“Perhaps, if you’d like, I can show you to the main stable to take a look.”
“Maybe another time, Brutus,” she intentionally stalled. “I do have a few roses to pick from the gardens for Her Ladyship and I best do that before she wakes.”
“Not a problem,” Brutus saluted, bidding her way to pass. “If you ever need some conversation, I’ll be around.”
“And I’ll be sure to remember that. See you later, Brutus.”
Audelia left the stable and rounded the corner, only to walk straight up into something very hard and unmoving. The stars circling her head lingered a little while before she managed to look up.
“In a hurry, are you?”
The blasted guard stood glaring down at her as if she had committed some crime. Well... “Get out of my way, you giant. What do you want?”
“His Lordship has appointed me to go wherever you go, Miss.”
“I don’t need a shadow and if I did, it would hardly be one as big and clumsy as you.” The brute arched a brow. “Do you actually think I didn’t know you’ve been following me?”
“Doesn’t matter.” The man stood, arms crossed. “What do you want with the stables?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, don’t be talking all nice now. I heard you asking about His Lordship’s horses.”
Audelia tensed, blood pumping hotly through her veins. “What do you think? That I’m looking for one to steal?”
“Not one. Maybe several too.”
“And where, pray tell, would I put them? In my bosom?”
The guard glanced down at her modestly covered breasts for a fleeting moment before meeting her glaring eyes again. “I hardly know and I don’t care. You thieving wenches have pockets the size of traveling carts these days.” The guard stepped closer, almost tipping her over and off balance. “So, let’s see ‘em.”
Audelia stepped back, wishing more than ever that she was still in possession of her dagger. If she had, the fool man would have been wiser to maintain his distance.
“Take another step and you’ll rue the day you ever set eyes on me, you ill-mannered oaf.”
* *
Ulric St. Rosso stared down from the window of his study, his attention caught on the fast-moving female in royal-blue garb.
He must be losing his senses because he somehow could not stop looking at her. From where he stood, he could make out firmly sculpted legs, imprinted beneath the flowing fabric as she moved towards the gardens enveloping the courtyard. Her raven colored hair, as he’d observed earlier, was tightly pinned up on her head with springy ringlets brushing against her temple.
She was pretty.
Shoving away from the window, he reached for his tankard and took a deep swallow. The liquid burned down his throat and settled heavily in his stomach. It was not an admission he had wanted to make but he had to, even if mentally.
Her dirt-covered face had apparently been scrubbed clean and her womanly figure neatly clad in cool light fabric. He supposed he should not have had judged her appearances so readily but now that he realized, disappointment sunk in his gut like a solid brick.
When he had stumbled upon her in his library, he had been standing there for several moments just watching her as she stared out the window at something he could not see. From then, with her back turned, he had noticed a rather well-curved backside and rounded hips. But no, it was when she had pivoted that he had noticed the unintentional tease in her glossy brown eyes and the tempting curve of her mouth.
By God, he had nearly been tempted to walk straight up to her and show her all that a man’s mouth could do. Ulric had also fully intended on dismissing her from the room at once but when she’d moved, he’d caught a sniff of something pleasant. Something akin to sandalwood and the subtlest scents of lilac. By that point, his fool senses had taken over and he had found a good excuse to keep her in the room a while longer.
He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her then, despite his best efforts. So while he’d been contemplating on the fact for the past hours, he’d decided that he indeed was losing his senses.
Draining the contents from his tankard, Ulric slouched in his chair and sighed. A moment later, Edwin came shoving in with a tray in hand.
“How about a game?” he offered, pulling up a chair.
Groaning, Ulric glanced up as his friend placed down the tray of warm jelly-filled biscuits and then began arranging a chess board. It had been a while since they’d made a good sport of it.
Ulric reached for one of the delicacies and bit into it. “Cook is obviously trying to persuade my sister to stay longer. She hasn’t made these since Ryia had first left all those years ago.”
“Or mayhap, she’s trying to add a little sweet to your bitterness.”
Ulric chuckled, licking a trail of jelly from his finger. “After all this time?”
