Whatever that particular look meant, it was not relevant. She was Aunt Jenna’s niece and she must not forget it. Jacob Moorhead would never feel for her what she wanted a man to feel for her—or if he did, he’d suggest a relationship she would never accept for any reason at all. Even if she were starving, she’d not become a man’s mistress…
“Aunt Mary, you asked to see me?” she said briskly as she entered the room.
Jacob paused in the doorway, saw Mary shake her head at him and backed away. But, despicable as he knew it to be, wanting to hear what was said, he didn’t close the door. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a frown creasing his forehead. Eavesdropping was not something of which he approved. Still…
“Sit down, Verity.”
Verity obeyed, but on the edge of her chair with her hands folded in her lap and an air about her of one who would be off again at any moment.
Mary motioned to the footman to fill a plate and bring it to her niece. Then she looked at the young woman. “Oh, do relax.” Mary’s mouth compressed. “There is nothing urgent calling for your attention and what I have to say will take more than an instant.”
Verity grimaced, slid an inch back on the chair and refused to even look at the food set before her. She kept her eyes on her aunt.
After a thoughtful moment, Mary dismissed the footman. When he’d gone, she said, “I very much dislike this pretense to servitude. You have adopted an attitude that is as false as it is absurd. It is more than time you stopped playing games.”
Verity’s mouth thinned to match Mary’s. “I have no notion what you mean. Pretense?”
“This pretense, my dear, that you are not your grandfather’s granddaughter.”
“From his point of view, I’m no better than a by-blow,” muttered Verity.
Mary’s mouth opened. She blinked and closed it and then tried again. “Did you say what I think you said?” she asked, a laugh trembling through the words.
“Very likely. This is not a subject I wish to discuss.”
The laughter faded instantly. “It is one we will nevertheless deal with and now. Sit properly.”
Verity sat back but obviously unhappily, angrily and unwillingly.
“You are a legitimate offspring of this house, Verity. Pretending you are not is insulting to everyone who knows you.”
Verity blinked. “I am the legitimate offspring of a maid from this household.”
Mary harrumphed. “True.” The two women glared at each other. Then, with a seeming change of subject, Mary asked, “Do you wish your Aunt Jenna’s death on your hands?”
“You know I do not.” Verity, the change throwing her off guard, straightened her already rigid spine. “What can you mean?”
“Do you think she has no wish that you take your proper place here? That you cease playing at being a servant? That you do whatever is necessary to introduce yourself to the neighborhood society and become one of them?”
“I am the penniless orphan of a disinherited—”
“Wrong. Penniless perhaps, but your father was not disinherited. Your grandfather, as I know you know, reinstated him as his heir.”
“But my mother was never accepted as his wife,” said Verity stubbornly.
“Do you have any notion just how much you sound like my father?”
Verity jerked back. Her eyes widened. “Nonsense.”
“Just as stubborn. Just as determined to never ever change your mind about anything, never to give a single inch! Compromise. You think it a nasty word, do you not? Just like your grandfather.”
Verity bit her lip, chagrined at the notion she might be anything like the man she despised as a hardhearted blackguard.
“He is dead, Verity.”
In the hall, a whisper reached Jacob’s ear, a muttered, Well…sort of dead.
“You cannot harm him by continuing to flout him. You harm only yourself.”
Verity looked away, glanced back at her aunt’s determined expression and then sighed. She relaxed slightly. “You are correct, of course. In part, at least. But I’ve held a grudge against him for so long I don’t know if I can change.”
“Your mother was happy, Verity. All those years she and your father had together, they were happy.”
Verity once again looked away. “Very happy.”
“Then why are you concerned about something that never happened? Yes, your grandfather refused to accept her, but he regretted that later. He missed out on so much he’d have enjoyed. His grandchildren, for instance.”
“He liked my sister.” Verity grimaced. “My sister toadied to him.”
“He may have liked her, but he admires you—admired, I mean.”
“Why do you and my aunt keep pretending he’s not here?” asked Verity.
“Jenna has told me she… But for me he is gone,” said Mary, a depth of sadness to be heard. “I suppose I thought he’d live forever and cannot accept he’s dead.”
Verity laughed but there was no humor in it. “Dead and buried…but still discussing me with my aunt and Mr. Moorhead.” She sighed when Mary merely arched her brows. “If he has something to say, I wish he’d say it to me.”
“I’ve never heard him speak, Verity. If he is haunting this house, he hasn’t wanted to speak to me.”
In the hall, the voice, speaking in Jacob’s ear, said, I’ve tried. The both of them are deaf to me.
“There is another thing, Verity. It is also time you stopped treating Jacob as a pariah.”
Verity gasped. “I have done no such thing.”
“You certainly don’t treat him as a cousin.”
“He is—”
Again she was interrupted. “He is owner of this property, or will be once the year is up, and you are his guest and should begin acting as such. As Jenna already accepts. Once again, do you want what is best for Jenna or do you not?”
Verity sighed. “Of course I do. And if it is a condition that I treat him with courtesy so that she may be treated with courtesy—”
“Verity!”
