At the edge of the courtyard, Letitia saw a young girl standing by the toy-maker’s stall. Though she looked no more than seven or eight, she appeared to be alone. The girl was well-dressed in a green woolen dress with silver buttons down her back. Letitia remembered dressing in a similar way back when she had been a child.
A nobleman’s daughter?
What would such a child be doing here alone?
Letitia paused, watching the girl curiously. Despite the cold, she wore no cloak. No bonnet or mittens. Her blonde hair danced around her cheeks in the wind. Had she simply become separated from her nurse? Letitia wondered. Surely if that was the case, she would not have been permitted to leave the house without adequate clothing.
And then, in the corner of her vision, she caught sight of two men. They were dressed in dark clothes, their eyes darting as they moved through the crowd. Slowly, silently, they approached the girl.
The look on the men’s faces, Letitia had seen that before. Seen it on the men who had held up her parents’ carriage. Seen it on the man who had fired the pistol into their coachman’s shoulder.
She heard herself cry out. “Help! Someone! She’s in trouble!”
At the sound of her shouts, the girl looked up. She caught sight of the men approaching her and let out a screech of her own. The two men shoved their way through the crowd and began to run, disappearing into the chaos of the market.
The girl stared after them as they disappeared, her blue eyes wide and her chin trembling. She burst into tears.
Letitia hurriedly knelt beside her. “It’s all right,” she said gently. “They’re gone now.”
“They were going to hurt me!” The girl threw herself impulsively at Letitia, wrapping her thin arms around her neck. Taken aback for a moment, Letitia held the girl as she cried, feeling her small body tremble with her tears.
Finally, the girl stepped back and wiped her eyes. She was slightly older than she had first thought, Letitia realized. Nine or ten, perhaps. Still, far too young to be charging around the market on her own.
“Are you here alone?” she asked gently.
The girl looked at her feet. After a moment, she nodded. “I ran away,” she admitted. “I was just playing a game. I just wanted an adventure. But I…” She faded out, her chin trembling as a second wave of tears threatened. “I didn’t know those men were going to be here.” She shivered violently as a cold wind tunneled through the market. Two oranges rolled from the grocer’s stand and trundled across the cobbles.
Letitia unwound the shawl from her neck and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. She smiled. “Running away can be frightening.”
The girl nodded.
Letitia took the girl’s hands and looked into her blue eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Harriet.” Her voice was small. “Harriet Fletcher.”
Letitia smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harriet. I’m—” She hesitated.
No, I’m not Letitia Caddy. Not any longer.
“I’m Molly,” she said, blurting out the first name that came to mind.
A small smile turned the corner of Harriet’s lips.
“Shall I see you home?” asked Letitia.
The girl nodded.
“Can you show me the way?”
Harriet nodded again. Letitia smiled wryly to herself. At least one of them knew their way around this city.
* * *
“I’m sorry, My Lord,” said Algernon’s footman, Henderson. “The men and I have searched the entire grounds. There’s no sign of Miss Fletcher here.”
Algernon nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache he could feel approaching. “She must have slipped out the gates again.” He looked back at Henderson. “Tell the groom to prepare the coach. I need to go and search for her.”
The words left a knot of worry inside him. He had no thought of where to even being looking. He shivered, turning up the collar of his coat against the wind. How had Harriet been dressed? Was she even wearing a coat? Bonnet? Mittens? He knew it was unlikely if she had slipped out of the sitting room from beneath Miss Scott’s nose.
The knot in his stomach tightened.
Henderson nodded. “Of course, My Lord. We’ll have the coach ready at once.” He hurried off towards the stables.
Algernon began to pace across the terrace, rubbing his hands together with a mixture of anxiety and cold. And then, in the corner of his vision, he saw movement by the manor gates.
Harriet, hand in hand with a young woman.
Algernon let out his breath and raced down the path. He scooped his daughter into his arms, lifting her from the ground and squeezing her tightly.
