Fallen Angel (17 page)

One way or another, he would have to marry Miss Jolliffe quite soon for her own protection.

Verity had no sooner stepped through the door than the butler virtually ripped her cloak away from her shoulders and snatched her bonnet off her head.

“Quickly, quickly, miss. She’s been asking for you for the last half hour, and we had to tell her you’d gone to speak to the butcher.” Shoving her toward the stairway,
Otterwall added, “She’s in her boudoir, and if you make haste, she’ll never suspect you’ve been driving out with his lordship.”

With a hurried “Thank you, Otterwall,” Verity dashed up the stairs like an out-and-out hoyden, then had to pause outside her sister’s room to regain her breath.

Tapping lightly, she entered to find her sister reclining gracefully on the chaise lounge. “You asked to see me?”

“Where have you been?” Petronella asked crossly. “You know how I detest waiting. I vow, you have quite ruined my day.”

“There was a problem with the butcher’s account, but I have discussed it with him and found the error. He had inadvertently charged us twice for the same leg of mutton,” Verity said, amazing herself by her ability to fabricate a plausible
li
e.

“Really, Verity, must you prattle on about such tedious matters when I have other things on my mind? I have the headache,” Petronella said, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “As much as I might wish to, I simply cannot accompany Antoinette to her fitting this afternoon at Mademoiselle Beaufrere’s.”

Verity had no doubt but that five minutes after her departure with Antoinette in tow, Petronella would rise from her sick bed, miraculously recovered and quite well enough, thank you, to entertain callers.

But Verity dutifully agreed that it would be no trouble at all for her to take her niece to the modiste, and a few minutes later she was safely back in her own room, where she savored her few minutes of solitude w
hil
e waiting for Antoinette to finish dressing and join her.

Thinking
back, Verity realized it had been a most unusual morning, and the most astonishing part had been the behavior of the servants in this very house.

She had always assumed that they looked down on her because she was—despite her efforts not to admit it to herself—nothing more than a poor relation, treated with no respect by her relatives and shamelessly used by them as a household drudge.

When she reviewed the events of the morning, however, she realized that the servants had seemed to be almost as downcast as she was when Lord Sherington failed to put in a timely appearance, and the excitement when he had finally arrived had obviously been shared by all of them. That alone was enough to make her think the servants actually liked her—that they felt some affection for her.

But even more astounding, they had lied to protect her from her sister’s displeasure, and the only reason she could think of for them to have done that was that they felt a certain
...
loyalty toward her.

Loyalty—the single requirement Lord Sherington had had for the servants he wished to hire. Unlike him, she was not paying the servants here double the prevailing wages—indeed, she herself was not paying them a single farthing—and yet they appeared to be loyal to her rather than to her sister.

Restless, Verity wandered around her room, unable to sit quietly. It was not that the servants’ behavior displeased her, but ... it was all very unsettling.

She stopped in front of the cheval glass and stared at her reflection. She had thought she knew herself, but although the image she saw in the mirror was the same one she had seen before she set out for Northumberland a few short weeks ago, somehow her perception of herself was different—indeed, it seemed as if she was changing more and more every day.

Who was she? What kind of a person was she?

She no longer felt qualified to answer those questions.

What did she want out of life?

That question she could answer with no hesitation, with no vacillations, with no self-doubts.

She wanted to be with Lord Sherington every minute of the day
...
and every hour of the night. Everything else she would part with willingly, even her immortal soul, if she could only be with him—as his wife or as his mistress or as his friend or even only as his housekeeper—for the rest of her natural life.

When Gabriel returned home at half past five, the door was opened to him by an unfamiliar man dressed in exceedingly shabby clothes.

“Good evening, my lord. I am Exeter, your new butler.”

“Assemble the other servants, Exeter. I wish to meet them all,” Gabriel said before stalking into his study and shutting the door. Then he cast himself down into his favorite chair before the fire and turned his mind once more to the problem of Miss Jolliffe, who was not supposed to be a problem.

Less than ten minutes later there was a tapping at the door, and Exeter entered and informed him the servants were ready for his inspection.

They were in truth a motley crew, ill-clothed and obviously ill-fed. So gaunt were they, in fact, that he felt as if he were back on board a ship that had not put in to port for a good three months.

One by one they were introduced to him, and they bowed or curtseyed, and he repeated their names, committing them to memory.

When he reached the end of the line, he did not dismiss them, rather he returned to his study, taking with him Mrs. Filbert, the new cook, who looked as if she were about to faint at his feet, but whether from hunger or fear he could not tell.

