by J. K. Coi
Perhaps this woman simply wasn’t strong enough and she’d let grief take over.
So far his own grief still felt distant and unreal and he sensed it would be that way until he visited his father’s grave for himself. “She must have loved him very much,” he mused. Graham took comfort in the fact that his father had someone with him at the end who had tried to make him happy.
Anna glanced at him sharply, the look in her eyes reflecting doubt. “Their marriage was very sudden,” she said tactfully. “When your father took ill, I tried to return a few times to help, or even just to check on him. But your stepmother would only say that he wasn’t up to visitors, and who am I to insist? Only the baker’s daughter.”
“You’re more than that,” he reassured her. They had reached the entrance to the main grounds of the estate. Graham noticed a large chip in the stone lion on the pillar to the left of the gates. “You’ve been a good friend to my family, and I know my father would have appreciated your concern. I appreciate it more than you can imagine.”
He wanted to say what was really in his heart, to tell her how much her memory had meant to him while he was gone. But this wasn’t the time or place.
Anna’s lips pursed. “I don’t feel like a friend. I should have done more, but I—”
They rolled up to the front of the house. She pulled gently on the reins and brought the carriage to a stop.
Graham looked ahead, seeing the place as if through two different colored lenses. Part of him noticed the run-down state of disrepair—the paint peeling from the front door, a window shutter hanging askew—and wondered if it spread across the house and grounds. Another part of him saw only the front steps where he’d sat waiting when his father had gone away to London, the window he’d broken during a game of rounders with Anna and a few of the yard hands one summer, and the edge of the pond where he’d caught his first fish and kissed her for the first time.
All the memories made him feel raw and vulnerable. His heart ached but a part of him also sighed with relief. He was home.
“Graham, I should tell you—”
Looking at her, his chest tightened. She looked so pale and worried. Her poor bonnet was ruined and although her dress had dried during the carriage ride, it looked stiff and uncomfortable.
He should have realized sooner. “Have you married someone else, then?” He held his breath for the answer.
Her eyes widened. “No! No…but that’s what I wanted to talk—”
He leaned forward, kissing her quick and hard on the lips. It wasn’t the kiss he wanted to give her, but it would do to get the point across. When he pulled back, she pressed her fingers to her mouth. He took her hand and pressed another kiss to her knuckles.
“I don’t want to hear the rest yet. As long as you aren’t married there’s still hope, right?”
“But—”
“Hold on to the rest of the news for a little while longer, all right?” He could tell from the way her shoulders slumped that she didn’t like it, but she understood. He couldn’t handle another blow today. “Getting through the night is going to be hard enough without hearing out loud that you found someone else while I was gone,” he said.
“Oh, Graham—”
He shushed her.
With a wary glance toward the front door of the house, she nodded. “Are you certain you don’t want me to come inside with you to meet Lady Grey?”
“You were on an errand before you ran into me this afternoon. I should probably let you get back to it or your father will start to worry, but I’m grateful for the lift home.” He took a chance, reaching up to stroke his thumb along the delicate line of her jaw. “This isn’t the reunion I expected, but I’m still glad to be home. I missed you, Anna.”
Chapter Three
At the bottom of the front steps he stopped and looked up, startled to see movement through what he knew to be his bedroom window on the second floor. Someone had pulled back the heavy curtain. A face peered out. Graham couldn’t see anything more than a square chin and shadowed eyes, but it was enough to make him pause.
“Graham, I’m going to come with you,” Anna called stubbornly. “Just let me get the carriage—”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You need to get home. I don’t want your father to worry about you.”
Her gaze darkened and she twisted the leather reins in her hands. “Many things have changed in your absence. You don’t have to face them alone.”
“Yes I do,” he answered. “I’ll be fine, Anna. I promise. This is my home. What could happen?”
Nobody met him at the door when he got to the top of the steps, but at this point he was almost used to the neglect. He turned and waved to Anna, but she only waited, watching.
“I will call on you tomorrow,” he promised and motioned for her to get going.
After a studied pause, he saw her mumble to herself and flick the reins. The mare ambled forward at a slow clip. Only when she’d made it back to the top of the hill did he face the door again.
He reached for the handle, but drew half the way back again. To knock, or simply enter? This was still his family home, was it not? In fact, with his father’s death, Graham was now the Earl of Kent.
All the air escaped his lungs. His chest constricted painfully. He couldn’t think about that. Refused to think about that.
One hand on the door, he slipped the other into his pocket, encountering the smooth surface of the tinderbox. He’d forgotten it was there, but now, with his fingers curved around its oval shape, he marveled that such a thing could have been possible. Even when every part of him was wet and cold, the tinderbox was warm.
He started to pull it out of his pocket, but the door opened.
“Who comes?”
He didn’t recognize the big man in house uniform, and after all that he’d been through already, was well past the point of courtesy. “Who are you and where is Samuel?”
The man raised eyebrows thick enough to be considered bushy. “I’m the…footman. I assumed that much was fairly clear when I opened the door to this house.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. That accent…an American? “As to Samuel, are you a relation of the former servant?”
