by Cheryl Holt
“I was mistaken. He has no interest in me at all.”
“How can that be? He can’t have forsaken you. My Spinster’s Cure is too strong.”
“I don’t believe in your potions, Mr. Dubois.”
“Just because you don’t believe, doesn’t mean they don’t work.”
She sighed, then glanced over at her sister. Evidently she felt that Jane was too close, so she took his arm and led him down the lane. They strolled along, like a pair of sweethearts, until they’d rounded the bend and couldn’t see the wagon. She drew him to a halt.
“I have been a bit disconcerted,” she confessed.
“Of course you have been.”
“I don’t know very much about men, Mr. Dubois.”
“No female does. We’re peculiar creatures.”
“Might I ask you a hypothetical question?”
“Certainement, Miss Hamilton. I am at your service.”
She gazed at him, her expression so touchingly perplexed. “Let’s say there was a man—a very handsome, very dynamic man.”
“Someone like Captain Odell, perhaps?”
“Yes, someone just like him. Let’s also say that he started to fancy a particular woman.”
Phillip’s mind was spinning as he speculated over what horrid thing Odell had done to her. The rogue was a sailor. What had she expected?
She had to be insane, involving herself with him. Then again, she was Odell’s employee and living under his roof. Given her position as governess, it would be difficult to deflect his attention without risking her job.
Phillip’s temper boiled. He loved women and hated to see them abused.
“This man,” Phillip said. “In what sort of mischief do you imagine he might engage?”
“He might have requested ... well ... an illicit liaison.” Hurriedly, she added, “The woman knows right from wrong, though, so she refused.”
“Let me guess: He’s angry at being rebuffed?”
“Yes, and he’s forgotten all about her and moved on to another.”
All pretense of a hypothetical was abandoned. Her shoulders sagged, and she appeared young and lost. It was all he could do to keep from hugging her.
“Who is he courting?”
“Lord Hastings’s cousin Mrs. Seymour. She’s resided with the family for years, and she took care of the earl and his sister before Captain Odell arrived.”
“He’s smitten by this Mrs. Seymour?”
“They’re together constantly, like two peas in a pod.”
Phillip had never met Odell, but he could vividly picture the horse’s ass: rich, powerful, arrogant. Odell’s pride would never accept rejection from a lowly servant such as Miss Hamilton. No doubt, he was dabbling with Mrs. Seymour merely to make Miss Hamilton jealous, to grind salt in her wounds.
Odell was a knave!
“Ah, cherie, I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She stared at the ground. “I’m a fool, aren’t I?”
“He’s a charming devil, and he helped your sisters. How could you not love him?”
“I’m so stupid.”
He patted her shoulder, wishing he could offer useful solace, but he didn’t have much to suggest but for a few worthless tonics.
“In romantic affairs,” he gently said, “rational people are known to behave irrationally. Be glad you declined his advance. Think where you’d be now if you hadn’t.”
“I am glad.” She peered up at him, her torment clear. “I did the right thing, didn’t I? In refusing him? Tell me I did the right thing.”
“Yes, you did. You’re no match for such a worldly fellow, and he was cruel to have pressured you. Only heartbreak would have resulted.”
“Heartbreak resulted anyway.”
She chuckled miserably, and he chuckled, too. He slipped her hand into his arm, guiding her back toward the wagon. As they walked, carriage wheels sounded behind them, and they turned to see a sporty gig approaching, a man and woman snuggled on the high, narrow seat.
“Oh no,” Miss Hamilton muttered.
“Who is it?”
“Captain Odell and Mrs. Seymour—out for their afternoon drive. They’ve been taking one every day.”
Odell was a handsome bloke, dark-haired and fashionably attired, his broad chest filling out his expensive coat. Phillip detested him on sight.
Mrs. Seymour—with a plain face, mousy hair, and unflattering gown—was no beauty, but she understood the brilliant catch she’d made. The side of her body was wedged to his, and she chatted in his ear, preening like the cat that had found the cream.
