The Lord Meets His Lady

by Gina Conkle

  The last part was hot lust. And the idea of leaving Lord Bowles left her cold.

  She stared at the fire. “His name is Reinhard Wolf. He’s Prussian. Three years ago, he started coming to the Golden Goose. He’d meet other gentlemen of quality and some”—she huffed weakly—“clearly not.”

  “He sought you out.”

  “No. He wasn’t there for the women, milord, but he did watch me.” She smoothed her skirt. “It was a long time before he spoke to me.”

  Mr. Beckworth turned a chair around and straddled the seat. “How’d you come to sign this?” He held up the damning contract, her copy with its torn indention notched in the corner.

  Time slipped past, flashing pictures of her life in recent years. Working late nights behind the stage. Mopping ale-soaked floors in the early-morning hours. The dark, windowless garret she shared with her mother. The leaky roof. Bed ropes squeaking from her mother and her gentlemen callers in better days.

  In time, the bed ropes creaked for other reasons. The putrid sores. The agony of pained joints.

  “Reinhard knew about my mother. When she got sick.”

  Mr. Beckworth folded his arms over the back of the chair. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but how does that connect with this indenture?”

  She blinked, her eyelids heavy. “Because everything started with my mother’s illness. She had the French pox.”

  Mr. Beckworth’s face was a stoic mask upon learning the woman he’d hired wasn’t the person she’d presented herself to be. Yet she saw no judgment in his eyes. Lord Bowles stood quietly by the fire. He knew parts of her lurid tale, but laying her life open all at once—as she was about to do—wasn’t the same as piecemeal conversations.

  “There were costly liquid mercury treatments, but they helped my mother.”

  “All paid for by a Prussian benefactor?” Lord Bowles bit out.

  “No. Paid for by me.”

  The lines around his mouth tightened.

  “She died, and my money ran out,” Genevieve explained. “I’d been saving it to strike out on my own and find an apprenticeship with a clockmaker. I wanted a different life.”

  “You’d be older than the typical apprentice.” Mr. Beckworth and his practicality.

  “I’m a hard worker. I’d prove myself.”

  “I’m sure you would,” he agreed quietly.

  She linked her hands. Heat radiated from the fire, touching her ankles the same as other nights reading here with Lord Bowles. How could a woman of twenty years feel so worn out? For every step she took forward, life battered her, denied her the simple pleasure of a better future. But she refused to feel sorry for herself.

  “Mr. Millburn, owner of the Golden Goose, knew my mother wanted me to have a better life. He said he had a way out for me.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’d need references from respectable employment before seeking an apprenticeship.”

  “And the indenture?” Mr. Beckworth prompted.

  “Mr. Millburn brought me the contract. He told me it was the first step.”

  “This Prussian… Did he force himself on you?” Lord Bowles asked.

  She stared at the fire, bitter laughter spilling from her. “Reinhard Wolf never forced himself on any woman. He doesn’t have to. Believe me, many tried to get his attention at the Goose.”

  Lord Bowles balled his hand on the mantel. “Then his attentions were well received.”

  “At first. I was flattered.” She winced, bruised by the ugly admission. “I signed the indenture because I thought it was for one year.”

  Mr. Beckworth coughed, shifting in his chair to deliver a gentle lesson. “I’ve never heard of that kind of arrangement. Most indentures go to the colonies for seven years’ service.”

  Her mouth twisted bitterly. “I should’ve known when I was presented with something too good to be true. Reinhard promised employment as his housekeeper. It would be the beginning of a new life.” She stared into the fire, sad and lost. “All negotiated by Mr. Millburn.”

  “But you signed it. Your signature is right here.” Mr. Beckworth tapped her name scrawled across the bottom. “And it says your name is Genevieve Turner.”

  “I know.” The writing was large, the letters ill-formed. “Please forgive me for deceiving you. I had to travel under a false name.”

  Lord Bowles faced her, the harsh line of his mouth softening. “Because you had no idea what you were agreeing to.”

  Her shoulders slumped at the first signs of understanding from him.

