by Anna Bradley
He rested his forehead against the door, gratitude swelling inside him. He hadn’t heard Isabella laugh like that since Cassandra died. He’d begun to wonder if she ever would laugh like that again, or if the loss had stolen her laughter, and scarred her in ways Gideon didn’t yet understand.
“If Death commands the King to leave his crown, He at my feet must lay his scepter down—oh, dear.” Cecilia interrupted herself with a sigh. “This isn’t a proper song for you at all, is it, Isabella? I seemed destined to fail you in that regard.”
“What does the king do?” Isabella asked, utterly unconcerned with propriety.
“He hasn’t any choice, has he? He turns over his crown and scepter, just as death commands him to do.”
“What’s a scepter?”
“It’s a long stick made especially for a king from gold and jewels, just as a king’s crown is.”
“It is like Uncle Gideon’s walking stick?”
“Not quite the same. A marquess isn’t a king, but I imagine your uncle has a very fine walking stick.”
Gideon chuckled, then slid the door open as quietly as he could, curious to see this little tableau for himself. He leaned a hip against the door frame, taking in the scene before him.
Cecilia was seated in the rocking chair beside Isabella’s bed, her back to Gideon. His niece was enthroned on her lap like a tiny princess, plucking at a fold of her skirts. “I wish I could have a crown.”
“Well, of course, you do. Who wouldn’t like to have a golden crown? I daresay it would be easy enough to make you one with a bit of gilt paper. Perhaps we could…that is, perhaps Miss Amy could help you make one.”
Isabella didn’t notice the way Cecilia faltered. She let out a little squeal of glee at the promise of a golden crown, wriggling with delight, her face alight with anticipation.
“Now, shall we see what happens to our king? I believe the fatal wounds and the yielding and dying part are next. Perhaps we should skip those, hmm?” Cecilia caught hold of one of Isabella’s hands and pressed a kiss to her palm. “What say you, madam?”
“No!” Isabella’s bottom lip poked out. “I want to hear the killing parts.”
“You really should only hear songs about spring posies and such. They’re much more to a child’s taste than songs about death. That’s just as it should be, but I’m afraid I don’t recall any of those.” Cecilia’s tone was a little wistful, but Gideon heard a smile in her voice. “There was one about lavender, I think, but—”
“‘Lavender’s Blue.’” Gideon could have stayed quietly by the door all day watching them, but it felt underhanded to him, as if he were eavesdropping. “‘Lavender’s blue, Lavender’s green/can we fix the spacing here?When I am king, you shall be queen.’ Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that one, Cecilia?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice, then glanced over her shoulder. Her smile faded when she saw him. “Lord Darlington.”
“Good morning, Cecilia. I expected you to be downstairs by now.” Gideon strolled into the room, his lips quirking in a grin when Isabella let out a little cry of welcome. “Hello, Isabella.”
“Isabella, go and fetch Amy, won’t you? She’s downstairs.” Cecilia lifted Isabella off her lap and set her down on the floor. “Mrs. Briggs said Cook was making almond cakes today.”
“The little cakes with the sugar on top?” Isabella clapped her hands together, then raced to the door and skipped down the hallway, calling Amy’s name as she went.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Cecilia rose from the rocking chair and faced Gideon, her brows lowered. “About my departure, my lord. You’re making a dreadful mistake, sending me away from Darlington Castle.”
Gideon arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Cecilia raised her chin. “I’ve given it a good deal of thought, and I feel obligated to say I think it’s remarkably short-sighted of you to dismiss me.”
Gideon took in her flashing dark eyes, and all at once he wanted to capture that stubborn chin in his hand and hold her still so he could lose himself in those eyes, even if only for a moment. “I wasn’t aware the matter was negotiable,” he said instead, clearing his throat.
“No, I didn’t suppose you were. I daresay it wasn’t negotiable last night, what with you being in such an unreasonable temper, but I had hopes you’d come to your senses by this morning.”