Odell saw Miss Hamilton, and he tugged on the reins, the horse lurching to a halt.
“Fancy meeting you here, Miss Hamilton.” His demeanor was cold and haughty.
“Captain Odell.” She gave the most fleeting curtsy in history.
Odell insolently assessed Phillip, his curiosity as to Phillip’s identity blatant and offensive.
“Why are you ambling down the lane?” he barked at Miss Hamilton. “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I have Wednesday afternoon off.”
“Do you? I’d forgotten.”
Mrs. Seymour simpered. “You’re too lenient with the servants, Captain. An afternoon off? In midweek? Next she’ll be wanting paid holidays.”
At being reminded of her status as servant, Miss Hamilton bristled, but she wasn’t cowed by the pair. Her hot, furious gaze locked on Odell, and his cheeks reddened.
Apparently, the obnoxious cad was capable of embarrassment.
“Perhaps I should reconsider her schedule,” Odell mused.
“Perhaps you should,” Seymour agreed. “She already has Sunday morning off to attend church. How much time does a governess need to herself anyway?”
“Who is your companion?” Odell asked Miss Hamilton. “Have you snagged yourself a beau? I’m not normally one to pry, but in light of your obligations to my ward, it’s not appropriate for you to fraternize with bachelors.”
Odell’s expression was just as furious and just as pained as Miss Hamilton’s, and it occurred to Phillip that they were pitifully in love, with Odell as enamored of Miss Hamilton as she was of him.
“I’m Philippe Dubois.” Phillip laid on thick his French accent, knowing it was a mannerism Odell would loathe. “J‘ai beaucoup d’affection pour elle.”
“Speak English, you damn Frenchie,” Odell snapped.
“As you wish, monsieur. I have been hoping to win Miss Hamilton’s affection, but she too much enjoys her duties at the manor. Thus, to my infinite regret, she has declined a deeper attachment.”
The remark had Odell so fit to be tied that he nearly leapt out of the carriage to pummel Phillip.
“Will you be staying with us, Miss Hamilton?” Odell snidely seethed. “Or are you running off with your French suitor?”
“I’ll be staying, Captain. I’m happy at my post.”
“We’ll be going on then,” Odell told her. “I don’t suppose that it would be too much to ask that you return to the house at once?”
“I’ll rush back immediately. I apologize for causing you any dismay.”
Miss Hamilton’s tone was sweet and deferential, but there was no concealing the impertinence rippling beneath the words.
Odell studied her, obviously wondering if he should reprimand her or continue to bicker, but his temper was barely controlled. He gave up, not keen on releasing his pent-up emotions in front of Seymour.
“See to it that you’re home when I arrive.”
He clicked the reins, and the horse clopped on.
“Ooh, that man,” she fumed when he was out of sight, and she spun on Phillip. “What were you thinking? You’re my beau? You’re lucky you didn’t get me fired!”
Phillip shrugged, unrepentant. “It seemed the best way to play it”
“To play it? This isn’t a game, Mr. Dubois. This is my life! It’s the difference between my sisters living in a grand mansion or out on the streets with no food i
n their bellies.”
“You asked me for advice about men, Miss Hamilton. Captain Odell is not about to fire you.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s in love with you.”
She blinked and blinked. “That is the most patently ridiculous thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Trust me on this: He’s mad about you, and I was simply fanning his jealousy.”
“You are insane.”
“Am I?” he smugly posed. “As far as I can tell, my Spinster’s Cure is performing precisely as it’s meant to. I suspect you’ll be wed to him before the month is out.”
It was an easy prediction to make. If Odell married her, Phillip would look like a matrimonial genius. If Odell didn’t, she’d visit Phillip for more guidance and potions. In both situations, he came out the winner.
He escorted her to the wagon, vaguely listening as she complained about how wrong he was.