“Aunt, do not demand the impossible.”
Jacob, sighing softly, shook his head. He pushed away from the wall, moved away.
“There is still another thing,” said Mary after a moment in which the two glared at each other.
“Yes?”
“We need to hire a housekeeper for Jacob.”
“Emma…”
“Is, as both you and Jenna admit, incapable of taking over. What is more, she doesn’t wish it. I’ve asked her.”
A muscle twitched in Verity’s jaw. “Aunt Mary, I know nothing about hiring help here in England. If it is left up to me, I will tell Reading he is to do it and leave it at that.”
Mary smiled. “I think I can do a trifle better. You and I will take a little jaunt into York and interview such women as are available for the position.”
Verity frowned. After a moment and diffidently, she asked, “Should you go?”
Mary didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I do not allow myself to be frightened of bogies to the point I cannot live a reasonably normal life. Rube will see to organizing it.”
Verity hesitated and then nodded. “So we go…when?”
“I believe if we leave Thursday, we can have all of Friday and Saturday to deal with business. We’ll attend services at the Minster on Sunday and return early Monday.”
Verity shook her head, a slight sharp shake.
“What is wrong?”
“You would be gone four days?”
“You are worrying about Jenna, but she is much better, you know. One huge worry is off her mind now I’ve come to chaperon you. Yesterday she sat up on the chaise lounge for an hour and will for still longer today. She will get stronger every day, Verity. She no longer needs you hovering over her.”
Verity looked into the distance. “I should like to attend services at the Minster, Aunt.”
“Good. Now,” said Mary as she rose to her feet, “I must talk to Rube.”
&n
bsp; * * * * *
“She is found.” The slave looked at the wall above his master’s head, wondering if the words would penetrate the drug-befogged mind.
“Found?” A sudden flurry of movement and the master, panting at the exertion required, sat up. “Found.”
“I have set spies to watch her.”
“Where?”
“In the north.”
“Her father’s estate. As I said.”
The slave, instantly kneeling, offered obeisance. “Oh, perfect master,” he said in their own language.
“Bah. On your feet. That missive…” He referred to a messenger who had arrived the night before. “Word has come. The king grows impatient. There are new orders. She is to be taken, brought to him. And quickly. The messenger said he’s not well. You will see to it.” He collapsed back against his pillows, the surge of energy exhausted.
“I hear and obey,” said the slave. “I will send—”
“You will go north.” The words were spoken so softly the slave bent nearer, fearing he’d miss something. “You will see to it yourself. You must hurry.”
“But…leave you?” asked the slave, frightened. His master was, he feared, very near death.
“Capture her. Escort her to our king.” The man’s eyes closed. “You. You must do it. I am done…” He sighed and fell into a doze, exhausted after only that small amount of exertion.
“But who will see to you?” whispered the slave.
The heavy lids lifted. “It will soon be unnecessary for anyone to see to me.” With effort he searched the folds of his gown…and pulled out an envelope. “My end is near. I would have it so. You will discharge the servants, close up these rooms—”
“Leave you alone?”
“Take the strongbox,” said the opium-eater, ignoring the slave’s words, “and anything else of value. You will travel north. I know you will not fail our king.” He breathed rather heavily for a moment and continued. “You have been a good slave.” He handed over the envelope, “This is your freedom. Once you’ve escorted the lady prisoner to the king…then join your family. Be happy.”
The slave fell to his knees. “My…freedom?” The words were on a breath of sound. A quick look up saw that his master was deep in that odd sleep that was neither restful nor deep. He knew of my family?
The slave’s eyes widened. Slaves were not allowed a family…and his master had ignored it? Tears ran down his face. He vowed he’d capture the woman, take her to the king…and he and his family and his children’s families would honor his master’s generosity down the generations.
He backed silently from the room and hurried to his own. There, because it never did to take anything for granted, he opened the envelope and read the words the heavy cream-laid paper held. It was indeed his freedom and, carefully, he hid it away where he’d not lose it. Then he did what was needed to close the rooms. Once done with that, he ordered a post chaise, packed, took a final look at his master who lay as one dead already, and, reluctantly obeying his last orders, locked the door and left for the last time.
* * * * *
Jacob found Verity in her aunt’s office talking to Reading, giving orders for the staff for those days she and Mary would be gone. He leaned against the wall nearby and listened. When she finished, the butler nodded. He turned toward Jacob with an inquiring glance, which resulted in a shake of the head, and left.
Verity, sensing his presence, swung around. “You.”
Jacob sighed. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I don’t think I was particularly silent when I arrived. But I didn’t wish to interrupt so I waited.”
Her lips compressed but she turned away without saying any of the things on the tip of her tongue. “What can I do for you?” she asked, turning back.
“I wished to tell you I’ve sent a message to a friend who lives just this side of York. He will expect you, Mary, Mary’s maid and Rube sometime tomorrow. He’ll put you up for the days you are gone. It will be safer than a hotel.” When Verity opened her mouth, he feared she meant to object so quickly added, “Rube agrees.”