“Better late than never.”
“Mm. Where were you?”
“I had a missive I wanted to deliver personally in town. I received a letter from Henshire.”
Ulric sat up. “Is your mother alright?”
“The letter did not say much but I believe she might be more ill than she let on in writing. I’m making arrangements to set out early in the morning.”
“Safe travels and my regards to Mrs. Montagu.” Edwin nodded and although Ulric could not see his face, he knew his friend was worrying. Edwin Montagu was that sort of fellow. “If you’d like, I could ride out with you.”
Edwin chuckled now and looked up, his eyes lit with sad humor. “And leave Ryia here alone? You’d return to see the entire estate transformed into a blasted ladies’ pen. And you have a felon on your watch, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Ulric swallowed the rest of his biscuit. “Ah. That.”
“Precisely. That. Black or white?”
Ulric glanced down at the chess board. “Black.”
“Prepare to be defeated.” Edwin shove one white pawn two spaces up. “She appears to have cleaned up rather nicely.”
Ulric moved one black pawn up one space. “Who? Ryia?”
“Your felon.”
“She’s not my felon but a felon.” Ulric arched a nonchalant brow, studying his prospective moves. “And you’ve noticed?”
“You mean, you haven’t?” Same pawn progressed on-wards.
Ulric shook his head and fingered the head of his black knight. “I admit, the wench looks rather...clean.”
“And a bit easy on the eyes too.”
Ulric glanced up abruptly to meet Edwin’s penetrating gaze. His friend was trifling with him and he knew it. Tempering the sudden possessiveness that was coursing in his blood, he landed his knight two places up and one to the left, blocking Edwin’s chance at taking his silly pawn. “A pretty little thief, then.”
“If I weren’t betrothed, I’d take a chance at her.”
Ulric almost spat crumbs all over his desk. “You are not betrothed and you most assuredly will not seek favors from my felon.”
Edwin smiled and leaned back in his seat, hands entwined behind his head as his smirk developed into a full-blown grin. One bearing keen similarities to that of a cat who had just found the cream pot.
“Ah. So now she’s your felon.”
“I am officially calling it so.” Ulric eyed his friend and then returned his gaze to the game. Edwin was wandering on a path that he had no right to and that was what concerned Ulric the most. While Edwin had always been a sensible fellow, his seldom need to push boundaries had never provoked Ulric until now. “Now, shall we return to the game?”
Edwin obliged, leaning forward and studying his pieces. “More than happy to, dear friend. But I must warn you as I’ve warned you before, you are up for a bitter loss.”
Forty-five minutes later Ulric won the game, with a tray empty of biscuits and a mere rook guarding his king.
Nine
“I may have tossed about a bit in bed last night,” Ryia said, eyeing her lady’s maid s
heepishly. “It’s all in knots, I fear.”
“No worries, milady. My own had been quite a work this morn as well.”
As if with relief, Lady Ryia’s shoulders fell from their tensed state and a giggle surfaced from her. “Dear God, you are too comforting.”
Behind her, her lady’s maid smiled as she gently untangled a blue ribbon from the end of Her Ladyship’s unraveling single plait. Combing her fingers through the braid, Audelia then began brushing through it, ends first. Her Ladyship had lovely hair, much like that of a dear friend. Much like Jocelyn’s, to be exact. A friend Audelia had not seen in many months but still wished to perhaps meet with again if God were to permit it. Such desires, as she well knew, were not practical at all...for she’d heard that Jocelyn Bardeen had been wed off to the nephew of her own benefactor only a week after Audelia had left Madame de Lucci’s clutches. Finding her friend’s home was quite easy but speaking with her would be the difficult task, indeed. Plus, it would be at the risk of exposing herself lest the Madame was searching for her.
As she ran the brush through Her Ladyship’s hair one last time, Audelia swallowed her own self-pity and prayed silently that Jocelyn was alright.
“Any suggestions on your hair-do, milady?” she almost choked out.