Gideon’s fingers flexed. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, but he kept his arms at his sides. He’d already decided he couldn’t dispense with the services of anyone who made his niece burst into such glorious laughter, but he didn’t say so yet. “And if I haven’t come to my senses, but instead have come to see you deposited in my carriage and taken away, what then, Cecilia? How will you change my mind?”
He stepped closer, expecting her to step back, but she stayed right where she was, glowering up at him. She was all outraged defiance, but Gideon could see that underneath her bravado, she was nervous. Still, that obstinate chin hitched another notch higher. “As to that, Lord Darlington, I don’t suppose I can change your mind, but before I leave, allow me to give you a piece of mine.”
To Gideon’s surprise, a laugh crept to his lips. It was part amusement and part incredulity, but as impressed as he was with her bravery, he couldn’t allow his housemaid to lecture him. “There’s no need for you to—”
“On the contrary, my lord, there’s every need. First of all, you called me a liar last night. Well, I won’t permit it. I’m no liar, Lord Darlington, and I won’t allow you to call me one, even if you are a marquess.”
Gideon blinked. Had he called her a liar? “I beg your pardon, but I never called you—”
“Yes, you did. I told you the door connecting my room to Lady Darlington’s bedchamber wasn’t locked, and you insisted it was. Furthermore, you attacked me last night as if I were a thief invading your castle.”
Yes, he had done that. To be fair, he’d been convinced she was a thief invading his castle, and for good reason. Still, he should have apologized at once when he discovered she wasn’t. “I beg your pardon for that,” he offered stiffly. “I regret it extremely.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway,” Cecilia allowed, but twin spots of angry color burned in her cheeks, and she muttered something under her breath about arrogant marquesses.
Gideon shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for the rest of what was beginning to feel like a severe dressing down. He couldn’t quite believe it was being delivered by one of his housemaids, but perhaps it was just as well to let her have her say, and get it over with.
“There’s no reason I can see for you to have reacted with such violence when you found me in the marchioness’s bedchamber, despite your having forbidden me to enter it,” she said, her dark eyes glinting with temper. “But even that, Lord Darlington, isn’t the worst of your crimes.”
“It isn’t?” Gideon half-expected her to accuse him of murdering his wife and inflicting her ghost on the good citizens of Edenbridge, but she didn’t. Instead she pointed a shaking finger at the door through which Isabella had just gone.
“Your niece is fond of me, my lord. After only a few days, she’s fonder of me than of any other servant in this house, and yet you’d send me away in spite of it. Who, my lord, will take care of her in my place? Amy does her best, but she isn’t experienced with children. Isabella can sense it, and it makes her anxious.”
“How I care for my niece is none of your concern, but since you ask, I—”
“But I am concerned, my lord. I care for Isabella, too.”
“—but since you ask,” Gideon went on, speaking over her. “I came up here to see if you’d agree to—”
“I’m aware why you’re here, Lord Darlington.” She drew herself up to her full height and threw her shoulders back. “You’ve come to send me away, and I daresay I can’t stop you, but I was
determined not to leave without unburdening myself first.”
He eyed her, a strange exhilaration pounding through him. There was no reason her show of defiance should please him, but it did. That is, no man cared for being scolded as if he were a naughty schoolboy—and by his housemaid, no less—but defiance was far better than having her shrink away from him in horror, or cower in his presence. “Very well. Have you quite finished?”
“I suppose. For now, at any rate. I’m certain I’ll think of something more I wished I’d said when I’m in the stagecoach on my way home.”
Gideon shook his head, amazed such a delicate, fawn-like young woman could deliver such a blistering scold, but he was beginning to see there was a great deal more to Cecilia Gilchrist than pretty eyes and a sweet singing voice. “No, you won’t.”
She shot him a resentful look. “Yes, I will. That’s always the way with a scold. The best parts never occur to one until it’s too late to say them.”
Gideon’s lips twitched. “No, Cecilia. What I mean is, it won’t be necessary for you to leave, after all. I’ve changed my mind. You may remain at Darlington Castle as Isabella’s nursemaid, provided you can promise you’ll follow my orders in the future. Do you suppose you can do that?”
