by Cheryl Holt
She braced, thinking he was about to address a vital topic that would send her soaring, but he didn’t. He spun and left.
She listened to him go, feeling almost bereft as the door closed behind him.
What now? How would she maneuver their acquaintance with any aplomb? After such a fiery rendezvous, their future assignations would grow in heat and intensity. How would she survive them?
She couldn’t imagine.
* * * *
“Thank you for coming.”
“Lord Run is in residence again, so I can only tarry for a minute.”
Gertrude Bosworth stared at Mrs. Turner, a frumpy, dour housemaid at Fox Run. They were in the parlor at the vicarage, Ignatius out for the afternoon. Mrs. Turner had stopped by unexpectedly, but then that’s how her visits always occurred.
“What is it you have for me?” Gertrude snapped. “Make it quick, would you? You’re not the only person in the world who’s busy.”
Mrs. Turner was employed at the manor. She was widowed, with her husband having previously been in charge of the stables. She loathed Aaron Drake because—toward the end of Mr. Turner’s life—he was nearly fired for drinking on the job.
Mr. Turner had fallen to the ground right in front of Aaron’s horse. Any other landlord would have rid himself of such a drunkard, but the negligent pair had managed to convince Aaron not to terminate the old sot.
In many ways, Aaron was a fool. He could be too kind and accommodating. He’d done the Turners an enormous favor, but Mrs. Turner had never forgiven Aaron for accusing her spouse of sloth and dereliction.
It proved the saying that no good deed went unpunished.
Mrs. Turner was very devout, and she didn’t like Aaron’s loose morals or his dissolute friends. She viewed it as beneath her dignity to serve a doxy or gambler.
She opened her bag and pulled out some letters, handing them to Gertrude.
“You told me to inform you if Miss Etherton wrote to anyone.”
“My, my, what have we here?” Gertrude studied the letters, seeing they were addressed to two women named Rose Ralston and Amelia Hubbard. “Was this her only correspondence?”
“Yes.”
“If there are any others penned, you’ll bring them to me immediately.”
“Yes, of course.”
Gertrude might send them on after she read them. Or she might not. It depended on Miss Etherton’s comments.
“What about the goings-on at the manor?” she asked Mrs. Turner. “You mentioned that my cousin has returned.”
“Just in time too, although with his low habits, I don’t know if it will make any difference.”
“What do you mean?”
“Miss Etherton has been in a frenzy, with her singing and carrying on. She’s tight as a knitted cap with those two friends of his, that Miss Bernard and Mr. Blair.”
“They’ve been singing together?”
“Yes, and they’ve even invited a few of the servants to join them in their choruses. The blasted racket continues day and night. A body can’t find a moment’s peace.”
Gertrude frowned. “She’s fraternizing with the servants?”
“Yes. It’s quite shocking. I never saw anything like it, and believe me, in that house, I’ve seen plenty.”
“What does the housekeeper say about it? What about the butler?”
“They think it’s humorous. They take time away from their chores to watch. I’m surprised any work gets finished at all.”
“Miss Etherton is the instigator?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sure my cousin will put a stop to any misbehavior.”
Mrs. Turner shrugged, being careful not to voice an untoward remark about Aaron. Mrs. Turner hated him and loved to tattle, but Aaron was family, and Gertrude wouldn’t permit a servant to speak ill of him.
“I appreciate you coming by,” Gertrude said.
“You’re welcome.”
“If there’s more I should know, notify me at once.”
“I will.”
“I’m especially curious—now that my cousin is back—if he’ll allow Miss Etherton to keep flaunting herself.”
“I understand.”
“We have to be certain she’s suited to being a vicar’s wife.”
“She hasn’t seemed to be so far,” Mrs. Turner snidely stated.
“That’s for me to judge, Mrs. Turner. Not you. Good day.”
Mrs. Turner had been dismissed, but she hovered, hoping Gertrude might slip her a coin. Gertrude compensated her occasionally—if she felt the information provided was worthy of remuneration. Apparently, Mrs. Turner was starting to expect financial reward. By her demonstrating her greed and sense of entitlement, she’d ruined any chance of fiscal gain.
Gertrude raised a brow. “I trust you can show yourself out?”
Mrs. Turner scowled, then mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”
She slinked off, and Gertrude listened until the door shut, until she was sure she was alone, then she opened Miss Etherton’s letters.
The messages were insulting and offensive. The little ingrate! She didn’t wish to marry Ignatius! She claimed he was horrid to her, that he would be an awful husband. She begged her friends to send money so she could escape.
How dare she!
Gertrude was so upset she was glad she was sitting down. If she’d been standing, she might have collapsed with affront.
For several minutes, she dithered over the best plan of action. Should she tell Ignatius? Should she not? Should she wait and tell him later on? What were the benefits of waiting? What were the detriments? In whatever she chose, how could she damage Miss Etherton the most?
The young woman was very popular, had ingratiated herself everywhere, so they would have to tread carefully.
They couldn’t simply toss her over. They’d have to run her off, but with their hands clean, their involvement hidden. Gertrude would have to orchestrate Miss Etherton’s downfall to the last, most excruciating detail.
