✼ ✼ ✼
Rylan came again two days later, supposedly to see Lord Mantock about some business affair, but it was generally agreed among the servants that that was just an excuse for him to see Aveline. While he was in the house, I had every intention of staying as far from him as possible.
Then Lord Mantock sent down a request for tea, and it fell on me to deliver it to his lordship’s study. I could guess whom it was for.
I was truly starting to hate Rylan’s preference for tea.
Standing outside the study door, holding the tray, I breathed deep, gathering my courage and trying to rid myself of all the emotions that his presence caused to well inside me. All I had to do was walk in, keep my eyes on the floor, deliver the tray, and leave. That’s all, yet it felt insurmountable.
Enough. Stalling was only increasing my nerves. I balanced the tray on one arm and gave a precise knock.
“Enter.”
I opened the door and kept my focus on the tray as I switched it back to two hands and walked over to the desk, only to find it covered with papers and ledgers. I looked to Lord Mantock, hoping for some sort of direction. He gestured across his desk with his quill. “It is for our guest.”
Of course it was. And as such, the tray belonged on the table that sat beside the chair in front of the desk. The chair in which I had no doubt Rylan was sitting.
I dipped my head in acknowledgment and turned toward the chair, keeping my eyes on the little table. I slid the tray into place without incident, but before I could withdraw, Rylan grabbed my fingers.
My eyes met his. I couldn’t help it. He searched my face with a look of pity or sadness or regret—I didn’t know which. All I knew was that I was stuck there, my hand held captive by the warmth of his fingers, my heart beating to tell me just how much I had missed him.
My mask slipped, and I had to close my eyes and press my lips closed to keep from giving away too much. I pulled on my hand, but he kept hold of it long enough to press something into my palm before letting go.
My fingers closed reflexively over the small, hard object, and I straightened, opening my eyes to give him one reproachful stare before turning away.
Had Lord Mantock seen any of that, or had his attention been on his books the entire time? Did Rylan not realize how he could get me in trouble? He had to know that I wouldn’t have taken this position if I didn’t need the pay, so why would he risk endangering my employment if he cared about my welfare?
Did he care about my welfare? Or would it be easier for him to court Aveline if I were neatly out of the way?
I closed the study door behind me and stood for a moment, unable to think where I needed to go from there.
My eyes were drawn to my hand, still clutching whatever it was that Rylan has secreted there. I opened my hand flat and found another seashell lying on my palm, this one a spiral shape, pure white. I slumped against the wall, not knowing what to think.
Perhaps it was an apology or a farewell token.
The door directly across from me opened. I pulled myself up straight, closing my fist and pressing it to my abdomen. Bram Mantock stood in the open library doorway, looking as if I’d caught him off guard. His eyes dropped to my hands, and though his brow was haughty, his mouth seemed on the verge of smiling. “What do you have there?”
“Master Bram, excuse me.” I curtsied and tried to move around him, but he stepped forward to block my way.
“Hiding a secret treasure?” he asked with a grin and a nod toward my hand.
I pulled my hands behind my back, no doubt making myself look guilty. “It’s nothing, sir.”
“I could order you to divulge your secrets.” Again that look of near arrogance tempered by an almost smile. It shouldn’t have made me nervous, but it did.
“I assure you, it’s nothing of consequence.” I backed up a step, my back hitting the study door, and stared at the floor. I didn’t want to reveal the gift I had received. So I fell back into my role. Subservient. Invisible.
“I’ll allow you to keep your secrets for now, I suppose.” His tone was teasing, but he stepped back.
I felt the latch of the study door move and managed to step out of the way before it swung open.
Lord Mantock stood there, looking on his son with disapproval. Rylan stood a little behind him, his eyes spitting fire. I’d never seen him so furious. I dropped my eyes to the floor again, wishing I could sink beneath it.
“I thought I heard voices,” Lord Mantock said in clipped tones. “What are you doing, Bram?”
“I was on my way out.”
