by Diana Ballew
“You did what?”
“Well, I wanted to see if I could find out anything more about him and his connection to Alex.” That sounded somewhat reasonable. “I finally flat-out asked him, but he danced around the issue.”
“You don’t mean to tell me he kissed you there at the dining table, do you?”
“Of course not. We were in the drawing room, after dinner, when he started all that.”
“You invited him into the drawing room after dinner? He’s your butler, Bella! At least that’s what he’s playing at. What were you thinking, for heaven’s sake?” Lisbeth looked at the other girl as if she’d grown two heads.
“I did not invite him there,” she felt herself blush. “He invited himself. He asked if I would play for him.” Her friend still looked disbelieving.
“Well, it was after he thought I was dismissing him, a comment concerning dessert, and I couldn’t be rude, could I?” She realized how pathetic she sounded. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh, dear, indeed.” Lisbeth sniffed. “You’re quite in over your head, you know.” Giving the other girl a stern look, she continued, “He’s toying with you. He’s not some young boy, he’s a man who is used to women falling all over him.” She waggled her finger at Isabella. “You had best stop this right now.”
“He’ll be leaving soon.” The thought dampened Isabella’s spirits. Only four more days and she would be all alone again.
“Not soon enough, for your sake.” Lisbeth muttered. “Were you at least able to find anything out about him?”
“What? Oh, not really.” Isabella thought over her conversation at dinner with Easton. “He said he and Alex met while ‘out on the town’ and he mentioned a man named Tilbot, whom he said was a fellow butler. He proposed taking me to a place called Gunther’s for an ice, if I ever came to London.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that place. It’s frequented by the Ton.” Lisbeth read the gossip articles of the London Times with regularity. “But, what else did you learn?”
“Nothing, really.” It was discouraging how little she had been able to glean from him. Isabella remembered her resolve of that evening. “You have to teach me how to wheedle information, Beth.”
“What? I wouldn’t know how to ‘wheedle’ anything.” The blonde sniffed with mock indignation. “Really, where do you get such ideas?”
“Please,” Isabella rolled her eyes, and they both laughed. “You would put a spy to shame with your abilities.”
Lisbeth grinned. “All right, but you have to promise to be careful around your Easton. He is a very dangerous man, I think.”
Isabella went to her day room, as was her habit in the late morning, after Lisbeth left her. It was only a few hours later when there came a knock at her door. Easton entered at her bidding, looking somewhat stern.
“Yes, Easton?” She smiled shyly. He had been elsewhere when she had come down to break her fast that morning. This was the first time she had seen him since last night. Of course, she had done nothing but think of him. Who cared about a flock of sheep when such a man as he was in residence?
“There is a young man to see you, my lady.”
“Really?” This was a surprise. “Who is it, Easton?” It obviously wasn’t her cousin by her butler’s disapproving attitude, which relieved her greatly. She wasn’t ready to give up her butler just yet.
“I believe he said his name was Mr. Dalton, my lady. He claims to be of your acquaintance.”
“Oh.” Why ever would Mr. Dalton be calling on her? With a shrug, Isabella stood and crossed the room. She couldn’t help but smile at Easton, looking so proper and handsome. She wished she could kiss him.
“Stop that, my lady.”
“Whatever are you talking about, Easton?” She smiled, looking at him from beneath her lashes.
“Lady Isabella.” He moved to open the door, being careful to look at the wall opposite him and not her.
Isabella sighed, seeing he was determined to act the proper servant, and walked with him down the curved staircase and toward the front parlor.
Easton opened the door, stepped aside, gave her a warning look, then announced, “Baroness, Mr. Dalton is awaiting you within.”
Isabella repressed a giggle at his so very haughty announcement and entered the room. There was Mr. Richard Dalton, just standing to greet her. She eyed Dalton critically for a moment, noting his bright yellow coat, turquoise trousers and white shirt were nowhere near as fine as the material of Easton’s own stark attire. Dalton’s cravat not nearly so crisp, nor his shoes quite as polished. Goodness, didn’t he look like a peacock in those absurdly loud colors! And he tended to slouch. Yes, he was definitely lacking all around.
