A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3)

by Kristin Vayden

  Yet, he'd given his word, and he'd not fail.

  He would find her.

  "YOU, THERE!" LORD NEVILLE strode toward the stable boy, taking in his smudged face along with the wary look that lit his gaze.

  "Aye, Gov'ner." The lad nodded, his blue eyes narrowing in a mix of fear and respect.

  "Could you tell me who that horse belongs to?" He nodded to the black mare; her highly arched neck and impatient paw at the ground further affirmed his suspicions. She was a beauty, horseflesh of quality, of money. It was a rarity for gentry to be abiding in such a small inn during the season. Any, any, oddity, anything that seemed out of place begged his attention.

  "Tha' one? Ach, she's a beauty, sir. A grand lady had ta leave her here, tossed a shoe and came up lame. The stable master, he fixed her up real nice, but the lady left before she was ready to ride. Bought a horse in town, she did."

  Lord Neville nodded and turned to the horse. The mare's ears pricked and twisted as she snorted and seemed to wait for his next move. "What did the lady look like?" he asked, keeping his tone slightly disinterested.

  "Well… she was a fine one. Fancy dress and all. Smiled too. Had a right pretty girl with her, tho' I suppose 'twas a lady too, the way she spoke and dressed."

  "Hmm…" Lord Neville replied, pacing back to the lad. "What did the younger lady look like?" He bent down to the lad's level, watching him.

  "Right pretty, sir. Brown hair all tied up like ladies do, and a fine dress like the older lady. They seemed quite happy to be together."

  "I see." Lord Neville stood, no longer feeling that he might be onto the trail of the missing woman. He steeled himself as he thought her name: Beatrix.

  "Oh! I almost forgot, sir. The older lady, she left this." The stable boy spun and ran to a tack room and disappeared. In a moment, he returned with a small square of linen.

  He reached out and accepted it from the stable boy. The trim around the edges was feminine, delicate. But it was the initials embroidered into the corner that confused him.

  SR

  Keeping his face impassive, he folded the linen and stuffed it into his greatcoat pocket. "Thanks, lad." He withdrew a coin and tossed it to the boy, who caught it midair and grinned.

  "Thank you!" He scrambled off, clutching the coin tightly in his fist.

  The dark horse nickered behind him, and Lord Neville glanced behind him, narrowing his eyes and studying the animal once more. A suspicion crept along his mind, and he turned, leaving the hay-rich stable behind and choosing to cross the worn dirt street.

  The Fox Chase Tavern was only a moment's walk, and in little time, he entered the dimly lit establishment. The air was thick with the scent of spilled ale and earthy humanity. Once his eyes adjusted, he took a seat near the bar keep, signaling for an ale.

  After taking a sip of the stout brew, he waved at the tender.

  The portly gentleman ambled over to him, a slight limp to his stride. He leaned up on the bar and raised his bushy white eyebrows. "Aye?"

  "My aunt has a cottage around these parts, but my coachman is ill, and I'm needing to find her residence on my own. Could you please direct me to the estate of Lady Southridge?" Lord Neville kept his gaze open, knowing he was taking a long shot in the dark.

  "Southridge, eh? Well, ye aren't too far from it. If ye take Kippen Road out of town, you'll follow it till ye hit the tree line, walnut trees, I believe. Past that is the gate to Breckridge House." He nodded once and stood straight. After wiping his hands on a towel at the bar, he left to attend another patron.

  Southridge.

  What in the hell was he supposed to do with that information? Of course he was going to pay a visit to the Lady Southridge at her estate, but would Beatrix be there?

  Safe and sound?

  Not kidnapped?

  Simply… taken without informing anyone?

  Though Lord Neville wasn't too familiar with Lady Southridge, the rumors of her unorthodox behavior made him accept the possibility that this, indeed, was possibly the case in Beatrix's situation.

  But what then?

  Dear heavens above, he had to tell the duke.

  The duke who viewed Lady Southridge as a maternal figure.

  Could the day get worse?

  Bloody betraying lot, all of them! This was why he avoided London, the whole season of the misbegotten ton.

  It was a nightmare — a pox on them all!