“Then go and stop distracting the help.” The way he said it, harsh and reprimanding, forced me to wonder if Rylan’s warning had merit. If Bram’s own father didn’t trust him . . . but perhaps I was looking for evidence when there was none.
“Of course, Father.” I watched his boots walk away and let out a shuddering breath that I hoped no one else heard.
“You can go,” Lord Mantock said, dismissing me without another thought.
I dipped a curtsy and hurried away. I didn’t dare look at Rylan.
I shut myself in my tiny room, hiding there for longer than I should have been gone because I couldn’t seem to overcome the awful sense of betrayal at having Rylan show up here yet again. He was ruining my sanity. He was making me doubt Master Bram’s kindness, wondering if it were all some elaborate ruse to make me complacent around him.
When I finally went back to work, Rylan had left. I went to retrieve the tea tray from the study and found a tiny scrap of paper sticking out from underneath the cup that said only, “Sorry.”
I tossed it in the fire.
He was sorry, was he? About what? Endangering my position? Flaunting his pursuit of Aveline? Ordering tea when he knew I would be the one to bring it?
I felt manipulated, led on, deceived, and dismissed. I hated that he was the one to make me feel that way. I hated that he’d made me doubt Bram’s sincerity when there were so few people in this house who did not dismiss my presence outright.
✼ ✼ ✼
The next day, I entered the library and started tidying, only to jump out of my skin when I saw Bram sitting before the fire. “My apologies, Master Bram,” I said with a hand still pressed over my heart. He looked at me without speaking, and I turned to leave. “I’ll come back later.”
“A moment?” he asked before I could make my escape.
I wanted so badly to ignore him, but I was a servant. So I turned back toward him, wary of whatever conversation might ensue. Perhaps he found my abilities as lacking as Mrs. Tate did. Why else would he need to speak with me?
A horrid little voice in the back of my mind whispered Rylan’s warning over and over, suggesting Bram had nefarious motives for stalling me, though I tried hard to ignore it. For a long moment, he said nothing, and I couldn’t prevent the knot of suspicion and fright from forming in my chest.
Eventually he took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. “You’ve heard about me,” he said, and my heart pounded painfully. “Haven’t you?”
How on earth was I supposed to answer such a question? Was this his way of asking if I were interested in some dalliance? I prayed it was anything but that and chose to answer strictly as a servant. “Sir, it’s none of my concern—”
“I frightened you yesterday, unintentionally, and I apologize for that.”
“Think nothing of it.” Just don’t prove the rumors true.
“I used to be that way,” he blurted as though unable to hold it back. I kept my eyes on the ground, grateful that he hadn’t taken even a step closer. “I deserved my reputation for a time, but it’s been years . . . ” He trailed off.
As wary as I was, I couldn’t deny that he sounded sincere. I dared to look up at him, surprised by how broken he appeared. When he didn’t say anything else, but just kept looking at me as though seeking some sort of answer, I had to ask, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I thought you m
ight believe me when I say that I’m sorry for it.”
I tried to keep my mouth shut, but his words were so contradictory from what I had heard that I had to ask. “Are you? Sorry for it?”
A haunted look took over his face, but his gaze was unwavering. “More than I can say.”
“Why does it matter if I believe you?”
“Because I’d like to know that someone does.”
“Your family . . . ?”
He frowned as he shook his head. “Father doesn’t believe I’ve changed. Mother ignored it then and continues to ignore it now. Aveline is oblivious.” He backed up and sank into the chair again. “Marcus says he believes me, but . . .”
I studied him, puzzled at why he was confessing to me of all people. “Even if I did believe you, I’m nobody.”
He looked up with half a smile. “You’re a misfit.”
I blinked in surprise. “Thank you?” What an odd thing for him to say. And what did it have to do with believing him?
“You are. You don’t fit anywhere, do you?” The question was written across his face. It seemed he was sincere in his question, and I wondered why it mattered to him. “Born a commoner, but now related to the royal family. A servant from day to day, yet you were able to attend a ball at the palace.”
