by Diana Ballew
“If I may, my lady,” he spoke softly, the barest hint of a smile on those magnificent lips, “I think I shall greatly enjoy my time here.”
“Why, I hope you do, Easton.”
And then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him. Isabella sank down into the chair that has been her father’s and was now hers. Goodness, butlers simply shouldn’t be that handsome. It was quite unnerving.
Rafe lay stretched out on the small, narrow bed that would be his for at least the next few weeks. His hands laced together behind his head, he contemplated Lady Isabella.
Alex hadn’t painted a very flattering picture of the young woman. He’d repeatedly called her plain yet Lady Isabella was anything but “plain,” in Rafe’s esteemed opinion. He’d been quite surprised when she’d entered the study. Such a lovely little thing, not quite coming to his shoulders. Her green eyes had an exotic slant, her full lips were red and very tempting, and her hair – ah, beautiful, thick auburn hair he would bet was long and soft as silk. And her figure was the capper – a tiny waist, full breasts, and, he just knew, shapely legs. Yes, the lady was quite a dish. Too bad he wasn’t in the position to attempt a little seduction.
His arrival had been quite amusing, with servants peeking out of various rooms as he was ushered through the massive entry and down the wide hall into the den to await the mistress.
And then the lovely baroness had swept into the room, her chin in the air and back ramrod straight, like a bloody little general. Her initial reaction was one he was used to from women, but she had been quick to recover, he’d give her that.
While she spoke in a clipped manner, he studied her, looking beyond the surprising beauty. Rafe could see that she was used to giving orders and had every expectation they would be adhered to. She was a serious, proper little miss, to be sure. Even her dress was prim, although very tasteful. She kept their interview brief and to the point, dismissing him within moments. It had been quite amusing, really. He had never encountered such treatment before in his life, especially not from a member of the fairer sex.
Later, as a footman was leading him to his room, he caught the eye of a pretty maid on the back stairs. The look she had given him had been more than inviting. Well, if he had to spend time in isolation, he supposed this was as good a place as any. The natives seemed friendly enough.
His room, however, was abysmal. Back home, his armoire was more spacious than this. He lifted his head and frowned, seeing his feet dangling off the end of the bed. This really wouldn’t do. But, as a lowly servant, he couldn’t very well order a bigger bed, could he? No, Tilbot had told him quite explicitly that servants did not request things.
“Simply say ‘yes, my lord,’ or ‘no, my lady,’ and do the best you can to keep from being noticed. And, what ever you do, do not ‘demand’ anything. That, for you, Your Grace, should be challenge enough."
Not very encouraging, mind you, but it was advice Rafe would attempt to adhere to.
He rose, realizing it was getting close to the dinner hour, and began changing into one of the uniforms Alex and Whit had taken great pleasure in procuring for him. It was your standard butler attire, black trousers and coat with tails, with a white shirt and simple cravat. His black shoes were polished nicely, thanks to his valet, who had nearly fainted when told what his distinguished master planned to do.
“Your Grace, it cannot be borne!” Simpson, a slim little man, had wrung his hands and hopped about from one foot to the other. “You are an Atherton, a duke. Is there no other way, Your Grace? Must you actually serve, Your Grace?”
This was followed by more hand-wringing and hopping, until finally Rafe told him to take a vacation for the next two weeks, starting immediately.
It took Rafe some time to be satisfied his attire was correctly put together. He would not have considered himself so inept before today, never having given dressing a thought. He had always had a valet and must have simply taken cravat-tying for granted. When he emerged from his room, he almost collided with a young footman.
“Oh, blimey! There you are, Gov.” The boy was sweating and tugged at the collar of his dark green jacket. “I was sent to fetch you and was told to be right smart ‘bout it. Dinner’s nearly served and you’re needed.”
“Of course, boy. Lead the way, if you would be so kind. I’m not yet familiar with my surroundings.” Rafe brushed a stray piece of thread from his shiny black satin lapel. He looked up to see the little fellow eyeing him oddly. “Well, let’s go then. Her ladyship mustn’t be kept waiting.”