  His eyes lit tenderly. “Some mark the contract with an X when they can’t read or write.”

  She’d been proud to be able to write her name that day. At the time, it was all she could write. “I was a fool.”

  “You’re young,” he countered. “Forgive yourself this folly.”

  “Before I signed the indenture, I asked Mr. Millburn to read it for me,” she said. “I trusted him.”

  “And this man, Reinhard Wolf, who you thought was helping you… What happened between you two?” he asked softly.

  “At first he was never at his home,” she explained. “I met Elise Sauveterre when she fitted me for a housekeeper’s gown. We became friends, and soon, she was teaching me to read and write.”

  Lord Bowles fisted a hand on his hip, his hazel eyes measuring her, pain flickering in their depths. “When did your circumstances with the Prussian change?”

  Her head tilted toward his. Not circumstances, rather it was sex and the attachment Reinhard felt for her. Did Lord Bowles compare what went on between them at Pallinsburn with Reinhard’s arrangement? Murky emotions were at play in the parlor. Too many emotions. She needed to tread this conversation with care.

  “Last summer. I wasn’t cleaning much of anything and doing little for his household. Then he started to bring me small gifts: a fur-trimmed cloak, pretty hairpins—”

  “Which you don’t like,” he inserted.

  A smile danced at the corners of her mouth. “He never talked to me like you do. It took a while before he learned that.”

  Air stirred between them. Hurts and recriminations melted like wax. Men could be so funny about other men. She’d known Reinhard before she’d ever laid eyes on Lord Bowles, but Lord Bowles had to know he affected her.

  “His attentions were obvious,” she said, her gaze locked on Lord Bowles.

  His balled fist tightened. “And what did you do?”

  The truth would hurt Lord Bowles. Better to cut quick and clean.

  “He kissed me one night, and I kissed him back. He and I…we…”

  Lord Bowles’s eyes were hooded. Was he thinking the same as her? Of forbidden kisses stolen with the master of the house? To an outside eye, she would be painted a wanton adventuress.

  “At first I liked it,” she murmured. “I welcomed his attentions.”

  The parlor was very quiet, save the drumming in her ears. The chair creaked beneath her, but not a soul spoke after her bold admission. Sex with Reinhard was more than satisfactory, but she’d not say that aloud. It would hurt Lord Bowles. She stared into the fire, determined to finish this, determined that both men would understand. Women trod life’s thorny patches more often than the stronger sex, dodging unsavory circumstances, making tough decisions they’d never face. Her character was more agile for it.

  “I asked about references, but Reinhard kept putting me off. I decided to read my indenture contract and discovered I owed him seven years, not one. Mr. Millburn had deceived me. He traded me like common goods,” she scoffed. “For windows and a new roof at the Golden Goose.”

  Lord Bowles averted his eyes, and Mr. Beckworth coughed into his balled fist. They were no different than Reinhard Wolf and Mr. Millburn.

  Her laugh was short and bitter. “Don’t worry, gentlemen. You aren’t as bad as them. At least you gave me a say in your a
rrangement.”

  Mr. Beckworth’s mouth pinched. “I-I…”

  “It’s fine, sir. I showed up on your doorstep a less-than-honest woman. Elise helped me escape.” She exhaled slowly, the feel of it cleansing for the truth revealed. “She approached your aunt, and here I am.”

  “What exactly was Herr Wolf planning for you?” Lord Bowles asked.

  “He said when his mission here was done, we were leaving for Königsberg. I’d live in a house and be his mistress.”

  “His mission here?” Mr. Beckworth echoed, pushing off the chair.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “I’d hazard a guess the deception to get you didn’t matter,” Lord Bowles said.

  She leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair. “Reinhard thought I’d come around eventually. He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t overjoyed at the plan to be his mistress and live in a nice house in Königsberg.”

  “Because any woman at the Golden Goose would leap at such a chance.”

  “Women like me don’t get opportunities like that very often, do we?”

  Lord Bowles tapped his fist against his mouth. His gaze met hers, dark and hollow. In telling her tale, did he see some of himself in what had unfolded between them at Pallinsburn? Or was he mourning her leaving?

