The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London Book 2)

by Adele Clee

  The housekeeper hugged Rose’s arm. The caring gesture made her heart swell.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to help the woman during these trying times. Rose stared at the mansion’s imposing facade. When her father reached Morton Manor, Mrs Gripes would inform him that his rebellious daughter had fled to London. No one would think to search this house looking for a maid.

  But she had to warn Nicole.

  “The major always insisted we take a brisk walk before our daily duties,” Rose said.

  In the daylight, she’d find her way to the manor, find a way to inform Nicole that the earl was staying at The Talbot Inn, and race back before anyone stirred from their beds.

  “Good Lord.” Mrs Hibbet shook her head. “There’s no one awake at five except for the birds.”

  “Five?”

  “I don’t know the details of your daily schedule with the major, but your duties here begin at six, sharp.” Mrs Hibbet pursed her lips. “A walk is the last thing you’ll want after just a few hours’ sleep.”

  At the mere mention of sleep, Rose put her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. In a matter of hours, Mrs Hibbet expected to see her awake, dressed, and ready to do a full day’s work. If she planned on taking a trip to the manor, it would be helpful to know if Mrs Hibbet knew a quicker route.

  “A man on the mail coach spoke of an old asylum nearby,” Rose said as the housekeeper ushered her in through the servants’ entrance. “How far is it to Morton Manor?”

  “Saints preserve us.” Mrs Hibbet made the sign of the cross. She glanced behind them as they made their way along the corridor as if the ghosts of the mentally deranged followed behind. “We don’t speak of that place here. Not ever.”

  A cold shiver ran down Rose’s spine.

  She’d spent two hundred nights in that grim house. Yes, the icy breeze often appeared from nowhere. Yes, her heart raced and the hairs on her nape prickled for no reason at all.

  “If I go for a brisk walk at dawn, is it safe to venture into the woods?”

  Mrs Hibbet opened a door and gestured for Rose to enter the small bedchamber. “There’s a path over the stile that leads to the village, though no one’s used it for some time. Best not wander too far.” She clapped her hands. “Now, I’ll go and find you a nightgown, though I can’t promise it will fit.”

  Rose slipped off her cloak, eager to climb into bed and rest her weary bones. “Is there fresh water to wash?”

  “You can find it yourself if you follow the corridor to the kitchen.” The housekeeper gestured to one of two beds. “Jane’s gone home to Abberton to nurse her dying mother and won’t be back for a week. You’ll have the room to yourself till then.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Hibbet.” Rose forced a smile. Her lids were heavy with the need to sleep, and her limbs felt as though they were no longer part of her body.

  “I’ll get you some ointment for those scratches on your hand and salt to bathe your feet.”

  Dawn would be upon them by the time Rose had taken care of her ablutions.

  “Do you have a name?” Mrs Hibbet asked. “I can’t be calling ‘my dear’ down the stairs, now can I?”

  Lady Rose Darby, daughter of the Earl of Stanton.

  “Rose.”

  The woman’s curious gaze searched Rose’s face. “Happen your mother chose well. Now try to sleep, dear. You have an early start in the morning. I hope your back is up to the task as you must do the work of two.”

  The work of two? After the months spent at Morton Manor, she’d learnt to style her hair, make and change a bed, and light a fire with a tinderbox. She’d even punched a man to escape her prison.

  Nothing could be more difficult than that.

  Chapter Two

  Christian Knight, seventh Viscount Farleigh, slumped back in the chair behind his desk, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. With any luck, he’d misheard Mrs Hibbet. Or perhaps he was living a scene from a terrible nightmare, and he’d wake in a sweat and with a sudden gasp of relief.

  “Did you say Mrs Booth has left?” He cleared his throat to prevent a vile curse from escaping. “Surely not. She’s been here but a week.”

  Mrs Hibbet exhaled slowly. “She found toads in her bed, my lord.”

