by Louise Allen
In her nightrail and shawl she bent to blow out the branched candlestick and found herself staring at that door again. Was she going to sleep or was she going to lie awake, staring at it in the dark and imagining goodness knows what?
Slowly Hester walked towards it, the single chamber stick in her hand, and finally turned the handle. ‘Oh, bless the boy!’ Jethro had swept and dusted. The glass was gone, the stained patch of wall gleamed newly white. The pearls had been collected up into a bowl on the dressing table and the doors of the presses were shut. He had even opened the window an inch and the chill air had driven away the musty smell. It was an empty, unthreatening room once more. He was a good lad, sensitive beyond his years sometimes. Hester smiled, recalling John’s doubts when she had returned home with her filthy waif. ‘You will regret it,’ he said, studying the lad with a cynical soldier’s eye, but she never had.
She drifted back to bed, reassured and suddenly too tired either to plan or to remember. As she snuggled under the sheets her thoughts flickered to tomorrow’s encounter. What would the earl think of her? she wondered. Strange that it was not his wife who had made the first call. Perhaps he was unmarried…
Hester slept. Across the road in the red brick house Guy Westrope stood in his dark bedchamber, the book he had strolled upstairs to fetch in his hand. He could see in the dark uncannily well and had not troubled to pick up the branch of candles from the landing table when he entered. Now he stood waiting to see whether that slender ghost of a figure in white would cross the room opposite his again. But the window in the Moon House went dark as a candle was extinguished.
Who was she? Not that quaint maid, not in what must be the best bedchamber. The lady of the house? Or simply a phantom of his imagination? No, not that, for the ghost he would expect to conjure up would have blonde hair, not a tumbling mass of brunette curls.
Cursing himself for a fool, not for the first time that day, Guy strode out of the room and downstairs to a solitary meal. The most entertainment he could hope for would be his attempts to catch his butler Parrott betraying by so much as a quiver his utter disapproval of the village, the house and the entire enterprise. His valet was far more vocal on the subject and on the ruination of his hopes of seeing his master outshining every guest at Major Carew’s house party. Guy smiled grimly: he was an extremely generous and considerate employer, but he was not going to be criticised by his own staff for whatever whim he chose to indulge. In this particular case he could do that quite effectively himself.
At ten to three the next afternoon Hester called her household into the newly garnished reception room and surveyed both it and them, They had scoured the morn clean and then stripped the house of suitable furnishings. The chaise-longue from her bedroom, a dresser from the other front chamber and side tables from all over dressed the room and a large, if smoky, fire blazed on the hearth. There were two imposing armchairs, which she placed on each side of the fireplace, and a chair set to one side for Prudy to sit upon. It looked a little like a rented room in an unfashionable part of town, but it would have to do.
At least she and her staff were suitably clad to receive a caller: Jethro in his best dark suit with horizontally striped waistcoat, his hair neatly tied back, Susan in a respectable dimity and Prudy looking every bit the governess in sombre grey with a black knitted shawl, For herself Hester had chosen a gown of fine wool in a soft old gold colour, with a fichu edged with some of the good lace she had inherited from her mother and her best Paisley shawl. Her hair was ruthlessly confined in its net at the back with just a few soft curls at the temples and forehead.
Hester gave her hem one last anxious twitch. ‘I think we look admirably respectable,’ she announced firmly. It was the impression she was striving for, the impression it was essential to convey if she was to hope to have any kind of social life in the village or nearby towns. It was odd enough for young lady of four and twenty to live alone save for a companion, but to produce the slightest suspicion of anything ‘not quite the thing’ would be fatal.
The effort it had taken to transform the front room and the hall had succeeded in distracting her from the nagging feeling that she might already have sunk herself beneath reproach when she answered the door to the earl yesterday. But now it returned. Would he be very affronted when he realised who the maid was? Or, even worse, would he consider it a great joke to be spread around his acquaintance? Being thought to be eccentric was not Hester’s ambition either.
