The Truth About Lord Stoneville (11 page)

“How can I forget it when you work so hard to remind us of it?”

“Damn it, Minerva—”

“I know, I know. You’re my scary big brother, and all that.” She waggled her fingers. “I’m off to bed. Don’t get into too much trouble before morning.”

As she sauntered out laughing, he couldn’t prevent the smile tugging at his lips. God help any man who tried to make Minerva submit to his will. She would eat him alive and lick her fingers afterward.

But what she’d said did remind him—he needed to go over the ledgers before he met with the tenants. He walked into the hall, then paused as laughter came from his brothers in the card room. His responsibilities tugged him the other way, toward his study and the waiting ledgers.

He tensed. This was how it began. First, he’d handle a few small matters, then he’d take on more and more, until one day the house and all it stood for would have him in its grip, and he would become like Father, willing to do anything, marry anyone, to keep the blasted estate going.

No, damn it! He wouldn’t let the ghosts of Halstead Hall drag him where he didn’t want to be. The ledgers could wait until tomorrow. A night of drinking and cards lay before him, and it was exactly what he needed.

Then Gran’s words rose unbidden from his memory.

You’re better than this aimless life you lead.

A strangled laugh erupted from him. Gran was wrong. He didn’t know how to be better—not without sacrificing his soul to respectability.

And he would be damned before he ever did
that
.

Chapter Ten

On her first morning at Halstead Hall, Maria stood in front of the tarnished silver mirror in her bedchamber, tugging at the bodice of the ghastly red gown. “Is there nothing you can do to bring the neckline up, Betty?” she asked the maid who was plaiting her hair.

“Oh! I plumb forgot, miss.” Betty scurried over to pick up something she’d laid on a chair when she’d first entered. “Lady Minerva said you could use her pelerine if you want.” She draped the wide lace collar over Maria’s bodice and fastened the little button. “She said to tell you how sorry she was that she had no clothes to fit you, but this might help.”

“It’s very kind of her.” Maria gazed at her image and sighed. “A pity that it makes the gown only slightly less vulgar.”

“Yes, miss.” The girl colored. “I-I mean, no, miss.”

Betty was awfully skittish for a servant. Ever since she’d come in early to find Maria making up the bed, she’d been anxious. She kept fluttering about, trying to help Maria do things she could do perfectly well on her own, getting even more agitated when Maria insisted on doing them.

“Say what you really think about the gown, Betty. It’s fine.”

“You look very pretty in it.”

Maria snorted. “The only one who thinks that is your master.” And that was only because the wicked devil clearly had a fondness for well-displayed bosoms.

She couldn’t meet with an investigator dressed like this—he would never take her concerns seriously. Not to mention he would assume that she and Oliver were . . . intimate. Especially if Oliver kept casting her those heated glances.

She swallowed. Nathan had always given her brotherly looks, whereas Oliver made her feel naked whenever he raked those dark eyes down her body. How horrible was it that she didn’t mind that nearly as much as she should?

Then there were his heady kisses. Her cheeks heated at the memory of his lips gliding over hers, of his warm mouth doing scandalous things that even now turned her knees wobbly. Heavens alive, why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? She’d tossed and turned half the night, reliving every second in his arms. It was ridiculous! It meant nothing to him. And it
should
mean nothing to her; she had a fiancé!

A fiancé who’d never kissed her anything like that.

When she grimaced, Betty said, “It
is
a shame about your clothes, miss. Lady Minerva told us about the storm at sea that ruined even the gown you were wearing. I daresay the gown that the dressmaker loaned you isn’t much better.”

Maria had to bite back a laugh. Clearly Lady Minerva was adept at spinning all sorts of tales. Now she would have to find out what reason Oliver’s sister had given for a dressmaker’s loaning her a gown. She couldn’t very well ask Betty.

“Lady Celia also said you could use her knit scarf with your redingote if you like. She said as how you looked cold when you came in yesterday.”

Tears stung Maria’s eyes. Oliver’s sisters were so kind. She’d never had sisters and it touched her deeply that they were treating her like one. “Tell her thank you, if you will.”

“Of course, miss.” A long silence ensued as Betty concentrated on pinning her plait in place. After a while, she said, “I hope you slept well, miss.”

