by Sara Bennett
He’d have to be completely honest with her.
He toyed with her fingers. “Have you ever noticed how serious life is once you’re grown-up? But perhaps not. You’re still so young, Averil.”
Averil frowned at him. “You sound as if you’re a hundred,” she said sharply. “And I am not young . . . well, I am young, I suppose, but I have seen a great deal, more I dare say than other young ladies in my situation.”
He turned her hand over to stroke her palm. What she said was true, and it wasn’t her relative youth that bothered him. He’d known many women, some of whom would have jumped at the chance to be mistress of Southbrook Castle for the sheer importance of the name and position, but Averil wasn’t one of them. She would never do such a thing for her own aggrandizement. He’d chosen to love the one woman who would never be swayed by such considerations.
“No, you are no simpering miss,” he agreed. “Far from it.”
“I have never been the simpering kind,” Averil agreed primly.
She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him, and before he could guess at her intention, she leaned up and kissed his lips. It occurred to Rufus that he should set her away but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not with her mouth so warm and soft. He took her in his arms and kissed her back. There was no doubting the passion between them. He groaned and kissed her again, using the tip of his tongue to trace the shape of her lips, his hands sliding into the silk of her wayward hair.
She reached up blindly to his cheek and he felt her fingertips trace the line of his scar. He froze, thinking now she would pull away with distaste—it had happened before. But of course this was Averil and what she did was lean back in his embrace and look at him with her direct gaze.
“How were you injured?”
She went to stroke him again, but he caught her hand in his and brought it to his mouth instead. “Don’t you listen to the gossips?” he murmured.
“Well, there was some talk of a duel,” she said, obviously embarrassed that she had eavesdropped on the tittle-tattle. “Or-or a scuffle in an alley over a-a card debt or a lady’s honor.”
He snorted. “Very romantic, but I’m afraid it was nothing like that. My wife’s brothers decided I needed to be taught a lesson and they thought they were the men to do it. Like the cowards they were, they cornered me one night on my way home, and did their best to kill me.”
Averil’s gray eyes widened in shock. “But why?”
“They blamed me for something that wasn’t my fault,” he said in a short, clipped way that dared her to ask more.
And he could see that she did want to ask. Her lips parted but then she shook her head slightly, as if to tell herself to stop. Or perhaps it was just that she was secretly afraid of what she would hear.
“Wise girl,” he said. “Let’s keep some mystery between us.”
“I don’t think I’m always wise,” she sighed, and now she was snuggling closer into his chest. He gave her a little squeeze, enjoying the feel of her, the way she fitted against him. “Although I think perhaps I am wiser than my mother,” Averil murmured softly, but he heard.
“So you’re not planning to run off with the wicked earl?” he said, playing at being hurt. “My heart is broken, Averil.”
Averil tilted her head so that she could see his face, and her mouth curved to echo his. “Do wicked earls have hearts?” she demanded lightly.
“Of course they do, although perhaps they’re a little blacker and harder than other hearts.”
“Rufus . . .”
But he put a finger to her lips. “No more questions. I might say something you might not want to hear. Let’s go back now, Averil. You and I both know you shouldn’t be here, alone, with me.”
She could feel him easing himself away from her. Physically but also emotionally. He thought he wasn’t good enough for her, she knew it in a flash. And suddenly Averil was very angry with him. Why did he put himself out of her league? Why did he imagine she cared a jot for gossip and things that might have happened in the past and were nothing to do with them?
Averil stood up.
He stood up, too, towering over her, but she wasn’t intimidated by him, and it was time he heard some home truths.
“What tosh,” she said tartly, and felt by the heat in her cheeks that her temper was on the rise. She tried to swallow it down, to be calm. “I have been my own woman for many years and I make my own decisions. I certainly don’t need you to make them for me.”
“Quite the little firebrand, aren’t you?” he said quietly.
“I’m not afraid to say what I think, if that’s what you mean.”
“All very well but sometimes you need to think with your head and not your emotions, Averil, and this is one of those times. I’m not the man for you.”
Suddenly her temper left her, and she felt empty and flat. He didn’t want her. He was trying in his own way to be kind.
“You don’t want me,” she whispered. “I suppose I’ve made a fool of myself by kissing you? But at least I’ve been sincere. Why can’t you just tell me if that’s how you feel and not pretend you’re rejecting me for my own sake?”
And with that she turned and began to hurry away, blind with tears, trying not to stumble. She felt wretched and foolish. She’d thought he felt the same as her but he’d just been amusing himself, enjoying their little flirtation. He might even pity her!
She didn’t hear him behind her, but the next moment he’d caught her arm. He tried to turn her about, while she struggled, aware of her tear-streaked cheeks and thumping heart, but he was stronger than she. “Averil,” he said, and swung her up into his arms, just as he had that night at The Tin Soldier.
“Foolish girl,” he was murmuring, and he was kissing her face, wild little kisses. Averil’s breath caught on something between a laugh and a sob, and then he claimed her mouth, kissing her with all the desperation of a man deep in love.