He was most certainly prompt. Hester had hardly settled herself before the fireplace with a piece of embroidery in her hand when the knocker sounded. Jethro tugged down his coat, straightened his face and strode out.
There was the sound of voices in the hail, then Jethro reappeared. ‘The Earl of Buckland, Miss Lattimer.’
Hester rose to her feet, put down her embroidery, looked up and felt her breath catch in her throat. Somehow she retrieved enough of it not to croak as she stepped forward with outstretched hand. ‘Good afternoon, my lord. I am Hester Lattimer.’
How could she not have realised yesterday? Had she been so overwhelmed by the house, so frightened by his sudden knocking? The man standing in front of her was not just extremely attractive-quite simply, he was her ideal. She had no need to do more than to look into those dark blue eyes with their crinkle of laughter lines at the corners, the lurking mixture of intelligence, humour and frank admiration in their depths, to feel a surge of heat in her blood and an indefinable sense of recognition.
He took her hand and her pulse began to thud so that she thought he must have felt it as he touched her. Hastily she retrieved her hand. ‘My lord, may I make known to you my companion, Miss Prudhome?’ He inclined his head with a smile and Prudy produced a gawky curtsy and an unintelligible twitter. Hester sighed inwardly and gestured towards the other chair. ‘Please, my lord, will you not sit down?’
Goodness, he was tall, and broad and… male. Not good looking, she decided, for his nose had definitely been broken, the planes of his face were strong rather than beautiful, his dark blond hair was too long…
‘Harrumph.’
Hester started. How long had she been staring at her visitor’? Not too long, surely, for he did not appear discommoded. Jethro was standing by the door, looking abashed. His intended quiet throat-clearing had emerged as rather more of a foghorn than a tactful signal from a butler.
‘Ackland, please fetch us some refreshment. Would you care to take tea, my lord? Or perhaps some Madeira?’
‘Tea would be delightful, thank you, Miss Lattimer.’ She nodded to Jethro, who effaced himself silently.
The earl’s voice exactly suited him, she decided. So often a voice was a sad disappointment, but his was deep, pleasant and carried a hint of authority. He was watching her with composure, those blue eyes resting on her face, betraying no sign that he recognised her from the day before. To refer to it or not? Suddenly Hester felt she would make herself ridiculous in his estimation if she was missish about this.
‘1 am sorry I could not receive you yesterday when you called.’ she began. ‘We had only just arrived and it was necessary to do more than I had anticipated to set the house to rights.’
‘My sister frequently tells me that the servant shortage is a difficulty,’ he observed urbanely. Yes, no doubt about it, he did recognise her as that dishevelled ‘maid’.
‘Oh, it is not that, my lord. I have chosen to bring only a skeleton staff from London and I will hire locally. But just now we are a small household.’ Hopefully that sounded as though she was used to commanding a staff of four times the number.
‘But, until then, it is intolerable to have to put up with cobwebs?’ The corner of his mouth quirked and Hester could feel her own twitching in response. There was nothing for it but to be frank and trust to his goodwill.
‘Indeed. It was most remiss of me to have opened the door without thinking. Goodness knows what you must have thought.’ Now that was a foolish thing to have said, inviting him to agree
with her.
‘I thought that the new arrival in the village had excellent taste in domestic servants.’ Now what did he mean by that? Surely not that he considered her attractive? She found she had no objection to the earl holding that opinion, but for him to say so was the outside of enough.
‘I should have called my butler,’ she said repressively.
‘Your butler? Surely you do not mean that youth who showed me in?’
‘But certainly, my lord. I should tell you that Ackland has the intention to become the best butler in England,’ Hester retorted warmly as the door opened. ‘Ah, thank you, Ackland, please put the tray here. I was just telling his lordship that you have great ambitions to rise in your profession.’
