Awaiting their arrival were Harrington and Rockwell along with the vicar and a few other people from nearby estates. James guided his mother past them all. He was exceedingly aware of their gazes following his every move as he and his mother took their places behind the hearse which thankfully rolled into motion without delay. The rest of the procession fell into step behind them. James placed one foot in front of the other, willing his body to walk when all he really wanted to do was run. In the opposite direction.
“That maid you hired.” His mother’s voice broke the silence. “I do not like her.”
James felt his entire posture stiffen, the irritation, the anger, the pain, collide and expand within him. He forced a sense of calm he did not feel, which resulted in a terse response. “You have always disapproved of pretty women, so I am hardly surprised.”
She snorted. “To say Jane is pretty is a vast exaggeration.”
“That may be your opinion, though I suspect you are merely being spiteful.”
“James!” She hissed his name as if he was still the little boy he’d once been, ready for her to order him about and still too young to stand up against her.
But that was no longer the case. He was a grown man now and finally able to see her for the bitter woman she was. But while he pitied her, he had no patience for snide remarks. “Leave Miss Edwards alone, Mama. She does not deserve your wrath.”
“You refusal to use her Christian name is surprising. It shows you hold her in high regard. Above the other servants.” Her eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you have no designs to make her your mistress.”
The comment was almost inaudible, but the precision with which it was spoken made James hear it as though she’d shouted it right in his ear. His head swiveled toward her, his eyes absorbing the arrogant tilt of her chin as she looked straight ahead as if he weren’t even there.
“What my plans may or may not be in that regard,” he clipped while doing his best not to crush her arm or her hand with his superior strength, “is none of your concern.”
She appeared on the verge of responding but must have thought better of it, for which he was grateful. Further relief filled him when he arrived home after the funeral without the need to exchange another word with her. But the brief conversation had depressed his mood even further, prompting him to retreat to his study while his friends entertained the mourners who’d been invited to stay for a small refreshment.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. When Harrington and Rockwell suggested a game of cards at some point, James declined and his friends eventually chose to leave him alone. They seemed to understand that he needed some time to process all that had happened without interference, for which he was grateful.
Dinner that evening was, as expected, an awkward affair. Nobody said much of anything, so James was glad when it was finally over and he could retire. He woke early the next morning, long before anyone else was up. So he chose to let breakfast wait and returned to his study instead. The funeral was over now and he had every intention of resuming his investigation of Tatiana’s murder. Deciding he could do with some coffee, he rang the bell pull and threw himself into the nearest armchair. There, he pondered the situation at hand – especially the note Miss Edwards had found in Tatiana’s room – until a bold knock intruded upon his thoughts.
“Enter!”
The door opened and the woman who’d managed to entice his longing for a lover’s embrace with no more than her presence stepped in. “My lord?”
He had not seen Miss Edwards for two full days. The fact that she’d been avoiding him since their previous encounter in the library had not escaped his notice. But she was here now, as gorgeous as ever with her hair not quite as neat as it ought to be and…Christ, when she said, “My lord,” in that way, the things he envisioned…Wickedness had no bounds as far as his thoughts pertaining to her were concerned. They’d grown increasingly lascivious with each passing moment, no doubt on account of his prolonged abstinence, for which his distaste of greedy women was to blame. He was sick of spending a fortune on a mistress just so he could bed her, but it was either that or the choice between braving a brothel or suffering marriage. Neither of which were remotely appealing.
Miss Edwards on the other hand…
“A coffee, if you would be so kind.” She seemed to start, no doubt in response to his overly polite tone. But he was aware of the error he’d made in clutching her arm when they’d last spoken and had every intention of making up for it now. “Bring two cups please, so you can join me.”
She hesitated briefly, then shook her head. “That would not be appropriate.”
“No, but today is one of those days where I feel the need to tell propriety and social etiquette they can go to the devil along with anyone who disagrees.” He watched her eyes widen and softened his tone. “Take pity on me, Miss Edwards. I find myself in need of a little company, and yours is much preferred.”
“Very well then.” She bit her lip, worrying that tender flesh until he lost all control of his senses. So he watched without pretending otherwise and allowed desire to spread through his veins like wildfire. “I will return in a few moments.”
And then she was gone, seemingly oblivious of the effect she was having on him. The ease with which she was able to stir his blood was troubling since he could offer her little more than the warmth of his bed. Marriage was certainly not an option and yet the idea of it as an option now entered his mind, proving how desperate he had become.
He drummed his fingers restlessly upon the armrest while anticipating her return. He was an earl and she was his maid. There could be no future besides the obvious. And yet, if she was more than she claimed, as he suspected she was, then perhaps..? An exasperated breath was wrenched from his lungs. What was he thinking? To marry a woman he’d known for a few short days? The very same woman he had accused of killing his sister, then hired to clean his home? It was the very epitome of madness.
