by Lisa E. Pugh
“Yes, this house has seen some great times,” he muttered.
She smiled sympathetically. “You miss them very much, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.” He paused and then corrected himself. “Most of the time. I suppose I miss the vivacity of this place before…”
Even now, he could not discuss the event that so totally changed his life with anyone who was not there. He could barely talk to Brenlaw about it, and the old manservant had been among the search party that found him. Most of the men on the estate at that time saw what the wreck had wrought.
He changed the subject. “I heralded in the new century in the main hall—right out there. Against orders, I crept out of my bedchamber and watched the party from the minstrel gallery that runs around the wall. I still remember the bright lights, the crowds of friends my parents had invited, and the smiling, rosy faces of the guests as they sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ when the clock struck twelve. Whether their faces were rosy from camaraderie or champagne, I couldn’t tell at that age. Probably both.”
Not receiving a direct answer to her question, Margaret decided it was best not to press. It was not really a birthday celebration conversation anyway. Suddenly, she remembered an old party trick her father used to perform. Perhaps a game would help lighten the mood.
“May I see your hands?” She asked.
His covered head turned sharply in her direction. “Why the deuce would you want to do that?”
She shrugged. “Hands can tell you a lot about a person. Sherlock Holmes believed so, at least.”
“You’re not one of those gypsy palm readers one reads so much about?” He asked dryly.
“No,” she chuckled. “I just try to observe things about people.”
He put forth both his hands. “Well, what do you see?”
She noticed the amused, slightly mocking tone in his voice but decided to ignore it. “Hmm. Well-bred hands, slender but strong. Is that ink?” She lifted the hand in question closer to her face. Even though it clearly was ink, she sniffed. “No, it’s chocolate—probably from the cake. My lord, you should be cleaner in your habits.”
“Is that all you can see?” Christopher remarked, tugging at his hands, a trifle irritated.
With a slight smile, she continued, “Oh, no. These hands are soft with a hint of chaffing. I’d say you ride horses.”
He jumped slightly in astonishment. “Yes, I do.”
Thinking about what she had noticed throughout the night, she continued, “You have trouble sitting still, and your patience wears quickly. You can be kind and considerate, but you're very unsure of yourself. You tend to wring your hands. Even when the rest of your body is relaxed, your fingers are hardly ever still.”
With a slight smile, she noticed him trying to rein in the nervous habits she mentioned. “This insecurity is a new addition to your character; poise, tenacity, authority, and self-confidence are more natural for you. You are very forceful and determined. You also have a strong sense of humor, but pride occasionally gets in the way of it.”
“Enough!” Lord Yawron yanked his hands away and sprang to his feet. “You must… you will stop this now!”
At the magnitude of his response, Margaret drew back. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to hear more?”
He paced in front of the fire, his hands fidgeting. “More? My dear lady, you have so thoroughly dissected me, I’d be amazed if there was anything left to find!”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly.
This had not gone at all like she planned. He was not enjoying it in the least. If anything, he was even more agitated. Did she misjudge how he would react to a common parlor game?
He marched to where she sat, his body shaking with some suppressed emotion. “I will not have myself nor my personality examined like an amoeba in a dish. It will not happen! Do you understand?”
As if on cue, a flash of lightning from the passing storm bleached the entire room. The darkness within the hood seemed to loom over her. Margaret shivered. “I understand.”
At her meek response, the raging man before her paused. With obvious effort, he pulled in his temper. Then he sat beside her and leaned cautiously forward. “Maggie?”
“What is it, Christopher?” she responded, barely able to keep her voice steady, her eyes deliberately averted. She could not look up into that cowl, that blackness where a face should be.
“I’m sorry. That was totally uncalled for. My blasted temper…” He hesitated.
She said nothing. She could not think of what to say. With his outburst, he alarmed her far more than she thought was possible. She always considered herself a courageous person, but he had reduced her to a shivering child.
She was not able to see that her diversion was upsetting him. His outburst took her completely by surprise. As he stood over her, seething, she had felt more frightened than she ever had in her life.
What had she done, agreeing to come here? Agreeing to stay? What did she know about this man anyway? Suddenly, all the stories that others told to dissuade her from coming rushed into her mind.
Now, what did her curiosity and stubbornness get her into? He never actually threatened her, but it really did not matter. She was not certain what she should do next.
Earnestly, he added, “I didn’t mean to go off like that.”
“I understand,” she repeated flatly. Her mind raced around in a cul-de-sac. What to do? What to say?
“It’s just that… I don’t know really. I am truly, truly sorry. Do you forgive me?”
There was a tense pause. She refused to look at him. When he tried to touch her hand, she pulled away. He sighed, a defeated and dejected sound.
“It won't happen again, I swear,” he promised quietly.
Her temper rose at his conciliatory tone. She couldn’t believe he had the gall to act all sheepish and meek after that display of baronial self-righteousness. Did he think he merely had to act all contrite, and I would forget how he shouted at me like that and frightened me?
