by Deb Marlowe
“Good heavens,” she said as they stepped out into the wide streets of the square. Smoke was pouring from the front window as well.
“That’s his laboratory,” Aurelia told her. They were heading out for a lengthy walk, with a basket of stale rolls donated by the cook so that they could stop and feed the ducks in the park. “The staff says when the pocket doors are closed, you daren’t go in, or even knock. He hates to be interrupted when he’s working.”
“What is it he’s working on in there?” The word laboratory, coupled with that spectacle, conjured up images of dangerous chemicals, burners, flashing powders and leaking gases.
“He’s building things. Machines.”
“Machines?”
“Big ones, all jumbled with ropes and pulleys and engines. And small ones—the most cunning little wind-up people and creatures.”
Lisbeth pondered that as they moved from the square into the city’s busier streets. An incongruous picture it made, imagining Lord Cotwell’s large form bent, manipulating tiny figures with those big, competent looking hands. It was much easier to picture him lifting, pulling, and banging to create something massive and metal. Such a vision fit the baron’s . . . scale.
Though her father had been a big man, Lord Cotwell was easily the largest male she’d ever encountered. He dwarfed even her considerable height, and he might have been hewn from a mountain, given the width of his shoulders and the rough appeal of his chiseled features. He’d stalked up those museum stairs, slightly rumpled, with a dark lock of hair falling across his brow and she’d lit up brighter than her mother’s favorite chandelier, aware of him in a way that she’d never before experienced.
But he’d frightened her half to death when he’d bodily picked Aurelia up as if she were a feather. Old fears and frustrated memories of her arguments with her stepfather had swamped her. Lisbeth had always felt powerless in the face of that man’s obstinacy and his unwavering belief in her inferiority—and he’d never been able to physically intimidate her.
She’d thought she’d already discovered what had turned Aurelia into such a sad, solemn child. The death of her parents was a natural explanation, but watching that display had raised another fear—what if she was being neglected—or worse—in her new home?
Thankfully her worst suspicions had been laid to rest after just a short time in the pair’s company. Aurelia wasn’t afraid of her guardian. But Lisbeth knew what it was to need help, reassurance and affection. She knew how much it hurt to reach for it and find no one there. The urge to offer her own hand had been overwhelming.
Big, burly Lord Cotwell appeared to mean well, but clearly had no idea how to handle his new ward. Good heavens, he’d actually growled at her. Aurelia had been unaffected, but the utterly masculine sound of frustrated intent had poured over Lisbeth, setting her already sensitized nerves afire and igniting a wish to help the man.
And then the little minx had gone and uttered that enormous falsehood—and given her the chance. Given her a chance at a respite too, a place to be safe and useful while she collected her thoughts and decided what to do with herself. Still, she’d hesitated. It was a very large step, taking a position in service, taking up residence in a gentleman’s household. Accepting meant taking a leap over an invisible line, ending one life irrevocably and embarking anew. She’d thought of the alternatives, going back, or attempting to throw herself on the mercy of those who had already failed her—and she’d leapt.
Which left them all here, several days later, all still in a tangle of problems, with no clear solution yet in sight.
She’d made a bit of progress with Aurelia at least. She was neatly turned out today in a lavender-hued dress that complimented her coloring. She’d relaxed a little in the last couple of days, and this morning she definitely enjoyed the ducks, keeping calm in the face of their squabbles and keeping them all evenly fed. She did withdraw a bit when they attracted the notice of a couple of young girls, but Lisbeth had kept back an extra loaf, so they were able to share. Soon enough Aurelia was talking, laughing and showing her new friends how to lob treats to the smaller, less aggressive birds in the back.
Afterwards, the girls chased a ball while Lisbeth sank onto a bench and tried to sort through her own snarled situation. The upstairs maid had mentioned the name of the agency that had supposedly sent her. At first she’d worried about being found out, but now she thought it might be wise to visit the place. She could confess the mix up and even check for other possible situations.