“Lady Isabella, how very lovely you look this afternoon.” Richard Dalton’s greedy eyes roamed over her. “I do hope I am not interrupting you?” He took her hand, kissing each finger.
Isabella rolled her eyes as Mr. Dalton slobbered over her hand. Apparently, Easton also thought it was a bit too much as she heard him gruffly clear his throat. Richard released her immediately and moved to take a seat to the side of the settee, obviously offering her the chance to sit next to him. Instead, she chose a chair opposite the sofa. She thought she heard the butler chuckle.
“Is he your chaperone, Lady Isabella?” Richard nodded toward the butler, his tone petulant.
“Easton, please see that tea is served. You will stay for tea, won’t you Mr. Dalton?” She had no wish to share a single cup with him, but couldn’t be rude. At least, if she offered him tea, she wouldn’t be obligated to ask him to join her for lunch. She had never liked the young man, as he appeared much too smooth for her to feel he was ever being sincere in his regard of her.
“Thank you, my lady. I should be pleased to.”
Isabella wished she could think of an excuse to send Mr. Dalton away, but nothing came to mind, drat it. He was sitting there, smirking at her in a most annoying manner, his eyes all too frequently darting to her bosom. She thought the yellow of his jacket made his skin appear sallow.
“I enjoyed dancing with you, my dear.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Dalton. It was a lovely party, wasn’t it? And how is your dear father?” She was not going to allow him to become too familiar in his speech.
The door opened and Easton entered, pushing the teacart.
“Ah, thank you, Easton.”
“Shall I pour, my lady?”
“No, that’s quite all right.” She could handle Richard better if her handsome butler weren’t near to distract her with wicked thoughts. She noticed an errant lock of hair fall across Easton’s brow and her fingers itched to reach up and brush it back.
“As you wish, my lady.” Easton bowed out of the room, a scowl on his face.
Isabella managed to be polite during Mr. Dalton’s visit, but it was a chore, to be sure. He droned on and on about himself, until she thought she’d scream. And the way he kept pulling out that ridiculous bright green handkerchief and fluttering it about was simply too much. Finally, he rose and prepared to take his leave.
“I haven’t enjoyed myself more in ages, my dear.”
He smiled down at her as she walked him to the door, his pale brown eyes lingering on her breasts. She wished she could slap him.
“I do hope we may visit together again? Perhaps the day after tomorrow I could come and take you riding? I’ve just purchased a fine stallion.”
“Oh,” Isabella couldn’t think up an excuse to refuse him. Turning away suitors was not a situation she normally had to deal with. “Yes, that would be nice.” Heavens, maybe she could get Lisbeth to join them.
Easton was standing just outside the parlor, leaning casually against the wall, his ankle and arms crossed. He straightened slowly as the two emerged. “Are you on your way, then, Mr. Dalton?” He didn’t even try to keep the contempt out of his voice.
Richard gave the butler a glare. “Yes, have my horse brought around.” He turned to Isabella and took her hand, bowed over it and placed
a kiss on her wrist. “Until Wednesday, Lady Isabella.”
Mr Easton walked stiffly out the front door and signaled Harry to bring the man’s horse forward.
Isabella breathed a sigh of relief after Easton closed the door on her unwanted visitor. She looked at her handsome butler, standing there with his arms folded across his chest, frowning at her. Goodness, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t had to sit there and listen to the fool prattle on and on. It was she who had the right to be cross, if anyone did.
“Wednesday, my lady? You are seeing him again?”
Isabella was taken aback by his angry tone. “Yes, Easton, I am.” It was becoming so obvious that he was not a butler it was almost laughable. Never had a servant spoken to her in such a manner! Nor had the audacity to stand before her with such a disapproving look on his attractive face.
“I see.”
Whatever did that mean? “Well, good. I am relieved things are so clear to you. Would you send a message to Lady Lisbeth, please, requesting she join me for a ride with Mr. Dalton the day after tomorrow?”