Margaret opened her mouth to snap back at him. At that precise moment, Brenlaw entered to announce that the room was aired and ready. She wondered if this was a coincidence or the result of a butler’s instinct for timely entrances. Either way, she took it as a godsend.
Relieved at the interruption, she remarked, “Thank you, Brenlaw. Will you show me where it is? It’s late, I’m tired, and I’d like to get an early start in the morning.”
She rose, took several paces toward the door, and stopped. Twirling to face Lord Yawron, she said with a sardonic bow, “With your leave, my lord.”
He gave a brief, confused nod, and she left.
Chapter 6
Brenlaw led Margaret into the main hall with its high ceiling, up the oak staircase, and along the minstrel gallery. Thinking furiously, she was quiet for most of the trip. As a proper servant should, he did not remark on it.
A vague disgust with herself formed in her mind. She was right to be angry with him for trying to bully her. Yet he had been without the company of his peers for fifteen years. It was understandable if he had forgotten some of the niceties of society.
He had messed up badly, and he knew it. He tried to apologize and seemed genuinely sorry for his behavior. She responded by petulantly sulking and freezing him out.
As they walked down a passage, Brenlaw explained, “We placed you in the east wing. It is the opposite end of the house from his lordship.”
She roused herself from her thoughts. “Very correct. Thank you.”
“It is a practical matter. His lordship sometimes gets insomnia. With this arrangement, he will not disturb you if he stirs.”
“That’s just as well. I don't wish to wake him when I leave in the morning. I'll be heading out as soon as I can.”
“Oh really, miss?”
“I feel it's best.”
“Begging your pardon miss, but it seemed the evening was going well.”
“It was. It just ended badly.”
> “Oh?”
“It was my fault really. I was playing a game, pretending to conjure up what I already knew. It backfired—quite seriously, considering his lordship’s reaction. I’m afraid I responded to his temper like a chastised child. If you hadn’t come in, I might have said something irreparable.”
“I’m sure not, miss,” he replied, confidence in his voice.
“No? Possibly not, but it would have been close.”
“It must have been the lateness of the hour. Or perhaps it was an effect of the storm. Such things often make people a little irritable.”
“Perhaps.”
Brenlaw stopped at a solid oak door. “This is the room, miss. I’ve taken the liberty of having a maid lay out one of her ladyship’s nightgowns, so you wouldn’t have to sleep in your dress.”
“Her ladyship?”
“Yes, miss, the present lord’s mother, dead many years now. Mrs. Niles assures me it should fit.”
“Thank you, Brenlaw, for everything.” She opened the door, entered, and shut it behind her. Then she turned to examine the room.
Margaret found herself in a large chamber. A four-poster bed with rich red curtains, matching eiderdown and fresh cream-colored bed linens stood against the left wall. A dressing table was directly across from her. A dresser with a large painting above it was to her right.
She strolled to the bed. A nightgown was spread out, waiting for its owner to arrive any moment. She fingered the costly material and fine lace. As she lifted the garment, an inner door opened, and a young housemaid stepped into the room.
“Oh, hello, miss,” the maid remarked cheerily.
Margaret jumped like a thief caught in the act. When she regained her voice, she replied, “Hello.”
“I’m Louise. I’ve been assigned as your servant this evening. Do you need anything?”
“I don’t think so. Except, who are those people in the portrait?”
“The man in the uniform is the current earl; the two older people are the former Lord Yawron and his lady, his lordship’s parents.”
“Ah, yes! I can see the resemblance now, between father and son.”
“There are some photographs of our young master on the vanity. This was his mother’s room, you see. They kept it just the way she’d left it, covering furniture and all in white sheets.”
As Louise turned down the bed, Margaret stepped to the table. Lifting one of the frames, she gazed at a proud, regal face bordered by medium-dark hair and a fashionable mustache. His light eyes held an expression of languid, urbane ennui that was in vogue at the time the photograph was taken. One catastrophic war later, the ennui was still fashionable, but the polish was tarnished by a dreary inanity.
Putting down the portrait, she lifted another showing a more formal pose. The authority in Lord Yawron’s character was dominant in this. Clothed in full dress uniform, the young man stared resolutely to the side, his face in three-quarter profile.
“Presumably, if not for his accident, his lordship would have fought in the War.”
“Yes, miss. That was before my time, of course. I was told he was at Sandhurst Military College and top of his class before the crash.”
“In one way he was lucky then. I lost three brothers in that war." Under her breath, she muttered, "Only two of them died in the fighting.”
“And the third?”
Suddenly aware of what she revealed, Margaret shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. “He died while recovering from shell shock. A freak accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Only two weeks before the Armistice, too.”
Walking behind a screen, Margaret began to undress. The maid handed her the nightclothes. Then the girl collected and hung up the discarded evening dress.
Stepping out from the privacy screen, Margaret turned to the young woman. “Is it possible to be woken up at first light? I’d like to leave as early as possible.”
“Why? Sorry, miss, but don’t you want to say goodbye? You seemed to be having such a good time at the party.”
“Well, later I made a terrible fool of myself, and I don’t think I can face his lordship now.”
