“I’ve had a letter from Maisie. She and Uncle Neddy are coming to stay with us.”
Jenny and her mother exchanged a quick glance. She thought she saw alarm mirrored in Anne’s eyes.
“He’s not your uncle,” was all her mother said.
“My cousin, then,” Eleanor amended.
“Only by marriage,” Anne retorted, then sipped her wine. “And he’s your second cousin once removed.”
It didn’t really matter about Ned Darrow’s relation to her dead father. Jenny knew Eleanor was simply over the moon at having Ned’s sister, Maisie, visit, for they were the same age and had always got along well. No doubt Eleanor was quite lonely in Sheffield, and this was the chance for some companionship beyond her sisters and their mother.
Ned was another matter, the son of their father’s cousin-in-law, he had occasionally been their guest in Town. Usually he stayed a night when he brought Maisie, who often remained with them for a month, and again when he came to collect her for the return to their home in Scotland. He would spend time with her father drinking brandy and wine, and making eyes at her during every meal.
Jenny hated to acknowledge it, but he rubbed her the wrong way. A tad too self-absorbed and a tad too interested in her, truth be told. She had been glad to have the proposal from the viscount, if only to stop the attention of Ned. Now, she would be within reach again as far as he was concerned. She supposed she could pretend to still be in the midst of a long engagement, though perhaps he already knew the truth.
“Ned Darrow should have waited to be invited,” their mother declared, voicing Jenny’s misgivings.
Eleanor blushed. “I did offer an invitation. At least, I did to Maisie.”
Anne clucked her tongue. “That was wrong of you to do, but also quite forward of Ned to accept on behalf of his sister without asking me first. And only think of the expense!”
Jenny was doing precisely that. An extra mouth to feed, or maybe more if Ned stayed, too, and who knew for how long!
“Maggie will have to sleep with me,” she said, starting to plan for the inevitable. As oldest, she’d enjoyed the luxury of having her own room while her two younger sisters shared the larger one with two beds. “Then Maisie can sleep with Eleanor.”
“What will we do with Cousin Ned?” her mother wondered.
What, indeed?
Then her mother added, “I suppose he shall have to have a bed in the parlor.”
Jenny started. “How will I carry out my accounting duties? Where will I keep people’s ledgers?”
“Perhaps he will only stay overnight,” Anne said. “And in the interim, you can set up a table in my room.”
Jenny nodded. So be it. Eleanor was looking quite grim-faced, and Jenny reached over to clasp her sister’s hand.
“Dearest, I’m glad you’ll have some company your own age, but please don’t invite anyone else or they will have to sleep with the horses.”
In fact, if Ned arrived in his rickety, repainted brougham that had seen better days but offered him the air of nobility, instead of driving an open-air carriage himself, then the driver would have to stay in an empty stall. For Cook, George, Henry, and the housemaid took up the two rooms that stretched off the kitchen.
Eleanor giggled, and her expression brightened once more.
“We shall have enough people in the house to play Puss, Puss in the Corner!” She jumped up and went running out of the room, screeching Maggie’s name in order to tell her about their unwanted houseguests.
Even then, while Jenny watched, Lucy approached Thunder, who stood leaning against the fence, head down, looking miserable—if it was possible for a horse to outwardly appear dejected. As the mare approached, Thunder startled, reared, and then took a nip at Lucy’s shoulder. Each horse retreated to opposite sides.
“Shall I send Clara for more wine?” her mother asked.
Jenny simply nodded.
*
The arrival of Ned and Maisie Darrow from Dumfries, Scotland, a week later, caused more upheaval than Jenny could have imagined. While Maisie, with her blonde curls and doe-brown eyes, was sweeter than they’d all remembered and gave presents of thistle jam and lavender soap, Ned was exactly as aggravating as Jenny recalled. More so.
Moments after walking through the door, he made it clear he knew about her broken engagement. After removing his surcoat from his reed-thin figure and taking his hat off, revealing his sandy-colored hair, with exceptionally bad manners, her cousin brought up the viscount’s callous dismissal. Doing so under the guise of condolences while all the while looking inappropriately gleeful, was classic Ned.