“Will you be at the village dance?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“I assume Captain Odell will be there, as well?”
“Yes.”
“I suggest you dance with me numerous times.”
“Why?”
“So that we can further inflame his passions. A romantic stroll in the dark woods next to the village green probably wouldn’t be amiss, either. We’ll let him imagine we’re engaged in a torrid tryst.”
She scoffed. “He doesn’t care about me; he wouldn’t even notice I was gone.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” he boasted.
They arrived at the wagon, and he handed her a bottle of red liquid.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s the Woman’s Daily Remedy I mentioned. Have a sample, with my compliments.”
“I should drink it... why?”
“It will quiet your broken heart—until the Captain comes to his senses.”
“My heart is not broken.”
“Isn’t it?”
When she hesitated, he grabbed the bottle and placed it in her purse.
“Everything will be fine,” he murmured. “Leave it to me.”
Chapter 13
“WHAT gown have you decided on, Mrs. Seymour?”
“The green one with the matching shawl.”
Lydia went to the dressing room and returned with the garment Maud had mentioned. Maud was silent as Lydia helped her into it. As Lydia stepped away, Maud twirled in front of the mirror, admiring herself.
She’d never been a beauty, but it was amazing how a bit of flirtation with a handsome man always made a woman prettier.
Over the past few weeks, Captain Odell had showered Maud with attention, taking her for rides in the carriage, sitting with her at meals, meeting her for drinks late in the afternoon. He’d been the absolute model of chivalry, becoming so indulgent that it seemed as if another person had begun to occupy his body.
She had no idea what had brought about the change. Nor would she question the transformation. The only explanation was that their living together in Michael’s home had caused an affection to develop. Why else would he be so intrigued?
He’d invited her to the village dance, and if she was lucky, she might finally wrangle the kiss she’d been seeking. If she was extremely lucky, perhaps she’d stir him to a sexual encounter from which he wouldn’t be able to extricate himself. After all, he couldn’t dabble with a woman of her station unless he married her in the end.
“What do you think of my outfit, Lydia?” she asked the insolent girl. “Is it the appropriate color for me?”
“It’s fine.”
Maud sat on the stool at the dressing table. “Fix this curl, will you?”
Lydia grumbled to herself as she walked over and laid the curling iron in the fire. She was like an obstinate donkey, always hoping her chores were finished, and being surly when they weren’t.
Maud might have fired her years earlier, but Lydia often came in handy. For all her slovenly ways, Lydia was very good with hair and clothes. She was also a veritable fount of information, being content to spy, tattle, or betray anyone if the price was right, so Maud had assigned her to tend Helen and Jane Hamilton.
Maud was eager for facts she could use to the sisters’ detriment. She was determined to be shed of them, and with the captain now seeming to regret that he’d hired Helen Hamilton, it wouldn’t take much to push him into letting her go.
“I haven’t talked with you in ages,” Maud said. “How is Jane Hamilton getting on?”
“She’s getting on very well.”
Lydia spun away, hiding a grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Has she scheduled any more of her horseback rides with Lord Hastings?”
“She and the earl have been riding quite a lot.”
Lydia snickered, and Maud might have remarked on it, but suddenly, a high-pitched howl sounded out in the hall. The door was flung open, and Miriam raced in. She was still in her robe, not yet having dressed for the dance.
“Mother! Mother!”
“What is it?” Maud asked.
“Look at my face!”
“What’s the matter with it?”
“I’m covered with blotches!” Miriam moaned.
There was a lamp on the table. Maud lifted it and held it closer. She blanched.
“When did this happen?”
“I was having supper in my room when I noticed I was scratching, then scratching harder, and then... this rash popped out everywhere.”
Mother and daughter stared in horror at the mirror. Angry welts marred Miriam’s cheeks, neck, and arms. Not spots exactly, but not a rash, either. Maud had never seen anything like it.
