kilsyth had hoped, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
She was trying, she really was, but it was so difficult to change the way she pronounced certain words, or to erase what he called a lilt from her tone. “It’s cadence and rhythm, Miss Doyle.”
It was speaking! Oh, she’d quit if the necklace wasn’t at stake.
In the evenings, he and Pickmore discussed many topics, not that she was allowed to participate. Instead, she was to listen and train her ear to correct speech so that she might improve hers.
No doubt Kilsyth was one of the most brilliant gentlemen of her acquaintance, though she wished his mind would settle at times. Ideas occurred, then were discarded on a whim. Topics were introduced, then changed in the middle of a conversation. She learned he enjoyed the bitter coffee until ten in the morning, then didn’t wish to drink anything further until tea time. Boots were to be worn outside. If he didn’t fear someone calling, uninvited and without warning, he’d walk around in his stocking feet. Instead, he compromised and wore slippers, though he misplaced at least one of them on a regular basis and often both, since he kicked them off in the library.
After the first two days, she’d only seen him in a jacket when dining as he preferred his shirtsleeves, trousers and waistcoat, which Eve suspected he only wore because she was present. Kilsyth hated to be confined in uncomfortable clothing while in his library—his domain—and the only time he ever wore a cravat was when he had to be out in public.
His thoughts may be often scattered, but he eventually returned to the topic at hand. Rarely did he leave the townhouse and when he did, he was not gone long, unless his attendance was required at Parliament. He also worked late into the night, requiring her assistance as she’d somehow become his assistant of sorts, writing out correspondence, and calculating his ledgers, as Kilsyth had little patience for the mundane. They often worked long after the servants retired only to begin the same pattern the following morning.
While the schedule could be quite exhausting, Eve found she admired Kilsyth immensely. Not only was his mind exceptional, but he was responsible and worked hard. Not that he needed to work at all, as she’d come to learn that he was quite wealthy. However, instead of leading a life of leisure as many of his station, Kilsyth rarely rested and worked to improve his mind, and his estate. He didn’t squander a moment, unlike her brother who had squandered everything. Kilsyth had even accepted his role as her guardian even though he’d not appreciated her appearance on his doorstep. For that reason, Eve did want to speak properly. Not only for herself, but to please him.
She was trying, she truly was, but Eve just couldn’t make the proper sounds. He’d tried everything from Eve reading aloud, to repetition of certain phrases, to conversation constantly being interrupted and Eve feared she might never get it right.
While they’d settled into a comfortable existence with one another, Eve still missed her family. She’d only been given one opportunity to get a message to her sister, Caitlin. She informed her that she’d moved again, but did not tell her what Brendan had done, as Eve didn’t want her older sister worrying. If Cait learned that Eve was now the ward of a bachelor lord and living in his home in Mayfair, she might leave her position to come rescue Eve, which she couldn’t have. Cait had a secure position. Once Eve’s time with Kilsyth was done, she’d go to Cait and explain her circumstances and what had become of their brother. Then she’d seek a position as a governess.
Their brother!
Eve blew out a sigh. Oh, where had Brendan gotten himself off to. Even though he’d given up guardianship, Eve had hoped that her brother would have had an attack of conscience. But, after a week, she’d not seen him and could only pray that he’d found a way to fight his demons, or at least find a means to support himself that didn’t rely on the throw of the dice or toss of the cards.
“Miss Doyle, what has become of the post?” Lord Kilsyth called from his desk.
She glanced up from the tome she was supposed to be reading, instead of woolgathering, and frowned. How did Kilsyth manage to get along before she arrived? “Mrs. Peade placed it on top of the books, right front corner of yer desk.”
He brightened. “Ah, yes, there it is.”
Not a thank you or an acknowledgment as he began reading. “We’ll respond to most of these requests tonight.”
The invitations he ignored, as he always did. However, requests for him to lecture, or attend lectures, or for his assistance always received a prompt response. Responses that Eve had started writing out over the past few evenings while he paced and dictated. Sometimes Eve wondered if she was his student, ward, secretary, or all three.
“Well, I’ll be off.” He stood and pocketed a piece of parchment. “Keep up with your studies and don’t become distracted,” he ordered as he kicked off his slipper
s and headed out of the library and up the stairs.