When she left, it had to be in disgrace so people would be relieved she was gone, and of course, Gertrude would have to conduct some research on the dowry. If Miss Etherton was deemed unfit for some reason, then Gertrude and Ignatius would keep the dowry. It was only fair, but as they’d already spent most of it, she had to be clear on her legal position.
In the meantime, a distant cousin had written that she had a daughter who needed a situation. Gertrude remembered the girl. She was a mousy, homely twit, but she was also obedient and obsequious and exactly the sort Gertrude had assumed they were getting when they’d agreed to Miss Etherton.
Perhaps she’d reply to her cousin’s inquiry and have the daughter come for an extended visit. Gertrude had felt from the start that Miss Etherton wasn’t the right woman to be Ignatius’s bride. Obviously, they had to begin looking again.
There was a fire burning in the grate, and she went over to it.
“You begged your friends to help you, Miss Etherton,” she murmured, “but I’m very sorry to report that they will never know you asked.”
She threw the letters into the flames, watching as they dwindled to ashes. Then she returned to her desk and continued reviewing the household accounts.
CHAPTER TEN
“Aaron is gone?”
“Yes.”
George Drake, Lord Sidwell, glared at Claudia Cummings. They were in his library, in his London town house. She’d blustered in without sending a card, without asking if he’d like to see her. If it had been up to him, he’d have refused an audience, but then she likely knew that to be the case, so she’d shown up unannounced.
In a few weeks, they would be in-laws, and the notion wasn’t as pleasant as it had previously been. Claudia was a neighbor, and her deceased husband had been a boyhood chum of George’s. Practically from the day Priscilla was born, he and her father had figured Aaron would marry her.
Yet when George had broached the subject with Claudia, she’d dithered for ages. The Sid
well title was only two generations old—a pittance in the history of British aristocratic families. Many people viewed George as an interloper to the peerage, snickering that his title wasn’t very grand. Claudia had been wrangling for a fiancé who was higher on the social ladder.
But it had been a slow year for duke’s and earl’s sons. Ultimately, she’d been forced to agree to Aaron, pretending he had been her first choice all along.
“When did he leave?” she inquired.
“Saturday night. Or maybe Sunday morning. I’m not sure. He wasn’t here when I came down to breakfast.”
“That’s after we were with him at the ball.”
“Oh, that’s right. He escorted you and Priscilla.”
“Yes.”
“I trust all was well between them?”
“Why wouldn’t it have been?”
She glanced away, not able to hold his gaze, and he nearly snapped at her. She was a busybody who’d stirred plenty of trouble for him and his sons. What had she done now?
George had betrothed Aaron without seeking his opinion about Priscilla. Aaron had accepted Priscilla with good grace, but lately he’d been chafing, having second thoughts. George had convinced him to continue on with Priscilla, and Aaron had promised he would, but he kept sneaking off—and the wedding was only weeks away. What was George to make of it?
He wasn’t certain what was happening at Fox Run, but Bryce Blair and that slattern, Florella Bernard, were there with Aaron. Florella was likely entertaining both men, and if Claudia and Priscilla weren’t careful, Aaron might never come back.
“I’ll be frank, Claudia,” George said.
“If you feel you must.”
“I have friends everywhere, and they delight in tattling to me.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps you should get some new friends.”
“That’s as may be, but I’ve had several reports from the ball Saturday night.”
“Have you?”
“I know they were fighting out in the garden.”
“They weren’t fighting,” she insisted. “They were…having a disagreement.”
“Apparently, it was sufficiently heated that Aaron stormed out and left town immediately after.”
“If he left right after, it had naught to do with Priscilla.”
“Seriously? You expect me to believe that?”
“I smoothed over their discord.”
“What was causing it?”
“He merely wished she’d treat him in a more respectful manner.”
George nodded. “Understandable.”
“I promised him I’d spend this month working with Priscilla. Obviously, I haven’t prepared her to be a bride.”
George suspected it would take much more than a month to whip the girl into shape, but they didn’t need to worry about it. There were many ways for a husband to deal with a disobedient wife. Before the pair marched down the aisle, George would apprise Aaron of all of them.
“So,” George mused, “it sounds as if their argument was settled.”
“It seemed to be, which is why I’m surprised that he’s disappeared again.”
She paused, waiting for George to provide an explanation for Aaron’s absence, but George simply stared, not inclined to share information with her.
“Where is he?” she finally asked. “Is he back at Fox Run?”
“I have no idea,” George lied.
“I hate to mention it, but he was quite vexed the other night. He actually spoke of crying off, of jilting Priscilla.” She gave a frilly laugh, as if the remark had been hurled in jest. “I told Priscilla he didn’t mean it, but she’s in a state.”
She was desperate to be reassured, and George had to confess, he was a bit rattled himself. Aaron was extremely conflicted about the engagement, but George could hardly admit it to Claudia.
“Of course he didn’t mean it,” George scoffed. “He was just angry.”
“He hasn’t broached the subject with you?”