Averil felt as if she were melting. This was the man she wanted above all others, no matter what he had done and what he said. Was she a fool to ignore the warnings of others? And yet she was so certain she was right about him.
“Averil?”
It was Beth calling from the castle terrace. Averil sighed and their lips clung a moment more, before Rufus let her slip down through his arms until she was securely on her own two feet.
“Averil,” Beth called again, “where are you?”
They could hear James’s deeper voice trying to reassure, but Averil knew there would be no reassuring her companion until she clapped eyes on her charge. Averil removed Rufus’s jacket and gave his hand a squeeze.
“I have to go back.”
“I know.” His smile was wry. “Reality intrudes.”
And then they were moving into the dim light of the castle windows, back to normality.
“We were looking at the lake,” she said reassuringly as soon as she saw Beth, and hoped no one could see the ravages of emotion on her face.
Beth gave her a narrowed look, but James distracted her by beginning a long story about how he’d swum there as a boy. Rufus held her arm across the uneven paving on the terrace and back into the drawing room, and then he stepped back, away from her.
Distancing himself.
Averil turned to try to read the expression in his dark eyes, but his head was bowed, and then he was turning toward James and the moment was lost. The doubts his kisses had helped to calm rose up again. There was something, she knew it, could sense it. There was something wrong.
“I think we should retire,” Beth said. “It has been a long day, and we have another one tomorrow.”
“Of course. Good night.” Averil smiled at the room in general, realizing how exhausted she was.
She and Beth climbed the stairs together.
“I know I’m right,” Beth said when they were out of earshot. “The dreadful servants, the grounds so unkempt, the closed rooms. I took a moment earlier to poke about and, Averil, I would say the Southbrooks
are definitely bust.”
Averil giggled.
“Why is that funny?”
“Oh, Beth, it’s obvious they haven’t two pennies to rub together. They’ve put on a show for us because they’re too proud to admit it. James has probably done all of this for you,” she added innocently.
Beth thought a moment and then she said, “I can think of another reason.”
Averil shot her a look to silence her. “I will hear no more,” she said quietly. “I am enjoying this visit. I am enjoying Lord Southbrook’s company. Please, Beth, don’t spoil it.”
Beth bit her lip, but when she left Averil at her bedroom door she still looked worried.
The earl of Southbrook tossed and turned in his four-poster bed. For a time he lay on his back, staring up at the moth-eaten canopy. Was it his guilty conscience that made it impossible for him to sleep? But why should he feel guilty? He’d tried to warn her. He’d even done his best to drive her away. If she wouldn’t listen then surely that was her fault?
With a curse he got up and went to the window. From there he could see the water of the pond, and he rested his forehead against the cold glass and closed his eyes. His head spun dizzily with questions he couldn’t answer.
What if he asked her to marry him? What then? And what if she said yes? Could he make her happy? He hadn’t made his first wife happy, and then she’d died and for a time he’d lost his way. And, of course, with his soiled reputation, Averil would be sure to be slighted and snubbed. She wouldn’t give up, she’d battle on, trying to reinstate him, trying to pretend this was what she wanted.
She’d be miserable.
And what about Eustace, who was so fond of her, and James, who was making a fool of himself over Beth? Not to mention her sister he was searching for, and the business with the Home and the missing girls?
Rufus cursed and wondered how he had managed to entangle himself in her life to this extent in so short a time.
A sound distracted him and he frowned and moved toward the door. Yes, there was definitely someone outside moving along the corridor. He opened his door and peered out.
Eustace was leading Hercules toward his room.
He thought about reprimanding the boy but he stopped himself. Eustace loved the creature, and why shouldn’t he have his dog, something of his own to love and that loved him? He’d been remiss in that, too, as well as not keeping a closer eye on Mrs. Slater. Rufus told himself he’d have to try harder to be a good father, but then losing the castle and the Mayfair house were hardly the actions of a good father, were they?
But would he be a good father if he saved them by marrying Averil?
And having gone full circle, Rufus groaned and went back to his bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
The dower house was a redbrick square, with none of the character of Southbrook Castle, but, far more important than looks, it was a solid and substantial building. James and Rufus did not accompany them—evidently there were matters at the castle to attend to. Averil didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that the earl wasn’t by her side. Breakfast had been a hasty affair and she’d only spoken to him once, to murmur a “Good morning,” and although he had smiled he had seemed distant.
Last night seemed like a dream, and she wondered if she had really understood him and his words as perfectly as she’d thought she did. With morning had come doubts, and try as she might Averil could not seem to shake them off.
When the three women arrived at the dower house, Douglas McInnes was already there, and was quick to hand Violet down from the vehicle.
He continued to show a marked preference for the girl, but Averil was relieved to see that the attention had not gone to her head. Far from it, in fact. Violet appeared a little amused by his singling her out, and knew how to keep her distance from the older man. She was a very pretty girl and she’d probably learned such lessons early in her life.