Lady Ryia shifted on the stool at her vanity and scrunched up her pretty face in thought. “I’d forgotten how casual it can be here at Chastelle Manor. And I daresay, I’d loved that very much as a girl. Perhaps a single braid will do, don’t you think?”
Audelia’s brows rose with surprise. “A-Are you certain, milady?”
“Quite certain.” Lady Ryia smiled at her through the looking-glass. “I hope you hadn’t thought of me as a pompous lady who had not a clue of how to relax and tone things down a bit.”
Laughter bubbled at the corner of Audelia’s lips. “Not at all.”
“Good. But do tell me...”
“Milady?”
Audelia felt Lady Ryia’s fingers close over hers suddenly, stilling her on the course of beginning the plait. Their gazes clashed unwaveringly in the looking glass. “What had you been thinking on just a moment past?”
Audelia frowned, breaking the gaze. “Milady, what do you mean?”
“Why, you looked positively perplexed. Don’t you dear think I hadn’t noticed.”
“Twas nothing. Only remembering a friend of mine.”
Her Ladyship smiled and released Audelia’s hand. “And of what nature is your...friend?”
It took Audelia a moment to actually understand what Lady Ryia was inquiring. Clearing her throat, she began with the braid. “She’s my closest friend, Your Ladyship. We have not been in correspondence for a while.”
“And does she...live in town?”
“N-no, Your Ladyship. A further distance away.”
“Mm. Too bad.” Her Ladyship sighed as if truly saddened. “If that had been the case, I would have been happy to deliver a missive on your behalf.”
Audelia looked up sharply, every nerve ending in her hands going stiff. “Y-You would have done that?”
“Of course. I’ve only known you little over a day, Lia, and look how fond I am already of you. You happen to be good company, especially in this dreary house.”
Two sharp raps came outside the door to Her Ladyship’s chamber, followed by a deep baritone voice behind it. A voice Audelia could not forget even if she tried.
“Ryia, it’s me. Are you decent?”
“Speaking of the devil,” Lady Ryia chuckled provocatively and rolled her eyes. “Continue as you will, Lia.” She then cleared her throat daintily and called out, “I am decent, dear brother. You may enter.”
The door swung open without even a sound and Lord St. Rosso, in all his largeness, invaded the room. Audelia kept her head down and persisted on with the braid in as much speedy fashion as she could afford.
“Ah, there you are,” he said, looking rather dapper in black garb and impeccably polished boots. Even his long dark hair was neatly swept away from his face.
Ulric passed his gaze over his sister, pausing only a moment on Miss Rolfen as she moved her hands rather rapidly in Ryia’s hair. He thought she looked considerably radiant for so early in the morning. Yes, he thought his sister’s supposed lady’s maid looked rather ravishing.
“And who may I thank for your visit at so early in the day, Bryce? It must had been quite a task for you to wake in such a grand mood.”
Audelia swallowed. Bryce. A nice name, indeed.
“You may thank The Almighty, Himself,” he went on, remaining steadfast in his position by the door. “I came to inform you that Edwin left for Henshire a little before sunrise. His mother, Mrs. Montagu, seems to have contracted some form of an ailment.”
“Oh my. I hope she recovers well.”
“So do I.”
“Milady, shall I go fetch your bath water now?” Audelia asked as quietly as she could.
“Of course.”
“Going somewhere, Ryia?” His Lordship questioned.
Lady Ryia rose from her stool and folded her arms about her white sleeping gown. “Yes. I have plans on meeting with an old friend of mine. Lady Shentil; do you remember her, Bryce? She’ll be in town for but a day and had sent me a missive last eve. I am to take brunch with her at the inn she’s staying.”
Mention of such an inn brought Audelia’s head up immediately, catching the stare of His Lordship as he regarded her with a reflective light in his eye. Bowing stiffly, she brushed pass him immediately and left the room.
“Ah, yes I remember her,” he continued, venturing further inside the room. “The widow of Shentil, if I am correct.”
“Exactly, so.” Ryia examined her long plait through the looking glass and smiled. “I had intended on asking Edwin to travel with me but it seems my plans are soiled now.”