But when she returned and he breathed a sigh of relief, he knew in that instant she would be his – she had to be his – in one way or other.
He waited for her to set the tray on the table before quietly saying, “Please close the door.”
“My lord?”
Ah, the sweetness with which she spoke the honorific. He’d like to hear her say it as a plea while he… No. He had to control his baser urges. “I wish to speak with you in confidence and given your position, being confined to a room with me is not as unacceptable as you might think.” When she hesitated, he said, “You are by your own admission not a gently bred lady whose prospects might be ruined by such a thing. Are you, Miss Edwards?”
She shook her head. “No. I am not.”
And yet he could see her reserve, the guardedness with which she held herself now, like a wary creature fearful of what he might do. Which made him regret his candor and wish he’d had the patience to be more decent with her. But this craving he felt to have her for himself without anyone else intruding was so intense he could scarcely think straight, let alone focus on being a proper gentleman. A regrettable situation to be sure, and one that demanded a swift apology.
“You must forgive me.”
She stared at him. “Must I?”
He winced. “Your directness slays me, Miss Edwards.” He reached for the coffee pot and started to pour while she continued to watch with what seemed like uncertain dismay. “Please. Have a seat.”
To his surprise she turned away and for one awful moment, he thought she was leaving. Except she paused by the door, glanced at him over her shoulder, and then quietly closed it to shut out all else from the room.
“What is it you want?” The question was quietly spoken, a mere whisper in fact, yet he heard it as loudly as if she had spoken it clearly.
Be brave, he told himself. Tell her.
“Your opinion,” he said, deciding to start off slowly. “Your companionship, if you are willing to offer it. You, if your attraction toward me is equal to my attraction to
ward you.”
Color rose to her cheeks, but she did not look away. Instead, she approached the nearest chair and slowly lowered herself into it. She then reached for her coffee and took a long sip before setting the cup on its matching saucer. “I can give you the first two things, but not the last.”
Disappointment flared, coupled with swift irritation. “Why not?”
“Because my situation is far too complicated to allow for any personal attachments.”
He smiled, pleased to learn he still stood a chance – that her reason did not deny a mutual desire to explore the passion he knew would exist between them. “Our differing stations would not allow for such a thing anyway. What I speak of is carnal pleasure, Miss Edwards and your friendship.”
She tilted her head and offered a dubious look that made him feel slightly stupid. “For you to suppose we can give each other both without attachment is incredibly naïve, my lord.” Straightening, she folded her hands in her lap. “Now, if there is something else on your mind that you wish to discuss, please tell me what it is, and I shall do my best to advise you.”
James could only stare. He’d been turned down with greater swiftness and efficiency than he would ever have thought possible. And by a maid, no less. He took a moment to contemplate his coffee, then decided he needed stronger stuff to get through the rest of the day and went to pour himself a brandy. “Your objectiveness regarding Tatiana’s murder, considering your recent arrival, urges me to seek your counsel.” He was thinking as he spoke, suggesting something he’d not yet decided was wise. But it was out now and could not be taken back, so he forged ahead instead. “You were wrong to look through her things, but that does not detract from the value of what you found.”
Caution filled her eyes, but she did not stray from the conversation or the apparent embarrassment she felt regarding the subject. He admired that about her – her ability to face any difficulty head on.
“Do you know who the note was from?”
“I have a fairly good idea.” He hesitated confiding the knowledge because of the impropriety, but then decided that if Miss Edwards was to offer her opinion, she would have to know as much as possible. “I believe it was written by George Thompson, a man who used to be in my father’s employ.”
“Was he your sister’s tutor?”
James started slightly in response to the accuracy of her conjecture. “How did you guess?”
Miss Edwards shrugged one shoulder. “I asked around a bit. When it occurred to me that a tutor was the only man whose company your sister might have kept for an extended period of time, I inquired if she’d ever had one and was quickly informed that she had. While you were absent, I might add.”
“My going away was inevitable. I—”
“I am not suggesting you are to blame for what happened, Lord Camden.” She offered a reassuring smile which went straight to his heart, warming his soul and soothing his nerves. “And I am certainly not implying that there is anything wrong with your sister forming an attachment with a man who obviously cared very deeply for her.”
James shook his head. “You speak as though you are unaware of class differences. But how can you be? It is common knowledge that the daughter of an earl must marry a man of equal or superior social standing. For her to even consider a tutor – for her to have possibly kissed him is…is…” He searched for the right word – one that would not insult his sister’s memory.
Miss Edwards however was quicker than he was. “Unthinkable?” she supplied. “Worse than you considering your maid?”
The pointed look she gave him was so thoroughly chastising, he could not help but avert his gaze from hers. With one simple question, she’d made him feel like a naughty child caught in the midst of causing some mischief.
“It is not the same thing,” he told her.
“Why? Because you are a man and thus permitted to do as you please?”