“Are you feverish?” Maud was terrified that Miriam had contracted an awful new plague that they’d all catch.
“No, just itchy!” Miriam raked her nails over her skin, garnering no relief. “What should I do? Michael asked me to join him in leading off the dancing. You know what an honor it is! The entire village will be watching. I can’t go like this!”
“No, you can’t. Fetch some cold water!” Maud barked to Lydia. “Wet a cloth!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maud eased Miriam into a chair, waiting, then observing as Lydia sauntered in with a bowl and pitcher. She poured water into the bowl, dipped a cloth and wrung it out, then she handed it to Maud, who handed it to Miriam.
Maud wasn’t the maternal type, and she didn’t wish to touch the inflammation. She wasn’t about to show up at the dance appearing as if she’d contracted leprosy.
“Is it helping?” Maud inquired.
“Not really,” Miriam wailed, “but I can’t let it keep me at home. If I do, Jane Hamilton will take my place at Michael’s side.”
“Over my dead body,” Maud seethed.
“Oh, the swelling is getting worse!”
The evening was to have been Maud’s crowning achievement, capping years of effort at positioning Miriam so that greatness fell on her.
Michael was at the family seat, for his first visit as earl. Every person for miles around would be at the party, excited to meet the handsome boy who was now responsible for the welfare of so many.
The highlight was always the kick-off to the dancing. Michael had chosen Miriam—his dear cousin, whom he was expected to wed—to parade with him down the center of the village green. The whole world would have seen Miriam basking in his glow.
Wasn’t it just like her to wreck everything?
Maud glared at Lydia. “What would you suggest?”
“We could try to conceal it with some of your white facial powder.”
“I can’t cover my face with powder,” Miriam shrieked, appalled. “I’ll look like an elderly woman who’s hiding her age spots. Michael won’t know it’s me; he’ll think I’m an old hag.”
“Have you a better idea?” Maud fumed.
“No,” Miriam dolefully replied.
Lydia—with a bit of glee
—grabbed the powder and began to dab a heavy coating on Miriam’s skin.
“THESE rural celebrations are certainly quaint, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very quaint. People seem to be enjoying themselves, though.”
Tristan gazed across the grass, studying the large crowd. Everyone was laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking.
Through the throng, he was vaguely aware that Maud was chattering, and her voice was so aggravating, like nails on a chalkboard. Why had he decided to commence a flirtation with her? What insane motive had been driving him?
It was all Helen’s fault.
He’d done it to make her jealous, but she hadn’t even noticed that Tristan was spending time with Maud. She was so unconcerned, he might have been invisible.
In his entire life, he hadn’t encountered a single female who’d told him no. He was the bastard son of an earl, a randy Scot, a sailor. Women viewed him as wild and dangerous, and they all wanted him because of it—except Helen Hamilton.
“There goes Miss Hamilton again,” Maud complained, yanking him out of his bitter reverie.
“What?”
He could practically smell Maud’s desperation to be allied with him, and he could have snapped his fingers and had her in his bed, but he was too obsessed with Helen to bother. He constantly pondered how he could be having sex with her instead of Maud. She’d refused him; his pride was bruised, and he was burning with rage.
He’d like to wring her scrawny neck for putting him through such misery.
“She’s with that Frenchman,” Maud pointed out. “I realize that—initially—you felt some sympathy for her plight, but must we keep her on? Surely, with her involved in this dalliance, she’s not an appropriate servant to be caring for Rose.”
Helen had been partnered with the blasted foreigner all night, twirling past Tristan over and over. What was his name? Dubois?
Who was he, anyway? Where had Helen met him? Why would Helen prefer him over Tristan?
“Captain,” Maud nagged, “did you hear me?”
“What?”
“We were talking about Miss Hamilton.”
“We were?”
“Yes, and I sincerely believe that—”
Miriam promenaded by on the arm of a man Tristan didn’t know. She had a scarf over her face, and she was ghostly white.