But what was she good for, really? She couldn’t stay here. Aurelia was a bright child. She needed a real teacher, someone learned and experienced. All of Lisbeth’s experiences concerned running a household and home farm. And the child was an heiress, too, the maid had hinted, well connected and well dowered. Some day she would be expected to make her debut, find a suitable husband and take her place in the ton. Lisbeth could not lead her through all that. She’d cherished dreams of her own Season, but her chance had been stolen, first by her father’s death, then by her stepfather’s nip-farthing ways, and now finally by her own rash actions.
“That was nice.” Aurelia interrupted her train of thought as she flung herself down on the bench. A little wistfully, she waved her new friends off as they followed their nurse back home. “The girls at school were never so kind.”
“We’ll come back then, and perhaps see them again.” It had been a relief to see her having fun.
“Margaret said that they share secrets, that that is what friends do.”
Lisbeth shrugged. “Some friends do, I suppose.”
The girl sat quietly for a moment. “I don’t know any secrets.”
“Well that’s easily righted, isn’t it? I shall tell you a secret.”
Aurelia brightened and waited expectantly. Put on the spot, Lisbeth fished for something to tell her. “I know!” She leaned in close. “Now, you cannot share it, for I tell you as a sign of our friendship.”
“What is it?” The girl had gone breathless.
Lisbeth whispered. “I have a guardian, too.”
“You do?”
“Well, a trustee, really, which is not quite the same thing. He watches over the money that’s been left to me, until I turn one and twenty.”
Aurelia absorbed this with a blink. “Where does he live?”
“Here in London.”
“Can I meet him? Shall he come and visit you, then?”
“Heavens, no. He’s made it clear he has no interest in me, just my accounts.” And he’d likely tell her mother where she was, too.
“Oh.” Aurelia frowned. “I suppose I like my guardian better than yours.” She sounded surprised.
“I do, too.” Lisbeth was just as surprised. “Well! Are you ready to start back? The servants are meant to be finished in the music room before this afternoon. Your scales do need a bit of attention.”
They gathered their things and Lisbeth waited until they reached the edge of the park before she asked, “You were at school, you said? Where was that?”
“Miss Preston’s Academy for Young Ladies. It was in Somerset, not far from home. I was only to stay until Mama and Papa returned.” Aurelia fell silent for a moment. “They took me out when . . . the news came.”
“I see.” Lisbeth frowned. “Should you like to go back?”
She considered it. “No.”
Lisbeth waited, as it seemed the child meant to continue, but she said nothing more. She wouldn’t press her. She was learning that Aurelia opened up and offered information or conversation in spurts, as she felt comfortable. She was content to wait.
They walked on in silence, Lisbeth enjoying the sun and the unfamiliar bustle of the city. In a way, she found the commotion calming. All of these people had found their place in this vast town. They’d carved their niche, surely she could too. They’d nearly reached the townhouse before Aurelia spoke again.
“There were always too many people about. At school, I mean. And I like to be here.”
“Here?” Lisbeth wondered if she meant the city, or if perhaps she was indeed growing fond of her guardian.
“Near the museum.”
The footman had spotted them coming. He held open the door and offered a friendly greeting, so Lisbeth did not comment further on Aurelia’s continued affinity for the museum. “Why don’t your run upstairs and leave your wrap while I return Cook’s basket? I’ll meet you in the music room in a few minutes.”
In the end she was delayed, being unable to refuse a taste of seed cake, fresh from the oven. She returned to find the music room still empty. The soft patter of Aurelia’s voice drifted down the passage, however. Lisbeth followed it across the main corridor, to the room situated behind his lordship’s laboratory. On silent feet she moved toward the partially open door.
As she’d guessed, it was a study, all done in dark wood and masculine tones. Botanical prints, framed maps and illustrations of animals covered the walls. Aurelia sat inside, next to Lord Cotwell.
“Not that one. He’s from the tropics. He would never survive one of our English winters, I’m afraid.”
