“How, indeed?” countered Felix with an ironic twist of his lips.
“Those twins of hers are permitted to run almost wild, and had no idea how to behave. Were it not for me, I dread to think how they would turn out. Really, Mrs. Eden is far too tender-hearted for her own good.”
Captain Fanshaw and Mr. Jennings nodded vigorously in agreement with him, the latter mumbling something about children being seen and not heard.
Fothergill eventually came to an end of his self-serving monologue and turned to Felix, asking detailed and very pointed questions as to his reason for being in Swyre. Satisfied that Fothergill was acting upon instructions passed to him at the Swyre Inn before luncheon, he gave tantalising descriptions of the wealthy clients for whom he was commissioned to purchase certain items. Items which he’d been given to understand were available in the vicinity of Burton Bradstock, provided one knew where to look.
There were no melodic Bach sonatas in the drawing room that evening. Instead, Mrs. Eden poured her heart into a Beethoven concerto, hammering out the chords with fury and passion. Her performance, if anything, exceeded that of the previous evening. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, interpreting the composer’s work with a fervour that suggested there was still a well of anger to be expunged in the wake of Fothergill’s harsh treatment of her son.
To Felix, she was a compelling mixture of pride and insecurity; determination and vulnerability; tough resourcefulness and beguiling femininity. She’d attracted his interest with her fiercely independent spirit, and he was now determined to get to the bottom of her secrets, but for very different reasons to those that had originally occasioned his visit to Riverside House.
When the evening came to an end, Felix again occupied the window-seat in his chamber, musing upon the progress he’d made that day. There were three things which he now definitely knew about Saskia Eden: she had no contact with her father because of some sort of disagreement, she was not in league with him in any way, and she was almost certainly deeply afraid of him.
Fothergill, on the other hand, was definitely in Barker’s employ. His singularly shabby attire alone lent proof to his impecunious state. This fact, added to the other compelling evidence he’d collated, reinforced that conclusion. Could that be why Fothergill was so confident about his own expectations and so carelessly disregarded Mrs. Eden’s attempts to determine the direction of her children’s education? Was the twins’ grandfather controlling their destiny from a distance? This notion deeply unsettled Felix, and he fervently hoped that he’d got it wrong.
As far as he’d been able to ascertain, Fothergill was a school master of decidedly mediocre ability, his offers of positions in other quality schools almost certainly wishful thinking on his part. Greedy and ambitious, and having failed in his chosen profession, he wasn’t above taking money from a man who’d doubtless persuaded him that his only concern was for the welfare of his daughter and grandchildren.
Felix shuddered, turning his mind to other matters pertinent to Riverside House. There was still much that he didn’t comprehend. If Mrs. Rivers had lived comfortably before her niece’s arrival then she must have an income of sorts, since her husband would have provided for her financially. So why the need to take in lodgers, and why did that necessity arise only after Mrs. Eden’s removal to the house? More to the point, why did Mrs. Eden herself need to work so hard?
Felix needed to find out more. His intention to get to Barker through his daughter was now looking increasingly unlikely to succeed. It might be necessary to consult with his father before deciding upon his next step. First, though, he intended to get to the bottom of things here at Riverside House. He’d noticed today that Mr. & Mrs. Jenkins went driving for the entire morning, and only returned for luncheon. He understood that it was their custom to spend all of their mornings thus occupied. Fothergill, of course, was in the schoolroom, Captain Fanshaw spent every morning out of the house, researching his almanac, and Miss Willoughby was inclined to sit with Mrs. Rivers in her private apartment, drinking tea and gossiping about the old days. With the whole household occupied in various ways, the mornings would obviously be the best time to make a private exploration of Riverside House.
The next day, Perkins, with a rakish smirk, assured his master that he was making satisfactory progress — with his barmaid at least as rapidly as with his other contacts. Felix had little difficulty in believing that part of Perkins’s assertion. He returned to Riverside House, still smiling at his irrepressible valet’s cavalier approach to life.