“Yes, very well,” she lied.

“The hard bed didn’t bother you?”

“Compared to her bed at home, it had been a cloud. “No.”

“I know it’s musty smelling, but we didn’t have time to air out the bedchamber properly yesterday. Tonight will be better.”

A laugh swelled in her throat. How could anyone possibly improve on a room fit for a princess?

Everything in it suffered from age. The linens were frayed, the chairs creaked when she sat on them, and the upholstery was quite worn. All the silver in the room was tarnished black.

But it was
silver,
for pity’s sake—silver frames, silver sconces, a silver mirror with a matching dressing table also ornamented in real silver. The embroidered hangings on the massive canopied bed were red cut velvet held by rope ties of silver and gold thread, and every inch of wood had once been heavily gilded. Even the faded rug had an elaborate court scene woven into it. It must originally have been intended for a guest of far higher status than her.

Is that why Mrs. Plumtree had put her in this room? To intimidate her? Or had the woman thought it would reinforce what she’d already said about Oliver’s difficult finances?

Little did Mrs. Plumtree know that Maria would happily live in the English version of a rundown house, if
this
is what it was. She loved the place already. It was pretty yet Gothic, crumbling yet stately, like a grand old dame whose fine bone structure and translucent skin never went out of fashion. She now understood how Lady Minerva managed to bring such places to life in her books. She lived in one.

“You must be very pleased to be marrying his lordship,” Betty said.

It wasn’t the first statement Betty had made in a clear attempt to learn more about the sudden betrothal. Heavens alive, the servants were curious about everything. It was distracting, especially since she didn’t know which servants were Oliver’s versus Mrs. Plumtree’s.

“Yes. I’m very pleased,” Maria said noncommittally.

“He’s a handsome gentleman, our master.”

Maria cast her a sharp glance, wondering if Oliver was one of those men who preyed on his servants. But the girl’s expression showed nothing but idle interest.

“Have you worked for his lordship long?” Maria asked.

“Aye, miss, at the other house. After he sold it we were afraid we’d be a long time without work, but he got places in town for every one of us. So when he decided to open up this house and he let it be known that we could have our positions back if we wanted them, pretty near all of us came.”

How odd that a man with no morals should take such care of his servants. “He’s a good master, then.”

Betty nodded. “Very good. Always treated us well. Don’t you be listening to the nasty gossip about the Sharpe family. They’re nice people, they are. If not for that old scandal, folks in society wouldn’t be nearly so vicious about Lord Jarret’s gambling and Lady Celia’s shooting matches.”

“Old scandal?” Maria asked, her curiosity thoroughly piqued.

Hot color flooded Betty’s cheeks. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss. I thought you knew. I spoke out of turn, I did.”

“It’s fine. But what—”

“There now, your hair looks very pretty,” Betty said, practically jumping to put the last pin in place. “If you don’t need nothing else, miss, I should go help the other ladies. There’s only two of us for the four of you, now that Mrs. Plumtree’s servants are gone.”

“That’s fine. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Thank you, miss.” Betty bobbed a pretty curtsy and fled, leaving Maria staring after her.

An old scandal. Might that have anything to do with this strange scheme of their grandmother’s? Did she dare ask Oliver about it? He’d probably just refuse to answer, as always.

With a sigh, she left the room to head down the hall, praying she could find her way to wherever breakfast was. She’d tried to pay attention to Lady Celia when the woman had led her through the warren of rooms, but the place was so oddly laid out that she wasn’t sure where she would end up. Fortunately, she stumbled across a footman, who directed her to the breakfast room.

Upon entering, she was surprised to discover Oliver already having breakfast with his grandmother, his sisters, and Freddy. Lady Celia had given her the impression that Oliver was not an early riser. Of course, it wasn’t that early anymore. It had taken Maria so long to tidy her room that it must be nearly nine.

“Ah, Miss Butterfield, there you are,” Mrs. Plumtree said as Maria rounded the table. “Oliver was just telling me about the tragedy that befell your trunks. A pity that the dressmaker couldn’t loan you a better gown.”

She lifted her chin. “Indeed it is.”