  Regardless, he was under obligation to ferret out the truth. He had promised.

  And he never went back on his word.

  Ever.

  "ISN'T THE SUNSHINE LOVELY?" Beatrix Lamont fanned herself slightly with her white-gloved hand as she walked along the stone path toward the orangery.

  "There's nothing sweeter than sunshine after such miserable rain," Lady Southridge affirmed, her green eyes crinkling as she gave Beatrix a warm smile.

  Beatrix inhaled deeply, thankful for the fresh and crisp air of the English Countryside. It was a stark contrast to the stench and smoke-hazed air of London. After all, she and her sisters had been raised near Bath, close enough to the sea that the slight flavor of salt lingered in the air.

  A lingering fear clenched in her heart as she momentarily thought over the reasons for her exile from London. As stagnant as the air was in town, it was still in a way, home. It was there she'd found a new place to belong with her guardian, the Duke of Clairmont and his wife, Carlotta. Pushing those thoughts aside, she let her gaze linger on the gardens of Breckridge House. It was a pleasure to enjoy the soft incline of the hills and the smattering of trees that lined the long drive. Not a horizon filled with stone buildings, but pure nature.

  "It's a beautiful view, is it not?" Lady Southridge's voice pulled her from the abandon of the scenery.

  "Indeed," Beatrix murmured.

  "And you're safe here, Beatrix. You're safe." Lady Southridge's tone took on a protective edge, a fierceness that was familiar, yet foreign. For, while the older woman was indeed fierce, it was usually in some misbegotten meddling scheme… nothing quite as serious as protecting Beatrix's very life.

  "I know." Beatrix sucked in a tight breath, not willing to dwell on the what ifs that plagued her at night…

  But failing to keep her imagination in check.

  "No one knows… rather… no one that needs to know knows… if that makes sense."

  Beatrix glanced to her, watching as a confused expression darkened her green eyes before she waved her hand. "But I do apologize for the need for your disguise… it goes against the grain for me to set you up as a bluestocking in the house." She shook her head slightly, her silvering reddish hair not moving from its perfect design under her straw bonnet.

  "I understand. Besides, a lady's companion isn't exactly arduous work." Beatrix shook her head in amusement.

  "Well… you've not been in my employ for long," Lady Southridge shot back, grinning.

  "True. Yet, I find I'm unable to summon the proper amount of trepidation for my position," Beatrix quipped.

  "Such cheek! Don't you know you cannot speak to your betters in such a way?" Lady Southridge feigned insult a moment before a grin broke through her attempt at a stern glare.

  "Yes, ma'am. A thousand apologies," Beatrix murmured, bowing a curtsey and averting her gaze.

  Lady Southridge's snort broke through her facade of humility, and she grinned in spite of herself.

  "You do that, and I'll set you up as a scullery maid," the older woman threatened.

  Beatrix glanced up to her annoyed expression. Her lips were pressed together tightly, as if trying to hold back laughter.

  Her hypothesis was proven true when Lady Southridge glanced away, chuckling. "I do give you credit for your acting abilities, my dear."

  "Thank you." Beatrix took a moment to bow.

  "That being said, I've not told a soul in the house's employ the truth of the situation. As far as they are all concerned, you are Beverly Blithe, my companion. I breeched conduct when I put you in a room above
stairs, but when I explained to Miss Meecham about the need for you to be close, it seemed to satisfy that gleam of curiosity in her beady eyes."

  "Lady Southridge!" Beatrix scolded, biting back a giggle.

  She paused in her relaxed amble and placed her hands on her hips as she focused on Beatrix. "Are you to say you disagree with my observation?" she dared.

  Beatrix narrowed her eyes back, pausing. "No… but to say such things… why… it's simply rude."

  "It's not rude if it's the truth. The woman does have beady eyes," Lady Southridge shot back. "But I see your point, which is why I will refrain from telling her."

  "How noble of you," Beatrix replied cheekily.

  "I rather think so."

  They continued their walk and approached the orangery door. The large stone building was eggshell-white with stone corbels surrounding the upper perimeter, adding functionality and design. The windows faced south, spreading out before them as they approached the heavy wooden door. Lady Southridge twisted the handle, and it opened without so much as a creak. Immediately the scent of fertile earth and humid moisture assaulted Beatrix, comforting her, calling to her. The Orangery was easily her favorite place at Breckridge house.

