And bring in anyone he chose, she thought with a twinge of jealousy. He had brought Isabelle here, among others. No doubt he had made love to her in this room. Which was another reason for sleeping elsewhere.
Verne looked about him. “What would we do with this room, then?”
“It would make rather a lovely sitting room,” Cecily said. “But we don’t need to decide everything tonight! Ah, here is Daniel with our bags…”
*
Her first evening as mistress of Finmarsh House was spent in fun and laughter. With barely any servants, it was Daniel who served them dinner. Cecily actually wondered if it would be wrong to bring the chaotic household into line with convention, and said as much as they settled in the library after dinner over a glass of port.
Verne’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “It was never really choice. Most of the servants left after the fire, and I never felt their lack until you arrived.”
“You make it sound as though I inconvenienced you,” she said, amused. “Have you forgotten you abducted me?”
“I never forget a successful abduction.”
“I refuse to ask how you define success.”
“My definition has changed recently.” His arm slipped around her, and she rested her cheek against his shoulder, smiling.
“So has mine,” she admitted.
In the morning, after yet another night of spectacular love, she left Verne sleeping and went in search of Shilton to obtain her help in taking an inventory of the house. With some unease, she eventually discovered the maid in the north wing, wandering the rooms like a wraith, murmuring to herself.
Eventually, Cecily thought she made out the words, “Where are you? Are you gone, now? Are you gone?” Was she searching for Marjorie’s ghost? Perhaps it was a good sign that she thought her old mistress’s spirit had vanished in the rebuilding.
“Shilton?” she called as the maid walked into the largest room without seeing her. “I need your help.”
“Yes, my lady,” Shilton said at once, hurrying out of the room to join her. At least it didn’t seem to enter her head that it might be Marjorie calling her.
Shilton caught on quickly to what was expected of her, inspecting and noting each piece of household linen and removing those that needed mending or were beyond repair. More than that, she knew where more or less everything was kept, from household keys to glass and china.
“Do you know of other local domestic servants in the area looking for work?” Cecily asked her. “I would rather employ local people than go to a London agency. But I don’t yet feel we’re in a position to train maids and footmen from scratch.”
“There may be one or two,” Shilton said doubtfully. “I could ask in the village and send those interested up to you?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Cecily decided. “By then, we should have more idea what and whom we need!”
She joined Verne for breakfast, and then, leaving Shilton to continue the inventory, rode with him around the estate to greet his people as their new lady. Returning to the house for luncheon, she then wrote to several London firms for samples of wallpaper and curtains, then took over Shilton’s place with the inventory while the maid went to Finsborough with Daniel.
She was sorting through some rather beautiful porcelain from the last century when James, one of Verne’s “grooms,” came to tell her a “woman” had called to see her about a position in the house.
“Drat, they weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow!” Cecily said a little crossly.
“I’ll send her away, if you like,” James offered. “Though she did say she had a letter from Mrs. Longstone.”
“Oh.” Cecily rose to her feet. “I’d better see her then. Where is she?”
“In the hall, my lady.”
Only feet away from the front door, the young woman stood patiently waiting. She was neat and modest looking, her hair pinned severely under her cap—which did nothing to hide her beauty.
“Good afternoon,” Cecily said. “I hear you have a letter for me.”
The girl curtseyed and held out a folded paper. Cecily took it, broke the wafer, and read it quickly. Mrs. Longstone welcomed her warmly back to Sussex. As the new mistress of Finmarsh, you will already be inconvenienced by the lack of servants. I take the liberty of recommending to you Anne Wilson, who was our chambermaid here and gave excellent service. I am sorry to let her go, but we are economizing. It will make me feel much better if I know she has a place with you, and that you have at least one good servant at hand until you have the chance to choose your own, of course. I know she will give satisfaction.
Mrs. Longstone didn’t seem to doubt she would take the girl on, which set Cecily’s back up somewhat. However, she raised her eyes to Anne Wilson’s as pleasantly as she could.
“You will be sad to leave Mrs. Longstone.”
“Oh yes, my lady. It was a good position.”
“How long were you there?”
“Two years, my lady.”
“Where are you from, Anne?”
“London, my lady. Mrs. Longstone took me on when she was visiting there.”
“And are you happy in the country?”
“I much prefer it, my lady. It’s one reason I would love a position with you.”
“You would have a lot to do. We are very short-staffed at the moment and have building work besides.”
A tiny smile flickered in the maid’s eyes. “That just makes it more interesting, my lady.”
The girl had character and experience, and the recommendation of a high stickler. Cecily could see no disadvantages. “When can you start?”
*
That night, Cecily was again woken by Verne’s nightmare as his whole body thrashed from side to side.
“Patrick,” she murmured, putting her arms around him in comfort and pity, but he seemed inconsolable, for once unaware of his presence. Faint sounds came from his lips. She couldn’t tell if they were words or groans, just that he suffered.
In desperation, remembering the comfort he had sought on the previous occasion, she pressed her body to his in the darkness and kissed him, willing him to wake and find joy instead of the pain that so clearly gripped him in sleep.