“Mrs. Filbert, I shall give you two weeks—” She became even paler if that were possible. “—and at the end of that time, I expect you to have fattened up everyone in this household. I am not interested in economy or frugality. You are to purchase sufficient meat and vegetables, and whatever fruit you can find in the market, and you are to stuff everyone until they are too full to get out of their chairs. Is that clear?”

To his great embarrassment, she began to cry. In between sobs, she told him he was a saint and other words to that effect.

He did his best to calm her, but she was still crying when he led her out of the room. Too late he realized that he had made a serious error in judgment, because the row of servants standing in the hall were staring at him in horror, as if he were some vile monster who had lured them into this house for some dreadful, unspeakable purpose.

Aggravated beyond measure, Gabriel scowled back at them. If he had stopped to think, he would have realized he was only compounding his mistake. To his disgust, some of the younger maids now looked so horrorstruck, he would not have been surprised if they had run screaming into the street.

The situation was deteriorating rapidly and positively demanded Miss Jolliffe’s presence. If she were here, he had no doubt she would know exactly how to put these poor people at ease. He cursed the rules and restrictions of society that insisted a lady could not visit a bachelor in his residence without forever destroying her reputation, no matter what her purpose there.

But lacking her assistance, there was nothing he could do but tell the housekeeper he wished to speak with her privately. She, at least, did not look as if she would turn into a watering pot. Once they were alone in his study, she stood in front of him, her back ramrod straight, as if she were a gunnery sergeant reporting for duty.

“Certain conditions here are not to my liking, Mrs. Richards,” he began, but to his amazement, she interrupted him before he could explain his wishes.

“Indeed, I can well understand that, my lord. I have no wish to cast aspersions on your previous housekeeper,” she said, then immediately began to do just that. “But it is shocking the way things have been allowed to go to rack and ruin around here.”

He was surprised at her accusations, which seemed a little extreme, but since he infinitely preferred her militant style to the emotional outburst of the cook, he allowed her to continue.

“The linens have been allowed to become quite yellowed, and it appears that no mending has been done for months, and if any of the furniture has had more than a nodding acquaintance with beeswax in the last year, then my name is not Mrs. Richards. The amount of dust in the draperies and the dirt under the carpet is scandalous, and furthermore, my lord—”

But Gabriel stopped her before she could continue her recital. “I am pleased that you are eager to start polishing the furniture and darning the sheets,” he said mildly, “but for the moment such things are not at the top of my list of priorities.”

The housekeeper looked at him reprovingly, and for a moment he almost thought she was going to tell him “A stitch in time saves nine,” or some aphorism like that.

“I wish to know the condition of the servants’ quarters. Are the rooms comfortable and well fitted out?”

For the first time since she entered the study, she did not meet his eye. “They are
...
adequate, my lord.”

“Does this mean they are ready for inspection?” he said, giving in to the impulse to bait her.

She looked at him in horror. “Indeed, my lord—that would—but surely you do not intend—I had not—perhaps
...
” Her voice trailed off.

Pleased that he had at last reduced her to speechlessness, he began with the orders he had intended to give her in the beginning, before she had interrupted him.

“The first task I wish you to undertake, Mrs. Richards, if you have no objections”—he looked at her questioningly, but she merely pressed her lips firmly together—“is to see to it that all the servants in this household are properly attired. They are each to receive two sets of clothing, and I am counting on you to see that the fabric is of good quality. If there are not sufficient maids who are proficient with needle and thread, then you may temporarily hire additional seamstresses for however many days it takes. I trust it will not take too many days?”

“No, my lord, I mean, yes, my lord., I can arrange that, and no, my lord, it will not take too long.”

“Once that project is underway, I wish you to purchase sufficient feather ticks, muslin sheets, and wool blankets for each of the servants’ beds.” He paused, to see if she was going to raise any more objections, but she merely pressed her lips more tightly together.

“You also have my permission to scavenge in the lumber rooms for any discarded furniture that may be use
d
in the servants’ hall.”

To his astonishment, the redoubtable Mrs. Richards also burst into tears and fell to her knees in front of him, clutching his hand and babbling something totally incoherent.

10

As unfair a
s it was, Gabriel felt an immense anger at Miss Jolliffe for leaving him to handle such matters by himself.

Grasping the housekeeper’s elbow and helping her to her feet, Gabriel decided while escorting the woman out that it was not totally unjust to blame Miss Jolliffe for his present difficulties. She had, after all, had sufficient opportunity to fall in love with him, and it was beyond his comprehension that she had not done so.

