The Virgin Who Vindicated Lord Darlington

by Anna Bradley

  “Yes, my lord.” She took up the traveling case at her feet, and followed him through the arched doorway on one side of the courtyard and into the long, narrow entrance hall.

  “This way,” he said, when she paused to take in the timbered ceiling and carved wood paneling on the walls. He led her down a corridor off the entry hall to his study, which was tucked into a back corner of the castle.

  “Sit down.” Gideon waved her to a chair near his massive carved mahogany desk, then crossed the room to pull the bell and summon Mrs. Briggs.

  He seated himself behind the desk and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. Neither of them said a word as they waited, each staring at the other until Mrs. Briggs tapped her knuckles against the door. “Yes, Lord Darlington?”

  “Mrs. Briggs. Come in, please. Cecilia Gilchrist, the new housemaid, has arrived.”

  “Yes, of course. With one thing and another, I nearly forgot.” Mrs. Briggs hurried across the room and held out her hand to Cecilia. “My goodness, you’re a tiny bit of a thing, aren’t you? Welcome, welcome. I’m Mrs. Briggs, the housekeeper.”

  Miss Gilchrist rose and dipped into a hasty curtsy. “How do you do, Mrs. Briggs?”

  “Very well, very well indeed. Sit down, child.”

  Miss Gilchrist sat down.

  “I’m relieved you’re here at last,” Mrs. Briggs went on. “I expected you an hour ago. I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind about accepting the post when…” Mrs. Briggs trailed off, and an awkward silence descended.

  There was only one reason Miss Gilchrist would have changed her mind about the post. Mrs. Briggs had told him their last prospective housemaid had arrived in Edenbridge, heard the rumors about the Darlington Castle ghost, and turned right back around, leaving that same day.

  “But here you are,” Mrs. Briggs went on with a bright smile. “Not a moment too soon, too. We dearly need the help to ready the house for Lord Darlington’s bride.”

  “I’m, ah…pleased to be here, Mrs. Briggs. I’ve brought my reference from Lady Dunton, as promised.” Miss Gilchrist reached into her reticule, withdrew a paper, and handed it to Mrs. Briggs.

  “Ah, yes.” Mrs. Briggs turned to Gideon. “Miss Gilchrist comes with excellent references from Lady Dunton, my lord. She worked for eleven years as an upstairs maid at Lady Dunton’s country estate in Stoneleigh, near Coventry.”

  “Did she, indeed?” he asked in surprise. Miss Gilchrist had the bearing and speech of a Londoner.

  “Oh, yes.” Mrs. Briggs beamed at Miss Gilchrist. “I daresay she’ll be a great help to us here.”

  He held out his hand. “May I see the reference?”

  “Yes, of course, my lord.” Mrs. Briggs handed him the paper.

  Gideon read the page over carefully, paying particular attention to the date and Lady Dunton’s signature. It looked authentic enough, but he wasn’t satisfied. He tossed the letter onto his desk. “Forgive me, Miss Gilchrist, but you look quite young. At what age did you go into service?”

  “Twelve, my lord.”

  “Then you’re three and twenty?”

  “Yes, my lord. Three and twenty.”

  Gideon steepled his fingers under his chin, his eyes narrowing on the wash of color rising from her neck to her cheeks. Either Miss Gilchrist didn’t like to own her age, which was unlikely for a woman of three and twenty, or she was lying to him, and doing a poor job of it. “You don’t look to be older than nineteen or twenty, Miss Gilchrist.”

  “Um…thank you, my lord?”

  Despite himself, Gideon’s lips twitched. “Were you raised in Stoneleigh?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Another lie, if the deepening red at her throat was any indication.

  “Stoneleigh is quite a distance from Kent. Is this the first time you’ve ventured out of Warwickshire county?” Gideon was toying with a letter opener on his desk, and Miss Gilchrist was following the movement, her gaze fixed on the point as he turned it casually between his fingers.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Gideon raised an eyebrow. That was her third yes, my lord since she’d entered his study. The impertinence he’d noticed in the courtyard had disappeared, replaced by a docility much more appropriate in a servant. Perhaps it should have reassured him, but it felt false, as if he were watching her play-act at being a housemaid.