Was he so obviously out of his element that even the footman realized it? This plan of Alex’s was truly insane.
Rafe managed to keep up with the chap as he led the way down one corridor after another on fleet feet. Shortly they arrived in the main hallway, where Rafe was to wait for the appearance of Lady Isabella. He stood at the base of the stairs and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. Satisfied, he looked toward the top of the steps, trying not to appear bored and amused. Within a moment, the baroness was gliding down the huge curved stairway, dressed most becomingly in a soft burgundy muslin gown, her cream underskirt just peeking through. Her lovely hair was piled atop her head in a mass of ringlets. She saw him and paused in mid-step but so briefly he wondered if he had imagined it. She was at his side an instant later. Rafe resisted the urge to compliment her and take her arm. Instead, he bowed to her, murmured a “my lady” and proceeded her to the doors he was fairly sure opened into the dining room. Luckily, he was correct. After closing the portal behind her, he held her chair at the head of the table and signaled the footman to begin serving. Good heavens, he was actually doing it! Wouldn’t Tilbot be proud of his butlering?
Isabella could not believe how handsome Easton was in his uniform. The tailored jacket hugged his broad shoulders and she could tell he had no need of padding. His cravat was just a bit crooked but she overlooked that one tiny flaw in the otherwise perfect appearance of him. Her eyes were drawn to him repeatedly while he stood in the corner, observing with veiled amusement every dish and its placement on the long table. The stark black-and-white attire enhanced his ebony hair and those arresting blue eyes too well.
Suddenly, Isabella realized she had never before felt so alone sitting here as she did now. Here she was - an heiress surrounded by all the comforts one could wish for and the only thing she lacked was someone to share her company.
The thought that Easton might pity her popped into her head, and she wished Lisbeth had dropped by. She often did of late, as her mother was currently residing in London with her eldest daughter. Her friend’s elder sister was having her debut this Season. Bubbly Lisbeth would be a very welcome presence right now.
She jumped when suddenly Easton was right beside her, pouring more of the rich cabernet into her wineglass.
“I beg your pardon, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
His deep voice caressed her, his warm breath stirring the stray tendrils of hair at her nape. She shivered, despite the warmth of the room.
“Thank you, Easton.”
“My lady.”
Dinner was finally over, and Isabella decided to retire early. Her nerves felt near to breaking, they were stretched so taut. Easton escorted her to the foot of the stairs and bowed low over her hand.
“Good night, my lady.”
“Good night, Easton.” She was almost disappointed he hadn’t kissed her hand.
Nonsense, that was silly. Why should she be disappointed the butler hadn’t kissed her hand? Despite his devastating good looks, he was a butler, not a gentleman caller trying to woo her. It was nonsense indeed! She must be overly tired.
Chapter 3
Rafe soon discovered that the work of a butler was quite busy. He seemed forever to be dashing here or there in anticipation of someone coming or going, making some dire decision or other, or assisting Mrs. Combs with a task. The dear housekeeper had taken quite a shine to him and was pleasant company. He was able to take an hour each day
to ride his horse, Julius. And in the evenings, he stood watch over Lady Isabella’s table, taking any excuse to stand near her and to smell her subtle scent of roses, and to hopefully see to her full lips curve upward as she bestowed on him one of her dazzling, if rare smiles. He observed each graceful movement, and heard each small sigh of pleasure, he was so attuned to her innocent sensuality. Every night she held him transfixed and left him aching with desire. It was sweet torture he looked forward to and it was the perfect test for his resolve. He could not seduce a young woman of good family, and certainly not the cousin of a friend . . . oh, but how he wanted to!
He found he rather liked this grand but cozy country estate and the inhabitants, now that they were beginning to warm up to him. He was pleased to find that Lady Isabella was highly regarded and seemed more than capable of keeping the place well run. He had met with several of the local farmers, when they came to deliver goods to the manor, and it was gratifying to hear their praises of the lady.
