For a split second, he actually thought about asking Lester who the woman was but then pushed the thought from his mind. He didn’t want to draw attention to such beauty. The other men would not be so restrained as Brock. He wouldn’t trust them with his enemy’s daughter, let alone whomever that lovely creature had been.
With a sigh, Brock tried to dismiss all thought of the woman. She would only be a distraction he couldn’t afford. He dragged his attention back to whatever pap Lester was spouting now.
“Since Henry was adamant that ladies were needed, and he convinced me that he had not meant ladies of the night, my stepmother has dispatched the invitations, and we’ll be having a proper house party here in a matter of days.”
Brock stifled his groan. Just what he needed, even more people to dilute his opportunities to pry into Lester’s nefarious affairs. Or perhaps it WAS just what he needed. More people would make his movements far less obvious. If the party was larger, he couldn’t be expected to be in company with Lester at all times. These arriving ladies would need escorts, of course. They could also get in his way and make his search more difficult, but really, what was he going to do? Tell the man to refuse his invited guests? That wouldn’t draw unnecessary attention now would it, Brock? He couldn’t help grinning as he heard the sarcasm dripping from even his thoughts. He needed this task to be over with. It was twisting him too much.
“How long did you say they were staying? I need to see to my own estates one of these days.”
The others made jeering noises, ribbing him for his responsibilities. Brock took it in stride, grinning good naturedly.
“Lester knows now. Since he’s inherited, he is well aware he can’t be as carefree as he once was.”
Lester shrugged. “Sure I can, that’s what stewards are for. I let the stepmother look after that along with her wretched niece. Can’t get rid of them, they might as well make themselves useful.”
Brock’s eyes strayed back to the window. Interesting. Perhaps that was who he had seen. He hadn’t realized Wilbur’s widow had remained in residence. He couldn’t blame her for absenting herself while Lester was entertaining. Brock wondered if he would meet the stepmother and her niece during the house party.
She doesn’t matter, Brock reminded himself. You have a mission that needs finishing so you can return to your own estate and see to matters. The Home Office promised if you got this last one done they’d set you free. Stay focused.
The others were tramping toward the house and Brock hurried to catch up with them. He was older than most of them by at least five years, but it felt like decades as he listened to their chatter. They reminded him of schoolboys sent down from Eton for the first time. He felt like a grandfather. He had seen too much. All he wanted to do now was curl up in front of a fire at his home and pour over the ledgers. If that made him crazy, he didn’t very much care.
The worst thing about this particular mission was that he didn’t actually think Lester meant to be a traitor. Brock figured he was just a dissipated, bored aristocrat that got into his cups and made some bad decisions. Lester might not even realize what he had done. But all the more reason Brock needed to get his hands on the evidence of what else was going on, so the bigger picture could be sorted out. Lester was a Peer. Brock rather thought the Home Office wasn’t going to want to prosecute him if it could be proven he wasn’t involved in the planning or executing of the treachery. Brock figured it would be easy enough to prove. The man was too stupid and lazy to have had any part in the background of the attack. They just needed to find out what else was going on. Then Lester could carry on his merry way down to the bottom of the brandy bottle.
Why the young men all thought it was a delightful activity to drink themselves under the table each night, Brock couldn’t fathom. He hated the ache in his head and the fuzz in his mouth the morning after such benders, so he had learned young not to overindulge. Being with these youngsters and watching them get wasted was one of the worst parts of this assignment. But it was almost the most useful time. If he could feign drunkenness, which wasn’t difficult at all when everyone else really was, he could ask all sorts of questions they wouldn’t even remember answering the next day.
So, he had two nights before the house party expanded to ask whatever he wanted. Then he would begin his search of the property. He was lucky that he had been able to find out that Lester never visited his other properties. It would have been far more difficult to trump up an excuse to go there. Getting invited to Ashburn Place for a bit of hunting was an easy thing to accomplish. Getting the oaf to travel any further would have been a trial. But Brock would have done it. He wanted out, and this was his way. He would get what he needed and retire to the country. Nothing sounded sweeter. He would happily raise a glass with these young, entitled, loafers every night of the week if it meant he was that much closer to the quiet life he craved. And if the spot next to him was empty in front of the fire, Brock decided he didn’t care. He could get cats, he thought with a grin. Besides, he wasn’t even thirty. He could sit by his fire and rest for a few years before he needed to concern himself overly with the succession.
Of course, he knew it was something to consider. He, himself, was never supposed to inherit, so he was well aware of the fact that things happen. But there were some long lost cousins somewhere in the family tree who could take over if worse came to worst. Brock refused to be rushed into matrimony. He wanted his rest before he took up any more responsibilities. The thought of filling his nursery made him shudder. He'd had enough lives in his hands on the Peninsula. He didn’t want to be in charge of babies any time soon, maybe not ever. Of course, that was the way of the succession, he reminded himself. His thoughts were starting to annoy him, so he was happy to accept the glass Lester handed him and tossed it back eagerly. He could happily take a little bit of oblivion right about now.