He stilled at last. Then his mouth opened under hers. Without opening his eyes, he began to move against her, his hands roaming over her body. With a low growl, he lifted her hips and she took him inside her. Gladly, she moved to his rhythm, her passion no longer merely comfort. He held her, loving her with deep sensuality.
“Marjorie,” he uttered, with shocking clarity.
She stilled, all pleasure draining away from her. His eyes were still closed, as though he had never wakened, was merely loving her in his sleep. And imagining she was his dead sister-in-law. Shilton had once hinted at Marjorie’s feelings for Patrick, but had denied he had ever taken advantage, yet alone returned her affection.
“Marjorie.” That one word in such circumstances raised all sorts of doubts and questions. And if he had not told her about such a major part of his life, how could she trust him now?
As he found his pleasure in her, tears ran down Cecily’s cheeks. He rolled onto his side, gathering her close against him and with a grunt of contentment, appeared to go back to sleep. If he’d ever been awake.
It was Cecily who lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness, until she fell into an exhausted sleep with the break of dawn.
She woke with rather more perspective. Saying Marjorie’s name meant nothing more than that she was associated with his nightmares, and that was not surprising. Surely, it meant little that he had spoken it while making love to her. He had still been at least half-asleep, his brain confused, no doubt, between his dream and reality. She would be a fool to read too much into it. Did she not have his companionship, his frequent tender loving?
He has never said he loves me…
She thrust that aside. Words did not matter more than deeds. He showed his love all the time. Such as now, when he san
k onto the bed beside her, offering her a cup of coffee from his tray. He kissed her as she took it, dispelling the fringes of unease that still clung.
“So, what are your plans for today?”
“I have a few people to interview for household positions—which reminds me, do you want James and George to be footmen or grooms? Or are they merely temporary?”
Clearly not used to regularizing his staff, Verne looked endearingly flustered. “I have no idea. I’ll speak to them. Or you could. I’ll be riding over to the Hart this morning, so I’ll leave them with you.”
She frowned. She had almost forgotten about the attacks. “It is you who need them with you,” she pointed out. “No one has ever attacked me.”
“I intend to make sure no one shall,” he said firmly. “But I assure you, I’ll be careful.”
She set down her finished coffee cup and took his hand. “You had another nightmare last night. Do you remember?”
“No,” he said apologetically. “Did I wake you?”
She shrugged to show that didn’t bother her in the slightest. It was not in her nature to hide things, and although something caused her to hesitate, she said, “You spoke Marjorie’s name.”
“She’s part of my guilt.” He didn’t sound impatient, precisely, but his brisk tone left her in no doubt that he wanted the subject changed.
She could not oblige him. “Patrick? Were you ever Marjorie’s lover?”
He bolted off the bed as if she’d stung him. “Of course, I was not,” he snapped. “Why would you even imagine such a thing?” And he stalked into the dressing room, yelling for Daniel.
In the end, they happened to leave the bedchamber together, Cecily to go to breakfast and Verne to the stables. Cheerful and full of energy, he seemed to have forgotten his irritation with her and tucked her hand in his arm as they walked through the library and into the entrance hall.
“Who’s that?” Verne asked, glancing up at the staircase.
Anne, the new chambermaid, was hurrying upstairs, encouragingly neat and fresh in appearance.
“That is our new chambermaid,” Cecily replied with pride. “Courtesy of Mrs. Longstone, who recommended her.”
Verne smiled crookedly. “Then I shall watch my back. She’s probably a spy.”
“You are ridiculous,” Cecily observed. “If Mrs. Longstone wants to know how many pairs of sheets we have, she has only to ask me.”
Verne laughed and kissed her, but it sounded somewhat mechanical to her ears. He cast another glance upstairs as he strode toward the front door.
*
The presence of the Longstone maid in his home caused Verne unease. So much so, that he was reluctant to leave the house. In truth, he doubted that Henry was responsible for the attacks on him, but he knew damned well Henry wanted to succeed him and he did not trust the girl. Discovering James in the stables, he told him to go to the house and keep an eye on the new chambermaid. Then, frowning, he added that if her ladyship went out, he was to go with her and forget the chambermaid.
As he rode over to the Hart, he wondered if his reaction was unreasonable. He was only going to be away for a couple of hours, and if he was so worried about the wretched chambermaid, he should merely dismiss her. Wanting Cecily to build the household she chose warred with his powerful protective instincts which were, he thought ruefully, becoming ridiculous. He had not been married a month, and yet life without her had become unimaginable.
The Hart was quiet at this time of day, so he chose to enjoy Mrs. Villin’s breakfast in the empty coffee room. As he sat down, he could hear her and her daughter singing in the kitchen while they cooked. The sound, cheerful and unexpectedly sweet, made him smile.
Villin ambled in. “Morning, my lord,” he greeted him, and, taking a rather grubby letter from his apron, he dropped it on the table in front of Verne.
“Good morning, Villin,” Verne replied. “When did this arrive?”
“About a week ago.”