He suddenly grinned. “I should be extremely pleased to do so, my lady.”
Isabella returned to her day room, once again attempting to review the accounts. It was no use. She kept picturing Easton smiling at her in the foyer. Who could think about sheep when he was near? She sighed. He was so very handsome. Everything about Easton was handsome. His dress, except for his cravats, which tended to look a trifle rumpled at times, his manners, even his deep warm voice. Goodness.
Just who was this devastatingly virile man her cousin had sent to her? He was, of a certain, not a man used to taking orders. Nor was he in training to see to the running of a household. That was beyond absurd. No, he was a man used to giving the orders, to expecting those around him to heed his direction. His very bearing attested to it with the way he stood so proudly, but with a casual grace, a nonchalance. His deep smooth voice almost always held more than a touch of dry amusement.
And, he was a seducer. How could any doubt that upon setting eyes on him? What man wouldn’t be with riveting eyes so shockingly blue, and such a magnificent physique with broad shoulders, lean waist and muscles bulging nearly everywhere, all topped by black hair which, she could certainly attest, was just as thick and soft as it appeared.
Yes, there was much more to Woodrow Easton than she had been told, as yet. What had happened in London to cause his exile to North Bindlefork? And why was Alex aiding him if he was a supposed servant? She would gladly give away those fifty silly sheep if doing so would gain her her answers!
Her musings were interrupted by yet another knock on her door. Obviously, she would have no peace today. She was not surprised to see Mrs. Combs enter, looking quite nervous.
“Yes, Mrs. Combs?” Well, it had taken longer than she had thought for her housekeeper to seek her out. She had been expecting this interview at breakfast or very soon after.
“My lady,” the older woman curtseyed, clearly uncomfortable and at a loss of how to begin.
“What is it, Mrs. Combs?” Isabella recalled her father’s advice about how the servants were people, just as they were, and should be treated with the proper accord. However, they were servants and once in a while needed to be reminded who paid them. Father had said there would be times when she would need to reaffirm just who was in charge. She knew this was one of those times.
“I have heard some talk of last evening, my lady.”
“Talk, Mrs. Combs? What sort of talk?” She carefully kept her expression bland, her voice cool.
“From the footmen and Cook. They said you actually had the butler to dinner, my lady.”
She made it sound like some sort of disease. It was quite funny, really. “They did?”
“Oh, yes, my lady! I told them it was preposterous, but they assured me they had seen it with their own eyes.”
“And so they did, Mrs. Combs.”
The older woman blinked repeatedly. “My lady?”
“Yes, Mrs. Combs? Is there something else?” She let a bit of annoyance creep into her tone and tapped her pen against the edge of her desk.
The housekeeper was clearly confused, trying to fit this bit of oddness into her usually well-ordered world of class and boundaries. “Is this to be a regular occurrence, my lady? Should the table be set for two nightly?” Mrs. Combs quickly recovered her composure and her disdain was comically evident.
Isabella pretended to ponder this idea. “Hmm, I’m not sure, Mrs. Combs. Perhaps you would care to dine with me this evening?” It was hard not to laugh at the appalled expression on the other woman’s face.
“Oh, no, my lady! I’m quite sure it’s not my place.”
“Very well. If I choose to dine with a guest, I shall inform Cook, Mrs. Combs.” She gave the housekeeper a stern look and knew she need say no more. The pursed lips of the older woman conveyed she’d been clearly understood.
“Yes, my lady. As you wish.”
“I have had a letter from Lord Stapleton. He and a guest shall arrive at the end of this week. Please have two rooms prepared for them. Now, if there are no other household matters, Mrs. Combs . . .” She turned back to her desk, obviously dismissing the other woman.
“No, my lady,” the housekeeper grumbled.
Isabella heard the rustle of her skirts as she left and cast her eyes heavenward with relief.
“That was well done.”
Her back straightened as she recognized his dry voice. “Easton, were you eavesdropping?” Goodness, her pulse was pounding, and she felt quite warm, and from only from hearing his voice.