Jenny had a feeling his true visit had more to do with her than with escorting Maisie to visit Eleanor.
Maggie tried to come to Jenny’s rescue by pointedly asking if they should make up a bed for him or if he would be heading home immediately, hopefully making him feel as unwanted as he truly was.
Unfortunately, it rolled off his back like water from a duck.
“I hope you’re making a fool’s joke,” Ned said to Maggie, then looked at Jenny, “for I was intending to stay for a goodly visit. I thought that was clear in Maisie’s letter.”
He nodded toward where his sister had been standing, but Maisie and Eleanor had already disappeared upstairs, whispering and laughing.
“We certainly don’t want you to think that any of cousin Lucien’s family are abandoning you upon his death,” Ned continued.
“We promise, we don’t think anything of the sort,” Jenny’s mother said. “It is merely that you’ll have to sleep in the parlor, as we are out of rooms upstairs.”
“That’s fine,” Ned insisted, his gaze still fixed on Jenny. “I don’t mind at all.”
Pity. She gave him a tight smile, which was the best she could manage. She’d hoped he would go screaming for the hills when he learned he didn’t get a bedroom. Perhaps when he felt the hardness of the settee or its narrowness, he would shorten his visit.
Anyway, she had work to finish. And now Jenny had the inconvenience of hiding it and herself in her mother’s chamber.
“Well, I will see you at dinnertime,” she told her cousin as she followed the path that Eleanor had taken toward the stairs.
A frown appeared on Ned’s forehead.
“Oh, dear cousin, I was hoping we could have a cup of tea together or perhaps take a walk around the property. I, for one, could certainly use a stroll to stretch my legs after the journey.”
Jenny opened her mouth and then shut it again. What excuse could she give if she couldn’t tell him about her bookkeeping practice? She glanced at Maggie, who made a strange face, clearly implying that she would not bail her sister out in this instance. Not when the penalty was a walk with Ned.
Luckily, her mother stepped in. “I would love the chance to walk and converse about Lucien’s family. I’m sure Jenny would join us if she could.”
Offering no opportunity for argument and without waiting for a response, Anne headed for the door, snatching up her lightweight wrap from a hook on the wall. Ned had no choice but to follow.
“I’ll show you our horses, too, shall I? And then we’ll come back for a nice cup of tea. Carry on, girls,” she called over her shoulder, taking Ned’s arm and forcing him out the front door.
The next few days proved a challenge. First, Maggie had to leave before the midday meal was over. Ned was bloviating about some Scottish election. She could dally no longer or be late for her charges. Rising to her feet in the middle of one of his long diatribes, Maggie excused herself and walked out of the room. This caused him to go on for a few long minutes regarding her rudeness.
Jenny listened silently until she nearly exploded.
“Rather uncivilized to say the least,” he pointed out for the second time. “Even if I were not to take offense at her leaving precisely when I was about to tell you the most interesting part about the Liberal Unionists, there would be her health to consider. Digestion is as important for young wome
n as for men.” He pursed his lips and nodded to the four ladies left at the table.
“Brother, dear,” Maisie said, “surely if cousin Margaret is going walking, that will aid her digestion.”
“No,” Ned said. “I say, no. She should sit for half an hour at least before moving after a meal.”
Meanwhile, Jenny was forced to pretend to sleep late and go to bed early to finish each of her customers’ accounts while secreting herself in her mother’s chamber.
At the end of the week, during dinner, Ned mentioned how Jenny had taken to being quite a countrified lady of leisure.
Unthinkingly defending her sister, Eleanor let the cat out of the bag.
“That is unkind of you to say,” Eleanor began as she took a slice of bread and began to butter it generously. “Jenny works harder than anyone I know and with her arithmetic skills, she takes care of us all. Not to say that Maggie doesn’t help out, too, with the French lessons.”
Jenny closed her eyes in dismay, hearing Maggie gasp slightly and then try to cover it with a cough.