Another distinct characteristic to Lord Kilsyth was abruptness. Often statements and actions came suddenly and he was off, leaving Eve behind to wonder what had caused his sudden change since he never explained himself to her.
With a sigh, Eve got up and removed the slippers from the center of the floor and placed them beside the chair he liked to sit in during the evening. Perhaps she might as well add maid to her roles as well.
Eve paused and looked about the room. Sometimes it looked as if a tempest had blown through. Often Kilsyth would take a book from the shelf, read whatever it was he was interested in, then leave the book open and abandoned in another part of the room. Newssheets from days before cluttered various surfaces, a large globe sat off to the side of the room and a telescope at a window, which Kislyth readily admitted did no good in that spot given the height of the surrounding townhouses making it impossible to fully see the sky. Yet, he’d never been motivated enough to see the stars to take it to a higher floor.
“I don’t know when I’ll return, Mrs. Peade,” Kilsyth announced as he bounded down the stairs. “Please do not hold luncheon on my account.” And then he was gone.
Eccentric and irritating was her guardian and Eve was stuck with him for at least three more weeks, though he’d be her guardian for nearly two more years.
At least they’d managed not to touch again and for that she was grateful because she didn’t want to experience that odd warmth again. Eve just wished she could put the memory from her mind, but had been unable to do so. It came to her at the most inopportune moments, such as in the evenings when it was just the two of them working in the library, when he’d pause in his pacing and look at her with a bit of confusion or intensity. Of course, she knew that look had nothing to do with her, but what he was pondering with whatever response he was dictating. Yet, he still looked into her eyes and each time, her body warmed as if she were sitting too close to a fire. It was all very disconcerting, but as he clearly didn’t suffer as she did, or was even aware of how her body reacted, Eve found it easy to hide her response to his person and concentrate on being his student, ward, secretary and maid—a task she’d put her mind to as she made her way about the room, replacing discarded books on shelves and folding the newssheets and stacking them in date order. Anything was better than returning to her studies.
“Lord Kilsyth is not at home,” Eve heard the butler, Humphreys, tell someone.
Eve slid close to the door to see who had called. A part of her hoped that her older brother had come to his senses, and another part of her feared that he’d come to take her back to Covent Gardens, or worse, Seven Dials.
“Yes, I saw him leave but as I was already here, I thought to call on Captain Pickmore instead.”
“Very good, Lady Kilsyth. I’ll take you to the sitting room and summon the Captain.”
Lady Kilsyth?
As Lord Kilsyth was not married, the only conclusion Eve could draw was that the visitor was his mother. What kind of woman had birthed and raised the current Lord Kilsyth? Was she as unconventional as her son?
Eve waited until the woman had climbed the stairs then slipped out of the library and followed. At this time of the day, Pickmore would be reading the newssheets and enjoying coffee, as was his habit.
“So, tell me Pickmore, what has my son been up to these days? Should I be worried, cautious, or perhaps uninvite him to my ball so that he doesn’t embarrass me.”
Eve’s eyes popped open. What kind of mother talked about her own son in such a manner?
Instead of being affronted and defending his friend, Pickmore laughed.
“Take the fresh tea service to the sitting room.” Mrs. Peade instructed a servant and Eve quickly ducked into a separate room so as not to be caught eavesdropping.
After the footman departed, Eve once again eased her way down the corridor and stopped just out of sight of the sitting room.
“A ward? He won a ward at a gaming table?” Lady Kilsyth exclaimed with shocked concern. “Oh, what has Henry gotten himself into now? I’d thought his days of gaming hells and debauchery were behind him. And, between you and me, while the loss of my husband and oldest son were heartbreaking, I am grateful that it forced Henry to distance himself from those Devils of Dalston.”
Eve sucked in a breath. Kilsyth was affiliated with the most disreputable group of gentlemen to haunt society?
His mother must be mistaken. Those men were degenerates, drunkards, gamblers and every vice rolled into one group of gentlemen, all spares, who had nothing better to do but find enjoyment where they could. She’d even heard rumors, and read accounts in the newssheets that they participated in orgies. Eve wasn’t certain what those were, but she knew that it must be highly immoral because when she’d asked Brendan what it was, he’d turned red and stated that it was something that a gently bred woman need know nothing about.
The Kilsyth that Eve had come to know would never behave immorally, of that she was certain. Though he may have been friends with the degenerates, he couldn’t have done anything worse than gamble—and win a ward.