Felix entered the house as unobtrusively as possible. As he’d expected, no one was about. He slipped undetected up the stairs, his first destination being the top floor. Just as a matter of curiosity he wanted to see where Mrs. Eden slept.
He entered the room next to the twins and let out an astonished oath. It was little more than a cell: a space for the lowliest servant to occupy. There was a small trestle bed, an armoire, one chair, and no room for anything else. All was neat and tidy, and just for a moment, Felix was able to convince himself that it was the domain of the housemaid. Then he noticed the gown Mrs. Eden had worn the previous evening flung across the back of the chair, and the truth struck home.
But it made no sense at all. It was obvious that Mrs. Rivers held her niece in high regard, so why was she forced to live in such deprivation? What could have happened between her and her father that she would prefer this kind of life to the comparative luxury of his residence?
From the tiny window, Felix looked down at the kitchen garden, mulling the question over in his mind. Preoccupied as he was, it took a moment for him to register the scene below. A line full of washing had fallen onto the muddy ground and would need to be redone. An untidy pile of logs lay unsplit beside the block outside an almost empty log shed. A long line of empty pails stood beside the pump, waiting to be filled. It appeared that a whole row of lettuces had been roughly half-pulled out of the ground by someone or something, and left where they were to rot.
Amidst all this disarray, Saskia Eden sat on the ground, head in her hands, weeping in despair.
Saskia sat up and blew her nose. Discovering the ruined washing had pushed her beyond despair, and she’d had a long overdue cry about lost opportunities. Feeling better now, her resolve strengthened. She squared her shoulders and used a few most unladylike words. She wouldn’t be beaten, she simply would not! Somehow she’d find a way to survive these daily crises and hold onto Riverside House, if it was the last thing she ever did.
If only that damned boy from the village had turned up today to cut the logs and tidy the garden. Saskia herself could turn her hand to most tasks, but even she couldn’t chop logs; that was definitely men’s work.
Still, the washing had to be redone. She’d take advantage of the weak afternoon sun and hang it out again later, making sure the rope was properly secured this time. Then she’d see what wood she could gather from the rapidly dwindling pile for this evening’s fires. At least the weather was co-operating; it had remained mild, and they’d be able to get away with smaller blazes.
When the laundry had been redone, Saskia stepped through the scullery door, washing basket under her arm, and stopped dead in her tracks. A man had his back to her, and was swinging the axe through the air as easily as if it was made of matchwood, slicing the logs cleanly in two as he made contact with them. The man was tall, naked to the waist, and in possession of an abundance of thick curly brown hair which he’d clubbed back with a kerchief. There was a shimmer of perspiration on his torso, and the muscles in his arms and back rippled in time with his seemingly effortless labours.
She found herself rooted to the spot in rapt fascination, unable to move. Her legs refused to co-operate with the commands issued from her brain. She absently moistened her lips with her tongue, and had difficulty drawing breath as her stomach lurched in a most peculiar manner. It took a moment for her to realise that the twins were there, too. They were stacking kindling a safe distance away from
the flying splinters of wood, Hoskins charging about in crazy circles with a stick in his mouth, wagging his stumpy tail and generally getting in the way. The children noticed her and shouted a greeting.
“Mr. Beaumont is cutting the logs, Mama — ”
“He’s done loads — ”
“And we’re helping — ”
“Look how much we’ve done already.”
Mr. Beaumont turned to look at her, and Saskia heartily wished that he hadn’t done so. If she’d found the prospect of his naked back disconcerting, it was nothing to the sight of his broad chest covered with wiry brown hair and, God help her, strong thighs so tightly encased that his breeches looked like a second skin, leaving precious little to the imagination.
She could barely drag her eyes from him but, aware that they definitely shouldn’t linger on his thighs, lifted them once more to his chest. His shoulders appeared so much broader from this angle, just as his lean torso seemed remarkably well toned and his waist narrower than she would have imagined. He wiped the perspiration from his brow and flashed a knowing smile, leaving her with the impression that he was thoroughly enjoying discomposing her. She gulped and dropped her eyes.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Eden.”