  “Toads!” During his reckless youth, he’d woken to find the odd toad in his bed, too, but he didn’t tear off into the night and turn his back on his responsibilities. “I assume these particular amphibians didn’t hop up three flights of stairs and unlock her door with a key?”

  “I’ve no idea how they found their way in here, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet raised her chin. If the house came crumbling down around them, she would never blame the children.

  “And where are these slippery creatures?”

  “Joseph gathered them up in a basket and released them back into the pond.”

  Christian sat forward. “And so what are we to do now?”

  Mrs Hibbet struggled to hold his gaze. “Is … is there any point hiring another governess? After all, the twins are but seven years old. There’s plenty of time for tutoring and the like. And I’m not sure a firm hand is what’s needed.”

  In any other household, the master would chastise the staff for pressing their opinion. But in the two years since Cassandra’s death, he’d come to look on Mrs Hibbet as a member of the family.

  “As their father, you know I cannot tolerate their constant disobedience.” He wished to live in peace and harmony. He wished the house rang with laughter. That all their hearts swelled with nothing but love. “Never mind what happened to Mrs Booth. Mrs Marshall could have broken her neck when she slipped on that sticky substance they smothered over the stairs. How long did she last? Ten days?”

  The pain in his chest returned.

  His children were his only love, his only failure. Well, not quite. His marriage to Cassandra had been a disaster from the beginning. But that’s what came from marrying too young.

  Christian rubbed his aching temple. “I don’t know what to do to help them. The children tell me everything is fine, yet I sense the pain eating away inside.”

  Mrs Hibbet shuffled forward. “You don’t have to make a decision straight away. Why not leave them for a week or two? Let them spend time without the constant rules and regulations.”

  “We’re minus three maids, a groom and a governess.” Christian snorted. “We’ve barely enough staff to keep the fires stoked let alone tend to two children intent on causing mischief. I need to visit the tenants and assess the repairs to the cottages. And Reverend Wilmslow wants me to attend a meeting to discuss the church roof.”

  Despite being head of an affluent family, and receiving a three-hundred pound a year stipend, the reverend was forever snapping at his heels pleading for funds.

  “Then it’s just as well I’ve got news that might make things easier.” Mrs Hibbet rushed to the door, yanked it open and summoned the person waiting in the hall.

  A maid entered and walked up to his desk. She offered a curtsy graceful enough to appease a king. The grey dress should have made her appear dull, her skin sallow, and yet she possessed a natural radiance that lit up the room.

  “This is Rose, my lord, come from London.” Mrs Hibbet smiled. “She wasn’t supposed to arrive until next week. Happen someone saw fit to send us an angel in this great time of need.”

  Rose.

  He could almost smell the sweet, hypnotic scent.

  An angel.

  Golden hair framed her face like a halo. If he ripped off her white cap, those tresses would come tumbling down in all their glory.

  Good God.

  Had Christian been a bystander, one party to these inappropriate thoughts, he would have slapped his own face. The woman was a maid in his household. He blamed his heightened emotions and strained nerves on Mrs Booth's departure. It was not like him to forget his place or his manners.

  “Welcome to Everleigh, Rose. I trust Mrs Hibbet gave you a tour of the house and grounds.”

  Rose smil
ed. “She did, my lord.”

  “You may leave your references on my desk, and I shall attend to them later. As I’m sure you’re aware, we are short of staff and must pull together during difficult times.”

  The maid opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs Hibbet tapped her on the arm.

  “As to the matter of references, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet blinked too many times to count. “There was a dreadful accident on the road, and someone stole Rose’s valise. She arrived late last night with nothing but the clothes on her back. It’s why she slept in late this morning.”

  Christian stared at them both for a moment. Neither met his gaze.

  “Indeed.” He’d shared a house with Mrs Hibbet for nigh on fifteen years, was just a boy when she took the position. She had lied to him only once before. “What sort of accident?”

  “There’s only one sort of accident, my lord,” Mrs Hibbet replied with a snort. “An unfortunate one.”