“I’ll send Gilgallon.” Ulric spoke swiftly, partly because he did not want to allow his sister even the slightest of chances to request it of him instead. The widow of Shentil might be considered as good connection but, in his opinion, the woman hadn’t the respectability to be considered a lady at all. There had just always been something in the way the woman spoke. Besides, if he had anything to say about it, he planned on taking full opportunity of being alone with his sister’s dear lady’s maid.
“Gilgallon?”
“Yes. One of my guards. He’s a good sport and I trust him to your care.” Ulric turned on his heel and just before he escaped the room, he said quickly and in the best regretful tone he could find, “I would have offered my own company but I fear I have much to do here this afternoon. Perhaps another time.”
Ulric released his breath the moment he left his sister’s chamber and headed directly in search of Gilgallon. He hadn’t seen the man since yesterday when he had instructed him to keep a close eye on Miss Rolfen.
Miss Rolfen. Since when had he began referring to her in such classy a manner? The girl was anything but classy despite her new apparel, courtesy of his sister and her graciousness. Sometimes he wondered if he had missed out on it all as a babe, for kindness was never something he knew well how to offer.
He had just stumbled down the short hall and in the vicinity of the wide kitchens when the scrumptious scents of bacon, eggs and fresh bread assaulted his nostrils, all surrounded by feminine chatter and hums. He had not dared enter this part of the house since he was a boy still licking on Cook’s wooden spoons. And even at that time, Cook would have gladly spanked his little rear if he had overdone his stay. Particularly since Cook, who had been very much in her prime at that time, had known precisely that he’d bothered himself to be there only in sake of flirting with the kitchen help. Ulric shook his head. How much time had changed since then...
The moment he entered the kitchen and opened his mouth to commend Cook on such delectable aroma, all sounds had ceased and Ulric found himself being watched--and with some fair measure of horror--by six pairs of eyes, including Cook’s. And even the serf girl that he cou
ld identify as Anyla, in her apparent shock, must had dropped a spoon or fork too. For some reason, Ulric found himself somewhat taken aback by the reaction.
“Y-Your Lordship, what are you doing down here?” Cook glanced awkwardly around at the the rest of her staff and wiped her chubby hands on her apron.
“I followed the scent of your cooking and...here I am,” Ulric said, partially because he knew not of what else to say. The other five pair of eyes were still heavily trained on him, for heaven’s sake. Cook, on the other hand, squinted up at him as if he was some sort of a lunatic. “Uh...I am searching for Gilgallon.”
“Oh,” Cook huffed with an air of disappointment and turned to order her staff back to work. “I believe he’s off somewhere. To the east stable, I think, with old Brutus.”
Ulric nodded and turned on his heel. “Very well, then. Carry on.”
“Uh...Your Lordship?”
“Cook?”
“While you are here...” Cook moved quickly, her shirts swishing around her short stout frame. Ulric could even make out the faintest dusts of flour in her lightly graying hair. “How do you like your eggs, milord?”
Ulric glanced at the woman. A woman, who he could remember, had been kind and amiable to him while growing up. A woman he’d adored not only as a friend but more like a dear cousin or an aunt. But things seemed to have changed somewhere along the lines of time. That, or it was he who had changed.
“Never fried,” he admitted lightly. “But hard-boiled, as usual.”
Cook seemed to have been satisfied with his answer because she bowed graciously and went about her business with a wide smile on her face. Ulric would have taken credit for putting such a beam on her face except his own sudden qualms had prevented him from doing so.
Thanking God, and his ancestors, that the east stable was in comfortable walking distance, Ulric bounded back down the hallway, through the foyer and then slipped through a side door which lead directly into the region of the yard closest to the stable. Entering, he discovered the stable-man, Brutus, laying back in a heap of old straw and Gilgallon, reclining in his own. It was a troublesome, if not surprising sight, since his guard had been ordered to follow Miss Rolfen around. By the looks of it, the man was blatantly disobeying Ulric’s wishes...and neither was he in any proximity at all to the wench.
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