“No,” he said slowly. “I haven’t. What has one to do with the other?”
“It’s getting late. Na—er, Mr. Banfield doesn’t always keep regular hours. We should see if he’s there. He’s the man your father hired to oversee the care of the estate, you know.”
“I do know. But does he have food?” William asked in a clipped tone. Yes, he was being rather abrupt in a way his mother always warned him not to be, but in this case he had to think even she would find it acceptable.
“No,” Mrs. Brightmoor bit back. “But if you wish to speak with him awhile, I can have food from the inn brought to you.”
Hadn’t she, just a few hours earlier, been trying to get him to take a room at that very inn? Now she was insisting he stay out of it?
He’d never met anyone so unpredictable. Throughout the entire tour, in which he was supposed to get to know the town and how it worked, she’d studiously avoided introducing him to anyone other than the grocer. Now he simply had to meet the solicitor?
Once again, curiosity welled up in him. She was a fascinating conundrum. What was going to happen next? “Very well. Lead me to Mr. Banfield.”
She nodded, walked briskly up High Street to a building with a large multi-paned window overlooking the main part of town, and opened the door.
Inside was a man of medium build with dark hair showing a bit of grey at the temples and sticking out as if he’d run his hand through it so often that the strands had given up the idea of falling back into place.
Newspapers, books, and documents were everywhere. It was probably some sort of organized chaos, but William had never seen anything like it. His solicitor in Birmingham kept his office neat as a pin and furnished with luxurious dark wood tables and deep-cushioned upholstered chairs.
“Mr. Banfield,” Mrs. Brightmoor said with distinct enunciation, “I don’t believe you’ve met Lord Chemsford.”
William wasn’t sure if the man had heard her. He was too busy staring at William with eyes that had pulled tight at the temples and lips pressed into a near frown.
The solicitor turned to Mrs. Brightmoor. “Have you met Lord Chemsford?”
William was well accustomed to people keeping secrets around him. The aristocracy was forever trying to control who knew what and barter one piece of gossip for another. His father had done it, threatening people if they told his first wife what he did in London or buying silence if the threats wouldn’t work. It had made William’s childhood home even worse over the years until now William found the very idea of a secret under his own roof distasteful. Now a secret was being kept right under his nose and everyone involved was doing a poor job of pretending otherwise.
The smile Mrs. Brightmoor gave the solicitor was wide and tight and so obviously fake it was laughable. “Of course! I met him yesterday when he arrived at Ha—er, the house.”
Whatever unspoken message was relayed with that sentence seemed enough to relax the solicitor a bit. William rolled the words through his head and picked them apart, but he couldn’t make sense of what could have been hidden in them. So he stepped into the middle of the enigma and extended a hand toward the solicitor. “A pleasure to meet you on something other than paper, Mr. Banfield.”
“Indeed.” The man walked around the desk and shook his hand. He then scooped a large stack of newspapers from a chair and set them on a nearby table. “Please have a seat. I’m sorry I wasn’t at the house to welcome you. No one told us when you planned to take up residence.”
William eased into the chair, pleasantly surprised when it was more comfortable than it looked. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take to complete the business I was attending to in London.”
“I understand.” The man shuffled a few papers around on his desk. “I trust everything was satisfactory upon arrival?”
Had it been? His rooms had been ready, food had been available, and the barn had been adequately altered to house the horses, carriage, and groom. That was everything he’d asked for.
But then there was the fact his housekeeper didn’t actually live in the house and the vague sense of his being the unwanted visitor the servants watched to make sure he didn’t abscond with the silver.
“It was satisfactory,” he finally landed on. Because it had been. Not exemplary and not without question, but satisfactory. “More staff will need to be hired, of course.”
The solicitor nodded. “Yes. It’s a while before the next mop fair, but I know the local people. We can fill any positions quickly.”
William nodded. “I’ll prepare a list.” He should probably decide whether or not he was keeping his housekeeper first. It would certainly go smoother if she was a part of selecting the maids and the belowstairs staff. He glanced toward the current housekeeper, who was simply standing to the side of the room, hands clasped in front of her, lip clenched between her teeth. “The food, Mrs. Brightmoor?”
Mr. Banfield’s eyebrows shot up as he, too, looked over at the housekeeper, but he said nothing.
“Right away, my lord,” she said, bobbing a curtsy in William’s direction but holding Mr. Banfield’s gaze with her own. She scurried from the room, and William watched her through the window as she scampered across the street and into a redbrick inn.
The solicitor cleared his throat. “Is everything at the house to your liking? I confess, I’d hoped we would have a bit more of the updating you’d requested done before you arrived. There are several accommodation options I can arrange if you’d like to stay elsewhere during the work.”
Both Mr. Banfield and Mrs. Brightmoor seemed very concerned about how put out William would be with having a bit of construction done in a home that was plenty large enough to avoid the mess and noise. Especially since, as far as he’d noticed, the work was cosmetic in nature, though the signs of water damage indicated work might need to be done on the roof. Why had it been allowed to deteriorate? Had additional funds been requested and denied, or was the solicitor as strange as the housekeeper?
