“Mary—” Mr. Novins reddened. “I mean, Miss Horner does the flowers for Mrs. Cantwell. She helps with the housekeeping whenever Mrs. Cantwell’s aches send her to bed. Miss Horner is one of the most generous women I know. Sometimes too generous.”
“Too generous?”
“Yes.” Now he did take just one step closer to her. “I think that generosity to self is as important as generosity to others.”
Dio mio, he has started another philosophical discourse. She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him and then considered what he said. “Is there a point where one can give too much?”
Mr. Novins stopped and redirected his thoughts. “If it keeps you from your own wants and needs, then it is more than one should give.”
“No,” she answered promptly. She had been through this herself. “Not if you are happy. When I nursed my father I had to give up my music lessons, but I wanted nothing more than to be with him for as long as he was alive, for every minute. In an odd way it remains one of the happiest times of my life.”
Mr. Novins looked down. Even though she could not see his expression she knew defeat when she saw it.
“The question I would ask you, sir, is if Miss Horner is happy.”
“I do not know.”
“Then ask her.”
He looked shocked at the suggestion.
“Yes, it really is that easy. You risk looking foolish, but if she is not worth that risk then your heart is not truly involved.”
He stared at the pot of flowers near the door a little longer, but looked up the moment the hall clock began to chime the hour. “Do you think Lord David will be much longer? It’s growing late and I have to make a call on one of my patients.”
Oh, Mia wanted to hit him over the head with a book. Just when the conversation moved to an issue dealing with pride the man decided, like all others, that he did not want to discuss it further.
“Miss Castellano.” Mr. Novins cleared his throat. “Can we discuss this further? Perhaps I could take a few moments to visit with you when I come to see the patients.”
“That would not be wise, Novins,” Lord David interrupted without giving a thought to the rudeness of eavesdropping.
Mr. Novins straightened, smoothing his hair with his free hand. “You would prefer I not call? I beg your pardon, my lord, do you disapprove of me?”
Bravo, Mia cheered silently. The surgeon had a backbone.
“You mistake me, Novins. Your help today has proved invaluable. I will put my letters with Miss Castellano’s. Pass them on to Mr. Cantwell. I will expect you tomorrow, as early as is convenient.”
Novins looked momentarily confused, then bowed to Lord David and took his leave without so much as looking at her again.
“The way you address a question without actually answering it is near brilliant, Lord David.”
“Miss Castellano, do not provoke me.”
He did not turn to face her, so she circled to see his expression. The grim turn to his mouth made her want to shake him. Arguing would not make this quarantine any more tolerable.
“I am not happy about this enforced exile either, my lord, but we must simply make the best of it.”
“That is easy enough to say when you will only miss some shopping and gossip over the tea tray. I have business in Manchester, appointments that I will miss. This is time that I cannot afford if I have any hope of success.”
“I am sure the duke will understand.” Mia stepped closer to him, close enough that she could see a muscle working in his jaw, as though he ground his teeth trying to control his temper. “The duke, he is your brother after all.”
“Yes, yes, he is.” Lord David rubbed his chin with his hand. “It’s Mr. Sebold who will take any delay as offense and may well rethink his commitment. And I cannot, will not, face Meryon with another failure.”
“Oh, yes, I see.” This fear she understood completely. “How odd that failure haunts both of us, for I dread the prospect of facing Elena with the further ruin of my reputation.”
Lord David did not have an answer for that but she could see by his expression that until now he not considered her worries at all.
“Did it never occur to you that because this quarantine leaves us together without a chaperone, some might suggest it calls for us to marry?” Mia bit her lip. That sounded much too tentative. Stepping back from him, she tried for a more authoritative tone. “I want to make it perfectly clear to you, sir. I will never, under any circumstances, marry you.”
Lord David might have been only half listening before, distracted by his own worries, but now she had his complete attention. After searching her face, he shook his head as he answered. “Miss Castellano, I cannot believe you are serious. We will not be compelled to marry because of a quarantine. Stop manufacturing difficulties. We have enough as it is.”
“That may be true but the Fates do not always play by fair rules.” She wanted him to swear that he would not be coerced into an alliance that would be a disaster.
“Marriage,” he said again, as if it were the most preposterous idea he had heard this year. “No one would expect it of me.”
Mia should have been relieved but was not. Her temper edged up a notch. “What do you mean, no one would expect it? Are you implying that I am not lady enough to be compromised?”
“I am not.” The words were filled with such exasperation that she wanted to kick him. “I mean that no one expects me to marry anyone, much less a beautiful woman so much younger than I am. I assure you that you will never hear a proposal from me.”
Beautiful? He thought her beautiful. Mia smiled, despite her ill humor. “You are saying that just to make me happy.”
“Miss Castellano, I have more to worry about right now than how to make you happy.”
“Which shows how mistaken you can be, Lord David. We will be living in very close quarters for the next week. Not as close as when you were aboard ship, supposedly on your way to shipwreck in Mexico, but we will be living closer than most married people do.