On his fifth day, he discovered the lake at the far north edge of the property. It was such a beautiful spot, so peaceful. It reminded him of his country estate. He had spent many happy days of his childhood there. He remarked on the area to Mrs. Combs one afternoon. She had smiled and nodded at his description.
“Oh my, yes. That’s one of her ladyship’s favorite places. She often rides there. When the afternoons grow hot, I suspect she dips her toes in the water.” The elderly woman gave him a conspiratorial wink.
That evening, at the usual appointed dinner hour, Isabella again glided down the wide staircase, this time dressed in a demure gown of deep gold. Her lovely hair was entwined with matching ribbons and piled atop her head. As usual, she held herself as if she were a general who was about to survey her troops, sure she would find some lacking. As she passed him, she nodded and the scent of roses invaded his senses.
During dinner, Rafe’s imagination took flight and he spent the time tormenting himself with visions of Isabella swimming in the clear cool pool, her naked form cutting through the sun-dappled water like a nymph.
He did not sleep well that night.
Late the next morning, Rafe opened the massive front door and discovered a very pretty blonde young lady standing there. She stared at him with amusingly blatant admiration. He quickly remembered his newfound place and bowed low to her.
“May I help you, miss?” It was difficult, but he managed to keep his face as somber as a vicar’s even as she began blushing profusely.
“Goodness! Why, I’m Miss Lisbeth Tetherly, here to see the Baroness.” She continued to stare at him, her soft blue eyes round.
“Do come in, Miss Lisbeth. I shall announce you at once.” He closed the door after she had stepped into the green marbled entry, took her light summer spencer, and led her to the front parlor. He chuckled. So, that was Lady Isabella’s best friend and closest neighbor, whom he had heard about through Mrs. Combs. Rafe gave the spencer to a passing footman and quickly sought out his “mistress.”
As usual at this time of day, Isabella was ensconced in her private day room, a room she preferred to the large study that had been her father’s domain. She sat poring over account ledgers and correspondence, considering an offer from a neighboring estate to purchase fifty of her sheep. It was a tempting proposal, but there weren’t nearly as many ewes this year as there had been in the past and she wasn’t sure about parting with quite so many of the animals. Absently, she called out “enter” at the knock on her door.
She turned to look at the servant and her pulse quickened.
“Oh, Easton.” Seeing him standing there, she quickly rose from behind her small desk. No man had the right to so completely steal a girl’s breath away. She felt an urge to reach up to brush back an errant lock of hair falling across his brow and had to clutch her hands together to stop herself.
“My lady, Miss Tetherly is awaiting you in the front parlor. Shall I order refreshments?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Isabella hadn’t ever imagined him in this room. He seemed to dwarf her dainty furniture, making it look childlike. As usual, the sound of his deep rich voice made her pulse skip a beat.
Isabella drew herself together and quickly moved past him, mortified to realize she had been gawking at him. It happened every time she saw him, for heaven’s sake. Why, only yesterday, she had been walking toward the kitchen to inventory with Cook the supplies needing to be replenished, when she had caught sight of the butler through the open doorway of the dining room. He had been talking with Mrs. Combs, only his profile visible to her, but Isabella found herself staring at the angles of his chin, his lips, at the curl to his thick dark lashes. Her fingers had itched to smooth his black brows, to stroke his firm jaw. Thoughts of him touching her, of kissing her, filled her mind and she blushed at her own silly musings before tearing herself away from the sight of him and continuing on to the kitchen. The images of him had stayed in her mind all during her discussion with Cook.
Now, a once-again composed Isabella entered the parlor and was greeted by her long-time friend with enthusiasm.
“Oh, my gracious, Bella,” Lisbeth squealed. “He is too scrumptious! Wherever did you find him?”
There was no need to ask to whom Lisbeth referred. Isabella sat on the edge of a chair close to the gold and green couch, her back stiff. “My cousin Alexander sent him.”
