by Julia London
“All right, then.”
She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flinched, just kept observing him with that serene countenance, as if she fully accepted her fate. Bloody hell if she did. This was Mared Lockhart before him, not some shy young chambermaid.
Payton leaned forward a little closer and narrowed his eyes again. “I shall expect ye to keep Eilean Ros as clean as if it were Talla Dileas. I shall expect the floors to be polished and scrubbed, the carpets beaten and swept, the furniture and fixtures kept free of dust. Ye shall launder my clothing and attend the master rooms morning and night, aye? And ye will attend the guest rooms. In short, Miss Lockhart, ye will see to it that this house shines like a golden bauble. Do ye quite understand?”
“Quite,” she said politely, but he was certain he detected a slight stiffening of her spine.
He leaned back, frowning still. “Forgive me…but ye seem remarkably improved from yer rather dramatic arrival, aye? May I trust that we are in complete agreement as to the terms of yer service here?”
He could see her swallow, could see her force herself to smile.
“I couldna rightly say we are in agreement, milord, as that would require the suspension of all rational thought. But ye might say that I have accepted where the winds of fate have carried me, and I’ve determined there is no point in arguing it, for if we do, we shall both remain angry, and that serves neither of us.”
Interesting. Was it possible that she had, through some divine intervention, accepted it? No. Impossible. She was far too obstinate and headstrong. Of course he couldn’t trust her. He knew Mared, knew how unconquerably proud she could be…. It had been one of the many things he’d once admired about her.
Now all he’d admire was her ability to clean his house.
“Ye may take yer meals with the rest of the staff in the servants’ dining room,” he continued curtly, “and now ye are dismissed to attend Miss Douglas.” He stood and turned away from those unreadable green eyes and strode from the room, reminded once again that while he might be enticed by her appearance, he could not abide what was inside her.
When Mared heard the door close, she clenched her fists and banged them on the arms of her chair as she dropped her head back against it, her eyes closed, groaning. She’d never endure this. Never!
After drinking the potion Donalda had given her, she’d spent a sleepless night, hoping for a miracle. When one did not come, she considered Anna and Ellie’s advice to slay him with kindness. As she could think of no other practical way to slay him, she had reasoned, in the wee hours of the morning, that it was good advice. Payton expected her defiance—he’d never expect her compliance. He’d not want her compliance, as it would bleed all the joy from his degradation of her.
Yet she’d not bargained for her compliance coming at such a high personal cost. Another large piece of her pride had broken off and splintered into dust.
She abruptly vaulted out of her chair and began to pace. “Ye will see to it that this house shines like a golden bauble,” she mimicked him. “And now ye are dismissed. Bloody rotten tyrant,” she muttered. “A repugnant, mean-spirited, slubberdegullion, that one—”
The door swung open; Mared gasped and whirled about, her heart pounding.
It was Beckwith, his face looking even more pinched than usual this morning. “His lordship would have ye attend Miss Douglas forthwith.”
“Oh.” She glanced around the room, nervously ran her hand along the seam of her gown, wondering how she might endure this.
“I believe he intended for ye to go straightaway,” Beckwith added coolly.
Mared frowned at him. “I know,” she said and followed him out of the room, falling in beside him as they strode down the corridor.
She glanced at the butler from the corner of her eye. She judged him to be just a few years older than she. He was a proud man, she could see that in the tilt of his bony jaw and the way his neckcloth was tied to perfection with what seemed the goal of strangulation. “So then, Beckwith…” she tried. “We are to be fellow soldiers, aye? Partners of a kind, as it were?”
To her surprise, Beckwith stopped midstride and turned to face her, his lips pursed unpleasantly. “I beg yer pardon but I think no’, Miss Lockhart.”
“Oh,” she said, and thought she should explain to him that contrary to what he might think, she was no longer a member of the Quality.
Before she could say a word, however, Beckwith unabashedly and enthusiastically continued, “I am the chief man in the laird’s employ, which means that all the other servants in his employ answer directly to me.” He gave her a mean little smile. “That would include yerself, Miss Lockhart. Henceforth, ye shall know me as Mr. Beckwith.”