“I was explaining to Gran,” Oliver put in, “that you ordered some new clothes made.You said those would be ready today, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

She let out a breath. “Yes, today.” The whole family seemed to have conspired on the subject of her clothes. She might as well go along, especially since Freddy was no help at all. He was too busy shoveling down shirred eggs to even hint at what tales they’d invented.

Oliver went on buttering his toast. “I thought we’d go into town to pick them up and perhaps shop for whatever else you need. If that’s all right with you.”

Mrs. Plumtree’s eyebrows arched high at that, but she said nothing.

“Of course,” Maria said cheerily.

Freddy’s head snapped up. “I don’t have to go, do I? I hate shopping.”

“You have to chaperone,” Maria chided him.

Inexplicably, Oliver tensed.

Freddy didn’t seem to notice. “Oh. Right. Should I bring my sword?”

“I returned it to him last night,” Oliver explained in a tight voice.

“I see,” she said. Oliver seemed awfully upset about it. She glanced at Freddy. “Leave the sword here. I’m sure Oliver can protect us.”

When Oliver let out a breath, she stared at him quizzically. The tension seemed to have drained out of him, and he looked relieved. It dawned on her that he’d been waiting to see if she meant to abandon ship this morning, as he’d promised she could if she was still unhappy.

The realization brought her up short. Ever since her conversation with his grandmother, she’d felt a fierce urge to help him thwart the woman. From that moment on, she’d acted as if the matter were settled, when in fact it still wasn’t.

For half a second, she considered the possibility of backing out now. If she stayed, he would help her find Nathan. But he might also attempt to give her more of those incredible kisses. Did she dare risk it?

She had to. Without his help, she had no way to find Nathan. And surely she could resist a few kisses, no matter how amazing. No matter how the thought of them set her blood to pumping and her insides flipping crazily about.

Mercy, what did that say about her character? She had to get this foolish fascination under control.

Breakfast proved to be a tense affair. Oliver’s grandmother peppered her with questions about her family, and she had no idea what to say to help Oliver’s situation. She didn’t like to lie, but she didn’t think it wise to explain that they had a higher status than Oliver had implied.

She was so grateful to finally have it over that she didn’t even protest when Oliver laid his hand in the small of her back as they strolled toward the front of the house. Even if it did send a delicious tremor through her.

When they reached the courtyard, he bent his head close. “Am I to understand that you’ve decided to continue our arrangement?”

“As long you keep your end of the bargain. I still need to find my fiancé, you know.”

“Of course,” he clipped out.

“Why did you tell your grandmother that I’m picking up gowns in town? She’ll be suspicious when I don’t return with any.”

“After we meet with the Bow Street runner, you and I will go to the secondhand shops. Their clothing won’t be in the first stare of fashion, but it’ll be adequate.”

“I don’t think I can afford—”

“I’m paying for them. It’s my masquerade, so it’s my expense. If you don’t want to keep them, I can always give them to the servants or resell them. If you do want to keep them, you can consider it a bonus for helping me.”

“If I keep them, Nathan will repay you for them as soon as we are married,” she said tightly.

He eyed her closely. “You mean, as soon as you find him. Have you thought about what you’ll do if you
don’t
find him?”

“No.” The nightmare of legal entanglement that would ensue was more than she could bear to consider. She had to find him. There was no other choice.

But the gravity of the situation weighed even more heavily on her an hour later, when a clerk ushered them into the cramped and windowless office of Mr. Jackson Pinter. The clerk said that the Bow Street runner, recommended by one of Oliver’s good friends, would return shortly. Then he left them to wait.

While Oliver settled into a chair, she paced the small room. Sketches of hard-faced men were pinned up on the walls, and an assortment of weapons hung in a glass-fronted cabinet beside them, reminding her that the runner’s job was to hunt down criminals.

Things were desperate indeed if she had to resort to a man familiar with the seediest parts of London. Still, if Nathan were in any trouble, surely this runner fellow could get him out of it.

“Now
that
is a sword,” Freddy said in awe as he went to look at an impressive saber hanging from the hat rack near the door.

“Stay away from it,” she cautioned. “I’m sure it’s sharper than yours.”

As usual, Freddy ignored her. “Just think what I could do with this,” he said as he lifted it off its hook.

“So far I haven’t seen you do anything with a sword, my boy,” Oliver remarked dryly. “Though I shudder to think what your cousin would attempt.”