He swept an elegant bow. It should have looked ridiculous. If any other gentleman of her acquaintance had attempted to bow whilst half-dressed, it doubtless would have done so, but with him…well, Saskia didn’t attempt to analyse what was happening to her senses at that precise moment. She was too occupied trying to avoid looking at him, whilst seemingly being unable to drag her eyes away. He was a beautiful roué, sent here to deliberately overset her.
Well, she’d long since become immune to roués, even when they were urbane and charming gentlemen with compelling brown eyes, salacious smiles, and disconcertingly broad chests. She simply wouldn’t allow this one to have any effect upon her, and would continue to treat him with polite disdain.
Fortified by this resolve, and with her emotions once again under close guard, she addressed him. “What do you think you are about, Mr. Beaumont? Guests aren’t permitted in the kitchen garden.”
She pulled herself up to her full height and spoke as severely as she knew how, but it did nothing whatsoever to diminish the impudent light in his eye. The twins were dancing about all the while, full of themselves and clearly enjoying every moment that they spent with this irritatingly compelling man. In the face of their delight and the absurdity of the situation, Saskia found it difficult to maintain her scandalised pose. She only narrowly avoided smiling.
“My pardon, madam, but the twins mentioned in passing that your garden boy hadn’t reported for work today. I had nothing in particular to occupy me this afternoon, and felt the need for exercise.” He shrugged. “This seemed like a neat solution to both our problems.”
“So I see.” She collected herself with difficulty, searching frantically for the dignity that had chosen a most inconvenient time to dessert her. “I’m obliged to you, sir, but your intervention was quite unnecessary.”
He didn’t contradict her, but simply stood beside his neatly chopped wood and smiled that wretchedly enticing smile of his. His attitude flustered her, causing her to attempt a justification she knew was unnecessary.
“I was aware, sir, that the garden boy wouldn’t be here today and have the situation under control.” The lie might just have convinced him, had she not blushed quite so deeply. “I am, however, in your debt.”
She dropped her eyes, only to find them focused squarely in the centre of that damned chest of his — an unfortunate circumstance which served to rouse her anger. She didn’t want to be beholden to this man…or to any man ever again. This particular one was dangerous; she could sense that much. He wanted something from her, too, of that she was equally certain. Was this crude exhibition of his masculine strength meant to impress her? How shallow did he imagine she was?
“Indeed you are, Mrs. Eden, and I fully intend to call in that debt.” His quiet voice intruded upon her introspective thoughts, causing her to draw in a sharp breath as his eyes raked her face with impudent familiarity.
“Pray, what is your meaning, sir?” she demanded. “I didn’t ask you for assistance.”
“Nevertheless, you just owned that you’re indebted to me.”
“You want payment?” Saskia placed her hands on her hips and glowered at him.
“Indeed not, m’dear. I had a far more pleasant reward in mind.” His eyes held an amused expression whilst his voice remained languid yet strangely compelling. “You see, I noticed whilst in Burton Bradstock this morning that there’s to be a public ball held there on Saturday. Would you favour me with your company?”
“Indeed not, sir. I regret that it’s quite out of the question.”
“That’s exactly the response I expected from you.”
“Then you can hardly claim disappointment.”
Saskia turned away from him, but not before he picked up the axe again and she was treated to a frontal view of his chest and those rippling muscles as he swung effortlessly at the log on the block and cleft it cleanly in two.
Damn! She turned her attention to her washing and attempted to retie the rope.
Struggling to do so, she collided with a solid obstruction — an obstruction with taut muscles, warm flesh, and a distinctly masculine aroma: a combination of soap, perspiration, and outdoor activity, unless she mistook the matter. Heat swept through her, pooling in the pit of her stomach. She felt the blood rush to her face, even as her heart leapt wildly within her breast. His close proximity deprived her of the ability to think rationally, and her mind was reduced to a chaotic jumble of conflicting emotions. She jumped like a scalded cat and moved away from him so fast that she almost lost her footing. He caught her arm to steady her, his solicitous smile broadening into a mocking challenge.