“Where have you been?” he gushed. “You terrified me!”
His daughter burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Papa.” Her arms tightened around his neck, her long legs curling around his waist.
Algernon closed his eyes against her hair, inhaling the soapy scent of her. Half of him longed to give his daughter the scolding of a lifetime. The other half never wanted to let her go.
He set her down. A pale blue shawl was knotted around her neck. Not hers, Algernon thought distantly. “We will talk about this later,” he said, with as much sharpness as he could muster. He pressed a hand to the top of his daughter’s head. “You must make your apologies to Miss Scott, Harriet. She was very worried for you. We all were.”
Harriet hung her head. “Yes, Papa.” She trotted inside obediently.
Algernon looked up. The young woman who had brought Harriet home was hovering shyly several feet away. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her eyes on her feet. A strand of golden hair peeked out from beneath her cloth cap and tickled her cheek.
Algernon took a step towards her. She looked up at his movement, their eyes meeting. Algernon felt something shift inside him. A faint fluttering sensation in his chest. It was a strange feeling only distantly remembered.
He realized he was staring. This young woman, with her threadbare gray skirts and discolored cap, was dazzlingly beautiful.
“I…” Algernon found himself strangely tongue-tied. “Thank you,” he managed. “Thank you so much.”
The young woman gave him a small smile. “Of course, My Lord.” She gave a short nod of her head and turned to look back at the gate.
“What’s your name?” Algernon said hurriedly, before she could slip out of the manor grounds.
She paused, and he regretted asking.
Is such a thing too forward? I can’t be sure…
The sight of her was making him strangely incapable of coherent thought.
“Molly,” she said after a moment. “Molly Cooper.”
Algernon smiled. “I’m indebted to you, Miss Cooper.” He brought her pale hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it.
Her lips parted slightly, her blue eyes shining.
“I ought to leave you, My Lord,” she said after a moment. “Let you get back to your daughter.”
“No,” Algernon blurted. “Don’t leave.”
Miss Cooper looked back at him with surprise in her eyes.
Algernon swallowed hard.
“Don’t leave?” What in God’s name am I doing?
He only knew he did not want to let this beautiful young woman disappear. No, it was more than that. He could not let her disappear.
“Where did you find her?” he asked. “Harriet?”
“At the market, My Lord.”
Algernon let out his breath. “Which market?”
Miss Cooper hesitated. “I…”
“She’s something of an escape artist, I’m afraid,” Algernon sighed. “Last time, she found her way to the garden square.” Yes, he thought, there would be a scolding and a half for Harriet tonight.
Although, can I truly be angry when she had brought this lovely creature to my door?
“You work close to the market then?” Algernon asked, painfully aware of how stilted and foolish his words sounded.
Mi
ss Cooper laced her narrow fingers together. “Actually, I’m… between positions.”
“Between positions? And what kind of work do you do?”
She hesitated.
“Forgive me,” Algernon said hurriedly. “Here am I asking you all these questions, and you’ve no thought of who I am.” He gave a slight bow of the head. “Algernon Fletcher, Marquess of Radcliffe.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Long-suffering father of Harriet.”
Miss Cooper smiled. “I’m a kitchen hand, My Lord,” she said finally. “Or I can work about the house. Whatever needs doing, you might say.” She flashed him a short white smile. There was that fluttering again, dancing around inside him, waking a part of him that had been dormant for years. The feeling was subtle, but undeniable.
Algernon found himself returning her smile. “I’m in need of a kitchen hand,” he heard himself say. “Perhaps you might oblige me?”
Chapter 4
A kitchen hand?
What had she been thinking? Letitia had barely set foot in a kitchen in her life!