He swung his gaze back to hers and stared into her bright green eyes. “No one is free to do as they please.”
“Perhaps not,” she murmured, “but you are still free to proposition your maid without anyone giving a damn about it while your sister’s reputation will suffer if word of her affection toward Mr. Thompson gets out.”
It took a second for James to recover from Miss Edwards’s passionate use of expletive. Curiously, it did not put him off. Quite the contrary. He liked the freedom with which she spoke and valued the honesty. “Do you suppose he might have acted on the feelings he harbored for her?”
Miss Edwards stared at him blankly.
James sighed and waved his hand. “Do you think he might have kissed her?”
“I suppose he might have.” Her words seemed carefully chosen now, which James found curious. “It all depends on how much importance he placed on such a kiss, since he obviously failed to come to you and ask for her hand. As I believe he would have done if anything more had occurred between them.”
Feeling his chest tighten, James took a sip of his brandy in an effort to distract himself from the pain. He knew what she meant, but to think of his sister losing her innocence to a man more than ten years her senior when she’d been little more than a child was simply too much. Still, he had to consider the possibility.
“He might have been too much of a coward.”
“No. Not if he loved her as much his note suggests.” Miss Edwards leaned slightly forward. She’d barely touched her coffee since he’d poured for her, which made him wonder if she might prefer tea instead. He would have to ask. “Furthermore, the date proves it was recently written, which means his feelings for her have not wavered these past five years.”
A valid point James had not yet considered. He did so now and was slowly reminded of Mr. Thompson’s departure from Summervale. “She refused to leave her room when he left and remained there for days after, claiming malaise.”
“Did you terminate his employment or—”
“No. He came to speak with me here, in my study. My father had recently passed away, so I was somewhat distracted by my new duties.” That entire year had been a bit of a blur. He’d just graduated from University and was on his way home when his father had suffered what the physician claimed to have been too much strain on the heart. He’d been dead two days by the time James arrived to be swept up in funeral arrangements and the management of the estate. “I recall Mr. Thompson saying my sister had outgrown his teachings. He suggested getting her ready for her debut, even said such a thing might lift her spirits.”
“Sounds to me like he was a considerate man, aware of his own limitations, who cared enough for your sister to separate himself from her in favor of giving her not what either of them might have wanted, but what he believed she needed.”
“Perhaps.” It certainly wasn’t impossible. Another thought pushed its way to the forefront. “The nature of the note also suggests frequent correspondence, which means she never stopped caring for him.”
“Which does imply that she wasn’t in love with your friend, Harrington, or that she would have been looking forward to marrying him.”
As Harrington had implied she had been.
Resting his elbow on the armrest, James brought his hand up to cover his mouth while trying to plot a path for himself. Failing to do so, he turned to Miss Edwards. “What do you propose I do?”
“Well, the problem is that, based on what we know so far, Harrington is the only one with a motive right now.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
“And yet the chance exists that he found out about Mr. Thompson and how Tatiana felt about him.” Miss Edwards spoke without wavering. “Even if Harrington isn’t in love with her, he might still have succumbed to a fit of jealousy upon learning that his future bride’s heart belonged to another.”
“Enough to kill her though?” It seemed absurd to James. Harrington had known Tatiana since she was a little girl. He couldn’t possibly have done such an awful thing. Could he?
“Humans are possessive cr
eatures, my lord.”
“I can’t argue with that.” It wasn’t unheard of for men to retaliate after discovering another had made use of their mistress – women who rarely inspired feelings of love.
“The way I see it,” Miss Edwards continued, “there are three primary reasons for committing an act as vile as murder. They are money, passion, and the need to silence a witness. If Harrington did it, the act could have been brought on by a passionate response – a bout of rage, in other words.”
“Your assessment is surprising.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but now the words were out, they hung between them, awaiting a response.
“Why?”
“Because of how devoid of emotion it is.”
She smiled for the first time since entering the study. “That is why you sought my counsel, is it not? Because I have no ties to anyone here and may therefore consider them all with complete objectivity?”
“Of course. It is just curious to watch, especially when comparing my assessment of all that has happened and those potentially involved. Keeping emotion out of it, preventing myself from favoring one individual over another, is impossible.”
Miss Edwards nodded. “That is understandable. You do not want the culprit to be one of your friends but rather a servant?”
He winced. “I would much prefer if it were a stranger.”
She said nothing to this, and he understood additional comment was pointless. When she stood and smoothed her skirt, he stood as well. “I ought to get on with my work.” She took a step back in the direction of the door.
James wished she didn’t have to go. He wished they could sit and talk for the rest of the day without anyone troubling them. But she was right. She’d already stayed too long. If she didn’t leave his study soon, Mrs. Fontaine would likely come looking for her, and being found here alone with him wasn’t something he wanted to put Miss Edwards through.
The Girl Who Stepped Into The Past Page 8