A while later, as though he couldn't help himself, Brock finally asked the question that was burning in the back of his mind. “Why do you say the niece is wretched?”
“What?” Lester was already dazed from the drink.
“You said you can’t get rid of your stepmother and her wretched niece. Why do you say she’s wretched? Is she ugly or merely a shrew?”
Lester tossed back the rest of his glass and muttered under his breath before clearing his throat and answering. “Both, I’d say. My father’s wife puts up such a fuss that I can’t rid my house of her, but I’ve told her if she gets out of line at all, I’ll disregard them both and the mealy mouthed niece can find herself someone else to sponge off of.”
Brock knew he ought to keep himself well out of it but every fiber in his gentleman’s soul was crying out to say something to the lout. He grunted, allowing it to sound rather drunken. “It’s always the same, isn’t it? It’s the lot of those who inherit to look after all the hangers-on. Like you could never throw out your old nanny, right?”
Despite how addled he was from the liquor, Lester looked at him as though he had lost his mind. “You’re jesting, right? I certainly can’t be bothered with the servants. If they aren’t of any use to me anymore, I don’t need ‘em around.”
Brock couldn’t respond, but there was a low murmur of dissent from the young noblemen. Despite their dissipation and their misguided friendship with the viscount, most of the young men had been raised from the cradle with a certain sense of what was owed to others and a strong duty to being a gentleman. They might be playing at the life of a rake, but they knew there was a certain line.
Lester must have realized he was treading on dangerous ground. He looked around the group, gave an awkward chuckle and held up the decanter.
“Are we going to chatter like old women or are we going to satisfy our thirst?”
His friends laughed and cheered, holding up their glasses, and Brock fought not to roll his eyes. He needed to finish his mission. Fast.
Chapter Three
The early morning air was turning Lily's cheeks pink and trying to pu
ll her hair from its pins as she made her way back to the house. She had needed the fresh air. Lillian was starting to feel like a prisoner in the large house. Trying to avoid Lester’s guests while still making all the arrangements for the house party was a full-time occupation, made all the more complicated by not attending or meeting any of the visitors.
Lillian didn’t mind, for the most part, but the desire to leave the house had required an extra early rising that day. And she hated getting up extra early. But in the end, it had been worth it. The sunrise had been spectacular and well worth the effort required to see it. It was just what she needed to clear the cobwebs from her mind and the fidgets from her body. The long walk to the cliff had been the perfect escape when she decided she couldn’t take another day cooped up in the large house.
“Good morning.”
Lillian nearly shrieked but managed to cut the sound off so only a low gurgle came out. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the tall man standing inside the copse of trees. She put her hand over her mouth, lowered her head, and would have marched right by him without even acknowledging his greeting, if he hadn’t put his hand out to stop her.
“Do they not teach manners around here?” His inquiry sent hot colour flooding her cheeks.
“Certainly they do, but we have not been introduced, so we cannot converse.” Her reply sounded haughty, but she didn’t care as she raised her chin and stared down her nose at him. She had seen Wilbur do that on occasion to good effect and hadn’t even realized she was capable of the action.
It didn’t have the desired effect. The handsome man grinned.
“We’re in the country, not at some ton event. Surely there would be no harm in acknowledging someone’s greeting.”
Lillian shrugged. “I’m actually in rather a hurry and don’t have time for idle chit chat.”
The man’s eyes scoured her face and all of her, making Lillian squirm inside. She had thrown on the most comfortable old gown she owned for the hike to the cliff. It wasn’t as though she owned anything of high fashion, but the handsome man made her wish she had at least given a modicum of thought to her appearance before she had left her chamber.
“Something tells me you wouldn’t know how to engage in anything so idle as chit chat, even if you had the time. You’re the niece aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?” she replied, flummoxed by both his observation and his question. The man had assessed her and identified her in one sweep of his curious gaze. A reluctant sense of familiarity shimmied through her.
“I saw you in the window almost a week ago. Why have you not joined the guests?”
“Is that really any of your affair?” She wasn’t about to explain her complicated circumstances to this handsome nobleman. Lillian felt the heat flooding her cheeks, and she raised her chin higher to counteract it, not wanting this stranger to think she was ashamed. She couldn’t fathom why she was blushing. It was most annoying.
He grinned in response to her question. “Not really, but I admit to unending curiosity. Unless you have put yourself beyond the pale in some way, I cannot imagine any circumstance in which the countess’ niece is not welcome in polite society.”
“Of course not.” Lillian didn’t elaborate. Wrenching her arm from his grasp, she allowed her long strides to take her away from the tempting presence of the handsome man. Why would my mind even supply the word tempting in its description, she wondered before answering herself. She was tempted to stay and visit with the handsome man, enjoying his intelligent gaze. I am just as foolish as the other women, she thought with disgust.
She had, for the most part, been able to flit through the house unobtrusively, even when the guests were present, ensuring that everything was in order for the party. She had observed the young ladies giggling over the handsome friends Lester had brought down from London with him. Lillian had thought them insipid. But here she was, wanting to fawn over the beautiful man just because he had condescended to speak with her. She could just imagine what he wanted to talk about. She had put Lester in his place when she was fourteen when he tried to have just such a conversation. She wasn’t about to put up with it from a stranger, no matter how delicious he looked.