If she were honest with herself, she hadn’t been thinking at all. The moment her eyes had fallen on Lord Radcliffe, all intelligible thoughts had tumbled out of her head. There had been something about him, something about his tall stature, his broad shoulders, the deep chocolate brown of his eyes. Standing so close to him, Letitia had felt as though he had a hold on her. Her feet had felt planted to the floor, rendering her unable to move. Her thoughts had tangled, reducing her to ridiculous comments along the lines of:
“I’m a kitchen hand.”
Letitia could not remember anyone ever having such an effect on her.
When the Marquess had asked about her work, she had just opened her mouth and blurted out whatever had come to her first. She certainly had not been expecting him to offer her a position.
But Letitia knew she was in no place to turn down his offer. As of this morning, she was homeless, with no way of supporting herself.
At least she had been, until five minutes earlier.
Now she was following the housekeeper up the stairs of the Marquess’s sparsely decorated manor, towards the attic room that was apparently about to become hers.
Letitia’s heart was pounding. How long would it be until the cook realized her new assistant had absolutely no idea what she was doing?
She took a long breath, trying to calm herself.
Come on now, Letitia. How difficult can it be to peel and chop a few vegetables?
Her attempts at self-assurance did little for her confidence.
But these nerves, Letitia realized, were not entirely unpleasant. There was an odd sort of excitement there too. She had run from the Mullins manor just hours ago. And already she had found herself a job, a home.
A sign, surely, that I have made the right decision.
The housekeeper pushed open the door of the attic room and gestured for Letitia to enter.
“This will be your lodgings, Miss Cooper. Supper will be taken in the downstairs kitchen at eight. You’ll let me know if you need anything.”
Letitia managed a small smile. “Thank you,” she managed. She stepped inside the room, setting her pack on the floor beside the bed. The housekeeper gave her a final nod of the head, then closed the door behind her.
The moment the housekeeper’s footsteps had disappeared down the hallway, Letitia let out her breath. She sank onto the bed and knotted her hands together.
She felt as though she were trapped in a dream. None of this felt real. This time yesterday, she had been lazing around her bedchamber, lost in the world of pirates and mermaids, oblivious to the plans her father was making around her. And now look. Her life was completely unrecognizable. Now she was a runaway.
A kitchen hand…
The thought brought another bolt of panic. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. After a moment, she opened her eyes and took in the room around her.
The room was far smaller than the bedroom she had grown up in, of course, but it had a comforting, homely feel to it. A narrow bed sat against one wall, covered with a striped blue blanket. A washstand sat in one corner, opposite a small wicker chair. Out of the triangular window, Letitia could see the green expanse of the Radcliffe manor grounds.
She reached into her pack and pulled out her book, setting it on the nightstand beside her bed. The sight of it reassured her a little. A little piece of her old life. Something to remind her not to lose faith in the existence of happy endings.
* * *
Algernon sat opposite Harriet at the table in the sitting room. His daughter sat with her head bowed and her hands in her lap, the blue shawl still wrapped around her shoulders.
He’d managed something of a scolding, though it was clear from Harriet’s tear-filled eyes that she deeply regretted this latest attempt at escape. Algernon had been unable to continue his tirade at the sight of his daughter’s trembling lip. Sometimes, he wondered if he were too soft on her.
Algernon watched as Harriet knitted her fingers through the weaving of the shawl. How like her mother she looked, with her fine, pale hair and wide blue eyes.
Harriet’s mother, Charlotte, had died ten years ago, while bringing their daughter into the world. Though Algernon had known, of course, that such a tragic fate befell many women in their childbed, he had not been prepared for it to befall his wife. Finding himself a twenty-two-year-old widower with a squalling babe in his arms had come as the most sudden and cruelest of shocks.
Though he had not married Charlotte for love, love had grown out of it. After her death, the world had felt colorless. For months, Algernon barely left the manor, reluctant to leave his infant daughter, reluctant to venture into a world that no longer had Charlotte in it. It had taken him a long time to feel whole again.
Perhaps I still have not managed to do so.