On the other hand, considering that he had just—quite unintentionally—reduced both his new cook and his new housekeeper to tears, the basic problem could be that his understanding of the female mind was deficient.

Knowing he was being unreasonable did not, however, stop him from feeling cross with Miss Jol
l
i
f
fe.

He could, he realized too late, have saved himself a great deal of trouble by using his new butler as a go-between, rather than speaking directly to the two women. Signaling the man that he wished to speak to him, Gabriel retreated once again into his study.

“I warn you, Exeter,” he said as soon as the door was closed behind them, “that my patience is wearing exceedingly thin. If you feel compelled to interrupt my every sentence or to turn into a watering pot, I shall quite likely flog you with a cat-o’-nine-tails.”

“I should not dream of behaving in such an unseemly way,” Exeter said stiffly, his manner quite properly butlerish even if his clothes were so patched and mended as to make him look like a comical figure from a Covent Garden farce.

“In case you have not heard the gossip about me, I am a rich man—exceedingly rich—rich beyond your wildest imagination. Men as rich as I am frequently have our little whims, and I am no exception. That is only fair, do you not agree, Exeter?”

“Yes, my lord, indeed that is only proper,” the butler said, keeping his eyes rigidly forward.

“Even if you think I am wasting my blunt, it is not for you to question my wishes, is that not so, Exeter?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Now that we have that clearly understood, it is my wish and desire that the fires in the study, the library, the morning room, and my bedroom be kept burning at all times.”

The butler nodded his head.

“And furthermore, it is my wish—no, it is my direct order—that full coal scuttles are to be kept at a
l
l times in the servants’ quarters, and that each of the servants is to be allowed to have a fire burning in his or her room whenever he or she desires, no matter what the season. Is that understood?”

The butler did not make a sound, and when Gabriel looked at him closely, he saw that tears were welling up in the man’s eyes.

“Confound it, Exeter, I ordered you not to cry!”

“I am not crying, my lord,” the butler said between clenched teeth.

Crossing to the little table where a decanter of brandy stood, Gabriel poured a healthy measure into a glass and offered it to the butler, who made no move to take it.

“With respect, my lord, I am a Methodist.” His shoulders sagged, as if he expected Gabriel to dismiss him on the spot for being a nonconformist.

“T
h
en at least I shall not have to worry about you making inroads in my cellars,” Gabriel said before tossing off the brandy himself.

“I shall see that your wishes are carried out concerning the fires in the servants’ rooms,” Exeter said, once more in proper control of his shoulders and his emotions.

“There is one more thing.” Walking around behind his desk and retrieving a bag of coins from one of the drawers, Gabriel tossed it to the butler, who caught it without blinking an eye.

“I know from experience what it is like to be penniless,” Gabriel said. “Therefore I wish you to distribute one gold guinea to each of the upper servants and a silver crown to each of the lower servants. This is to be considered in the nature of a bonus, not an advance on wages.”

Looking down at the bag of money in his hand, Exeter tried to speak, but it was obvious he was overcome by emotion.

“You may have heard it gossiped around town that I am ruthless,” Gabriel said.

“Oh, my lord, I am sure you are not—” the butler said with a quavering voice.

“You would do well to believe it,” Gabriel said, “for it is quite true.”

Exeter looked at him with confusion written clearly on his face.

“I do not want anyone in this household to have any illusions about me. While I may in some ways be more compassionate than the average peer of the realm, I can also, when the situation warrants it, be completely and totally ruthless.”

His words—or perhaps something in his tone of voice—made the proper impression on the butler. “I understand, my lord.”

“I am glad that you do. It will be your responsibility to see that the other servants likewise understand. The punishment for dishonesty, disloyalty, or disobedience will be swift and merciless. And as Mrs. Wiggins may have told you, I shall not allow any gossip about my affairs. Do you think you can make that clear to the others?”

“I am sure I can convince them, my lord,” the butler said, fear making his hands tremble and his voice quaver.

Gabriel sighed. This was all much more difficult than he had anticipated, but since Miss Jolliffe was not at hand, he would have to carry on as best he could.

“It will not be all that bad working for me,” he said softly. “Despite my temper, which I am sure you have also heard stories about, I am intelligent enough to recognize the difference between deliberate treachery and an honest mistake. Anyone who is making a true effort to serve me well and loyally will not need to fear that I shall act capriciously and turn them off for an imagined slight.”

The butler did not look wholly reassured, but Gabriel realized that he was walking a fine line—too much reassurance, and the man would doubtless fall to his knees weeping in gratitude. Deciding it was more prudent to leave the butler with a little anxiety, Gabriel stalked over to the door, where he paused only long enough to say, “Inform the cook that I have changed my mind and decided to dine at my club this evening.”