“Oh, dear,” said Eleanor, realizing belatedly that she shouldn’t have spoken of anything to do with her older sisters’ activities.
Anne tried to rescue the situation for her daughters.
“What Eleanor means is that Jenny has inherited the tendency of her father toward numbers, thus she keeps the household books, much to my gratitude, for I do not have a head for accounting at all.”
Ned was still frowning slightly.
“And Maggie, she …” Their mother trailed off, nonplussed.
“I try to help Eleanor prepare for her first Season by giving her the polish of a good French accent. N’est-ce-pas?” Maggie asked her sister, turning to her with flashing eyes.
“Oui,” Eleanor said quietly.
Ned blinked. Then he laughed. “While I admire Jenny for trying to get her pretty head around arithmetic, it is not really in her realm of abilities, not by the natural order of things. How can a woman be expected to make heads or tails of numbers?”
Jenny felt her mouth drop open. She nearly set about putting him straight with some choice words about mathematics when he added insult to injury.
“Besides, Lucien was notoriously bad at accounting himself. He told me as much once. Said household accounts were all gibberish to him. I guess it was a pity he didn’t get himself a good keeper of his books so that you all wouldn’t have found yourselves banished to the country, eh? He can’t do anything about that now, can he?”
He sipped his wine in the silence that followed, unmindful of how many insults or hurtful words he’d managed to pile on. Unfortunately, he then had more to add.
“As for Eleanor having a Season, the cost of the gowns will certainly make that impossible, never mind the cost of tickets! Why, she may as well speak Punjabi as French. I’m sure that Maisie will tell her all about it when she has her first Season in a few years’ time.”
Maisie had the grace to blush at her brother’s tactlessness. She even placed her hand over Eleanor’s.
Jenny wanted to strangle him. Especially when, with gusto, he tucked into the pork roast that her bookkeeping skills had paid for, oblivious to the discomfort he’d caused.
At least, though, he’d forgotten about Eleanor’s remarks.
*
The very next day, another terrible heart-stopping moment befell her. For when Jenny glanced out her mother’s bedroom window early in the morning after beginning the baker’s ledger, she saw a carriage that was clearly driven by a driver wearing the earl’s livery. Sure enough, as it drew to stop in front of their humble cottage, she could clearly see the Lindsey coat of arms emblazoned on the carriage door.
And who should disembark when the door opened? None other than the admiral.
“Christ’s wounds,” she exclaimed under her breath.
Mr. Binkley’s arrival could mean only one thing. He’d come to speak with the fictitious G. Cavendish.
Practically leaping down the stairs to the first landing, Jenny heard Clara opening the door and halted as her mother beat her to the hallway. Taking a step backward, Jenny hid in the shadows of the stairwell.
“Mr. Binkley,” Clara announced to Anne, who studied him. “Butler to Lord Lindsey.”
“Sorry to intrude, madam,” Mr. Binkley began. “I am looking for Mr. Cavendish.”
Oh, dear. Jenny grasped her hands together. Did her mother remember what she’d told her about using her family name? Jenny held her breath.
“Mr. Cavendish?” Anne paused. “Lord Lindsey’s butler wishes to speak to Mr. Cavendish,” she said overly loudly, not knowing Jenny was close at hand but clearly trying to tell her.
If the situation were not so serious, Jenny would have laughed at her mother’s strange tone and the sound of the butler taking a startled step backward.
Unfortunately, the door to the parlor opened at that moment, and Ned appeared, looking sleep-worn and grumpy at having been awakened before ten in the morning.
He opened his mouth. “What is this all about?”
“No call to speak loudly,” Jenny interrupted, revealing herself by coming down the last few stairs, knowing Ned could ruin it all in an instant. “Cousin,” she added, “please return to your room. We have things well in hand.”
Ned stared from Jenny to her mother to Binkley.
“I am happy to offer my services by dealing with whatever has come to our doorstep,” Ned said, beginning to puff himself up as usual.
An idea formed in Jenny’s head.