After his wife’s death, he had thrown himself into his business in an attempt to stem his grief. Ten years later, he still spent most of his time hunched over his ledgers. He had friends, of course, a well-meaning bunch of men who continued to invite him to their garden parties and hunts and nights at the bars, despite him frequently turning down their invitations. It was not that Algernon did not enjoy the company of his friends. He just knew that most of the invitations were infuriating attempts to find him another wife.
“It’s been long enough, Radcliffe,” his friends would say. “Charlotte wouldn’t want you to mope about forever.”
But it wasn’t fear of what Charlotte may have thought that kept Algernon from seeking a second wife. He simply had no interest in doing so. Social occasions had long since lost their appeal. What need did he have to marry again? Harriet was all he needed.
There was so much of Charlotte in their daughter. The looks, certainly, but also Harriet’s gentleness. Her soft-spoken, yet forthright manner, her bright smile. But his daughter’s rebellious streak? Where had that come from? Certainly not her mother. Charlotte had been a well-behaved Duke’s daughter to her very core. And Harriet had certainly not inherited her playful streak from her father. Algernon was barely thirty-two, but sometimes he felt as worn and tired as an old gentleman.
But today, that spirited spark was missing from Harriet’s eyes. Algernon could tell her adventure at the market had rattled her to the core.
He met her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
Harriet bit her lip. “There were men, Papa.”
“Men?” he repeated sickly.
Harriet nodded. “They had mean looking eyes. I saw them coming towards me. But the kind lady saved me. She yelled out and the men ran away.”
“The kind lady?” Algernon repeated, his heart thumping at Harriet’s tale. “Miss Cooper?”
Harriet nodded again. “Yes. Miss Cooper.”
At the mention of her name, Algernon felt that twist inside him again. He thought of her walking in the attic room above their heads. How had that happened? He was not an impulsive gentleman. Anything but, in fact. Impulsivene
ss was not a good quality in a businessman. And yet the moment Molly Cooper’s eyes had met his, Algernon had done the first thing he could think of to make her stay.
“I’m in need of a kitchen hand,” he had blurted. He was not looking forward to seeing the look on his cook’s face when he told her the news. Margaret had been cooking his meals for more than two decades. Had always done so single-handedly. Algernon was sure she would take the news of Miss Cooper’s arrival as a sign he was no longer happy with her work. A sign that she needed assistance in her old age. He’d best have a gentle word with her before she tore poor Molly Cooper apart.
He heard the floor creak above his head and thought of the new arrival in the attic room. What was she doing? Testing the firmness of the bed, perhaps? Unpacking her things? Sliding her cloak from her narrow shoulders?
Algernon wrestled her from his thoughts. He turned back to Harriet. The thought of men coming after his daughter made bile rise in his throat. He hoped this scare would be enough to stop these games of escape Harriet had grown so fond of.
“There are dangerous people out there, my love,” he said firmly. “It’s why I get so worried when you run away like you did.”
Harriet hung her head. “I know, Papa. I’m sorry.”
Algernon reached across the table and smoothed his big palm over her hair. “Why do you do it, Harriet? Why do you feel the need to run away?” His voice came out husky. Was his daughter unhappy? Unfulfilled? He had always done his best to give her everything she needed. Always done his best to build her a good life. The thought of her wanting to escape it was unbearable.
Harriet shrugged, not looking at him.
He pressed a hand to her shoulder, making her face him. “Harriet?” he pushed. “Tell me.”
She knotted her fingers through the shawl. “I just wanted to have a little fun,” she mumbled.
Algernon sighed inwardly. Was his daughter’s life so devoid of fun that she sought to escape on a regular basis? Perhaps so. Though he did his best to provide for his daughter, such a thing often left him hidden away in his office for hours on end. For much of the day, Harriet was either alone, or in the company of her governess. Ellen Scott was close to sixty. She was stern and serious. A fine governess, yes, but certainly not a person one would describe as fun.
The Viscount Who Seduced Her (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 30