“I’m a relation of this house,” he said. Stepping forward, he moved to push through the half-open entrance and into the foyer, but the man stood firm and refused to move out of the way. Short of committing violence, it seemed Graham could not gain entry into his own home.
“Step aside, Hartman,” said a voice from within.
The woman’s voice set off an involuntary shudder in him that started in his belly and worked its way to his chest. Smooth and low like a deep, dark pool of water with nary a ripple to mar its perfect glassy surface. “And bid welcome home to the new Earl of Kent.”
The man’s gaze sharpened and he didn’t bother with an apology for his rudeness. Nor did he move aside. His large bulk remained in the doorway like a wall. Graham craned his neck, but could not see through the shadows of the hall. Finally the woman stepped forward.
My father’s widow.
She was tall, perhaps even taller than him. And much younger than he’d pictured in his mind. Ebony hair cascaded over her shoulders in thick waves that went on and on. At least, it looked that way. But of course, her black gown took over where her hair ended, a shiny silk with a long skirt that spread out across the floor. The sleeves were fitted all the way to her wrists, but the bodice was cut in a deep vee between her breasts.
“I thought both the earls were dead now,” the footman said.
She gave him a stern look, but he simply shrugged. “Mistress,” he added as an afterthought. “I thought the earls were dead, mistress.”
Certainly not the behavior of a proper servant. In fact, Graham caught the man rolling his eyes at the lady before he turned to look Graham up and down with a sniff, as if the scent of dead earl actually wafted off his clothing and offended his delicate sensibilities.
“I think I’ve been declared dead on
e too many times today,” Graham answered, impatient.
And still, nobody moved.
Was he going to have to push his way in then? It might be a challenge getting past the behemoth, but the bigger they were the harder they fell, right?
Just when that seemed to be his only option, the odd footman huffed but finally did as he’d been bidden and stepped out of the entryway to allow Graham to come inside. The line of his jacket shifted when he moved, straining against something lodged just under his arm. Could it actually be a weapon? He’d heard of footmen carrying firearms when guarding the doors of wealthy London households, but what trouble did they expect to encounter out here in the country?
It was hard to see at first. Graham felt as if he’d stepped into a cave instead of the home that had always been so open and welcoming to him. As his eyes slowly adjusted, his gaze rested on the figure poised in the center of the wide foyer.
When he realized he was standing there staring with his mouth hanging open like a callow youth, he jerked his head up to her face. From the knowing smile curving blood-red lips, she could see the flush spreading across his cheeks and neck.
“My apologies for our rudeness, my lord,” she said. “Obviously, we weren’t expecting you.” High cheekbones gave her face a sharp edge, with brown gypsy eyes, rimmed in dark kohl for a mysterious effect.
Graham had to admit he’d expected someone more like…his mother. Perhaps with soft chestnut curls, a welcoming smile and a demure demeanor. The new lady of Hill House was the complete opposite of everything Graham’s father had loved about his first wife. Bold, tall, and striking. Radiating sexuality and confidence.
She came forward and extended her hand like a queen to her subject. He leaned over and pressed a polite kiss to her fingers, struck by the smooth perfection of her skin. Although she held herself with a regal calm characteristic of a lady with some maturity, there was an agelessness about her that made it difficult to determine her true age. He found himself staring once again, still half bent over her hand.
Finally, with a shake of his head, he stood. “I’m sorry for arriving unannounced. It appears many of my recent letters did not make it home, and I suppose I can only blame it on the capriciousness of war. But I’m pleased to finally meet you, my lady. My father wrote to me of your marriage.” He winced. “Unfortunately, it was the last note I received from him. I regret that I was unable to bear witness to his newfound happiness before his…untimely death.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” She paused while she looked him over. “Almost as though you’d risen from the very grave.”
“The rumors of my own death have been much exaggerated.” He watched her just as carefully. “I suppose I could not be so lucky that the news of my father’s demise is as erroneous a tale?”
She shook her head. He swallowed and nodded. “Then please, tell me what happened. How did he die?”
“When the telegram came telling us of your death, your father the Earl was completely devastated.” She spoke smoothly, without hesitation. “I’m sorry to say that he just couldn’t cope with the loss. I tried everything to get him to eat and drink, but one day he simply wasn’t with us anymore. Perhaps it was his heart.”
“I see,” he murmured. She was lying…but she was very good at it, giving nothing away in her voice or expression. Still, she had to be lying and he would find out why.
He marveled that she somehow managed to frown without causing a single line to her forehead. “His passing was a horrible and unexpected tragedy and we are both still reeling from the loss.”
She must be referring to her and her son. He wondered where the child was.
As to that, where were the other servants?
The woman pressed her hand to her throat and blinked several times, as if fighting back sudden tears. “Although ours was a somewhat sudden, whirlwind romance, your father meant the world to me. The loss of his companionship has left a hole in my heart that will never be filled again. And please call me Lillian. After all, we are family now, are we not?”
He watched her red lips form more words of sorrow, but wasn’t listening. While she said all the right things and made all the right moves of a woman experiencing emotional distress, she was an uninspiring actress. There was something missing in her delivery.