  “Well then, my lord. Shall I take her upstairs and see her settled?” Mrs. Briggs didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but appeared well satisfied with her new housemaid.

  Miss Gilchrist half-rose from her seat and hovered there, like a bird balanced on the edge of a branch, ready to take flight at any hint of a nod from him. He took in her clenched fingers and the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat, and shook his head. “No, not just yet, Mrs. Briggs. I’d like to have a bit more conversation with Miss Gilchrist first.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Briggs.” Gideon waved a hand toward the door. “You may leave us.”

  Miss Gilchrist looked as if she were digging her fingernails into her palms to keep herself from clutching at Mrs. Briggs’s arm to prevent her leaving.

  “Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Briggs offered Miss Gilchrist an encouraging smile, then turned and made her way toward the door.

  Miss Gilchrist watched her go, swallowing as Mrs. Briggs closed the door behind her.

  Gideon tossed the letter opener aside and rapped his knuckles against his desk. “Your attention if you please, Miss Gilchrist.”

  She jumped, and met his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

  Gideon regarded her in silence for far longer than was comfortable for either of them, then he said, “The ribbons on your hat.”

  She reached for the bonnet perched atop her head. “My ribbons?”

  Gideon noticed her hand was shaking, but he ignored the twinge of his conscience. “That shade of blue is the latest fashion in London, and your cloak, which was also almost certainly made in London, is an exceptionally fine one for a Warwickshire housemaid.”

  Her dark eyes went wide. “I—”

  “I don’t know what reason you’d have to lie to me, Miss Gilchrist, but—”

  “Yes, my lord…I mean, no my lord. I mean, I beg your pardon, my lord, but I didn’t lie to you.”

  Gideon held up a hand to silence her. She’d come all this way from…somewhere, at Mrs. Briggs’s request. He didn’t like to send her away again like this, but there was something off about her, and it was more than just her ribbons and cloak. Those could be explained easily enough, but her dainty hands and smooth skin, her voice and bearing, and the way she looked directly into his eyes when she spoke to him…

  He didn’t trust her, and he couldn’t afford to employ people he didn’t trust. He simply had too much to lose. “I don’t allow liars in my house, Miss Gilchrist. You are dismissed from Darlington Castle.”

  Chapter Three

  “You’re dismissing me from your service because my ribbons are blue?”

  A thousand tangled thoughts were flying through Cecilia’s head at once, and somehow this was the one that burst from her lips? Of all the things she might have said or done—deny she’d lied, protested her innocence, burst into a flood of noisy tears—she’d chosen to quibble with him over blue ribbons?

  But really, how could she be cursed with the ill luck to come across the one lord in London who knew this particular shade of cornflower blue was fashionable this season? She’d never come across such a creature before. Most gentlemen couldn’t tell the difference between azure and cerulean.

  And here she’d thought Lady Darlington’s ghost rising from her grave to haunt Darlington Castle would be the most shocking part of her day.

  Lord Darlington glared down his aristocratic nose at her, his eyes colder than the bits of ice floating in Darlington Lake. “You don’t appear
to understand me, Miss Gilchrist. The color of your ribbons is irrelevant. I’m dismissing you because you’re a liar.”

  She was a liar, and not a particularly good one, but that didn’t make his accusation any less infuriating. Why, what shameful arrogance, for him to accuse her of dishonesty based on nothing more than the color of a few ribbons. “I beg your pardon, Lord Darlington, but I don’t see how the color of my ribbons is irrelevant, given you’re using it as an excuse to dismiss me.”

  “I don’t need an excuse to dismiss you, Miss Gilchrist.” Those icy blue eyes bored into her as if he could see right through her skin and bones, straight to her wildly beating heart. “Now, allow me to make myself perfectly clear. You are dismissed.”

  How he managed to inject those three words with such menace Cecilia couldn’t say, but that deep voice, rough and clipped at the edges, wrung a shiver from her that made goosebumps rise on her skin. “But that’s not…” She began, then trailed off again.