  Christian focused his gaze on the new maid. “You will tell me what happened on the road.”

  Deceit was a trait he despised, could never tolerate. Short-staffed or not, he’d have the truth from the maid, or she’d be on the next mail coach to London. Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Rose proved to be far too distracting, and he’d never had cause to doubt his integrity before.

  The apples of Rose’s cheeks flushed pink. She swallowed three or four times, sucked in so many breaths there could hardly be any room left in her lungs.

  “Well, Rose? What have you to say?”

  With wide eyes, the woman stared at him. “There wasn’t an accident. I … I lied to Mrs Hibbet because I have no references.”

  “There, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” He admired the strength it took to tell the truth when one’s livelihood was at stake. “And why are you without references when it is a condition of your employment? Surely Mr Burns made that clear at the registry office.”

  “It’s not Rose’s fault, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet jumped to the maid’s defence. “She told me about the references and … well, we’re so short of maids … I …”

  “You thought it wouldn’t matter?”

  Was his housekeeper suffering from memory loss? Had she forgotten that he’d thrown a footman out for the part he’d played in Cassandra’s charade?

  Mrs Hibbet had the decency to hang her head.

  Christian turned his attention to the maid. “Were you sent by Mr Burns from the registry office?”

  “No, my lord.” The maid raised her chin and took on an air of hauteur usually reserved for society’s elite.

  “Then pray tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “It is all a terrible misunderstanding.” Rose turned to Mrs Hibbet and mouthed a silent apology. “I was on my way to Morton Manor but got lost in the woods.”

  “Morton Manor?” The name filled him with dread. He was aware there were servants at the old asylum, but as yet, no residents had called at Everleigh to make an introduction. “Why were you going there?”

  “To work. I was to report to Mrs Gripes, the housekeeper. Indeed, if you would be kind enough to provide an escort, you would have my utmost gratitude.”

  She curtsied. Not the quick dip offered by maids but a slow, elegant movement that spoke of refinement and good breeding. Her elocution was faultless. Rose had no references because he suspected she’d never worked a day in her life.

  “May I see your hands?”

  “Certainly.”

  She offered him her hand. Two red scratches marred the otherwise porcelain skin. And yet it crossed his mind to bring it to his lips and place a chaste kiss on her creamy-white knuckles. Feeling a sudden flutter of nerves, he took hold of her fingers, ignored the slight tremble and examined the soft tips.

  “The position at Morton Manor—” Christian stopped abruptly and suppressed a grimace. He’d survived two years without that name falling from his lips, and yet he’d spoken the words aloud twice in a matter of minutes. “Was it to be your first post?”

  “It was.”

  “And yet no one is in residence.”

  “No, my lord. There’s a housekeeper, a maid and a few other servants.”

  “And who is your employer?”

  The maid hesitated. “It is not for me to discuss his lordship’s business.”

  Christian remained silent while he studied her. Rose had obviously fallen on hard times and had no choice but to work. Everyone in the village complained about the servants at the manor. Some called them rude. Others preferred the term vicious. A woman of Rose’s delicate nature would be a prime candidate for abuse.

  “And what of your history, Rose?”

  “My personal affairs are not open for discussion, my lord. Please direct me back to the manor, and I shall leave you in peace.”

  Peace? This woman’s sweet smile and bright countenance would haunt his dreams.

  It was as he suspected. A tragic family story had left her with no means of support. Had a brother with a gambling addiction squandered the funds? One thing was certain. He’d suffer eternal damnation before he’d let anyone with half an ounce of decency work in that iniquitous den.

  “What is your employer paying you? Perhaps I might match it in the hope you’ll accept a position here. After all, we are in dire need of help.”

  “Paying me?”

  “I assume you’re not working out of the goodness of your heart.”

  Rose’s bottom lip quivered. “Erm … eighteen pounds.”