‘To be the best butler in England, I understand.’ The earl half-turned in his seat to regard the gangling youth, showing no sign he had noticed the freckles, the pimples or the fact that the coat sleeves were already half an inch too short. Hester, who had been holding her breath, expecting him to snub the lad and wishing she had kept her mouth shut, could have kissed him.
‘Yes, my lord.’ Jethro blushed, but managed to keep his face and voice in order.
‘Well, Ackland, I have to tell you that the best butler in England is Mr Parrott and he is in my employ.’
‘Here, my lord? In this village?’ Now he sounded fourteen and not the seventeen Hester guessed him to be.
‘Certainly he is here. I shall mention you to him; perhaps one day, when he is not too busy, he will unbend enough to give you some advice on your chosen profession.’
Jethro had gone so white Hester was certain he was about to swoon. ‘That is most kind of his lordship, Ackland. You may go now.’ Bless him, his feet would not touch the ground for a week.
‘That was most kind of you, my lord,’ she said as the door closed behind the youth. ‘He is so very serious about this, despite his age. A single lady’s household is no training ground for him and I suppose he should be seeking a footman’s post as a start.’
‘But you need him here,’ the earl said with a smile. ‘Let us see what Parrott advises.’ He saw the question in her eyes and nodded. ‘Yes, I will make sure he spends some time with the lad.’
Hester poured the tea and wondered when her visitor was going to broach the reason for his call. Surely it was not purely social? ‘Is the countess with you, my lord?’ she enquired, passing the tea cup.
‘My mother died some months ago.’ Her eyes must have flickered over the dark blue long-tailed coat he wore, for he added, ‘She abhorred mourning, so after the first month we all left it off. I do not feel that wearing unrelieved black for months on end helps one remember the departed any more fondly.’
‘No, indeed,’ Hester agreed. ‘I myself-’ She broke off, This was one area she did not wish to explore.
‘You have suffered a recent loss too?’ His voice was sympathetic and she almost said more than she should.
‘Yes. I was a companion to an invalid for almost two year… The end was not unexpected.’ If that left the false impression that she had been the companion to an elderly lady, then so much the better.
‘It does not lessen the loss.’ He put down his cup and saucer and recrossed his long legs. ‘That was most refreshing. Miss Lattimer, I cannot pretend that this is a social call; I wish to discuss with you a matter of business.’
‘Business?’ Hester made no effort to hide her surprise.
‘Perhaps I should address myself to your man of affairs? If you would give me his direction, I will be happy to do so, although I feel this is a matter upon which he would immediately have to consult you in any case.’
‘Then perhaps you can broach the matter and I will refer you to him if necessary.’
‘Very well. Miss Lattimer, I wish to purchase your house.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘You wish to purchase my house?’ Hester echoed blankly. ‘Which house?’
‘Why, this one.’ His lips quirked again. This time Hester felt no inclination to smile back. ‘Do you have another?’
‘No! And I have absolutely no intention of selling the Moon House. I have only just bought it myself and I have been resident in it but one night, my lord.’
‘I am aware of that, which is why I have called so close upon your arrival. I have no wish to disrupt your life, but you will not have had time to grow attached to the place and, as your heavy luggage has not yet arrived, I imagine you are far from settled.’ He sat back more comfortably into the chair, his hands clasped, a picture of ease.
Hester was beginning to move from bemusement to anger. He was keeping a close eye upon her movements indeed! ‘I am firmly attached to this house, my lord, which is why I bought it.’
‘I agree it is a very pretty place,’ he acknowledged sympathetically. ‘You show admirable taste in selecting it, Miss Lattimer.’ Hester narrowed her eyes, she was not going to be charmed, patronised or cozened out of the Moon House, it was ridiculous for him to try. ‘I will put another house at your disposal until you have decided where you want to live. I have houses in London-’
‘I have just moved from London.’
‘Or Oxford, if you prefer another town. Or I am sure my agents can find you a country home you would be charmed with.’