It had not been Henry’s intention to leave his home today, but being in close proximity to Miss Doyle became more difficult by the moment.
This morning she’d appeared in the breakfast room wearing a pale blue gown made of a light, soft fabric. The darker ribbon, tied beneath her breasts only emphasized her endowments. Lace and frills surrounded her neck and the hem of her gown, and even though Henry hated all the unnecessary embellishments, they were quite becoming on Miss Doyle, and the color of the gown somehow managed to make her eyes a deeper green.
Quite outstanding, really, as the two should not complement as they did.
After breakfast had concluded, Henry did everything in his power to forget her eyes, the color of her dress and most especially the cut of her bodice and put his mind to work. Unfortunately, his gaze strayed in her direction all too often, noting the tilt of her head as she read, and the way a blonde curl caressed her shoulder.
Damn and blast! He could get nothing done while she was in the room. As Eve was required to be there, to learn all that she could, it meant that Henry must be the one to leave.
Had he accomplished anything since she’d become his ward?
Some, he was confident, but not nearly as much as he’d like. He’d even employed her to write out his correspondence. With Miss Doyle behind his desk, he paced, not glancing at her and dictated his response. It was far better than reading correspondence, then unintentionally looking in her direction and forgetting what he’d read. Unfortunately, that had happened a few times last evening and his mind had gone blank for a moment.
The same occurred when he attempted to read a book. He’d lost count of the many times he’d taken a book from one of the shelves, determined to read a chapter or two to simply take his mind off his ward, only to not comprehend the words on the page so he abandoned the book.
Newssheets had begun to stack up as well. Pickmore had read them, but they hadn’t held Henry’s interest. However, he needed to know the news, even the ghastly gossip, if he was to continue to be a benefit to the Home Office. It was his job to find the spies amongst society and he couldn’t very well do so if he had no idea what was happening in the ballrooms in Town. Thankfully, it didn’t require him to take part since two of the Devils were quite comfortable making Society their home and determined the success of any night on how many dowager dragons were affronted by their presence.
The Fallen Angels!
Henry snorted at the name Society had given three agents of the crown—Michael Darton, the second son of the Earl of Wexbury, and Raphael Clarke, the second son of the Marquess of Claremont and Gabriel Westbrook, now the Earl of Norbright and no longer in Society. However, it was Darton and Clarke who continued to watch and wrote the most scintillating gossip rag available. Even if the column didn’t serve a purpose—to deliver coded messages to all of the Devils no matter whe
re they may be—Henry suspected they’d still continue, as the two found far too much enjoyment in spreading tales of those who preferred to snub them. Their gossip column had also highly exaggerated the goings on at the house in Dalston.
Henry snorted again. Not exaggerated but entirely fabricated. Cyprian balls, orgies, the occult, virgin sacrifices, disorderly drunkenness and gambling. It used to be interesting to read what he’d apparently done the night before. Of course, his name was never mentioned, and he was only H.C., but it wasn’t difficult to determine the identities of any of the Devils and that had been done with purpose by the writers.
Debutants adored them, widows desired them, and mothers shielded their daughters. Oddly enough, while the three Angels had been at Eton, they had considered joining the church. Before they left Cambridge, however, they’d joined the Home Office.
As for the Devils, Henry supposed a meeting was in order. There’d not been one since before Pickmore had returned and it was necessary to meet on occasion to see where everyone was with regard to their investigations or if they were simply awaiting a new assignment. Further, they’d not had a gathering in some time and gossip must be fueled.
Henry felt out of touch with his fellow Devils, but this past week he’d been so distracted by Miss Doyle that he wasn’t certain he knew anything.
Damn and blast!
Even away from his home, she invaded his thoughts. What the bloody hell was he to do?
Well, he couldn’t kiss her, as had been his desire this morning. She was his ward and student, and why he’d fled the sanctity of his own library.
Perhaps it would be best if he hired a man of business or a secretary, then Miss Doyle could retire above-stairs while he worked in the evening.
Except, he didn’t want her anywhere else but in the library. She was almost like an addiction, but one that Henry had enough self-control not to touch.
He most certainly could not touch Miss Doyle again, no matter how innocent, like the brush of her fingers. He was already far too aware of his attraction to her and where it might lead. If he so much as brushed against her hand again, he might forget all purpose and simply wish to be with her.