“Most husbands spend the day at their clubs, and if they do attend the same parties as their wives everyone knows how gauche it is to be seen with your spouse.”
He pursed his lips. She reached over and tapped his cheek lightly with one of her hands. “Indeed, sir, keeping me happy is very much in your interest.” Mia twirled around, making sure that her skirt brushed up against his leg, and swept through the nearest door. Oh, she loved that sort of exit and so rarely had a chance to use it anymore.
Let him think that she was annoyed. It was better than admitting that touching him, that the barest tap on his cheek, had sent such a surge of awareness through her that running away seemed the wisest option.
Chapter Twelve
THE DOOR SHE PASSED THROUGH, quite mindlessly, led to the kitchen. With a quick study of the foreign space she found fruit, cheese, and bread and made herself a simple supper that she took up the back stairs to her room.
Settling at the small table near the window, she enjoyed the view while she ate, until she saw Lord David walking slowly across the lawn toward the copse of trees where the stream ran.
If he had not considered her worries, she was honest enough to admit, at least with herself, that she had not given a thought to his, either. He was the brother of a duke. He had the choice to pursue nothing but his boxing and other trivial activities so favored by men, but he had apparently chosen to do something more with his time.
If music, and the much-missed pianoforte, had made her days more meaningful, what had Lord David found that was worth the risk of failure?
Lord David was out of sight and Mia stared at the trees swaying in the evening breeze. Fatigue made her bones ache, but no one went to bed before the sun had fully set.
Mia counted all the evenings she had longed for the solitude of the country, when the noise of the city kept her awake. Now the extreme quiet of this almost empty house would have the same effect as the noise of the city. She would never be abl
e to sleep, or would awaken in the middle of the night.
Lord David came back in sight, smoking one of his awful cigarillos. As he walked toward the house, he looked neither left nor right, but at the ground before him, obviously lost in thought. Even from a distance he looked strong and rugged, more like a land steward considering plantings than a gentleman.
She had never met anyone like him. He must have slept through the part of his education that included the right way to treat a lady, to show that you were interested in her appearance, what she thought, whether she needed a shawl or a fan.
It should annoy her that he did not seem at all interested in those things. Instead she found it intriguing.
Which was ridiculous, and a sure sign of boredom. She would dispel Lord David, his appeal, and his worries from her mind. She had to find something to do that would make her forget all about him for a few hours at least.
Despite Mrs. Cantwell’s insistence that she could not help with the patients, Mia found her way to the servants’ quarters in the attic. There were two rooms only, set up as dormitories, one for each sex. They were unoccupied except for the coachman and the sick groom. Despite the large well-aired space Mia could feel sickness in the air, an atmosphere of aching pain overlaid with both fear and determination in both patients and nurses.
Mrs. Cantwell demonstrated to the one healthy groom how to care for the two sick men. He watched her with a reassuring intensity. “Use damp cloths to wipe the fever from their faces and hands. It eases their discomfort. And you must keep them covered even when they complain. …” Her voice trailed off when she realized she no longer had the groom’s attention.
When Mrs. Cantwell saw who had come to visit the sick, she stood abruptly and tried to shield the two patients from Mia’s view.
“Mrs. Cantwell, I know you think this is wrong, but please. I have been caring for the sick since I was twelve when I nursed my father through his last months. There is nothing I do not know about caring for the sick. I could help. Truly.” How strange to have to plead to do such work. Why did no one want to see her as anything more than an ornament?
“Absolutely not in my house, miss. We will manage quite well for the few days this will last.”
But what if it is more than a few days? Mia did not voice her fear but knew that if any of the rest of them took ill, the rules of a civil house would no longer apply. For now she felt she had no choice and left, disappointed that the woman could not be convinced.
With an apology for intruding in the sickroom, an apology Mrs. Cantwell accepted as brusquely as Mia offered it, she went back to her bedchamber, gathered up her plate and utensils, and headed for the kitchen to wash them.
This time it occurred to her how unique it was to place the kitchen on the main floor, in a wing attached to the back of the house. Who had come up with this idea? Indeed, it would be so much easier to move food to the dining room. No stairs to travel, no dumbwaiter to deal with.
Besides the sink and washing cloth, she knew nothing about kitchens and no magic descended endowing her with knowledge of how to cook anything, even something as simple as baked eggs or chicken broth.
She washed, dried, and shelved the dishes with the rest of the ironstone the servants used and was taking a casual inventory of the pantry, out of nothing more than curiosity, when Lord David came in from the outside, still smoking his cigarillo.
“Miss Castellano!” His pleasure at seeing her was as shocking as it was sincere. “I was just thinking about you.”
“You were?” She smiled and thought that a little flirtation might be fun.
“Yes, you surely know more about the kitchen than I do.”
“Only enough to know that having one on the main floor is not usual.”
“It seemed practical when the old oven caught fire and smoke ruined the old kitchen below-stairs. The house is not used that often and the Cantwells are aging. Putting the kitchen where it would be more convenient for them made sense.”