“Allow me.” He took the rope from her hand and tied it firmly in place, testing the result with the palm of his hand. “That will hold,” he said with a predatory smile.
“Thank you.”
She turned away from him and fled for the comparative safety of the kitchen, feeling his eyes boring into her retreating back until she closed the door on his infuriating smile.
Felix entered the drawing room slightly before six that evening and was pleased to discover Mrs. Rivers there alone.
“Ah, Mr. Beaumont, there you are.”
Felix bowed. “Your servant, madam.”
“I understand we’re indebted to you for the very fires that warm us this evening?”
Felix quirked a brow. “I’m surprised that your niece took the trouble to mention such a trifling matter to you.”
“Oh, Saskia didn’t tell me.”
“The twins then?”
“Quite so.” Mrs. Rivers smiled. “Never mention anything in front of the twins if you wish for it to remain confidential.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Anyway, Mr. Beaumont, I wished to thank you in person.”
“There’s no need. It was the work of a moment.”
“Ha, I’m sure it was a great deal more than that, and,” she added with a mischievous smile, “I’m not so old that I wouldn’t have enjoyed witnessing the event. No matter, you have my thanks, Mr. Beaumont, and if there’s anything I can do for you in return, you have but to name it.”
Felix suppressed a grin. She was playing straight into his hands.
“Indeed, madam, there is one trifling matter with which I would crave your interference.”
“Oh yes.” Mrs. Rivers appeared surprised. “And what would that be?”
“Well, I asked your niece if she would honour me with her company at a ball in Burton Bradstock on Saturday evening, but it seems she has a disinclination for dancing.”
Mrs. Rivers chuckled. “I’m prepared to wager that rejection isn’t something you’re accustomed to.”
Felix returned her smile. “Is there any particular reason why Mrs. Eden would prefer not to a
ttend a ball?”
“Several that I can think of.”
She contemplated Felix for some time without speaking. He was content to allow the silence to stretch between them, making it work to his advantage.
“My niece’s father resides in Burton Bradstock. Indeed, if you’ve frequented the village you won’t have been able to avoid hearing his name mentioned, since he wields considerable influence in these parts. He’ll be aware of your presence in this house by now, because nothing that happens here escapes his notice. Saskia’s father is my brother, Mr. Beaumont.” She paused for emphasis. “My twin brother.”
Felix didn’t need to feign surprise. He hadn’t known that. “But you are estranged?”
“Sadly, yes. But when we were children we were as close as Josh and Amy are now.”
“Would it be improper if I enquired as to the cause of your estrangement?”
“I suppose it all started when Samuel was sent away to school and I was educated at home. We were still bound by that invisible tie peculiar to twins, but no longer constantly in one another’s company. We grew up, I married and moved here, and Samuel married a very beautiful lady of Russian extraction. My brother and I were both very fortunate in the choices that were made for us in that respect, and Sam and I remained on the most intimate of terms.”
Felix shifted into a more comfortable position on the upright chair he’d taken across from Mrs. Rivers. “Go on,” he said when she appeared to lose herself in the past.
“Well, my brother was being groomed to take over our father’s shipping business. But our father was a bully and a tyrant, just as Sam has become since his wife died and he lost her restraining influence. I couldn’t countenance his behaviour toward his children, and told him so in no uncertain terms.”
“That must have taken some courage.”
“Well, someone had to put him straight, and I was the only one who dared speak my mind in front of him.” She shook her head. “Such unnecessary cruelty. I couldn’t understand what had become of my mild-mannered brother, and tried to point out to him how bizarre his behaviour had become in his time of grief. However, he would brook no interference, not even from me, and so I made my feelings apparent by calling upon him far less frequently. But my nephews, and especially my niece, knew they could always come to me in times of need.”
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