“I was merely going to say that that was a good thought,” she said with obviously false meekness.
He chuckled. “Were you indeed? I am properly rolled up and must withdraw in disarray, must I not?” But he didn’t. “I’ve also hired outriders who will attend you whenever you are in the coach. From here to Lord Ranald’s estate and back, and each time you go into York they will protect you.”
“And Prince Rube?”
“He too will watch over you, but you must remember that his interest is primarily in Cousin Mary’s safety. The men I’ve hired will watch out for the both of you.”
“I cannot believe the prince would allow any disaster to befall me,” said Verity.
Jacob smiled a rather cynical smile. “If he was forced to make a choice between saving Mary and saving you, my dear, who do you think he’d choose to save?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Mary.”
“My interest is in saving you, my dear, so cease arguing, will you?”
She glared and he laughed.
Jacob sobered. “I wonder if it was the desire to protect or the endearment that brought on that scowl,” he murmured just loudly enough she could not avoid hearing. Before she could respond, he jumped to another topic. “Money. You will need funds for any of those little things you might wish to purchase or which must be purchased for Jenna-mine. Do not allow her to talk you into dipping into her savings, Verity,” he added in a warning tone as he dropped a bulging purse onto the desk.
Verity stared at it.
“It won’t bite,” he said softly.
“I cannot allow you to give me money,” she said, pride stiffening both her spine and putting steel into her voice.
“You can allow me to pay the wages you’ve earned,” he countered. She glanced up and his gaze caught and held her. “You will admit you have earned it, will you not?”
“Not that much.” She flicked the purse with one finger.
“I know she is your aunt and you love her, Verity, but I also know how you slaved to nurse her back to health. She is a person very dear to me as well and I would show my appreciation for all your hard work. One cannot put a price on such things. What is in that purse is very little compared to what I feel I owe you.”
Verity bit her lip. She felt the sincerity in that and it was true there were things she needed to buy. “You…are too good,” she said, taking the purse and putting it into a side pocket sewn into her skirt. “I will keep an accounting for you.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” he retorted.
“Now you scowl. Why?”
“You would insult me.”
“Because I assume you wish to know how your money is spent?”
“Because you do not accept that it is your money to do with as you wish.”
“I could give it to the first beggar I see?” she asked pertly, using her tart tongue to cover the embarrassment she felt.
“If you will,” he said, his tone disinterested. “It is yours.”
She’d not meant to insult him. Why she’d made the stupid comment at all she couldn’t tell. “Don’t be angry. I didn’t mean…” Her voice trailed off.
“You did, but I will assume that is an apology and accept it. Can you be ready to depart soon after dawn tomorrow?”
The possibility for an argument hovered briefly and then she once again turned aside. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve only to pack a bandbox for so few days.”
“At least two boxes,” he said in a tone denoting either surprise or warning or, perhaps, both. “You’ll need evening gowns, for instance. Ranald’s mother, Lady Scott, prefers to dine more formally than we do here.”
Verity cast him a quick glance. “Her ladyship will find what I own out-of-date and very likely too Continental for her taste.”
“Mary will explain if explanation is necessary. You’ll ignore any hints she finds you an oddity, giving her a blank star
e of incomprehension.”
Verity couldn’t keep back the snort of laughter his tone evoked. “Oh yes. High-nosed and without understanding. Perhaps I could pretend I speak very little English and use Italian instead.”
“Not the Italian I’ve heard from you!”
She blinked, realized that most of what she’d said in his presence had involved swearwords. No gently bred lady should know such words, let alone voice them. She raised a hand to cover her mouth, her eyes twinkling. “You think not?” she asked when she could control herself.
“Perhaps it would not matter,” he retorted. “After all, Lady Scott is unlikely to know what it is you’ve said.”
“Some words translate fairly easily.”
“Some do. You’ll avoid those?”
“I’ll do my best,” she said, straight-faced.
“Maybe, after all, you’d better speak English. I’ve rarely heard you swear in English.” He settled one hip on the desk and half turned toward her. “Verity, on a more sober note, it will not do to set up Lady Scott’s back. She can do a great deal for you. Because you will be with Lady Mary and under her protection and because you are Mary’s brother’s daughter, she will have a kindness for you. Everyone who knew him liked your father. They were sorry when my granduncle disinherited him and pleased when he was reinstated. They were not pleased that he and his family didn’t return to take up residence here.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I may not have visited this area for half a decade or more, but there are old friends from around and about who spend the spring season in London. I have kept in touch.”
“Jacob…”
“Yes?” Jacob hid his surprise at the use of his name—not that he would object. He much preferred it to Mr. Moorhead on her tongue.
She hesitated and then rushed on. “Jacob, do you dislike giving up all your pleasures in London and coming here?”
“I only wish,” he said, “that I’d given them up sooner and not taken so long returning. I am not quite certain why I got out of the habit.” He frowned. Then shook his head. Then sighed. “Whatever it was, I cannot change the past.” He looked at her. “Did I tell you today that you are looking very well?”
The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead Page 9