My face flushed. He had found me out. Or perhaps he had recognized me from the beginning.
“If there is anyone of my acquaintance that could think outside the boundaries of social norms, I would imagine you could.”
He may have been right. I knew that my relationship with Ella, and more recently with Rylan, had put me in a unique position as far as society was concerned. Still . . . “What do social norms have to do with your reputation?”
He turned up his palms, looking defeated. “Once society labels a person, there’s rarely anything you can do to change it. Especially if it was deserved in the first place.”
“So prove them wrong.”
“You make it sound like an easy thing.”
“It’s not. But if I’ve learned anything from my brother and Ella, it’s that hard things are worth it.” I pulled on the handle to let myself out but turned back. “And not that it should matter to you, but I do believe you.”
✼ ✼ ✼
Three days later, Rylan came for Miss Aveline.
Again.
This time I was at least fortunate enough to be upstairs when I recognized his voice floating up from the entryway, and I vowed to remain upstairs until he was gone.
I dusted with a vengeance, trying to ignore the need to listen for conversation or movement.
“Kinley.”
I jumped at Mrs. Tate’s harsh greeting, turning to see her standing in the doorway. “Yes, madam.”
“Miss Aveline’s suitor is here. They are walking in the gardens now, and since there is a chill in the air, I’m certain they will wish to warm themselves when they return. We must have a fire already burning in the parlor when they return.”
It took me a moment to realize she was expecting me to do it. “Does that task not usually fall to the housemaid?”
The tilt of her brow suggested that she did not appreciate my question. “Yes. But she is otherwise occupied, and I am telling you to do it. Are you incapable?”
“Of course not, madam.”
“Then see to it.” She marched out.
Resisting the urge to growl, I set my dusting rag aside. I did not like that woman.
I walked into the parlor, determined to light the fire and be on my way well before Aveline and Rylan came inside. Unfortunately, it was obvious the moment that I walked in that Aveline and probably Marcus had been spending a leisurely morning in this room before Rylan showed up. Several dishes lay out on tables, as well as a used tea service. Aveline’s needlework lay discarded on the settee, and Marcus’s viol had been left out.
I cleared the dishes first, gathering everything that belonged in the kitchen and taking it there in one trip. I carefully returned the viol to its place in the corner and covered it with the cloth that protected it from dust. Then I tucked Aveline’s sewing away in the basket and made sure that the furniture was placed precisely as it should be. I swept away the errant crumbs left from their afternoon tea, all the while listening for the telltale signs of someone returning from outside.
After putting the broom away, I picked up a taper and lit it from one of the burning lamps before kneeling in front of the fire.
That’s when I heard the front door open and Aveline’s delighted tones drifting down the hallway, along with a draft that blew out the flame on my taper. I cursed under my breath. It was wicked of me, but I couldn’t help myself. I jumped to my feet, hurrying over to the lamp again to gather a flame, hoping that they would linger in the entryway. Flirt, for all I cared. Anything to keep them away from this room until I could leave.
The kindling caught and I was beginning to believe I’d be able to slip away when their footsteps approached the door.
I was on my hands and knees lighting a fire when Rylan walked into the room wooing Miss Aveline. Humiliation wasn’t a strong enough word. I didn’t turn to look at them but kept my eyes on the fire as I coaxed it to life, my hands shaking with nerves and embarrassment.
“Do you truly labor with your father’s tenants on occasion?” Aveline was asking.
“I see no reason not to lend a hand if the work needs to be done.”
“But it’s not your responsibility.” Her tone wasn’t uppity or condescending, merely curious.
“Of course it is,” he answered with good humor. “The success of our estate is the responsibility of everyone in my family.”
“But surely your father does not expect you to perform such menial tasks.” There was an innocence to her confusion that I could imagine would appeal to him.
The fire looked as if it would continue to burn, so I carefully pushed to my feet.