Mared blinked in surprise.
He turned sharply about and started up the grand stairs. “Do hurry along,” he said haughtily. “Ye’ve kept Miss Douglas waiting long enough, ye have.”
Her thoughts and her tongue frozen in astonishment, Mared picked up her hem and hurried after him.
On the second floor, Beckwith stopped before a white door with a painted porcelain knob and rapped lightly. A chambermaid in a white cap answered.
“Stand aside, Rodina,” Beckwith said brusquely.
The dark-eyed girl curtsied and stepped aside, eyeing Mared curiously as Beckwith crossed the thresh-old and bowed. “Miss Douglas, may I present the new housekeeper, Miss Lockhart.”
“Oh, is she here, then?” Sarah Douglas chirped from somewhere inside the room.
Beckwith gave Mared a look; she swallowed the last lump of her pride and stepped inside the room.
It was painted sky blue. The walls were made of big square panels and the ceiling cheerfully adorned with papier-mâché ropes and bells painted white. It was a huge room. There were several trunks scattered about, and at the far end, an enormous mahogany vanity, one that, had it been at Talla Dileas, the Lockharts would have easily sold for one hundred pounds.
But Miss Douglas had brought quite a lot of clothing with her, and when Mared joined her she was, apparently, having some trouble deciding which of her many traveling gowns to wear for the drive to Edinburgh. Another plump chambermaid was holding up two gowns. Judging by her pained expression, she’d been holding the gowns for a long time.
“Ah, there ye are, Miss Lockhart,” Miss Douglas said with a sigh, glancing over her shoulder. “Ye may leave us, Beckwith.”
He gave her a click of the heels and a nod, and quietly quit the room.
“Honestly, I can’t decide,” she said, turning her attention to the gowns again, and glanced at Mared. “What is yer opinion, Miss Lockhart? Which of them goes well with my coloring?”
“The blue,” Mared said without hesitation or thought, but in the interest of leaving this room as quickly as possible.
“The blue? Indeed? I thought perhaps the yellow,” Miss Douglas said uncertainly, and stood back to study them critically, seemingly unaware that the poor chambermaid was struggling to keep them aloft for her inspection.
“The yellow is quite nice as well,” Mared said. “But I think ye must choose quickly, miss, lest the maid lose the use of her arms.”
“What?” Miss Douglas asked, then glanced at the girl. “Oh!” she said, suddenly aware of the poor creature, and nodded firmly. “The blue, then. Ye will dress me,” she said, pointing to the plump chambermaid, and returned to her vanity, plopping down on the brocade bench.
“Come in, come in, Miss Lockhart,” she said, leaning forward to examine her face closely in the mirror. “We’ll not accomplish a blessed thing with ye so far away.” She leaned back, turned her head slightly left, then right. “So he’s gone and put ye to work as the housekeeper, has he?”
“He has,” Mared said brightly so that she might hide the ire she felt as she walked into the middle of the room.
“Very good. It’s better this way. Ye can repay yer family’s debt and be done with it.”
She could be done with it, all right, and refrained from remind
ing Miss Douglas that her cousin was an ogre of the highest order who had convinced himself of his own self-importance.
“’Tis better this way,” Miss Douglas said again with a pert nod. “Infinitely better for all parties involved, I should think.”
“All parties?” Mared asked, unable to hold her tongue. “And what would ye mean by that?”
Miss Douglas looked at her again and blinked innocently. “Mean? Isn’t it obvious? I meant that ye are really in no position to be the wife of a Douglas laird, are ye? I suppose I mean only that—it would have been a grave mistake on Payton’s part to go through with that ridiculous betrothal.”
“There was no betrothal, but had there been, the grave mistake would have been mine,” Mared said tightly. “The Lockharts are sworn enemies of the Douglases.”
“I beg your pardon?” Miss Douglas asked with a laugh. “This has nothing to do with the history of the Lockharts or the Douglases. It is simply a matter of fact that Payton is a laird and a man of property and significant means. It wouldn’t do for him to marry a woman of…” She paused in her perusal of herself to flick her gaze over Mared. “Of insufficient means.”