  Silence filled the parlor, save the footfalls of Mr. Beckworth pacing the room. He read the one-page contract, scowling at every line. Before her, the fire crackled nicely, but her knees hurt from the tumble in the woods. Her wool stockings rubbed raw skin. Wood fragments stuck to her hem and her hair. She was a mess.

  Is this what happens to women who take charge of their lives? Who dare to seek a different path from the one to which they were born?

  She stood up. “Now you know why I sought my grandmother. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  His brows raised a fraction. “You could find sanctuary with her now.”

  “For how long before Herr Wolf comes knocking?”

  “Wait.” Mr. Beckworth held up a hand. “There is one way out.”

  Seventeen

  “She gets married. Today. Problem solved.”

  “What?” Miss Turner gaped at Samuel, her mouth twisting with distaste.

  “Married?” Marcus exclaimed.

  Miss Turner’s distaste metamorphosed to slight horror. Was the idea of marriage to him that awful? He didn’t have time to delve deeper into her reaction or to soothe his dented male pride.

  “Marriage is the way out,” Samuel said, his finger spearing the contract. “Read this clause.”

  Miss Turner crowded close to Samuel’s side, but Marcus’s boots were stuck in place.

  “It says ‘…and the indentured servant shall have no reprieve from service’”—Samuel paused for dramatic effect—“‘except if a marriage results during the time of service. If marriage occurs, the indenture shall be considered dissolved, and the servant may live free and clear of obligation.’” Samuel’s knuckles rapped the paper. “That’s our answer.”

  “Let me see.” Marcus pushed off the mantel and grabbed the contract.

  Lines slanted from hasty writing. The release clause was there in black ink, freedom for Miss Turner. She sidled up to him, all the better to read the paper. Her mouth moved and barely audible words poured from her lips.

  “‘…may live free and clear…’” Her words were reverent at his side.

  Did she linger on the word free? Her face lit up as she exhaled a deep sigh of relief. She had a path out of the trouble that dogged her. Marcus scrubbed a hand across his face and gave the contract back to Samuel.

  Did it have to be marriage?

  Marcus situated himself in front of the fire, his teeth grinding. Mr. Wolf couldn’t have her. His blood had boiled at the scene in the forest, the giant Prussian touching her face intimately. He’d grabbed his wheel lock and cocked the pistol, ready to shoot first and ask questions later. Samuel’s staying hand had stopped him from doing anything rash.

  Samuel pored over the contract with Miss Turner. They spoke in hushed tones, their words eluding Marcus because of the rush of blood through his ears.

  “I’m not sure marriage is the answer. Why can’t we take her to her grandmother tonight?” he suggested, tugging on his collar. “She could hide there until we find a better solution.”

  With his head bent over the paper, Samuel’s blue gaze shot up. “That’s an option, but marriage offers the only legal protection.”

  “Reinhard would eventually find me,” she agreed. “There’d be no hiding from him.”

  “Then it’s all settled.” Samuel gave the contract back to her. “Get married, then tomorrow you can burn this.”

  Her joyful intake of breath was music to Marcus’s ears. But marriage?

  His spine hit the mantel, the hearth’s inferno scorching his legs. Marriage to Miss Turner would be a new definition of purgatory. “This is all going too fast,” he said to Samuel. “This isn’t good for Miss Turner.”

  Samuel balked. “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “Thank you, milord,” she quipped. “But Miss Turner can decide what’s best for Miss Turner. I’m quite done with men making decisions for me.”

  “Because you’ve done a fine job thus far.”

  “Well enough.” She glared at him, clamping both arms under her bosom. “If this gets rid of Reinhard, I’ll do it.”

  Her cloak fell open, and creamy, desirable flesh pillowed from the russet bodice. Her arms pushed up the very curves that were his downfall. She was beautifully proud in her faded gown with bits of wood in her hair. Sweat pricked his skin, the fire bitingly hot at his backside. He was the worst wastrel. Even in her desperate hour, lust, not reason, clouded his brain. But he couldn’t stop what came out of his mouth.