“I’ve no complaints on what little I’ve seen. The cabinetmaker you hired to do the interior work seems to do an excellent job, if a bit of a slow one.”
Mr. Banfield ran a hand along the edge of his feather quill. “Yes. It’s only him and his apprentice at the moment. There’s no finer craftsman in the area, though.”
They discussed the more significant work, including the unusable garret rooms that needed to be addressed before he could bring in more staff. He wasn’t even sure where the cook and the maids he’d heard about were living. Did they all sleep in the cottage?
That made him think of the outbuildings and the other renovations he’d like to see done to modernize the estate. Whether he lived there long term, rented the home, or sold it, the work still needed to be done. As the solicitor took notes and asked questions, the conversation slid away from the house and into business. Mr. Banfield displayed a good head for the details as William made testing requests of him.
If William was indeed going to stay here for a long time, he would need a local solicitor to help him, perhaps even take the place of the one he’d inherited from his father. Hopefully Mr. Banfield would prove efficient and competent, despite the appearance of his office.
The food came, and the men ate as they talked. The solicitor’s intelligence continued to reveal itself, and William felt even more confident that he could, at least for a time, run the marquisette from Marlborough.
Another thread of tension released from William’s body. His need to get away wasn’t going to require him to sacrifice his responsibility to fulfill his marquis’s duties.
How had Mrs. Brightmoor gotten her current position with this smart and observant man in charge? It was one more piece of information that didn’t quite fit.
William waited until the housekeeper left the room again to return the dishes to the inn before asking, “How long has Mrs. Brightmoor been seeing to the house?”
“Years,” Mr. Banfield answered. “She’s worked there since your father
’s solicitors asked me to oversee the place.”
That couldn’t be right. William’s father had won the house almost fifteen years ago. Even if he’d taken his time arranging someone to watch over the house, that would mean Mrs. Brightmoor had been there more than ten years. She didn’t look old enough unless she, too, had started working there as a child.
Mr. Banfield steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “My wife helped set the house to rights when we first took over the care of it, but Mrs., ahem, Brightmoor has been in charge of the actual caring for the house for many years.”
That was a bit more palatable. If she’d started there as a young woman of fourteen or so and been groomed to take over as housekeeper, it would explain why she knew how to care for a house but not for people within it. It wouldn’t be fair to dismiss her without giving her the chance to learn.
Though he hadn’t any idea how one went about acquiring housekeeper lessons.
Other questions burned in his mind, but he didn’t give voice to them. While he felt he could trust this man with his business dealings, there was still something in the secretive conversations and speaking looks that made William feel he couldn’t trust any answers he didn’t uncover for himself. He needed to keep his questions to facts.
“And the rest of the staff? How long have the maids and the cook worked there?”
Mr. Banfield ran the quill through his fingers. “All were hired recently. The children grew up locally, helping occasionally at the house. When we needed a bit more staff to prepare for your arrival, it was natural to hire them, despite them being a bit young.”
It made sense. So why did it still bother him?
The sun was beginning to sink in the sky as William led Mrs. Brightmoor out of town, back across the bridge, and onto the path back to the house. He knew the way now and would be able to return—without his housekeeper—whenever he wished.
He was beginning to wish he’d found a way to leave her in town, because while the journey this morning had been quiet, the walk home was anything but. Her commentary wasn’t about trees, flowers, birds, or even the deer that scattered when they came around a corner.
She wanted to know his plans. What was he going to do with the estate? How often did he intend to travel to London?
It was an inquisition, and he was more than capable of putting up a resistance. It irritated him greatly that he had to, though, and it wore through the patience he’d earlier been determined to offer her. As they broke through the trees near the lake, the final thread of patience gave way. He’d been more than polite with her today, exceedingly so if one included yesterday. It was time to remind her that he was the peer and she the housekeeper. It could be her first lesson in appropriate behavior.
“Mrs. Brightmoor,” he said through gritted teeth, turning to face her as a slight breeze wafted across them and sent escaped strands of hair streaming across her face. “Kindly recall that you work for me, not the other way around.”
“Of course,” she said with wide eyes. “But if I don’t know what you are going to do, I don’t know what I need to do.”
“You need to do whatever I tell you to do, and right now I am telling you to leave me alone,” he growled.
Her mouth dropped open and then clicked shut.
Finally. Silence.
Wanting to take the win before he said anything cruel, William turned on his heel and stalked across the yard. If he saw her hovering again this evening, he just might end up with nightmares.
Chapter eleven
Daphne stayed out of Lord Chemsford’s way for the remainder of the evening. It was a task made easier by the fact that Benedict and Mr. Leighton had returned to town to work on a few pieces of moulding in the workshop. Neither of them would be at the house for at least the next two days.
She even pulled Reuben in from the stable to act as footman and deliver the man’s dinner.
All the children were quiet as they gathered for their own meal. Of course, Daphne didn’t really expect them to be comfortable around the contemptuous Mr. Morris. The groomsman, Mr. Pasley, seemed a much more congenial fellow. He was at least happy to take Reuben under his wing and teach him how to care for animals a bit more complicated than goats and chickens.