The blonde threw herself down onto the small settee. “I visit my Aunt Estelle for only a few days and come back to find an Adonis has arrived in North Bindlefork! I would love to have such a gorgeous man in my employ. Just imagine, he would be at my every beck and call.” She sighed, then sat up abruptly. “No, you don’t have to imagine! You have the real thing.” She bit her lip and wrapped her arms around herself. “Perhaps I shall poison our Jeffreys.”
“Please, Lisbeth, no dramatics.” Isabella waggled her finger at her friend. “I have enough problems with Easton.”
“Easton? Easton,” Lisbeth said softly, as if tasting his name. “How could someone so superb be a problem?”
Isabella plucked at the sleeve of her gown with practiced nonchalance. “The maids do nothing but swoon, Cook only makes dishes he prefers, the stable boy defers to his judgment - must I go on?” She stood suddenly, unable to face her childhood friend, lest the other girl see the truth in her eyes. “This place is becoming a shambles, truly.” It was she who couldn’t seem to get anything accomplished. The household had never run more smoothly, as the servants seemed to be vying for Easton’s approval. She had read over the reports from the easterly lands some three times and didn’t have a clue what they said. She still had made no decision about the sheep. Each time she attempted to concentrate, she found her thoughts soon drifting to the dark and dangerous man. And he was dangerous, at least to her and her sanity.
“Oh, honestly, Bella,” Lisbeth giggled. “Now who is being dramatic?”
Just then there was a brisk rap on the door, and Easton entered directly, pushing a small trolley loaded with cakes and a pot of tea.
“My lady, Miss Lisbeth,” the new butler nodded to the grinning blonde seated on the pale green couch.
He quickly located her, standing across the room behind a large matching wing chair.
“My lady, do you wish me to serve?”
“No.”
“Oh, yes!” Lisbeth clapped her hands and smiled most charmingly. “Do let the lovely Easton serve us our tea, Bella.”
Isabella rolled her eyes, but knew Lisbeth would have her way. Her friend could charm the birds from the trees, if she felt so inclined.
“My lady?”
“If you don’t mind, Easton?” Isabella was embarrassed to her toes by Beth’s comment. One simply didn’t refer to a butler as “lovely,” especially within said servant’s hearing.
“Of course, my lady.”
She could barely contain her fidgeting until he was finished pouring.
“Thank you, Easton, that will be all.” Isabella simply could not relax while th
e man was in the room. His eyes held such wicked amusement each time they met hers, she was sure if he didn’t leave, she would end up with a lap full of the hot beverage.
The handsome butler finally bowed his way out of the room.
“Lisbeth, I should strangle you,” she said after the door clicked shut.
“What?” Her slim friend feigned all that was innocent, then promptly ruined the act by giggling.
Isabella gave her a stern look before sighing. “Damnation, he’s too handsome for a girl’s frame of mind.”
“How long do you get to keep him?”
“My, that sounds odd. I don’t really know. Cousin Alex only said it was for a while, until Easton’s situation improved in London.”
Isabella chose a lemon tart from the plate of goodies and nibbled it daintily.
“What situation?” Lisbeth, who was partial to apricots, selected an apricot cake.
“Again, I don’t know.” She frowned down at the pastry with its thin yellow glaze. “Alex’s words seemed to have a double meaning. I would assume Easton found himself in some trouble or other.” What had her cousin been implying in his strange missive? And how was it that Easton seemed to know the rules of etiquette so well, but was so obviously at sea when it came to where to find the silver polish and linen cupboard? Why, he directed the footmen to begin serving even before she had signaled she was ready!
“He probably got caught in bed with someone’s wife.”
“Beth!”
“What now?” She licked the last of the filling from her slender fingers, ignoring Bella’s frown.
“You know more than a young lady ought, that’s what.”
“Well, Sheila Dooley told me all sorts of things as soon as she got back from her wedding trip. She said ‘lovemaking’ was much sought after, even by ladies, and that it was delightful. She said that in London, every man has a least one mistress and no-one bats an eye about it.”