“More convenient for the servants?” How could he complain about the way she treated Janina when he had moved the kitchen to accommodate a butler and housekeeper?
He ignored her. “You must know how to cook. That would help Mrs. Cantwell immensely.”
“You can insist all you want, my lord, but the answer is no, I do not know how to cook.”
His smile disappeared along with all traces of his short-lived good humor. “Miss Castellano, you use the word no the way others use please and thank you. Mrs. Cantwell cannot do everything for the next seven days.”
“Nor do I expect her to. I offered to tend the sick, but Mrs. Cantwell will not hear of it.”
“I’m not surprised you have more experience comforting men than cooking.” His sarcasm wounded her, but before she could explain her father’s last months, he went on. “My sister, Olivia, is skilled at all manner—”
“Lady Olivia is an amazing woman with unique skills.” Which was a very nice way of saying that dear Lady Olivia’s love of cooking was not typical of a gentleman’s daughter. “I know enough about food to choose or approve a menu, but this ‘knowing enough’ does not include cooking a chicken or,” she shuddered, “killing one.”
Lord David paced the kitchen once, moving from the fireplace to the larder and back.
“There must be other ways I can help.”
“I doubt I will need anyone to advise me on the latest fashion.”
His tone of derision was the last straw.
“You were delighted at seeing me when you thought I could cook a meal but now that I can’t you are an ogre once again.” If he was not going to make even the slightest effort to be good company then she would not, either. “Look at me,” she demanded and was surprised when he obeyed her. “I hate that foul-smelling tobacco. Take it outside and leave it there, or better yet, stay with it.”
He took a deliberate puff and blew the smoke out in a circle.
She grabbed the cigarillo from his hand and dropped it in the sink, still half filled with water, and went to the door where she turned to face him with her arms folded across her chest.
Instead of trying to retrieve the cigarillo, Lord David caught her at the shoulders and held her with more pressure than was necessary.
She refused to let her smile of triumph fade but it felt more forced, and she hoped he did not see that she was just a little afraid of—and excited by—his temper.
He pushed her back against the door and stepped so close that she could feel the heat from his body. “Do not aggravate me, Miss Castellano. I am not a man to be toyed with.”
Mia wanted to laugh with the pleasure of it. To have him so close, to feel his power rush through her thrilled her even more than doing riding tricks on a horse.
He dropped his hands from her shoulders. She wanted to rub the spot where she might well have bruises tomorrow, but decided she would rather not betray weakness.
“Very well, my lord.” She swooped away from him, down and under where his arm blocked her, while she thought of the best way to couch her challenge. “I will leave you alone until you wish for my company.” Until you beg for it, she added to herself. He did not answer, but Mia could feel his eyes on her as she left the room.
Dio mio, not a moment ago she had rejected him completely. Even now she knew she could barely tolerate Lord David’s rude behavior. But suddenly she wanted very much to seduce him into a kiss to see if she enjoyed it as much as she had the feel of him.
It would answer a question, one that she had never been able to ask of anyone, since she numbered no courtesans among her acquaintances here in England. Was it possible to make love to a man you did not like very much at all?
She shivered at the thought. The idea fascinated her now that the imaginary man had a name.
Mia dashed up the stairs, turned to the left at the top, and continued down the hall to her bedchamber. Once again she was drawn to the window and stared out at the landscape and the darkening sky.
The sun dip
ped toward the western horizon, no longer casting shadows. Mia watched it fall from view and listened to the sounds that welcomed the night. Crickets and frogs sang to their own tune. Could she write a piece for the pianoforte that would imitate their sound, or create a tune that would remind the listener of a warm summer night surrounded by nature?
Better to dwell on that than on what a downward spiral her life had become from the night that William and Lord David had interrupted her with Lord Arthur. She could date it from that moment. After weeks of uncertainty and finally a demand she come to Pennford, she now faced one of several unwelcome futures. The possibility of illness, the possibility of disfigurement following the illness, and the probability that all of this would be followed by a confrontation with Elena that was bound to make the months until her majority miserable for all.
Only then would this bad patch end. On her twenty-first birthday she would have all in place to set out on her own. That is what she should think about; not everyone must dwell on the possibility of failure like Lord David.
She would start with where to live. Not London. There were too many bad memories and unfriendly faces there.
Abroad would be best. If the life of a single woman of independent means was too limiting and she did become a courtesan, then living abroad would be much less embarrassing for Elena. Her eyes filled, as she was overwhelmed with regret for the way life had pulled them apart.
Denying the upset, she tried to think of a city she would enjoy. Someplace where she spoke the language with a charming accent, where they appreciated music, and where she could afford the cost of establishing herself.
Vienna. The city was growing, recovering from the wars and becoming as international as Paris and Rome. Yes, Vienna should be at the top of the list. She turned her head away from the window and ignored the tears that trickled down her cheeks.
Leaving England should not feel so hard.
With the deep, deep sigh that was as much a relief as tears, she considered living in England. If she wanted to stay, she could choose a place other than London.
Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 04] Page 9