Mared seethed at her insult. “The Lockhart means were made insufficient only by the actions of yer cousin.”
Miss Douglas laughed lightly and twisted on her bench to have a look at Mared directly. “That’s patently ridiculous, Miss Lockhart, and I think ye must know it! Everyone around the lochs knows that yer father has been steadily losing ground with his old ways and his notion of buying out the crofters, particularly when there is nothing to be gained from it but more debt. Had Payton not brought sheep to the lochs, certainly Mr. Sorley would have done so. I’ve heard he intends to bring some up from the Borders before the autumn.” She turned away, picked up something from her vanity, then held up a ring of keys. “Ye’ll be needing these,” she said.
In a supreme show of strength, Mared forced herself to walk across the room and take the keys, fighting the urge to toss them out the window. But she managed, and instead, she smiled and said, “Ye’ve come to know quite a lot about the lochs all the way from Edinburra, have ye no’, Miss Douglas?”
Miss Douglas bestowed a very dark frown on Mared. “I will forgive ye, Miss Lockhart, for not understanding yer place. But were ye a housekeeper in Edinburra, ye’d be dismissed for such impudence. Now then. Will ye please inspect the trunks and assure me that all is properly done and nothing is misplaced? I’ve scarcely had a moment to supervise the work.”
She said it as if the two young chambermaids were not in the room and missed the look of pure contempt that passed between them.
Mared did not miss it and pressed her lips together to keep herself from chastising Miss Douglas as she was wont to do more often than not—the woman had absolutely no regard for anyone but herself.
She walked to the first trunk. It was open, and from it spilled silk drawers and camisoles, brocade and poplin gowns, embroidered slippers, Spencer jackets, and nightclothes. How could Miss Douglas possibly miss anything amid so many articles of clothing? Mared bent over, stuffed everything haphazardly into the trunk, and shut it with a slight kick of her foot.
She straightened, winked slyly at the chambermaids, and announced cheerfully, “All is in order.”
“Splendid!” Miss Douglas said airily, and stood, indicating she was ready to be dressed. “By the by, Miss Lockhart, I have left two old gowns in the dressing room. One is gold, the other a pale cream silk. They require some repair, and I should think a letting out of the seams, as ye are thicker than me. If ye are capable of the repair, ye may claim them for yer own use, for I’ve no need of them.”
Fabulous, Mared thought. They’d make bonny beds for her dogs.
“In addition, ye’ll find the housekeeping uniforms in the wardrobe of the first room on the third floor. There should be two in all. Mrs. Craig was buried in the third.”
“Thank ye,” Mared muttered.
“All right, then. I’ve only these few things here when I’ve finished dressing.” She discarded her dressing gown and stood with her arms out wide, as the poor chambermaid struggled to fit the blue gown over her head.
Mared rolled her eyes and proceeded to gather up the last of Miss Douglas’s things, which the thinner of the two chambermaids took from her with a smile. So Mared stood feeling useless, until there was a rap at the door.
“Answer, Miss Lockhart,” Miss Douglas commanded from the bow of her ship.
Mared walked to the door and flung it open, and her false heart leapt to her throat.
Payton was on the other side, leaning against the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other ankle, arms folded across his chest. At present, she utterly despised him. But the man certainly had a way of looking entirely too masculine. He could, occasionally, make her rather weak in the knees. He could, apparently, do so at this very moment, even as she stood despising him.
He frowned when she did not speak immediately. “Have ye forgotten how to address yer laird, Miss Lockhart?”
Victory through kindness. “Of course no’. How do ye do, milord?” she asked, and sank into a very deep curtsey.
He watched her rise up. “That’s a bit too lavish an address, would ye no’ agree?”
Mared smiled. “If ye say it is, milord.”
Payton frowned.
Mared smiled harder.
“Oh, Payton! Is it ye, then? Diah! Just a moment—I am being dressed,” Miss Douglas called.