  It wasn’t what? Fair? No, it wasn’t, but what was the use in arguing with him over it? He was right. He didn’t need any better reason than the color of her ribbons to run her out of his castle. He didn’t need any reason at all. He was master here, and might act like a haughty, ill-tempered tyrant if he chose.

  Why would she even want to argue with him, in any case? If Lady Darlington’s ghost wasn’t enough of a reason to go scurrying back to London, surely Lord Darlington’s unexpected presence here was?

  He wasn’t meant to be here. He was meant to be in London with his betrothed, and she was meant to creep about his castle, insinuate herself among his servants, and determine whether he truly was the Murderous Marquess most of England believed him to be.

  If Lady Clifford had known she was thrusting Cecilia directly into Lord Darlington’s path, she never would have sent her here at all. She would have sent Georgiana, who was as relentless as she was clever, or Emma, who would have charmed Lord Darlington into letting her remain at his castle, liar or no. If anyone could discover the truth about what had happened to Lady Darlington, it was Georgiana or Emma.

  But just as Cecilia was about to gather her fancy cloak and fashionable blue ribbons and flee Darlington Castle, she recalled something Daniel Brixton had said to her before she left London.

  If Lady Clifford says you’re fit for this business, lass, then you’re fit.

  Lady Clifford had more faith in Cecilia’s abilities than was warranted, because she wasn’t fit. Not for this. There was no reason in the world why she shouldn’t do just as his lordship commanded and leave this cursed castle without a backward glance.

  Cecilia rose to her feet, drew herself up to her full height, and peered down the length of her nose at Lord Darlington. She’d meant to preserve a dignified silence as she took her leave, but looking down on him must have loosened her tongue, because suddenly she wasn’t content to scurry away like a coward without saying a word in her own defense. No, if she was to be sent away from Darlington Castle, she was going to meet her fate as bravely as any of her friends would have done.

  He’d already dismissed her, so why not have her say?

  “Very well, my lord. I see there’s no point in arguing my innocence. The blue ribbons are indeed damning evidence against me.” She raised her chin. “But before I go, allow me to say if I’d judged you on your appearance today, as you’ve done me, I wouldn’t have known you were the Marquess of Darlington.”

  Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. He gaped at her, openmouthed. “Explain yourself, Miss Gilchrist.”

  “I don’t mean any insult. It’s just that you don’t look terribly…” She waved a hand at him. “Lordly.”

  Privately Cecilia knew she would have known him as a nobleman no matter what. All gentlemen of rank had a certain haughtiness, and Lord Darlington more than most, even dressed for the country as he was now, in a dark coat, dark breeches, and a long, flowing cloak swirling around a pair of tall, tight-fitting boots.

  He was still an impressive figure of a man, but he wasn’t the graceful aristocrat on the strut in the fashionable buff-colored breeches and navy coat he’d worn that day she’d spied on him in Hyde Park. She’d thought him quite elegant then, whereas now…

  His clothing, his hair, his perfectly fitted leather gloves, his expression—all were black. Only the edge of a snowy white shirt peeking from his open cloak and a pair of startlingly blue eyes interrupted this unrelenting sea of gloom. He looked like a fury ascended straight from the netherworlds, and that was before she added the haunted castle into the equation.

  But as angry and humiliated as Cecilia was, she wouldn’t say that. Indeed, if she could judge by the temper now kindling in his eyes and the wash of red creeping up his neck, she’d already said quite enough.

  “Lordly,” he repeated flatly.

  “Elegant, I mean. Lords wear fashionable embroidered silk waistcoats, and their behavior is so gentlemanlike.” Cecilia couldn’t resist putting an emphasis on that last word.

  “So, your measure of a gentleman is an embroidered silk waistcoat? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Yes, it is rather ridiculous, isn’t it?” Cecilia touched her fingers to the ribbons of her hat to make certain he took her meaning, then offered him a polite curtsy. “Thank you for taking the time to see me today, Lord Darlington. Goodbye.”

  She turned on her heel and marched toward the door, but she hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Lord Darlington stopped her. “Wait, Miss Gilchrist.”