‘I am already charmed with this one, my lord. I have no need, no desire and absolutely no intention of moving from it.’ Hester took a reviving sip of tea and set her cup down with emphasis. Why did she feel Guy Westrope would quite happily take root here in her drawing room and persist until she gave in out of sheer weariness? The flame of attraction she had felt for him was rapidly becoming quenched under a douche of puzzlement and irritation. And he was so uncompromisingly large and male it was very difficult to ignore him.
‘I will naturally pay you well in excess of your purchase price to compensate for the inconvenience, and my agents will undertake all the arrangements for you.’
Lord Buckland was regarding her calmly as though he had not the slightest doubt that she would eventually agree with whatever he wanted. Presumably if one was a wealthy, titled, personable aristocrat with one’s fair share of self-esteem, one normally experienced little difficulty in obtaining what one desired. It was time he learned this was not an inevitable state of affairs.
‘My lord, I have said no, and no I mean.’ That appeared to make no impression. ‘Why do you want the Moon House so badly?’ she asked abruptly and was rewarded by a sudden flash of emotion in those blue eyes. Ah, so he was not as unreadable as perhaps he liked to think.
‘I am not at liberty to say, Miss Lattimer. Might I ask why you are so attached to a house you scarcely know?’
‘I am perfectly at liberty to tell you that, my lord,’ Hester said, matching her cool tones to his. ‘But I have absolutely no intention of doing so.’
His expression this time was of amusement and, she thought, a grudging respect. ‘Touché. I shall just have to see if I can change your mind, Miss Lattimer. Doubtless some of the inconveniences of the house will become apparent over the next few days as the first charm wears off. All old houses have their… peculiarities.’
A little shiver went through Hester. The dressing room- could that be described as a peculiarity? To hide her sudden apprehension she continued to attack. ‘And meanwhile you intend to camp out in that hideous barracks of a house opposite while you attempt to wear me down?’
‘How do you know that is not a favourite family home?’ he enquired, steepling his fingers and regarding her over the top of them. Hester could not help but admire their length and the restrained taste of the heavy gold signet that was their only adornment.
‘Because I looked at your card and then I checked the Peerage,’ she retorted tartly, dragging her eyes away from his hands.
He nodded in acknowledgement of her hit. ‘Most wise of you, Miss Lattimer. But my hideous barracks has one great advantage.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘The view is so much better from my windows t
han from yours.’ He got to his feet with the natural elegance of a very fit man. ‘Thank you for the tea, ma’am. It was a pleasure meeting you.’
Exasperating man. How could she ever have thought him attractive?
Hester rose and reached out to tug the bell pull sharply. It resisted, then the whole thing came away in her hands, showering her with a light dusting of plaster and dead flies. Prudy gave a cry of alarm. Hester stood stock still, clutching the fraying rope and trying to resist the temptation to swipe at the dust covering her gown. It would be undignified and would most certainly make marks. Possibly the floor would open up and swallow her, but she doubted anything so helpful would occur.
The earl stepped forward, an immaculate white handkerchief in his hand. ‘Please allow me, Miss Lattimer, you have plaster dust on your lashes. It will be most painful if it goes in your eye.’
It appeared that nothing was going to stop him. With a noise like a cross kitten Hester closed her eyes and let him flick the fragments away. She opened her eyes again cautiously, only to find him still standing close in front of her.
‘Did you know your eyes change colour when you are angry?’ he asked conversationally.”It must be those gold flecks.’
Taken aback, Hester spoke without thinking. ‘They also change when I am happy.’
‘I am sure they reflect your every emotion,’ his lordship reined. ‘A fascinating phenomenon; I must watch out for it. Closely.’
A series of possible retorts ran through Hester’s brain, one censored by good manners. She was going to hang on to the character of a gentlewoman if it killed her. ‘I am sure you would rapidly become bored, my lord, I imagine I have exhibited my full range of emotions this afternoon.’
‘Do you think so, Miss Lattimer?’ He regarded her quizzically. ‘I so very much hope you are wrong. Good afternoon. Miss Prudhome, ma’am.