  They passed several stone benches facing the windows that were filtering in the light. The sound of their skirts swishing seemed overly loud in the peaceful setting, but only for a moment as Lady Southridge began speaking. Silence wasn't her strong point.

  "I love it here. So peaceful."

  Beatrix bit back a laugh. How like Lady Southridge, needing to break the silence by speaking of it.

  "Indeed. But I must say that my favorite part is the far corner." Beatrix nodded her head toward the back alcove.

  "Mine too…" Lady Southridge agreed then turned to Beatrix, a sparkle in her green eyes. "Had I been able to have children, I dare say they would have been conceived in that very alcove."

  Beatrix gasped then felt her face flame in a blush. "And to think the duke set me in your care… the scandal you speak of," she teased.

  "You've known me far too long to be scandalized by anything I say." Lady Southridge waved her off. "Regardless, it is quite the romantic corner. Just don't let me find you using it," she warned.

  "Because there are so many gentleman around here?" Beatrix glanced around the vacant orangery meaningfully.

  "Not at all, but nevertheless, what type of guardian would I be if I didn't speak my piece?" She shrugged.

  "No… since we have a moment, let us discuss the particulars."

  "I'm quite sure I'm aware of the particulars of my situation, Lady Southridge," Beatrix replied, her tone betraying her exasperation. Hadn't they discussed this enough?

  "No, I don't think I can articulate enough the need for you to be completely aware of all this entails. This is for your own protection. You're very life… we cannot afford to take it lightly.

  "Very well." Beatrix sobered and turned her full attention to Lady Southridge

  The older woman gestured to a stone bench that lined the wall. "Now… because I'm in residence, there will be people who will stop by and wish to visit with me. As my companion, you'll need to make an appearance so that it will not cause some sort of mystery. Heaven only knows that mystery only makes people curious and stupid. Especially the ton. Therefore, you'll be introduced as my companion and then fully ignored by any that come to visit. When a lady enters the room, you'll set aside your embroidery, stand and nod, then sit and become as invisible as possible. When you are introduced, keep your head down. I'll have Mary hide as much of your glorious hair as possible." Her forehead creased as she reached out and touched Beatrix's head. "It might take some work, but I believe we can hide it under mobcap — not necessarily the fashion or even becoming for a companion — but it will be a necessary aid in this deception". She nodded. "And I do believe we'll put you in mourning colors… perhaps."

  "Pardon?" Beatrix asked as she felt her jaw drop.

  "Mourning colors… not the black of the first year… no, that will cause scandal… but maybe the muted colors of a widow in her second year? Yes, that will do nicely." She gave a sharp nod of approval to her own plan. "We'll also be sure you're covered up completely… maybe add a pillow here or there…" Lady Southridge tilted her head and placed her hand on her chin, evaluating.

  "No. I draw the line at pillows. Next I'll be an… expectant mother as well." Beatrix shook her head.

  "No, no, nothing so drastic. My dear, don't be dramatic." Lady Southridge tsked her tongue.

  Beatrix narrowed her eyes. Yes… because she was being the dramatic one.

  "It will be like a game!" Lady Southridge exclaimed, clapping her hands and startling Beatrix.

  "Yes… a game," Beatrix replied, unable to procure the same amount of enthusiasm.

  "Oh posh, don't be so sour! You at least get to spend time with me," Lady Southridge remarked, grinning.

  "True." And Beatrix was glad to spend time with her.

  "Now… I suggest you enjoy your last day before we start the ruse." Lady Southridge spoke kindly as she stood and straightened her skirt. "I don't expect anyone will visit before tomorrow—"

  Lady Southridge was interrupted by the sound of someone's entrance to the orangery. A maid glanced about and spotted them. With hurried steps she approached and curtseyed. "My lady, you have a caller. Trent tried to send him away, but he… well, he refused."

  "Refused?"

  Beatrix watched Lady Southridge's eyes widen in concern. "What exactly do you mean, Polly?" She narrowed her eyes slightly.