For all her lecturing, Cecilia clearly hadn’t expected a reprieve. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth open. “Well, I…I can promise to try, at any rate.”
It wasn’t quite what Gideon was hoping for, but since he was no longer willing to dispense with her services, it would have to do. “Very well, then. Have you breakfasted?”
“No. I didn’t want to lose what time I had left with Isabella.”
“Go on down to the kitchens, then. I’m certain Cook can find something for you.” Gideon seated himself in the rocking chair. “I’ll tend to Isabella when she returns.”
Cecilia hesitated, biting her lip.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve no need to worry, Cecilia. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my niece. This may surprise you, but she’s rather fond of me, as well.”
Chapter Nine
Mrs. Briggs was a true Englishwoman in that she believed a cup of tea could cure every ill. Cecilia used to think so, too, but today had been a long day, and after that dreadful scold she’d dealt Lord Darlington this morning, even the housekeeper’s bracing tea couldn’t chase away her anxiety.
She’d scolded a marquess. Her friends would have been thrilled at her cheek—particularly Georgiana, who delighted in a good scold—but every time she thought about it, Cecilia’s knees went weak with alarm.
One didn’t scold a marquess, for pity’s sake, especially not when one was said marquess’s servant, and even more particularly when said marquess wasn’t just any marquess, but potentially the Murderous Marquess—
“Will you take another cup of tea, dear? You look a bit peaked.” Mrs. Briggs regarded Cecilia with concern. “After the day we’ve had, I daresay you’re fatigued.”
Cecilia slid her teacup across the scrubbed kitchen table toward Mrs. Briggs with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I imagine you’re tired, too. It was a long day for you, as well.”
“I don’t mind telling you I don’t fancy making up beds.” Mrs. Briggs braced one hand in the middle of her back, grimacing. “Hurts my old bones, it does.”
Cecilia’s bones were young enough, but that didn’t stop them creaking in protest with every feeble twitch of her limbs. Yesterday they’d beaten dirt from the carpets until Cecilia thought her arms would fall off. This morning they’d dusted every inch of the downstairs rooms, and spent the afternoon scrubbing bedchambers and making up beds with clean linen.
Every bedchamber, that is, except the late Lady Darlington’s.
Miss Honeywell was not, it seemed, to take up residence in the marchioness’s apartments. Curious, that. Whatever secret Lord Darlington was hiding behind those closed doors must be a terrible one, indeed. It was on the tip of Cecilia’s tongue to ask Mrs. Briggs about it, but she didn’t dare pry into that business yet.
She was, however, perfectly willing to pry into other, less sensitive business. “Isabella doesn’t look much like Lord Darlington. Does she not resemble her father’s side of the family?”
Mrs. Briggs’s gaze dropped to her teacup. “No, she looks more like her mother.”
“She’s an unusually beautiful child, isn’t she? Such pretty hazel eyes.”
Mrs. Briggs beamed. “Oh my, yes. You can’t imagine what an adorable baby she was, with those big eyes of hers, like two bright stars. Fairly hypnotized us all, she did.”
“Her mother must be a great beauty.” Cecilia took care not to appear too interested, aware she’d have to tread carefully here. Mrs. Briggs had been with the family for years, well before the current Lord Darlington’s father inherited the title. She knew more about the mysteries surrounding Darlington Castle than anyone, but she was also the least inclined to gossip.
“Have you not seen Lady Leanora’s portrait hanging in the small picture gallery?” Mrs. Briggs asked with surprise.
“What, you mean the gallery outside Lord Darlington’s study?” Cecilia did her best not to look at that row of ghoulish faces whenever she was obliged to pass through that hallway, but she was quite certain there wasn’t a single beauty amongst them.
“No, no. The small picture gallery is tucked under the eaves on the second-floor landing. Lady Leanora’s portrait is there. She is indeed a striking beauty, but then Lord Darlington’s elder brother, Nathanial, was as handsome a gentleman as I’ve ever seen. He and Lady Leanora together were…” Mrs. Briggs paused, as if searching for a word that did them justice. “They were truly magnificent.”