Such a voice. The deep rumble echoed in the spot behind her ears, even as the slight rough edge set off tiny flutters in her core.
“Yes, they were all my father’s,” he responded to Aurelia’s questions. “He was a naturalist and a collector, just like yours. I believe it’s one of the reasons we first became friends, it felt so familiar to listen to him talk of insects and aboriginals.”
Aurelia went silent, absorbing this information, and Lisbeth froze as the baron turned with uncanny accuracy to meet her gaze. His dark eyes were filled with amusement . . . and something darker, too.
Some old, wise part of her responded to that look. Her pulse jumped about, more erratic than a rabbit eluding her father’s pack. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. Once before she’d felt something like this, though it hadn’t been so forceful or immediate. Long ago, James had awakened the feminine instinct inside of her. She froze, suddenly aware that she’d scarcely given the viscount’s heir a thought since she’d left the museum with this big and burly nobleman.
He sat back and lifted the shadowbox of mounted and preserved butterflies they’d been inspecting. Lisbeth noticed that his coat was wrinkled and his waistcoat had been buttoned wrong, as if he’d thrown it on in a hurry.
“I think you should have this,” he told his ward. “It might be nice for you to have something in your room that will remind you of your Papa.”
Aurelia pressed her lips together. Eyes shining, she clutched the frame to her chest.
“Why don’t you run upstairs and find the perfect spot for it? I’ll stay here and talk with Miss Moreton for a moment. You can come and fetch her when you’re done.”
Lisbeth’s heart pounded as Aurelia stood and dropped a polite curtsy. “Thank you,” the girl whispered. She didn’t say anything more, but the look in her eyes . . . Lisbeth nodded to the girl and then steeled herself to look to Lord Cotwell.
“Come in, Miss Moreton, and shut the door, if you please.” Edmund saw the light in the young woman’s face fade a little as she did as he asked. He twitched in frustration. It made him feel like the proverbial spider, inviting in the fly. A monster luring a beautiful young maiden into his dark cave.
His body tightened as she moved into the room, making him feel even more . . . primitive. But there was no help for it. She wore full skirts in a rich, smoky blue, and a cunning little matching jacket over a crisp shirt, startlingly white. Again, his interest peaked. The young women he’d been exposed to wore wispy day gowns in light fabrics. They looked fragile—and cold—and projected a fabricated ennui. Miss Moreton looked utterly feminine—the length of those skirts hinted at shockingly long legs and that jacket emphasized the sleek curves of her waist and bosom—yet she also looked comfortable, competent and ready to accomplish . . . whatever she set out to do.
The only incongruity was her downcast gaze. It made him forget everything, his concerns for his ward, his frustrations of the morning, in the urge to make her look at him, to make her see that he was more than a hulking beast of a man.
“I wanted to check with you, see how you’ve settled in.”
“Fine, thank you, my lord.” She breathed deep, then lifted her gaze to meet his directly. “I’d like to thank you for giving me a chance.”
“I admit I’m inclined to believe my instincts were right. Aurelia appears happier in the last few days.” His mouth quirked. “I’ve even made a bit of progress with my projects, since I’ve not been called away to fetch her from the museum.” He watched her closely. “Has she asked you to escort her there?”
“She has not, although she’s mentioned the place more than once.”
“I wasn’t over the shock of finding her and Freddy’s solicitor on my front stoop before she asked me to take her. We’ve been once or twice a week since then.” He grimaced. “And that doesn’t count all the times she slipped away and went on her own.”
“Was it a place that she visited often with her parents?”
He sighed. “From what I can gather.”
“She must feel a connection with them when she’s there. It was kind of you, then, to give her the shadow box, so can feel something similar here at home.”
“Freddy Tierney was my closest friend. I’ll do anything I can to see his daughter happy.” He rose and moved to contemplate the closed doors that connected the room to his laboratory. “What she needs is new connections. People and things to anchor her here, to her new life.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at her. “It’s what I was hoping you could provide, should you be right for the position.”