“No, and I wouldn’t listen if he had. He’s a dutiful son. He knows his role. I want this marriage, and he would never defy me.”
“If he is at Fox Run—”
George cut her off. “As I said, Claudia, I have no idea where he is.”
“Would it help if Priscilla and I visited him?” At George’s shocked look, she hurriedly added, “I thought their relationship might improve if they spent time together in the country.”
“Let me be very clear, Claudia.”
“Yes, please.”
“Whether Aaron is or isn’t at Fox Run, a visit from you and Priscilla wouldn’t be in anybody’s best interest.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m simply telling you to stay away from Fox Run.”
“Will he return for the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Swear it to me,” she demanded.
“I swear, so stop fretting. Everything will be fine.”
They glared, and she was furious, dubious. Finally, she pushed to her feet.
“If you’re lying to me,” she fumed, “if he leaves her standing at the altar, I’ll kill you.”
“Always nice to see you too, Claudia,” he jovially retorted. He waved to the door. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m awfully busy today.”
She spun and huffed out without another word.
* * * *
“Come back to bed.”
“You’ve worn me out for the afternoon, Florella.”
“Good.”
“Yes, you’re earning your keep for a change.”
Bryce was in his bedchamber at Fox Run. He was over by the window, naked, sipping a brandy and gazing out at the park. Florella was on the bed, naked too, preening, trying to entice him to look over at her, to join her and start in again.
She enjoyed a frisky romp as well as any man, so she was a perfect lover. But as a mistress? She wouldn’t win any medals.
She had expensive tastes, and he had a modest income, so it was a trial to find the money to keep her happy. Yet it humored him to brag that she was his, so he continued on with her—trollop that she was.
She had her own mind, her own friends, and even though they supposedly had an exclusive arrangement, she pretty much did what she liked.
If she crossed paths with a man who tickled her fancy, she’d trot off with him. If Bryce protested, she’d advise him that they could split if that’s what he wanted. How was he to lord himself over such an independent woman?
She’d been on her own since she was very young, had always earned her own wages, so she had no concept of how a female should act with men. She certainly had no concept of being the inferior gender, of needing male counsel or guidance.
He chuckled to himself. He liked her. What could he say?
He often visited Fox Run with Aaron, but it was Florella’s first time. They were maintaining the pretense of separate bedchambers, but their suites had an adjoining dressing room, so they probably weren’t fooling any of the servants. They’d sneaked off for a tumble, but as typically happened, it had extended dramatically in both duration and intensity.
He was feeling content and sated.
“When do you have to be back in London?” he asked her.
“How about never? Let’s remain here forever.”
“You’d die of boredom in the country. I give you another week, and you’ll be begging me to return to the city.”
“Ah, you know me well. I love all this luxury though. I can’t get used to it.”
“Neither can I.”
“I like Aaron, but his kind takes this opulence for granted. It aggravates me.”
By his kind, she meant the upper classes. She and Bryce flitted around on the edge of that wealthy group, welcomed as friends and mistresses, but never fully accepted.
“At least he doesn’t throw his position in our face every two seconds,” Bryce said.
“Thank God.”
They might ha
ve hurled more condescending comments about Aaron, but Aaron had always been loyal and considerate, and Bryce wouldn’t denigrate the man in his own home.
“Why is he at Fox Run again?” she asked. “He left, then hurried back.”
“I think he’s fretting about his wedding. He’s a bachelor, and the notion of a leg-shackle is terrifying. It would be to me.”
“And his fiancée is horrid, yes? What’s her name? Priscilla?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know her.”
“Lucky you.”
“I feel sorry for him.”
“So do I.”
“Is she disgustingly rich? That would make it partially worth it.”
“Yes, she is disgustingly rich.”
“And pretty?”
“If you like ice maidens.”
Florella laughed her sexy, sultry laugh. “Now I’m dying to meet her so I can decide if you’re telling the truth.”
“You scandalous hussy,” he teased. “You could never be introduced to such a paragon of virtue.”
“Well, if she stumbles into a box at the theater some night, you have to point her out to me.”
“I will.”
He stared across the park, and far out on the road, he noticed Aaron riding with Evangeline. They’d been gone for hours, having departed after breakfast. Bryce had assumed it would be a short jaunt around the estate but, apparently, they hadn’t been in any rush to finish.
They started up the lane that led to the manor. Their horses were walking at a snail’s pace, and they were leaned toward one another, chatting intently, their heads pressed close.
Aaron was so focused on Evangeline that Bryce wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap. He looked that besotted, and his visible interest was extremely disturbing. Bryce had known Aaron since they were five, and Aaron had never gazed at a woman as he was gazing at Evangeline.
There was a tangible spark shooting between them that would have been evident to anyone who’d seen them passing by. Bryce hoped they hadn’t ridden through the village or—heaven forbid—by the vicarage.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“What?” Florella asked.
“It’s nothing.”
He continued to watch, as they neared, as they skirted the house and kept on to the stable. Gradually, they moved out of sight, and he was frozen in place, studying the spot where they’d been.