It was only a matter of time, though, before the children would ask Daphne about Lord Chemsford. Eugenia hadn’t seen the man yet, but Sarah and Reuben both had. Perhaps they’d decided they didn’t want to know. As long as they kept any speculations to themselves, Daphne was more than happy to put off the conversation for a while.
As they cleaned up at the house and moved to the cottage to prepare for bed, Daphne did her best to laugh and joke as normal, to pretend their routine hadn’t changed a jot just because there was a new master in the house.
All the while, her heart was pounding, as if she were literally trying to outrun the clock she knew was ticking away behind her. Everything was going to fall apart—likely sooner rather than later—and she didn’t yet have a plan for how to handle it.
As all of them gathered in the girls’ bedchamber for the nightly Bible reading, Daphne fell back on an old favorite to try and ease her fears. She smoothed the pages of a well-read passage in Deuteronomy as she settled into her perch on the edge of the bed the girls shared. Eugenia snuggled in on her left while Sarah sat on the right. Reuben was sprawled across the floor, and Jess leaned against the doorway.
“Why aren’t we reading the next part of John?” Eugenia asked around a yawn.
“Because sometimes . . .” Daphne stopped in the middle of her sentence and took a deep, shuddering breath. She didn’t need to pretend here. This was family. And she’d always tried to show the children it was good to be open, honest, and even vulnerable with those you love, even when it was too dangerous to be so elsewhere.
Such as up at the house.
She cleared her throat. “I find myself needing certain reminders from God sometimes. It’s good to do that, you know, to fall back on a promise when life demands it.”
The children all nodded, happy to follow wherever Daphne led, especially when it came to the Bible reading. It had been the only part of their lives where Daphne had led the way. She’d discovered the comfort of daily Bible study when she’d been trapped in a small house on the edge of Marlborough while carrying Benedict, afraid to go anywhere lest someone see her condition and the sin that had brought it about.
She’d read this story in Deuteronomy so often she could quote parts of it.
Moses had made a muck of things, and while God in all His grace had forgiven the man, he who had led the Israelites out of Egypt hadn’t been allowed to step foot in the Promised Land. He had, however, been allowed to raise up the next generation of leaders who would take God’s people where they needed to go.
Daphne related to that all the way to her bones. One moment, one decision, one mistake had left her ruined, but here she had been given an opportunity to raise children to be better and do more than she ever could have. If she’d stayed in London, holding up ballroom walls and lurking behind drawing room pianofortes, she never would have discovered the existence of a place where she felt comfortable in her own skin, where she felt useful.
She would never possess the ability or courage to guide anyone anywhere, but she could raise up a Joshua just as Moses had done. These children, including Benedict and all the ones now living with families of their own, were her next generation. They were the ones God was preparing to go forth into the world and live for Him.
Daphne’s measure of grace and forgiveness allowed her to be part of their precious, innocent lives.
“‘Be strong and of a good courage,’” Daphne said from memory as she looked around at the three upturned faces. “‘Fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.’”
How very much she hoped to instill such courage in these children. They were going to need it. Life wasn’t kind to people without connections
, with questionable origins. They would have to fight for everything, and she wanted them to do it with integrity and the assurance of God’s love.
She would do whatever it took to keep them with her long enough to truly feel secure in that love. It felt a bit presumptuous to say she wanted to be their Moses, but it was a strong idea to cling to, to put her own hope in. If at all possible, she would help raise up a generation with a bit more courage and reliance on God than she’d had.
And it would be enough.
It would have to be.
Because anything more would require her to step outside of this home she’d created. Her wilderness.
“Mama Daphne,” Sarah said as she poked at a hole in the hem of her night rail, “is Lord Chemsford Benedict’s father? Is that why he’s here?”
Eugenia, who didn’t look at all surprised by the question, added, “Is he going to give Benedict a home like the other children got?”
Pain bloomed through Daphne’s chest as her heart broke into a dozen pieces at the girl’s quiet words. A few tears dripped down her cheeks and Daphne didn’t try to stop them. She never tried to stop them. That only ever made it worse. Letting them come meant they were out of the way all the sooner.
Ignoring the tears tracking down her cheeks, Daphne forced a small smile and ran a hand over Eugenia’s hair. “No. Lord Chemsford is not Benedict’s father. It’s simply a very strange coincidence that they look alike. There’s no reason for either of them to be concerned with the other.”
A soft snort came from the direction of the door, but Daphne didn’t let her smile falter. As much as she wanted to place an outright ban on any further discussion of the remarkably similar appearances—and especially discourage anyone mentioning it to Benedict—she didn’t want to handle the questions such a declaration would bring. So she ignored the frown on Sarah’s face and the confusion on Reuben’s, and she gave Eugenia’s head a loud, smacking kiss. “It’s late and none of us are quite accustomed to the amount of work we have to do now. It’s time for bed.”
A Return of Devotion Page 10