  Polly glanced to the cobblestone floor and shifted her weight nervously. "I… that is… he was insistent and mentioned that you had left something at the Fox Inn that you'd wish returned. He refused to leave the item with Trent."

  Lady Southridge sighed heavily. Turning to Beatrix, she placed her hands on her hips. "So much for our plans. Beverly? Would you please ask cook to prepare tea? We'll take it in my private chambers."

  Beatrix nodded in understanding. Beverly. So that was going to be her name for the time being. Well, it could be worse, she decided. "Of course, my lady." Beatrix slipped into her role and curtseyed, but as she turned to leave, Lady Southridge's voice stopped her.

  "Bev? Please, enjoy the orangery for just a few minutes and then be sure to slip through the servants' entrance I showed you earlier. It will take you directly to cook." Lady Southridge's gaze was direct and shrewd, as if trying to convey additional meaning to her words.

  Beatrix understood immediately. Wait first then slip inside unnoticed.

  And so it begins.

  At least she wasn't wearing the mobcap yet!

  "Come, Polly. Let's go see what the ruckus is all about. I can't imagine what I left…" Lady Southridge's voice trailed off as she left with Polly.

  Beatrix sighed and glanced around the vacant orangery. She walked down an aisle of potted lemon trees, reaching out and brushing leaves with her hands. Trying to ignore the cold finger of fear that tickled her heart, she tried to reason with herself. It was nigh too impossible for someone to know she had taken to hiding with Lady Southridge. It was simply a coincidence that had brought some strange gentleman to the door of Breckridge House.

  When she was there…

  Hiding.

  Dear heavens… she needed to stop this!

  Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and walked over to the door. It pushed open silently and spilled in the sunshine. Her fears melting in the warmth, she walked around the back of the orangery and toward the servants' entrance.

  It was a plain wooden door and opened directly into the kitchen area of Breckridge House. Immediately the sounds of the bustling kitchen met her ears. As she rounded the stone wall, she paused at the sound of cook yelling at the scullery maid. A river of runny eggs and shattered shells dotted the wooden floor of the kitchen. A loud thud startled her as a young lad slipped on the mess, dropping his wooden bucket in the process and sending cook into another fit. Leanin
g back against the cool stone wall, she watched as several maids rushed forward with rags and another bucket. Beatrix paused, waiting till cook's color returned to a safer shade of pink, rather than the angry crimson that had flushed her face earlier. Clearing her throat softly, she straightened her posture away from the wall.

  "Aye?" The plump woman glanced to Beatrix. Her mobcap skewed slightly with a few grey curls peeking through. Her blue eyes narrowed impatiently then softened.

  "Lady Southridge requests tea served in her private chambers." Beatrix nodded slightly.

  "Very well." Cook turned toward the stove, but not before glaring once again at the mess on the floor.

  Sidestepping the remaining river of eggs, Beatrix made her way to the stairs that would lead to the back of the house. If she were careful, she could make it from the servants' quarters to the staircase leading to Lady Southridge's chambers without being seen.

  She'd simply be cautious.

  And thus was now the story of her life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NEVILLE TAPPED HIS FOOT IMPATIENTLY AS he stared daggers at the bloody butler who had all but assaulted him with a cane.

  As if sensing his thoughts, the butler jerked the cane.

  Neville narrowed his eyes further, daring him to try something.

  He wanted to pick a fight.

  Even if it was with a bloody octogenarian butler with a wicked cane.

  Footsteps in the hall pulled his attention, and he glanced from the butler to the door of the parlor where he waited.

  Lady Southridge entered with a flourish of grey and emerald, an impatient expression on her face that immediately changed into one of recognition. "Lord Neville?"

  "Ah, Lady Southridge." He stood and bowed, sliding his gaze to the evil butler in triumph.

  "What in heaven's name are you doing here?" Lady Southridge asked.

  He was about to reply when he was interrupted by a cough from the butler.

  A cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

  He cast a threatening glare to the old codger then turned back to Lady Southridge. "It's quite simple actually. I was staying at the same inn as you, apparently, for I came to return some misplaced items. One of which is your fine horse." He tilted his head, watching her reaction, studying it.