Lillian felt the man’s gaze boring between her shoulder blades as she stalked back to the house, but she didn’t turn back to look at him. She was relieved that he also didn’t chase after her. From the size of him, she wouldn’t have been able to outrun him or fight him off if he had been of a mind to exert his power over her. She was furious with herself. She shouldn’t have been out alone with Lester and his friends in residence. But she had thought they would all be abed until noon at least. Thus was Lester’s pattern whenever he was in residence, and she didn’t see his friends being any different while they were there. But it had been foolish of her and would not be repeated. She would just have to reconcile herself to the imprisonment until Lester left again.
Really, it wasn’t so bad, she reminded herself. It was a large house. Even calling it a house was a rather ridiculous misuse of the word. It was bordering on palatial, but since Lester was only a viscount, it couldn’t really be called that. Nonetheless, Ashburn Place was huge. Uncle Wilbur’s ancestors must have had large families and many retainers. Then of course, too, one had to always be prepared to entertain the monarch, so there was a section of the Place that was particularly spectacular. Lillian loved to dust that room. It was not at all an occupation for a gently bred female, but she didn’t care. There was so little that was conventional about her, why shouldn’t she enjoy dusting? It didn’t hurt anybody. And it gave her an excuse to be in that part of the house.
Lester wouldn’t really care, as long as she stayed out of his way, where she was. And as long as she stayed out of sight of his guests, of course. Lillian realized she should have told the strange man not to mention her to Lester. Hopefully he wouldn’t have any realization of who she was, she thought until she remembered he did know who she was. He had called her “the niece.” Someone must have mentioned her. Lillian’s stomach clenched, and her heart sank.
Had Aunt Violet been matchmaking? Didn’t she realize that Lester would make both their lives miserable if he thought Lillian was stepping out of line? Maybe she really should look for a position. She had enough experience she could probably even get a position as housekeeper, but without a reference no one would hire her. Aunt Violet would provide her a reference for a position as a governess or companion, but Lillian was afraid those might bore her, considering all that she had been able to take on here at Ashburn. But getting away from here would be safer.
All she had to do was keep herself safe for four more years. Four years. At the moment, that felt like an eternity. But her parents had already been gone for more than three years, and it was hard to believe that the time had disappeared so quickly. Surely, the four years would be here and gone without too much trouble.
Lillian sighed. There could be lots of trouble if she wasn’t a little more careful. And she did love being here with Aunt Violet. She sighed again. If only Wilbur’s Will had been written a little more carefully.
Casting the melancholy thoughts from her mind, Lillian reached her room and quickly changed into her gown that most resembled the maid’s uniforms. It was the best for blending in. She was able to arrange everything for the house party without anyone realizing she was even there. She had noticed years ago that the nobility almost never noticed the servants unless something was going wrong. Lillian ensured nothing went wrong. It kept her from their notice. It was an ideal situation for her peace of mind.
She loved the large building and all its occupants. All, that was, except Lester, of course. If only Uncle Wilbur hadn’t died so suddenly, she thought and felt her chin wobble. Shoving that thought away, Lillian slipped into the housekeeper’s small office.
“Good morning, dearie,” the pleasant older woman greeted.
Lillian hugged the comfortable older woman. “Good morning, Mrs. P
arker. How is your leg feeling today?”
“Much improved, thanks to that ointment you gave me, thank you, dearie. How are things coming along with Master Lester’s friends?”
“It’s quite smooth. You’d hardly believe they were here. Those new maids you hired are working out very well.”
Mrs. Parker giggled. “Get on with you, dearie. I hired. As if. You know I only did what you suggested.”
Lillian grinned. “Well, then we make an excellent team, don’t we?”
“I would certainly say so, especially with my leg acting up. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with everything if you weren’t here to help out your aunt like you do.”
“Aunt Violet appreciates everything you are still able to do, Mrs. P. And you’ll be back on your feet before you know it, I’m sure.”
“I hope so, dearie, but I’m afraid that it won’t be before his lordship is back to Town and all his guests with him.”
“Well, hopefully they’ll all be moving along before too awfully long, so we needn’t worry about it.”
“It’s a lot for you to take on though, dearie. It isn’t quite right.”
“Now Mrs. P, don’t tell me you’re going to try to curtail my fun.”
They exchanged conspiratorial smiles, and the older woman leaned back on her cushions. “That would be mighty foolish of me, now wouldn’t it?”
Lillian laughed and left the room. “I’ll be down in the kitchens for a bit. Ring if you need anything.”
The older woman frowned. “That certainly wouldn’t be right.”
Lillian hated it when the servants got starchy with her. It couldn’t be helped, though, when they remembered that she was actually gentry. It didn’t happen very often, but every once in a while they realized she wasn’t actually one of them. It would have been funny if it weren't so very awkward. She didn’t bother acknowledging the housekeeper’s words.
Courting Intrigue: A Sweet, Regency Romance (The Bequest Series Book 2) Page 2