Cecilia was stirring her tea, but she paused at the wistful note in Mrs. Briggs’s voice. “Indeed?”
“My, yes. They were both darlings of the ton, you know, and the toast of London when they were courting. Such a pity their marriage wasn’t a happier one, but then that’s what comes of a whirlwind courtship, I suppose. They hardly knew each other when they wed.”
Cecilia set her spoon aside. “They weren’t happy together?”
Mrs. Briggs sighed. “Not after the first year or so, no. Lady Leanora was very young, you understand, and then years passed without a child. It put a strain on their marriage. Nathanial—the late marquess, that is—left Lady Leanora behind in Kent and went off to live with Gideon in London those last few years before he died. He came home now and again, but I doubt he would have returned to the castle to live if Lady Leanora hadn’t conceived.”
“That is a pity.” Cecilia poured more milk into her tea, her gaze on her teacup to hide her expression. “Isabella was only an infant when her father died, wasn’t she?”
“Just two months old. Nathanial’s death was a terrible tragedy, and a dreadful shock to us all. I’ve never seen a man more devastated than Gideon—I mean, Lord Darlington—when he returned to Darlington Castle for his brother’s funeral. Indeed, he’s never been the same.”
Cecilia heard a telltale quiver in Mrs. Briggs’s voice, and looked up to find the housekeeper’s eyes bright with tears. She covered Mrs. Brigg’s hand with her own, remorse clawing at her, but she couldn’t be silent now. She’d come to Darlington Castle for answers. “He was an affectionate brother, then?”
“Oh, my yes. Gideon—forgive me, Cecilia, for speaking of Lord Darlington so familiarly, but I’ve been with the family since the two boys were just wee lads, long before their father inherited the title. Gideon fairly worshipped his elder brother, he did. He and Nathanial were as close as two brothers could be.”
“How did Nathanial die, Mrs. Briggs?”
“One night he was…oh, Duncan Geary, there you are!” Mrs. Briggs shot up from her chair, wiping a hand across her cheek. “Where have you been all this time, my boy?”
Cecilia’s heart sank at the interruption, but she turned
around in her chair to offer Duncan Geary, one of Lord Darlington’s few remaining footmen a smile.
Duncan was a red-headed Scot from Inverness who was old enough to tower over all the other servants, but young enough not yet to have worked out quite what to do with his long, gangly limbs. Cecilia was fond of him because he was a kind, gentle lad, and because he had the good sense to be sweet on Amy. “Hello, Duncan.”
Duncan blushed and ducked his head. “Hello, Miss Cecilia. I’ve been in the woods again with his lordship and Lord Haslemere, ma’am, chasing that lantern light,” he said to Mrs. Briggs.
Mrs. Briggs was bustling about for biscuits and another teacup for Duncan. “I suppose he’s got you looking for those poachers, has he? Well, well, sit down and have some tea. You must be frozen half solid.”
“What makes Lord Darlington think it’s poachers?” Poachers raiding the woods while the household was still awake, in plain sight of the castle, and carrying lanterns? That didn’t sound like any poachers Cecilia had ever heard of.
“They’re either poachers or pranksters, mayhap, but whoever they are, they’ve got no business being on castle grounds. But never mind that, Cecilia. It’s nearly Isabella’s bedtime. You can go straight to her bedchamber. I’ve had Amy move all your things there.”
“My things?” Cecilia asked, puzzled.
“Of course, child. You’re to sleep in Isabella’s room, now you’re to be her nursemaid.”
Cecilia stared at Mrs. Briggs in horror. Isabella’s room was connected to Lord Darlington’s apartments, with only a flimsy door between them. Why, she might as well be sleeping in Lord Darlington’s bedchamber with him! “It…didn’t occur to me I’d have to change rooms.”
“Well, of course you must, dear. Since Amy is taking up your duties, and you’re to take charge of Isabella, the two of you will switch places. It makes sense, really. Amy’s a good girl, but she doesn’t know much about children, does she?” Mrs. Briggs flapped her tea towel at Cecilia to shoo her away. “Go on, then. Isabella likely has poor Amy in fits by now.”