Douglas took a heavy set of keys from his coat pocket and opened the front door, which creaked protestingly. “The Southbrooks haven’t lived here for years, but it’s a good, solid house and it seems a shame for it to lie empty. I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to repair any neglect and set it to rights again.”
Inside the rooms smelt disused and dusty, but far from being dark and gloomy, there was plenty of light coming through the many windows. Some of the rooms were still furnished with old-fashioned, solid pieces. Douglas left them to wander about as they pleased and when they entered the kitchen, Violet became quite animated.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. It was a vast room dominated by a massive stove and a wooden table with a dozen chairs. Like the other rooms the kitchen was well lit and in spite of its size had an air of coziness. Violet began to chatter about the amount of food that could be prepared here, and how she visualized it all happening. “It’s perfect!” she blurted out.
Averil agreed it did look suitable for their purposes and was considerably better than the kitchen at the Home, where they struggled to prepare adequate meals for the occupants. Violet’s ideas surprised her; they were well thought out and sensible.
The rest of the dower house provided her with more ideas. There were rooms that would be suitable for dormitory-style accommodation, as well as private areas. Perhaps they might consider taking in some orphans? Averil had felt for some time that this was a matter they might explore. And some of the distressed women were mothers, so why not accommodate them and their children?
“I can see your mind ticking over,” Beth said, giving her a nudge. “What do you think? Will it do?”
Averil smiled dreamily. “I think so. Of course it’s a long way from the East End, but then that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
“They can come here and stay for however long you consider necessary, and then they can go out and find work in some of the larger towns. They may never return to London.”
“Many of the women are from outside the city in the first place, and were only drawn into London to look for work, before things went sour for them. It seems to be a recurring theme. I need to talk to Gareth about it, but . . .” She smiled.
“You want to do it,” Beth answered for her.
“Yes.” Averil forced herself to be practical. “There’s the matter of the money needed to make repairs and to keep the place in good condition. Do we buy it outright or lease it from the earl? Perhaps a lease and then, when I turn twenty-one, I will be able to purchase it myself. I feel like it’s my project, Beth. Something I can make my life’s work.”
Beth opened her mouth to remind her that life was more than work, but Violet interrupted.
“Lady Averil, we could grow our own vegetables here.” The girl was looking out the window at an overgrown garden. “The women could tend them and then pick them and finally cook them. Some of them don’t even realize that potatoes grow in the ground. They think they come ready mashed in a pot.”
Averil went to stand beside her. “That sounds marvelous, Violet.” It seemed that she and the girl were thinking along the exact same lines for once, and they exchanged smiles.
After an inedible breakfast at the castle, food was very much on their minds.
“I think it’s a wonderful place,” the girl said wistfully. “You’re going to take it, aren’t you?”
Was she? What if Gareth refused? But Averil knew she’d already decided. “Yes, Violet. I’ll do whatever I can to secure this place for our cause. And, if you’re willing, you can play a part in setting it up.”
Tears filled Violet’s eyes but she held them back, turning again to the window. “I-I’ll have to see,” she murmured. “I mean, I want to, Lady Averil, but there are reasons . . .”
“Of course,” Averil said briskly, hiding her disappointment.
She looked about her with satisfaction. Yes, this would do. It would do very well.
When they returned to the castle, Violet asked if Averil and Beth would accompany her to the kitchen. She looked secretive and yet there wa
s a little smile playing about her lips, and Averil wondered what she was up to, as they followed her into the bowels of the castle.
The kitchen was like a stone vault and was probably the original castle kitchen, with an old-fashioned iron range placed where once the big fireplace would have been. A blackened pot was boiling violently, spitting its contents, while there were vegetables and bowls full of ingredients in various stages of completion jumbled on the scrubbed table. A woman with a round flushed face and wild eyes spun around to face them as they entered.
“Lady Averil?” she said in a quavering voice. “Oh, my lady, please, please, you must help me!” And then she burst into tears.
After they’d soothed the poor woman—whose name was Nora Hastings—and sat her down at the table while Violet made her a cup of tea, they discovered why she was at the end of her tether.
“When Mr. James asked me to do the cooking, he didn’t tell me the whole truth. He said there were only one or two people at the castle and no fuss, just good plain fare, but now he’s telling me I have to make all this Frenchified stuff and really, I can’t do it. I’ve never eaten a French meal in my life! Even my seed cake, something that has never failed me before, has gone terribly wrong. And the oven!” She turned to glare at it with hatred. “I just can’t get to grips with it at all.”
While Nora had been pouring her troubles into Averil’s and Beth’s sympathetic ears, Violet had been peering into the basins and sniffing the bits and pieces on the table. Now she took a deep breath and announced, “I’ll help you, Nora. Don’t worry. I’m used to cooking for hordes, and I’m rather good at it, too, even if that’s what Doctor Simmons would call immodest.”