Halfway to Brooke’s Gabriel realized that he could not stomach the thought of dining there. Not that the food was not good, he just had no taste for the company. All he wanted to do was spend a quiet evening with Miss Jolliffe, who he was beginning to think was the only reasonable, rational person in all of London.

She would not burst into tears at the slightest
thing. W
hy, even stranded in Northumberland, she had remained cool and calm and completely in control of her emotions.

Which was, he admitted to himself, undoubtedly the reason he was having so much difficulty getting her to fall in love with him. On the other hand, being a completely emotionless, passionless female, she would certainly be much easier to live with after they were married since she would not have the hysterics at a moment’s notice.

It was unfortunate that there was no entertainment arranged for this evening. As frustrating as he found it to have her relatives around, at least he could derive some small pleasure from being near Miss Jolliffe.

Although he had not made a conscious decision to go there, Gabriel realized his feet had followed his thoughts and had led him directly to Curzon Street. Standing outside the Wasteney residence and looking up at the lighted windows, he resolved to take his chances. The baron and baroness were always so eager to toad-eat him, he rather thought they would welcome him even if he came by at four in the morning—or if, as in this case, he appeared unexpectedly just as they were preparing to go in to dinner.

And so it proved to be. The butler admitted him, took his hat, went to inform the master and mistress, and a few minutes later Lord and Lady Wasteney came hurrying out, their daughter trailing behind them, to assure him of his welcome.

“But of course you must dine with us,” Lord Wasteney said effusively.

“It is only potluck, of course,” Lady Wasteney said with a simper, “but we consider you almost one of the family.”

Startled at her choice of words, Gabriel looked at her closely. Did she suspect what his intentions were toward her sister?

When Gabriel looked into Lady Wasteney’s eyes, he saw a self-centered, calculating woman, who would stop at nothing to claw her way into the upper ranks of society. But on the other hand, he could not see enough intelligence there to make her a dangerous opponent.

Reassured, he allowed himself to be led into the drawing room, where he discovered to his vast displeasure that despite his lecturing her, Miss Jolliffe was still playing the role of poor relation—still sitting withdrawn from the others in her accustomed place in the
corner
. She cast him a guilty look, then responding to his frown, she put down her needlework and joined them all by the fire.

As he had expected, Lord and Lady Wasteney dominated the conversation, but Gabriel still took some measure of satisfaction in being near Miss Jolliffe, even though he had little opportunity to converse with her. After dinner, however, he began to think coming here had been a bad mistake. In his desire to see Miss Jolliffe, he had completely forgotten the dangers of dining
en famille
with the Wasteneys.

“Antoinette, my love, will you not entertain us on the pianoforte this evening?” Lady Wasteney said coyly.

Before Gabriel could gather his wits enough to think of a way to squash this revolting suggestion, Miss Jolliffe
spoke up. “Perhaps Lord Sherington would prefer to play a hand or two of w
his
t?”

“I am sure—” Lady Wasteney began, but her husband interrupted her.

“Capital idea, capital. You do play whist, do you not, Sherington?”

Gabriel hastened to reassure him. “I positively dote on the game. Nothing I like better.”

“Splendid, splendid. My daughter hasn’t a head for cards, so we are always eager for a fourth.”

A table, chairs, and a new deck of cards were quickly produced by one of the footmen, but to Gabriel’s dismay, he was skillfully outmaneuvered by the baron, who managed to take the seat opposite Miss Jolliffe.

With the first hand, it became quite clear that like her daughter, Lady Wasteney did not have a head for cards. Chattering away while she laid her cards down seemingly at random, she managed to lose not only the first hand, but also the next one, both of which Gabriel would have sworn were unbeatable.

Lord Wasteney, who could not refrain from smiling rather gloatingly every time his wife led the wrong card or trumped one of Gabriel’s winning cards, was an average player. Miss Jolliffe, on the contrary, was not only quite skilled, but she also had a superb memory for what had been played. “I believe this two of hearts is good,” she said serenely at the end of the third hand, taking the setting trick.

She smiled at Gabriel, and her eyes seemed to say, “If you are tired of losing, there is always Antoinette and the pianoforte.”

He scowled at Miss Jolliffe, but instead of being put out of countenance, she trumped in on the fourth trick of the next hand and then proceeded to destroy—with the help of Lady Wasteney’s incompetence, to be sure— all of Gabriel’s carefully thought out strategy.