“Perhaps not,” Rylan responded, then stopped suddenly as I did my best to keep my back to them and slink to the door. “But I enjoy it,” he finished in a wistful tone as I made my escape.
Relief consumed my whole body, yet I still had the clarity of thought to realize that Rylan and Miss Aveline were visiting by themselves, with not a servant or a mother in sight.
Perhaps Miss Aveline had been right all those weeks ago. Perhaps Rylan was ready to settle down, and he had been testing the waters of courtship in order to find a worthy young woman. And now he had found Aveline. It had been nearly three weeks since they took their first carriage ride together, and he seemed content to continue courting her. Perhaps he would propose. Then I would have the privilege of being privy to the wedding plans.
Chapter Nineteen
MY WORK WAS barely competent for the rest of the day. I was distracted and clumsy. I forgot to include napkins with the place settings. I misplaced Lord Mantock’s book and tipped over a goblet of wine when Aveline mentioned what a lovely time she had had visiting with the dashing Mr. Baylor. By the end of the day, Mrs. Tate was pursing her lips every time she looked at me. I tried to concentrate, to put aside my anger and hurt, but it kept creeping back in.
I’d never been more grateful to be facing a day off. I should have gone to bed and waited for Fynn to fetch me home. I risked suffering my parents’ disapproval if I made my own way home in the evening, but I did it anyway. I’d never be able to fall asleep, and walking a good, long distance was exactly what I needed. I’d be tired enough by the time I returned home that sleep should be easier to claim. Plus, I wouldn’t be going the entire way by myself. There was a dance tonight. It would be easy enough to meet up with Fynn there. He’d scold me, but that seemed a better alternative than stewing in my own anger.
I left Mantock Manor, my feet eating up the distance while my mind churned. The village came into view more quickly than I thought possible, and as I followed the sounds of music and revelry down the lane, it was impossible not to let go of my angst and smile at the familiar sights of swirling skirts and
winding scarves. Those scarves were so much more than decoration. They adorned only women who were spoken for, who had a gentleman to take hold of an end and use it in their dance. I had imagined myself using such a scarf with Zander, but that picture had dissipated into nothingness over the past months. He had been replaced by Rylan so gradually that I hadn’t realized the image in my mind had changed until now, when it was nothing but a fool’s dream.
I leaned against one of the many drooping buildings that lined the square, letting my head fall against the rough stone. There was such an odd mix of happy and sad roiling through me that I felt unsteady. I was happy in this place. I couldn’t help feeling it when I was surrounded by so many people I enjoyed, all dancing with exuberance, letting go of the daily toil for an evening of camaraderie. But I was sad, too. Sad for the loss of my orchard, sad for the loss of a friend, sad because so much of my hope was now gone.
I tried to focus on the good. I searched the crowd for friends, happy to spot Lessi and Midge both in the arms of young men who I knew held their hearts. A grin managed to curve my lips when my eyes settled on Fynn, whose hand was wrapped around Suzannah’s waist, guiding her from step to step, pushing, pulling, and twirling. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a fool as I wanted to think.
I stood there for song after song, content to watch without joining in. When the last song finished, I pushed away from the wall, intent on catching Fynn before he left. However, I stopped when I saw him push Suzannah’s hair behind her shoulder, his fingers brushing her neck. Her face lit up as she gazed up at him. He leaned in and whispered something near her ear, to which she quickly nodded. Then Fynn skimmed his fingers down her forearm and twined his hand with hers before leading her across the square and toward the lane that led to her home.
He was going to walk her home, hand in hand, and I was giddy with excitement for them.
I was also a younger sister who wasn’t above snooping, so I wove my way through the square and followed after them. Their pace was slow and meandering, and I had to slow my steps to keep an appropriate distance. Other villagers passed me by, heading for their own homes. The crowd thinned the farther we got from the square and eventually it was just me, following in the shadows, as Fynn and Suzannah walked and talked in voices too low for me to hear.
Keeping Kinley Page 23