He sighed, shifted his gaze to Mared, who could not help the impertinent smile on her lips—she so enjoyed seeing his displeasure.
“What is it, then?” he growled, obviously succumbing to the pressure of her kindness. “Why do ye stand and gawk? Ye should see to yer mistress.”
“Oh, I rather suppose I should!” she chirped and turned away from the door and marched into the room, just as Miss Douglas spoke.
“Payton, do come in. I’m quite decent now,” she said.
Payton pushed past Mared.
His cousin was standing in the middle of the room with the chambermaid on her knees, straightening the hem of her traveling gown. “I feared ye’d forgotten that I am to leave today,” she said, smiling at Payton.
“I’d no’ forget, Sarah.” He walked across the room to her, kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’m sorry to see ye take yer leave—it seems as if ye belong at Eilean Ros.”
“Don’t be silly, darling. I belong in Edinburra!” she trilled happily. “I do so miss the society there.”
He smiled thinly and sprawled lazily across her chaise longue, propping himself on one elbow and letting his boots hang off the end as he watched the maid straighten Miss Douglas’s hem. “I owe ye a debt of gratitude for coming to my aid when Mrs. Craig died, Sarah. I canna thank ye enough.”
“Why ever thank me?” she asked laughingly. “Ye resolved your problems all on yer own. I rather despaired that ye would, for there is no good help to be had in these parts.”
Another look flowed between the two chambermaids.
“And now, mo ghraidh, as we’ve found a suitable replacement for yer Mrs. Craig, the only thing left is to find ye a suitable match,” Miss Douglas blithely continued. “I do wish ye would so that I might rest easy in Edinburra,” she added, and satisfied with her hem, she shooed the chambermaid away and went to stand in front of the floor-length mirror.
“I’m really rather fond of Miss Crowley,” she continued as she admired herself, turning this way and that. “She’d be a bonny mistress of Eilean Ros.”
That comment startled Mared so thoroughly that she dropped the silver hand mirror she was holding, and it landed with a loud thud on the floor.
Everyone in the room turned to look at her. With a shrug, she smiled nervously. “How clumsy of me.”
“Have a care, Miss Lockhart,” Miss Douglas sniffed.
Mared frowned down at the mirror. This was insanity. She wanted Payton to offer for Beitris…at least she had until he’d imprisoned
her and forced her into indentured servitude. Now she wasn’t entirely certain what she wanted.
It didn’t help that Payton had leaned back on the chaise and propped his hands behind his head to watch her. “Perhaps,” he said, his gaze steady on her, “I’ll have her and her family to supper.”
Mared instantly stooped down to retrieve the blasted mirror. She could feel her face flaming—Beitris, here? Her good friend would see her as nothing more than a lowly servant! And to think she’d once sought to put Beitris before this detestable fool! Oh, and how very well he knew it, damn him!
“That would be delightful, Payton!” Miss Douglas cooed. “I do so think Miss Crowley would be a perfect match for ye. She’s quite sweet tempered and very well behaved. Do ye think she is? A good match, that is?”
“Aye,” he said, still watching Mared when she popped up again, holding the silver mirror. “None better around the lochs. Miss Crowley shall make a fine wife.”
Mared gaped at him. He lifted a brow, silently challenging her. But one of the chambermaids walked by and gave Mared a bit of a nudge and a warning look that jarred her back to her senses and her place. She tossed the mirror into one of the open trunks.
“Well I, for one, am quite happy to hear ye say so,” Miss Douglas said, oblivious to anything but her reflection in the mirror. “There was a time when I despaired of ye making a poor decision,” she said, leaning forward to pinch her cheeks. “And now that ye’ve set that matter to rights, I shall expect to receive a letter from ye soon, relaying the happiest of news.”
“Aye,” he said, and suddenly gained his feet. “I shall leave ye to yer dressing. I’ll be in the foyer when ye are ready to depart.”
“Very well,” Miss Douglas said as she busily admired herself in the vanity mirror. Payton kissed her cheek once more. When he turned toward the door, he caught Mared’s eye and, holding her gaze without expression, quit the room.
Ten