  Christian bit back a chuckle. “Is that not steep for a housemaid with no experience?” He couldn’t blame the woman for trying to haggle another pound or two.

  “Not for a maid with an excellent education,” Rose countered.

  He was about to say what use is knowledge when it comes to sweeping the grate, but then it occurred to him that he was also short of a governess. Of course, he’d have to observe the woman carefully before agreeing to unrestricted access to his children.

  “Then I offer you twenty pounds per annum to work here, and one new dress and bonnet to wear to church on Sundays.”

  Mrs Hibbet gasped.

  “Rest assured, Mrs Hibbet. I shall increase all other household wages, too.” It was the least he could do under the circumstances. None of his staff had complained about the current working conditions. “We shall meet this afternoon and discuss the matter.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet clutched her hands to her chest. “Poor Matilda is struggling to clean the rooms and do the laundry.”

  “Then the increase in wages will convey my appreciation.” He focused his attention on Rose. “Well, will you take a position here?”

  Silence ensued.

  If she only knew of the horrors that had occurred at the manor, she wouldn’t hesitate to agree to his offer.

  Rose finally nodded. “I will accept the position on two conditions.”

  Christian sat back in the chair. Never in all his years as owner of Everleigh had he bargained with a maid. He doubted the six viscounts before had, either. “What are your terms?”

  “I ask that a groom accompany me to the manor so I may inform them of my new situation.”

  Christian nodded. It was a fair request. Had she not asked for an escort, he would have insisted upon one.

  “And you will allow me to work for one week without wages.” Rose raised her chin and squared her shoulders. It was apparent that the matter was not up for negotiation. “A trial period is necessary to avoid any bad feeling should either of us wish to part company.”

  Curiosity burned.

  The woman had nothing but the clothes on her back. What possible reason could she have for leaving? Then again, a maid this pretty had every right to be apprehensive about the moral character of her master.

  “You certainly know how to strike a deal.” Perhaps her father had been a wealthy merchant and lost his fortune on a string of poor investments. “Although such a bargain appears to work in my favour.”

  A coy
smile formed on her lips and he struggled to tear his gaze away. “You have yet to witness the quality of my work, my lord.”

  “As Mrs Hibbet has gone to the trouble of finding you a uniform, then perhaps it’s time you showed me.”

  Christian gestured to the fireplace. The grate was filthy and piled with ash.

  “It just so happened there was a dress to fit,” Mrs Hibbet added.

  Rose wore the grey dress like a second skin. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect Mrs Hibbet had hired the services of London’s most coveted modiste. Indeed, the last thing he needed was to give the snug garment covering the new maid’s body any further scrutiny.

  “You may leave us, Mrs Hibbet. Rose will return with the coal scuttle and lay the fire for this evening.” He remembered her request to visit the manor. “Once she’s completed the morning chores, you will inform Dawkins he must accompany her to Morton Manor.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Rose offered him a beaming smile. “I promise to be no longer than an hour.”

  A deep sense of foreboding gripped him at the thought of her coming within a hundred yards of the place. Evil lingered within its walls. The essence of people's misery contaminated the surrounding air. The asylum closed its doors two years ago, but he could not forget all that had happened there.

  “On second thoughts, I shall go with you.” He’d get nothing done while waiting for her safe return. “You’ve lost your way once, and the woods can be treacherous, even by day.”

  It was not an exaggeration.

  A murderer lingered in their midst. He’d suspected so for years.

  Chapter Three

  The thought of spending any time alone with Lord Farleigh created a strange fluttering in Rose’s chest. Oh, it was ridiculous. The gentleman possessed such a commanding presence she really did feel like a lowly maid. And now he expected her to clean and lay the fire while he watched.

  Her hands were still shaking when she returned to the study with the brush and pan and knelt down in front of the hearth.

  While locked in the manor with Nicole, they’d had no choice but to prepare and light the fire in their bedchamber. Even so, Nicole refused to allow her to attend to the task.