“Yes, of course, your services! Your services will be called upon,” she assured him, offering him her brightest smile. He would be Mr. Cavendish. “If you will but return to the parlor, I’ll be in shortly to … to relay any important information. However, recall that you are in your nightclothes and this is the Earl of Lindsey’s butler.” She gestured to Mr. Binkley. “We must make a better representation to him than to appear in such a state of undress.”
Ned glanced down at his crumpled housecoat over his pajamas. “Yes, of course.” And with that, and a warm smile in return for Jenny’s apparent friendliness, he disappeared quickly into the parlor, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“Was that Mr. Cavendish?” Mr. Binkley asked after the exchange, his expression doubtful and perhaps a bit disappointed.
Jenny looked down at her feet. Could she say a bald-faced lie, and in front of her mother?
“Why, yes, of course.” It was Anne who responded. Bless her! “He was working late into the night and must have slept in the parlor. Please, come through to our modest dining area for a cup of tea while he dresses.”
Mr. Binkley’s eyes widened at being offered tea. And in the dining room, no less. Why, his whole world must seem topsy-turvy! However, he couldn’t refuse an offer from someone superior to his station no matter how inappropriate.
Giving Jenny another long look, apparently the admiral was dying to ask her why she, Miss Blackwood, was at the home of Mr. Cavendish. However, that would be forward, presumptuous, and rude, and thus, she knew he would not ask.
Gesturing for him to follow her mother, she said nothing, merely offering him a serene expression.
As soon as his back disappeared down the hallway and into the dining room, Jenny tapped on the parlor door.
“Enter,” Ned said as if it truly were his room.
Jenny gritted her teeth and then pasted on her friendly smile once more.
“Cousin,” she said, pushing the door open and peering gingerly inside, making sure he was indeed fully dressed before she entered.
“Come in,” he said. “Pray, what is going on? Why is the earl’s butler calling on your home?”
“I am going to trust you, as my cousin, as the son of my father’s cousin, as a friend to this family, as the brother to my sister’s dear friend.” Still she paused. He could help, or he could ruin everything.
“Yes, yes, I am all that. Tell me. You can trust me. You may not know this, though I belie
ve you do. I have a deep fondness for you and would do nothing to cause you distress.”
Jenny took a deep breath before speaking and considered crossing her fingers if only she believed in such foolishness.
“Very well. Lord Lindsey’s butler came here asking for Mr. Cavendish. Well,” she spread her arms. “I am Mr. Cavendish.”
“You? Whatever do you mean?”
“I conduct a bookkeeping service, and I do it as G. Cavendish. My sex is merely assumed by my clients to be male, of course.”
He frowned. “That’s absurd.”
“No,” Jenny shook her head. “I assure you, it is the truth.”
“But how can you possibly—?”
She held up her hand. “Do not insult my mind, Ned. I am adept in arithmetic, enough to help local merchants balance their ledgers and figure out their tax duty to the crown. If it were not true, would the earl have sent for me?”
For the first time since she’d known Ned Darrow, which was her whole life, he was rendered speechless. She smiled.
“I cannot let Mr. Binkley know that I am a woman. In case he is not as forward-thinking and,” Jenny nearly choked, “as open-minded and understanding as you are.”
He was silent a moment, considering. Basically, he held their livelihood in his hands, and she didn’t like that notion. Not one bit!
“I believe you,” Ned said.
She let out the breath she’d been holding and nearly hugged him. Nearly.
“On account of the high regard I feel for you,” he added, “and for the sake of our future, I will help you.”
Their future! Was he exacting a price for his help? She feared he was, but she couldn’t deal with that now. Not with the admiral having his ear talked off by her mother in the next room.
Jenny nodded, not sure if she had agreed to something or not.
By Ned’s broad smile, he seemed to think they now had an understanding.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
She jumped forward. “Let me bring Mr. Binkley in here. You may tell him of our familial relationship, except you must be a Cavendish, not a Darrow. Tell him I must stay during the meeting as I do clerical work for you because of my excellent penmanship. Then if he asks questions, I can somehow guide you to the correct answer.”
Beastly Lords Collection Books 1 - 3: A Regency Historical Romance Collection Page 4