Verne glanced at the name scrawled on the front of it. N. Potter, Esquire. As he’d assumed, it was not urgent. If it had been, the smuggler captain would have signaled with a light on the marsh.
“It’s all that’s come since you’ve been gone,” Villin volunteered.
“Anyone else sniffing around?” Verne asked casually.
“No, sir, not a one.”
“Thanks.” Verne unsealed the letter and scanned the two sentences within. They were in the code he knew and he easily understood it to mean the new spy was in place and well. He stuffed it in his pocket and returned to his own problem.
The solution might be to go and see Henry and scare the wits out of him, just in case he was contemplating anything underhand…
The innkeeper’s daughter, Lily, bustled in with a heaped tray of ham, eggs, and toast, with various side dishes of fish and beef and a large pot of coffee.
“Good morning, my lord!” she said cheerfully, unloading it all in front of him. “How was your wedding trip?”
“Most enjoyable, thank you,” he said distractedly, before her satisfied smile caught his attention.
He gave her a quick, sardonic smile. “You needn’t pretend you’re pleased she married me. I know for a fact you told her I was a dangerous man not to be trusted.”
Lily only laughed. “Don’t hold it against me, sir. For some women, a warning is enough to intrigue.”
He blinked. “And you imagined Lady Cecily to be such a woman?”
“She married you, didn’t she?”
He regarded her with surprised fascination. “Why do you even care? Why throw her at a man like me?”
“You’re not really a bad man, my lord.”
“You don’t know that.”
She laughed, as though such a possibility was preposterous. “More to the point, you needed her. And she needed you.”
“Then you know more about Lady Cecily than I ever will.”
“No. But I had met her a couple of times before you did. The first time she came here was to find Miss Charlotte Maybury and try to make her brother happy. She has a kind spirit and a strong one.”
Verne picked up his fork. “If it weren’t for your occasional word of wisdom among the fustian, I’d complain of you to your father as an idle, interfering chatterbox.”
She curtseyed with bold exaggeration. “My lord.”
He laughed. “Go away, Lily.”
He returned home via Finsborough, to make sure the plasterer would come tomorrow as instructed, to begin work on the ceiling moldings in the north wing. As he stepped out of the workshop to untie Jupiter, he glimpsed two men on horseback riding away from him. Although they had their backs to him, he was sure they were Henry Longstone and Lord Torbridge.
What the devil was Torbridge doing back here again? He frowned over that all the way home, for the combination of Torbridge with his heir made him uneasy. Why did these people keep congregating around him?
He got home in time for a late luncheon. Cecily looked pleased to see him and told him proudly that she had engaged two more maids and a first footman who would teach James and George about their new roles.
“And where have they all come from?”
“The footman and one of the maids are from Audley Park, although they’ve been without a position since the Overtons let them go last year. They were economizing. The other maid has worked for the vicar but wants a step up. Shilton found them.”
Verne nodded approval. “Excellent. You can probably let the Longstones’ maid go then.”
She blinked. “Why would I do that? You are not serious about the spying nonsense, are you?”
“Not exactly, but I don’t like her being here.”
She put down her fork. “Patrick, you are being unreasonable. You insist on keeping Shilton here although she has nothing to do since the fire, and yet you would have me dismiss a useful new member of the staff who works hard and has done nothing wrong.”
He scowled. “Is this about being rid of Shilton?”
“Of course not,” she retorted, the light of battle in her eyes, which both aroused and worried him. “In fact, I am thinking about making her our new housekeeper. She knows this house like the back of her hand and she is unexpectedly good at directing the new staff. I had been going to discuss the matter with you, but I shall leave it until you are in a better mood.”
“My mood is not ill,” he said after a long silence. “Although I am most likely unreasonable. It is your mood that is out of sorts, I think. What has happened?”
“Nothing has happened.” She picked up her fork and stabbed her fish as though it had unforgivably offended her.
Verne caught her eye and she smiled reluctantly, relaxing her shoulders.
“Nothing has happened,” she repeated. “Just… no one has called. I would have expected at least one bride visit by now.”
“I expect everyone is giving you time to settle in,” he said. But he did not like to lie. She should have understood how it would be from the beginning. He thought she had understood. He shoved his chair back from the table. “What did you expect?” he asked. “It’s one of the many downsides of marrying me. I thought you would not care.” And that she did hurt unbearably. He walked out before she could see.
He had estate business to attend to, but the matter of the chambermaid played on his mind all the time he was out. When he returned to the house, he went in search of her, and found her cleaning one of the bedchambers that had not been used since his impromptu house party for Cecily.
She was a pretty little thing, somewhere under five-and-twenty summers, he guessed, and at least she appeared to be industrious. On her hands and knees, she was sweeping under the bed. He leaned against the door frame and watched her for a moment or two before she became aware of him and jumped to her feet in order to bob a respectful curtsey.
“So, you’re the new chambermaid,” he observed.
“Yes, my lord,” she breathed, risking a glance up at him that was half curious and half coquettish. He wondered if the latter came naturally, or if it was deliberate. “Anne Wilson, my lord.”
“I hear Mrs. Longstone was forced to let you go.”
The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3) Page 41