As the stables came into view, she quickly shook away the memory. She noted Timothy's arm tensing beneath her fingertips and gave the young man a gentle squeeze. She saw him glance at her from the corner of his eye before quickly looking back down at his feet. He was agitated; Abby could make out that much in her taciturn stableman, despite his efforts not to show it. She couldn't imagine what could have come about in the stables-worse than what had happened before-that would unsettle him so.
"For heaven's sake!" Margot caught it immediately, and her exclamation, a mixture of anger and shock, brought Abby's gaze into focus.
"Hell." She heard the brief and guttural grunt from the man who stood behind her.
Abby was thoughtful. "Who'd have thought it was possible to spell bitch incorrectly?"
The words were painted in large, red letters. The paint still dripped down the wall of the stable like fresh blood. The correlation made Abigail wince and look away. Her gaze moved immediately to the man who had come to stand beside herwho was, in fact, looking down into her face.
"Do you know who did this?" Calvin's eyes were a fierce blue in the morning sunlight, his features drawn.
Suddenly, Abby was more self-conscious of the slander misspelled across her stable than she had been before. She couldn't imagine what her new butler thought of it or what he thought of her because of it.
"I have an idea." She looked away.
"Scoundrel," Margot hissed. "I imagine he didn't even do it himself. Probably sent that filthy little toady, Dobbs, to perform the task."
"Margot," Abby said to quickly prevent the woman from saying too much in front of the veritable stranger beside her, "would you please get word to Emily that I will be unable to meet with her today? Ask if we can postpone our plans until tomorrow."
"Of course." Margot snapped to the task like a member of the militia.
"Timothy, please prepare the carriage for Margot. Timothy?" She turned, and though he was the same age as Abby, he gazed at her like a brokenhearted child.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, looking down into her eyes, then lower still. "I didn't hear him this time. I should have stopped him."
Her own heart sinking, Abigail stepped nearer to pat the man on the back. "Remember what I said last time? If you hear anything, I don't want you going near that awful man at all. You are to come to the house directly."
"But I scared him away last time."
"Still"-Abby shook her head vehemently-"I'11 not take the chance again. I would be very upset if anything happened to you, Timothy." She smiled, propping her free hand on her hip, politely ignoring her stableman's embarrassment. "Besides, it's only paint. Only words, and misspelled at that."
"Come on, Timothy!" Margot called from where she had disappeared inside the stable.
He looked up at Abigail from beneath the thick mass of his dark bangs. "I don't like to leave you alone now."
"She won't be."
Abigail watched Calvin as he walked toward Timothy. She felt her hackles rise, having seen other men treat him in a most impolite manner. The slightly older man, however, lifted a hand to the other.
"Calvin Garrett," he said. "I'm now under the lady's employ. I'll keep an eye on her while you are gone.
One of Abigail's brows lifted at Calvin's rather possessive tone. She thought about pointing out that she needed him to take care of her like she needed a hole in the head. Then she saw Timothy give his hand a brief shake, though he refused to meet Calvin's gaze.
"Timothy Tuttleton," he offered, giving the other man a cautious once-over. "She's tough," he said, making Abigail's heart lift, "but not as tough as she thinks."
Abigail scowled.
"I thought as much." Calvin nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"You won't go anywhere?" Timothy pressed.
Before the two could continue with their manto-man banter, as if she were not even there, Abigail interrupted, "You may rest assured, Mr. Garrett will be busy here for most of the day. He does have the wall to repaint." She ignored Calvin's pointed look until Timothy turned to make his way inside the stable. Then she lifted her chin and met his eye. "There is paint," she said, "left over in the storage room." She pressed her crutch into the earth as she moved to walk away.
A startled gasp escaped her; the firm hold on her arm was so unexpected. Calvin's fingers, just above her elbow, fit all the way around her arm and then some. His touch was strong and warm through the material of her muslin sleeve.
Calvin's face, when she looked back at him, showed no apology. His gaze seemed to have gone dark with concern. "Lord Raleigh sent a gentleman to do this to you?"
Before she could think about it, she recalled the brief glimpse she had viewed of Mr. Dobbs from her window, scurrying away from her stables less than a month before. "There is nothing gentlemanly about Mr. Dobbs, I assure you."
"Why?"
Calvin's tone was so intent that the whole story almost escaped her before she remembered he was little more than a stranger. Not to mention the fact he was under her employ and had no right to be making demands. Her lips pursed as she glared down at the fingers wrapped about her arm. After a long moment, when she felt heat rise up her neck, and a hint of worry, he released her. "That is really none of your concern, sir."
While Calvin applied the first coat of paint to the stable wall, the sun rose to directly above his workplace. As that first coat dried, he had taken a brief break-Timothy had brought two plates from the house, each laden with buttered bread, potatoes, and thin slices of pork. The butler and stableman had shared their meal in communal silence after Calvin had debated then dismissed the idea of interrogating the younger man for infor mation on Lord Raleigh and his disliking for their employer. After the meal, he had helped Margot carry some rugs from the house and assisted her in beating them until not a single grain of dust exploded from their depths. He saw Abigail only once, standing at the window of her study as he performed the task. When he paused to wipe at the sweat dotting his brow and dampening his hair, he caught sight of her. The moment his head turned in her direction, however, she quickly left the window.