  Now she’d said her piece, Cecilia’s limbs were twitching with the urge to flee this place, but there was an unexpected note of grudging admiration in his voice that made her pause and turn to face him. “Yes, my lord?”

  He nodded toward the chair she’d just left. “Sit down, please.”

  Cecilia didn’t want to sit down. She’d already decided it was one thing to peek at Lord Darlington from behind the safety of a thicket of shrubs in Hyde Park, and quite another to be trapped alone with him in a dimly lit study inside a haunted castle.

  The first was vastly preferable to the second.

  Even from a distance she’d noticed he was a large gentleman, but now, with only a desk between them, Cecilia could see Lord Darlington was as close to rivaling Daniel Brixton in height and sheer, muscular bulk as any man she’d ever seen.

  The wisest course was for her to seize the excuse he’d given her to leave Darlington Castle and abandon him to his fate, but she’d made a promise to Lady Clifford, and she found she couldn’t give it up for lost quite yet. So, she sat, her hands folded in her lap, and waited.

  Lord Darlington was scowling, as if he already regretted calling her back. “If there’s something you wish to say to me, you may do so now.”

  Cecilia blinked. “You mean about silk waistcoats, and you not looking like a marquess?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “No, Miss Gilchrist. You said earlier you weren’t lying to me. If you care to explain what you mean, I’ll listen to you.”

  “That’s, ah…very good of you, Lord Darlington.” What a pity she’d been so busy denying his accusations she hadn’t thought of any convincing lies.

  But the next thing she knew her traitorous lips opened, and a half dozen lies spewed forth. “I didn’t lie to you before, my lord. My cloak is a gift from Lady Dunton’s daughter. She made a present of it to me when I left Stoneleigh.”

  “A present,” Lord Darlington repeated.

  “Yes, my lord.” That much at least was true. The cloak had been a gift. From Lady Clifford, not Lady Dunton’s daughter, but it was as close as she could get to the truth. Georgiana always warned her to stay as faithful to the truth as possible when telling an enormous lie, and the lies one was compelled to tell should be simple ones, and thus easier to remember.

  “How generous of Lady Dunton’s daughter.” He didn’t b
other to hide his skepticism. “I suppose the blue ribbons were a gift, as well?”

  “No, my lord. I have a great-aunt who lives in London. She sent me the ribbons.”

  Alas, one lie seemed to be her limit, because this second one didn’t leave her lips quite as smoothly as the first one had. He noticed it, and his gaze sharpened on her face. Much to her dismay, Lord Darlington appeared to be the sort of man who noticed everything.

  “Your aunt’s name, Miss Gilchrist?”

  Cecilia nearly groaned aloud. Oh, why had she mentioned a great aunt? She might have just said she’d purchased the bonnet in London, but she’d had to throw a great aunt into it, and complicate things. If Georgiana were here, she’d be appalled.

  “She’s, ah…Mrs. Bell, my lord.” There, let the blasted man do a search through the hundred or so Mrs. Bells living in London.

  “Her direction?” Lord Darlington snatched up the quill from his desk, dipped it, and hovered it over a scrap of paper.

  Cecilia’s satisfaction faded. “Lambeth Road, my lord.” Surely, there must be at least one Mrs. Bell in Lambeth Road?

  He scrawled the direction on the paper, then tossed the quill aside and leaned back in his chair, his hands over his wide chest, his hard, blue eyes fixed on her face. “You did say you were born in Stoneleigh, didn’t you, Miss Gilchrist?”

  Cecilia resisted the urge to squirm. “Yes, my lord.” Again, it wasn’t a lie, precisely. She’d been born in Stoneleigh, and had spent her infancy there, but it was so long ago it might have been in another lifetime. After her grandmother died her parents had moved to London, and Cecilia had been there ever since.

  But if Lord Darlington knew she hailed from London, he might connect her to the Clifford School. Lady Clifford made it a point not to call attention to their activities, but the school and its proprietress were infamous among certain people in London. Lord Darlington would find out who she was eventually, of course, but Cecilia intended to be gone from Darlington Castle long before then.