  “Don’t you think you ought to call him Mr. Wolf? Or Herr Wolf?”

  Samuel’s icy gaze scanned him from head to toe. “Did the laundress put too much starch in your shirt? Since when do proprieties bother you?”

  Marcus looked down. Shoulders stiff, he held his hands clasped behind his back. Legs rigid, the toes of his boots angled slightly out and he groaned, “Bloody hell. I’m turning into my brother.”

  “Something’s got you in a stir.” Samuel chuckled.

  Marcus exhaled slowly. “There’s got to be another alternative to marriage.”

  “If you’ve got one, let me know, but the clock’s ticking. Herr Wolf will be here tomorrow, and if Miss Turner’s not wed, he’ll have every lawful right to take her to Prussia and keep her there.”

  “The marriage… It doesn’t have to be forever,” she interjected, her coffee-dark eyes glittering. “I’m not sure why it bothers you so much.”

  “Exactly,” Samuel agreed. “While you were mooning about over there, Miss Turner and I realized she need only be legally wed until the Prussian leaves. Then both parties may seek an annulment. An expensive and lengthy proposition. There’d be drastic steps to remove the marital yoke…but it is possible.”

  “Still, marriage,” Marcus muttered. “Seems too severe an option. I’m not ready.”

  Miss Turner’s brow arched. “And who says I’d marry you?”

  He blinked. Though he stood on the hearth’s stony foundation, the earth shifted again. Too much of late with her around. His mouth opened, but no words came.

  Her lips pursed with a pretty moue. “Mr. Beckworth offered to marry me until Rein—I mean, Herr Wolf—leaves.”

  “You can’t marry him.”

  “I can, and I shall.” She faced Samuel. “Let me clean up and get my gloves.”

  Both men kept an eye to the doorway, waiting for her footsteps to fade.

  “What’s wrong with that plan?” Samuel asked. “Coldstream is across the bridge, perfect for quick weddings.”

  It was true. C
oldstream rivaled Gretna Green for fast weddings over the anvil. Many a blacksmith turned his hand at forging frantic travelers into newly married couples.

  “And perfect for you to get Miss Turner in your bed.” The image singed him badly.

  Samuel folded the contract with care. “I’ll forget you said that.”

  Mouth pinching, Marcus hated thinking the worst of his friend. The truth was he wanted Miss Turner in his bed, and by the knowing light in Samuel’s eyes, his friend knew it.

  “She’ll sleep in the same bed off the kitchen.”

  “Think of Adam,” Marcus protested. “An impressionable young man. How would you explain your wife sleeping in the servant’s room?”

  Samuel’s smile split wide. “Let me worry about Adam’s youthful sensibilities.” A taunting brow arched high. “No one else is stepping gallantly forward to help Miss Turner. I might as well.”

  Marcus sucked in a deep breath. “Is this part of your plan to keep me in Northumberland?”

  “You’ve discovered my evil plan,” Samuel mocked. “I’m tying you down with horses, a housekeeper, and chickens.”

  “Chickens?”

  “Mr. Dutton’s delivery when he collected his sisters. Alexander and Adam put them in your grandfather’s old chicken coop. They’re tending the horses as well.”

  Marcus pulled at his neckcloth again. If his grandfather were here, what would he have to say about this madness?

  “It’s you or me,” Samuel said quietly. “We have options, one being a plan of desertion. Miss Turner could leave an unhampered woman once this Prussian is gone, and you’d be free to leave by winter’s end. Now stop acting like an ass.”

  Marcus stared at the settee, recalling Miss Turner’s reverent touch on the purple velvet her first night here. “I did the same to her in your barn. Traded her like chattel.”

  “We both did. It’s why we’re indebted to her.”

  True. They both owed a debt of gratitude to the amber-haired housekeeper, but that wasn’t the cause of his internal bedlam. He couldn’t let her go. He craved her presence. Singing in his kitchen while he soaked in the scullery. Outwitting him in negotiations. Sitting with him before this very fire at night, her body cozy against his as she read.