“No matter what happened, I’m certain he’d want to see you off. He’s a gentleman, after all. Are you sure you want to avoid him?”
“I'm sure.”
“Then I’ll arrange a wake-up call for you.”
“Thank you, Louise. You may go.”
“Thank you, miss.”
After the servant left, Margaret examined herself in the floor-length mirror. The nightgown was luxurious and felt like the softest silk. She smiled at the old-fashioned length and style. “I could be my own grandmother.”
In the drawing room below, the young earl sat with his hood draped back on his shoulders and his head in his hands. His whole frame shook with self-disgust and despair. His breath hissed between his grinding teeth.
“Idiot! Jackass! Imbecile!” He muttered. “Christopher Edward Charles Tobias, can’t you do anything right?”
With a growl of frustration, he stood up and headed for the back part of the house. He had to see the housekeeper, his former nanny. He hated to bother her. She was was bound to still be busy. Yet he was going to need some help and advice if he wanted to salvage this situation from total disaster.
As the earl reached the kitchen, he could hear Mrs. Niles talking with Mrs. Hinten, the cook. “I think Miss Taylor is just what his lordship needed. She is the most charming creature. A bit assertive, of course, but many girls are these days.”
The cook replied. “She's certainly intelligent, and she's not cowed by his name or his title. She'd stand up to him if needed, as his mother did his father.”
“As I said, perfect for him,” the housekeeper pointed out with an obvious grin in her voice.
Damn it! He winced and, one foot kicking the other, tripped. Stumbling into the wall, he came to an abrupt and unintentionally noisy halt.
His housekeeper caught sight of him at the base of the stairs. “Oh, hello, Christopher. Goodness me, what is it? Thank you, Mrs. Hinten, we’ll decide on tomorrow’s menu later.”
The cook saw the expression on her employer's face, and worry flashed in her eyes. The fact that the cook saw his current state was humiliating. He dropped his eyes and shifted his footing like an embarrassed child. Then Mrs. Niles cleared her throat. The other woman accepted the dismissal and hurried out of the room.
The former nurse turned her attention to her young master. “Now, what is it?”
Resting against the wall, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh, Nanna, I’ve ruined everything!”
She blinked, startled. “What? How?”
“We were talking about the house and the parties I'd seen here. Just talking. I was remembering all the beauty and life this place used to have.” He shrugged. “I suppose she got a bit curious to know more about me and asked to see my hands.”
“Your hands?”
“She said she could tell things about me by examining them.” He laughed bitterly. “I thought it was a joke. I felt that such a game could do no harm, and it would be a kind of compensation for not seeing my face.”
“And was she right?”
“On every count. Not just on how I am now, but how I used to be before…” He gestured vaguely to his face.
“What happened?”
“Her accuracy terrified me. I jumped up and yanked my hands away, afraid that perhaps she would see my face in them. When she asked me why, I cried out something like, ‘my dear lady, you have so thoroughly dissected me, I’d be amazed if there was anything left to find.’ She looked at me as though I were mad.”
“Understandable. Not being able to see your face, she had no idea how you were reacting to her reading until you pulled away. Did you apologize?”
“Yes, but I fear I said a little more than that. I demanded that she stop, in the same tone as I would if she were a manservant who was mishandling a favorite pair of boots.”
/>
“Oh, Christopher, that Tobias temper!”
“I know! I could tell I’d frightened her. She shivered and wouldn’t look at me. I tried to apologize, but she seemed to step away from me without moving at all. I begged for forgiveness, and she wouldn’t answer. When she left the room, she bowed and took her leave so formally it was like an ice wall formed between us.”
“I know it seems bad now…”
“What a fool I’ve been! One of the few chances I’ve had for warmth and friendship in this cold world, and I bungle it.”
“There might be nothing in it. She could have just been tired.”
“But she plans to leave early; I heard her tell Brenlaw so.”
“Just get up early tomorrow and explain to her before she leaves.”
“Do you think it’ll work?”
“If she’s anything like I believe she is, then most certainly.”
“Thank you, Nanna, I’ll do that.”
A little after dawn, Christopher got out of bed, dressed quickly, and went swiftly downstairs. He met his butler in the hall. “Ah, Brenlaw! Is Miss Taylor up yet?”
“She’s gone, my lord.”
The earl stopped in mid-stride, his heart stuttering. “Gone? What do you mean ‘gone?’ ”
“As in she's no longer here, my lord. She left just after first light.”
“How? Why?” His mind seemed to be a horse with a blindfold on, whinnying and bucking but with no idea where to throw itself.
“She left in her car, my lord. She said she couldn’t face you after last night.”
The earl began to pace and rub his hands. He'd gotten up very early that morning, when the sky was just starting to lighten. Then he fretted that he would be waking her too soon, so he waited before acting. More bad luck. More bungling.
“But it was about last night that I wanted to speak with her. I wanted to explain that I didn’t mean to say what I did nor in the way I did.”
Brenlaw pointed out, “She seemed to think she was the one who behaved badly.”