Was it the slight evidence of strain in her face and eyes? The pull of her lips into a thin line when she paused for breath? The longer he looked at her, the more convinced he was that she was born of actors and charlatans. Watching her left him feeling cold and suspicious.
He put his hand in his jacket pocket, seeking out the tinderbox without quite realizing it until his fingers brushed its surface once again and he sighed. He didn’t want to be here talking to her. He wanted to retreat to the quiet of his room so that he could safely examine his odd new treasure.
Guiltily, he shook himself and focused on Lady Grey once more. What was the woman’s true story? She was very beautiful, too beautiful for country life. Could his father have done the unthinkable and married his mistress? Could she have then decided that being a widow sounded more appealing than being a wife?
What if he was wrong about her? He was ascribing evil deeds to the poor woman that she didn’t deserve, at least not without proof. Perhaps her reasons for marrying his father had not been motivated by love, but that didn’t mean she’d done something nefarious.
“Hartman, please take the Earl’s wet things upstairs and then go to the kitchens and bring us some cakes and tea, while my new stepson and I get better acquainted.” She settled her gaze back on Graham, treating him to a sultry smile while the big man loomed over her and frowned. Was he even grinding his teeth?
“Or perhaps you would prefer a splash of brandy after your long, cold journey?” she asked.
Graham handed his coat over to the surly footman, but not before retrieving the tinderbox. For some reason, he felt the need to keep it with him. “Tea will be fine, thank you. Could you ask Mrs. Campbell if she has any of her lemon cakes? Those are a particular favorite of mine.”
Hartman turned back to his mistress with a smirk. “You want to tell him, or should I?”
She glared at the man and shook her head impatiently, turning back to Graham. “I’m sorry to say that Mrs. Campbell is no longer with us.”
Yet another of his family’s long-time servants was gone? “May I ask why?”
“I believe she had a sick sister in Yorkshire who needed caring for.”
That was utter horse shit, but Graham said nothing. Did she really believe he wouldn’t find out what had happened here?
The footman left them, his unusually thick-soled boots clomping down the hall.
Graham followed his father’s widow into the salon. He pulled up short just inside. It was nothing like he remembered it. Someone hadn’t wasted any time redecorating. Gone were the pretty chintz draperies and comfortable yellow and white settees that had graced the room since he was a child. He remembered a solid oak side table by the window that had always overflowed with a large vase of flowers. Now the same space had been filled with a stone sculpture of…he swore it was Hades of the Underworld with Persephone as his captive bride.
Quality furnishings that had stood the test of time had been replaced with heavy, monolithic pieces made of dark woods and covered in opulent velvets. About the only thing that remained untouched—at least in this room, Graham shuddered to think what the rest of the house looked like—was the stone surrounding the large fireplace. Even the painting of his mother no longer hung on the section of wall above it.
Lillian took a seat. Noticing his inspection of the room, she glanced around with obvious pride and said, “I hope you will like the small changes I’ve made to the estate. When we married, your father expressed his desire for a fresh start and encouraged me to make some alterations.”
Some alterations? She’d turned a cozy, welcoming home into a gaudy showpiece that would have each and every one of his ancestors turning in
their graves…unless she’d dug those poor souls up from the plots at the other end of the property and replaced their ancient stones with some ridiculous Grecian statuary.
“I noticed on my way up that the grounds are looking a little worse for the wear.” He raised a brow. “Have we lost Thomas, then, as well?”
She waved a slim-boned hand in the air. “The gardener? Yes, unfortunately he left rather abruptly a few weeks ago.” Probably because she’d tried to have him dig up the family memorials and he’d rightly objected, Graham thought with clenched teeth. “We haven’t yet been able to hire someone to replace him.”
Glancing down at the tinderbox, he turned it this way and that in his hands. The flickering light from the fire in the hearth didn’t reflect off it. There was no shine to the dirty metal. He really should clean it up.
Lillian jumped to her feet. “What is that? Where did you get it?” He jerked his head up at the sound of her surprised hiss.
“It’s nothing but a dirty old tinderbox,” he said, suddenly defensive.
“Where did you get it?” she repeated in a sharp voice, reaching across the oversized dark mahogany table between them.
He clasped it tighter and pulled it close to his body, feeling protective and possessive.
“My apologies.” She swallowed visibly and held her hand up in abeyance, retreating back into her seat. “I find it…interesting. May I see it? Please? I…I lost one recently and…”
He stood abruptly and moved away from the settee toward the door, rolling his shoulders to release his sudden tension and discomfort.
“I’m sorry madam. I’ve had a long journey and after receiving such troubling news upon my arrival, I’m afraid I’m not going to be decent company this evening. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to retire to my room. Still at the end of the hall, I assume?” He recalled the face staring out the window at him earlier.
She shook her head, but her gaze kept sliding back to the box in his hand. “Actually, my son has taken that room. However, you are more than welcome to rest your head in the blue room. Just until tomorrow.” She finally lifted her gaze and smiled at him.