He snorted and came to stand next to her desk. “Nonsense, my dear, er, my lady. I came with a reply from Lady Lisbeth and saw you were already occupied.”
She looked up at him then. He was smiling and his blue eyes sparkled with humor. She couldn’t help but smile back, then looked at the paper he held out. As she took it from him, their fingers touched and the jolt she felt at the contact made her eyes fly to his face. She rose and unconsciously leaned toward him.
“Read your note.”
“Oh, yes,” Isabella said, a bit breathlessly. Goodness, would she ever meet another man who only had to brush her hand and she would want to wrap herself around him? It was terribly unfair that this man was the only one, so far. She had felt nothing when dancing with all those others, some of whom had been handsome enough.
Life was a trial. She sighed and unfolded the letter. “Oh, dear, she cannot come tomorrow afternoon.”
“Perhaps you could send out two more notes suggesting, instead of riding, dinner on Thursday?”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea! Will you wait while I pen them, please?”
She was done quickly, and, careful not to touch her as he took the notes, he bowed to her then left to find a footman to deliver them immediately.
Isabella decided to take a walk in the gardens before dinner, as her room was much too stuffy. It was a lovely clear evening, the twilight only just settling over the land and the stars barely visible. She strolled through the roses, now in full bloom, their heady scent filling the air. Her mother had especially loved the red roses, but Isabella had always favored the white ones. Coming to one of the stone benches situated in front of a huge old rose tree, with a view of the white flowers, she decided to sit for a spell. It was so very peaceful here. She let her thoughts drift, and they again, of course, settled on Easton.
She pondered what Father would have thought of him. He had certainly disapproved of Mr. Dalton saying, “He’s a simpering ass, that one is, Bella. Stay away from him or I shall disown you.”
No, he hadn’t liked Richard at all. But Easton was anything but an ass, and certainly not simpering. She could imagine her father taking one look at him and scoffing at the butler pretense. He would probably call Easton a womanizer and once again warn her away. Or would he? He had actually encouraged her to flirt once, when a very attractive young lord had come calling on them to inquire about purchasing some
land. She remembered looking at him aghast.
“Nonsense, I could not possibly flirt, Father!” The very idea was foreign to her. She was not one to act coy or tease with a gentleman, and he knew this. Hadn’t he always been so very approving of her directness?
Her father had looked at her a bit sadly and nodded his head. “I know, dearest, more’s the pity.” She had not understood him.
Would her father think her lovely now, as Easton said? Would he look at her and see some small trace of her mother’s beauty shining through? Isabella recalled how often she would come across Father in the hallway, standing in front of Mother’s portrait and staring at it intensely. If he spotted his daughter, he would give her a sad smile and say, “Damn fine woman she was,” and stroll off to wherever it was he had been going before the portrait had captured his attention. He rarely mentioned Mother’s great beauty to his plain daughter.
But, several years had passed now and she had matured. Perhaps he would think she had more to offer a man than the size of her estate and business sense.
Isabella couldn’t begin to imagine what he would say if he saw her lusting after the supposed butler. Goodness, it was absurd, she knew, but, what was she to do? The man had only to look at her and she was clay for him to mold as he saw fit. She sighed, knowing there was no way to control these delicious new feelings he stirred and admitted, if only to herself, that she really didn’t want to.
She was a practical girl and always had been. She was never one to give over to flights of fancy and had always been rather proud of the trait. But, now . . . well, now everything was different. She was different. She knew now what it was to feel desire for another, and to wish, beyond all hope, there could be a chance for happiness in the arms of a man quite unsuitable for her. Even if she was right, and he wasn’t a servant, he was still not a man she could accept. Even if her body yearned for his touch, and goodness how it did, there was no hope for it. More than likely he was a bastard and would never be acceptable to her Uncle Hugh, Alex’s father. And though she held the tille of Baroness outright and owned the estate and lands, she would still need the approval of her uncle to be able to marry.