It was close to the time when the sun was to begin its descent upon the horizon when he went to work on the second coat of paint. He was almost finished, pressing down the grass near the wall with his boot as he brushed the bottom corner, when a shadow blocked the sun over him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Thomas Wolcott, immaculately attired, with a broad grin taking up most of his face and not even a single drop of sweat upon his brow.
"You got the position."
"How very astute of you to notice." Calvin straightened and winced at the dull ache in the lower part of his back.
"How are you doing?" In the sun, Thomas's freckles merged to make his face an interesting shade of orange.
"How do I look like I'm doing?" Calvin lifted a brow.
Thomas had stopped grinning, but the corners of his lips twitched. "Like you fit in rather well, my friend. I'm glad I asked for your help."
"Wonderful." The other man moved to the pail of water he had put to the side. He sank the bristles of his paintbrush inside, making the water an interesting shade of blue-gray. Without looking up, he said, "You neglected to tell me a few facts about your sister."
"Nothing of import," the other man returned quickly, his chin lifting in what appeared to be a hereditary gesture.
"Has she always been in that brace?"
"No. It happened three years ago."
"How?"
"A carriage accident, but I don't see why that is significant to the matter at hand."
"I would just like to know"-Calvin shook out his brush and laid it on the edge of the pail-"how long she has been building that wall around herself."
"You have to understand what Abby has gone through, Calvin. "All hint of humor was gone from his friend's face now. His eyes were touched with sympathy and, the other man thought, guilt. "It took a long time for her to heal. She had broken her leg in several are
as. In one place"-Thomas swallowed-"the bone tore through the skin."
"I don't need to hear this, Thomas," Calvin said, trying to ignore the vivid rush of unnameable emotion at the thought of the woman with her baycolored eyes filled with misery and pain.
"I think you do, Calvin." Thomas ran his fingers through his hair. "Her first surgeon said he didn't think she'd be able to walk again unless he removed the leg entirely. We found another man right away, but Abby had a lot to go through to get back on her feet and manage independently. Then, after having gone through all that, she had to deal with the stares and whispers behind her back. What bothers her most, I think, is the fact that people believe her incapable of functioning on her own simply because of a slight limp."
"I'll have to agree.-" Calvin remembered her cold glare when he had offered to help her down the stairs just that morning.
"There are other things." Thomas shook his head. "Things I feel I am not at liberty to share without her consent, that make what happened to her even worse."
"Her engagement ended around that time"Calvin recalled their conversation atJustin's-"did it not?"
"If you only knew the half of it, my friend." The other man's smile was bitter, angry. He took a deep breath and some of the hardness left his expression. "Is it too soon to inquire about your progress on the matter that brought you here?"
"You brought me here," Calvin reminded him. "I never had the desire to interfere in Abigail's personal life." In truth, he hadn't at the time Thomas had asked him to play his spy game. Now, however, something inside him was very interested in finding out what was going on at Lady Abigail's estate. Besides that, there was a part of him that wanted simply to learn about the woman herself.
"Of course, of course." Thomas accepted the blame with a slight glint in his eye.
Calvin put his hands on his hips, looking out past the stables where Wolcott land ended. "Lord Raleigh does have something against your sister, but I have yet to deduce what fuels his prejudice. I believe he had something to do with the fire you mentioned. He sends another to do his dirty work." A man named Dobbs. He nodded toward the fresh ly painted stable. "You're looking at the latest recovery from his attention."
"What was it?" Thomas frowned.
"A slanderous word was painted on the side of the building."
"Bloody hell."
"Incorrectly spelled, I might add." Calvin said for the first time what he had been thinking about while at work. "This Dobbs character bothers me even more so than Raleigh. The viscount doesn't want to get his hands dirty, but his man has no qualms with setting about frightening a woman alone. He's stupid, if his spelling is any indication, and that makes him dangerous."
"Do you think he will harm Abby?" Thomas's tone hinted at worry and undiluted love.
"I've no idea what Raleigh and Dobbs's plans are." Calvin caught movement over Thomas's shoulder and focused on the house behind him. The woman in question was moving toward them slowly but steadily. She had not changed from her gown of earlier, and a few tendrils of hair had escaped the braids pinned to the back of her head, yet she looked as fresh as she had that morning. Her cheeks and nose were slightly pink beneath a scattering of freckles. When her eyes fell on her brother, they filled with recognition and she smiled.
"You may rest assured," Calvin said, "she will come to no harm while I am here."
He ignored Thomas's curious expression as he tried to understand the earnestness of his own tone.
Chapter 6
"Thomas!" Abby wrapped one arm about her brother's shoulders as he squeezed her with enough force to lift her off the ground. "What are you doing here?"
"I was just passing by, love," he said as he set her on her feet. "Going to a friend's in Sheffield to help him survey some land on which he plans to build a home for himself and his new wife."