He watched her shift in her seat. “Aurelia is a lovely child. I’m growing fonder of her by the hour—but I’m afraid I meant it when I said I could only accept a temporary position.”
Edmund turned to face her. “I have to ask, Miss Moreton, just how much of a chance did I take? I know you weren’t sent by the agency.”
“They sent word?” she whispered.
“No.” He breathed deep. “But I’ve had experience with my share of lies. I know when someone is prevaricating.” I’m pleased to introduce you to my daughter, Lord Cotwell. Or Thank you, sir, but I’ve just injured my ankle and won’t be dancing more this evening. “But Aurelia wanted you.”
Her gaze dropped again. “I apologize for my part in the deception.”
“I went along with it, because, as I said, I’ll do a great deal to see Aurelia happy. I’ve watched you with her. I don’t believe you to be a danger to the child or to anyone, but I have to ask, are you in danger? Or in trouble with the authorities?
“No, sir. Nothing like that.” She lifted her chin. “It’s only that I find myself in need of a new position.”
He studied her, sure that there was more to her story than she admitted. Nothing about her hinted at any experience in service. She possessed assurance and grace, spoke and acted like a gentlewoman. “If you will not reconsider staying on, then I regret to inform you that I feel I must find your replacement sooner, rather than later. Constancy and consistency are things that Aurelia needs right now.”
“I understand. She’s had a difficult time.”
“More than you know. The damned school she was attending was less than sympathetic to her loss. They sent strident letters to Freddy’s man, demanding to know who would be paying for her tuition and upkeep. I don’t think the child had a kind or comforting word from her teachers or any of the students.”
Miss Moreton visibly bristled. “How shameful!”
“Worse came after.” He paused, getting a stranglehold on the anger that surged every time he thought about what happened. “You see, I am one of Aurelia’s trustees. It’s a responsibility I agreed to soon after her birth. But she is not legally my ward. Another of Freddy’s friends, the man I share trustee duties with, was named guardian in the will.”
She stilled. “But then, why . . . ?”
He
slammed a fist backward, hitting the closed door with a powerful, echoing blow. “Because the damned selfish bastard turned her away, as if she were a stray cat!” God, he’d never been so angry in his life when he’d heard the solicitor’s story. Fury pumped through his blood now, too, but he noticed the pallor growing in Miss Moreton’s face and struggled to contain it. “Forgive me,” he said curtly. “I’ve borne the brunt of that devil’s egocentric manner myself, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time for the child.”
Those intriguing eyes shimmered with sympathetic tears. “No wonder she’s retreated into herself.”
“Yes. She doesn’t know whom to trust. I admit, I was hoping it might be you.”
She straightened. “If I thought I was the best choice for Aurelia, I would stay.” She cleared her throat. “I hope you will forgive me for saying so, my lord, but all those things you mentioned, the things she needs—trust, interest, affection—those things must come from you.”
“From me?” he choked.
“From who else?” She cocked her head. “Why should she not expect such things from you, my lord?”
“No one else ever has,” he muttered. “But we were speaking of you, I believe, and your decision not to stay on.”
She settled in to her seat a little farther. “I enjoy Aurelia. I think I am a good companion for her, for now. I do hope you’ll allow me to continue a friendship with her after I’ve gone, but truly, she needs someone with more experience than I have. She needs someone who can prepare her to take her place in Society.”
“Come now, Miss Moreton.” He gestured, taking in her comportment, her manners, her damned appeal in one wave of his hand. “You seem eminently suited for such a thing.”
She laughed, and he detected a trace of bitterness. “Thank you for the compliment, sir, but if there’s one thing I’ve been given to understand, it’s that I am more useful than ornamental. I can teach Aurelia practicality, but she’ll have need of more feminine arts.” She sighed. “I’ve no doubt she will grow into a lovely young lady, a boon to the beau monde, given a graceful example. In the meantime, I have to find a situation in which I can make use of my abilities.”