"Well, that sounds interesting," Abby lied. There was something peculiar about the way in which her brother had systematically rambled off his plans. She looked around his arm to where Calvin leaned against the fence. "Dinner will be served in a few minutes, sir, if you'd like to wash up." She turned back to Thomas. "Will you stay?"
"I cannot, I'm afraid. I wish to make it to Sheffield before nightfall. I am to help my friend survey some land-"
"For a new home for his new bride, yes."
Abby was as surprised by Calvin's interruption as she was by the odd flicker in his eye and tone of voice.
Thomas released a dry laugh. "I see you offered Mr. Garrett a place here." Then, as if the man wasn't standing no more than a few feet away, "How well is he working out?"
Abby blinked, her gaze inadvertently moving to the man. His hair was damp at his nape and just above his ears, and his thin shirt stuck to his shoulders with sweat. She had noticed, when catching sight of him assisting Margot with the rugs from her study window, the lawn material clung to him like a second skin when wet. It clearly defined the lines of muscle corded around his arms and the details of sinew in his broad back as he worked. Abby quickly looked away. "He appears to do a fine job."
Thomas made a peculiar coughing sound behind his hand. "Well, Abby," he said once he cleared his throat, "that is good to hear. By the bye, love, why on earth are you repainting the stables? They looked to be in excellent condition when I last visited."
Abigail slowly shifted her gaze from her brother's open, smiling features to the wall, which now showed not a hint of the crude defamation that had been there that morn. "Better to do it now than wait for the paint to chip so other coats would be uneven." The lie hung heavily about her as her attention moved to the man who still leaned against the fence. His face was devoid of any emotion as he met her eye.
Less than an hour later, as she stared unseeing at the plate set before her, the weight of the second lie she had given her brother in less than a month sat heavily on her heart. "I saw no reason to make him worry."
"Understandable, m'lady," Mrs. Poole offered generously as she spooned a portion of red mullet on her plate.
"He has enough on his mind with Jeanette's coming-out."
"Certainly." Margot nodded from her seat diagonal to Abigail's.
"Not to mention"-Abby frowned slightly-"I do not want him to think I have gotten myself into trouble."
"But you did," Margot said from around a bite of fish, and then caught herself. She looked up at her employer and friend, smiling. "Not without good cause."
"Speaking of trouble"-Mrs. Poole scowled as she stacked a considerable amount of fish on the plate before one of the empty chairs at the table"where is Garrett?"
"I thought he had gone to wash up." Abby looked at the empty chair her cook had put across from her, then turned to Timothy. He sat at the end of the table, waiting silently as he always did, for Abby to take her first bite.
Timothy met her gaze before his shifted to the door that separated the dining room from the kitchen.
Picking up her crutch from where she had laid it against her chair, Abigail rose and made her way around the table.
"Tell him," Mrs. Poole called after her, "I only serve at one table. He'll get no personal attendants here."
"I'll be sure to do that." Abigail chuckled at the old woman's indignant tone.
Before the door to the kitchen swung closed behind her, she thought she heard the cook say to those that remained at the table, "Did I tell ye I saw him naked?"
Her brows had drawn together at that, and there they remained when she saw the man who sat at the scarred table in the middle of the crowded kitchen. He rose quickly from his chair when she entered, and she saw he had donned a clean shirt and a different coat. His face was cleanly shaven and his hair combed back from his forehead. Abby wasn't certain if she liked this man or the one who had borne a sheen of sweat across his taut muscles better.
She scowled, wondering where that thought had surfaced from.
"Sir," she said, the irritation in her tone aimed at herself, "dinner is being served."
"I was waiting for Mrs. Poo
le," he said, "to tell me what was expected of me."
Suddenly it hit Abigail that her new butler might not be accustomed to the informal dining arrangements they practiced in her home. Servants, in most estates, ate on their own time and only entered the dining room to wait on their employers. Abby had always found the idea of sitting alone at her large dining-room table while others hovered about waiting to refill her sherry glass ludicrous.
Her tone was gentle when she said, "You are expected to eat, Calvin." She ignored the slight skip of her heart when the man's gaze-almost black in the shadowy kitchen-dropped to the curve of her smile. "Come along, sir."
"You found him," Margot said when Abby returned to the dining room. She wondered if her maid's uneven smile had anything to do with Mrs. Poole's turn of conversation before Abigail had gone.
"I hope you like fish, sir." Abby moved around the table and to her seat. She didn't realize Calvin had followed her until he tugged her chair away from the table. He gazed at her steadily, as if daring her to refuse the nicety, until she lowered herself in the cushioned seat. She was very aware of his fingertips brushing her back before he removed them from the chair. "You will after you've tasted Mrs. Poole's mullet with Cardinal sauce," she said absently.
"He liked his midday meal well enough," Mrs. Poole said as she filled her own plate and sat beside Abigail. "The plates Timothy brought back were clean. The pork was from last night's dinner."
"If remnants of your meals are so delicious"Calvin sat, then offered the woman he had cursed only that morning a smile-"then I imagine the meal at the moment it is prepared is extraordinary.
One Night To Be Sinful Page 4