Through the Smoke (22 page)

“Then what of the Duke of Pembroke? I saw how he treated you, heard what he had to say. It may gall you to be in such a position—and rightfully so—but you are in dire need of his support. Surely you care about
his
opinion.”

From what Rachel could tell, the earl didn’t answer. It was Linley who continued.

“If you don’t marry his daughter you will be ruined, my lord. He will abandon your cause and the Abbotts will soon have full sway. Do you want to find yourself at the end of a hangman’s noose?”

Rachel winced at the thought of the earl going to the gallows but refused to consider why his marrying upset her just as much. He was still young, needed to produce an heir. And it sounded as if he had the opportunity to make a favorable match. She should be happy for him.

“I refuse to allow whether I swing from the gallows to hinge on where Rachel sleeps.”

“You may not have a choice. Maybe you would have more leeway if you were your old self. But people are wondering about you as it is. You are up all hours of the night. You come and go like a shade. You no longer maintain the relationships that used to be important to you. You should hear the rumors that are circulating in London and elsewhere—”

“And have been circulating for two years,” the earl broke in. “Rachel is not the cause of that. Forget what people are saying!”

“I can’t. And neither can you. Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but any odd behavior makes you look guilty.”

Rachel gasped that Linley would be so bold, but the earl didn’t react in anger. He sounded almost… philosophical.

“It wasn’t Katherine’s death that changed me. It was marrying her in the first place. You, of all people, should know that. Certainly you remember how miserable I was, how hard I tried to love her and how bitterly I failed. Anyway, I may not be the man I started out to be, but I will prove my innocence all the same.”

“Just marry the duke’s daughter, my lord. Then you can put the past behind you and, one hopes, forget.”

“I
can’t
forget, Linley. Not until I prove my innocence.”

“It has been two years and
still
no one knows how the fire broke out.”

“Someone knows,” the earl insisted. “Maybe even Rachel.”

Rachel covered her mouth and stumbled back, away from the door.
She
didn’t know. She’d told him as much.

But Elspeth might.

The same maid who had helped her get warm that last miserable night in the garret knocked on the door shortly after noon. She was carrying a tray of food. Rachel guessed the earl had requested it, once again making her grateful for his generosity. She wasn’t sure what would’ve happened had she been forced to go in search of sustenance. She definitely didn’t want to run into Mrs. Poulson. She wasn’t sure of her new place at Blackmoor Hall. Should she try to teach the staff to read, as Lord Druridge had suggested?

Mrs. Poulson would definitely not like that. But would she tolerate it? Or would she find some way to quash it?

“Gaw, look at ye sittin’ in this fine room as if ye own it!” Mary said.

Rachel had donned the wool dress she’d been wearing when she first arrived at Blackmoor Hall. Thankfully, Mrs. Poulson or someone else had piled her belongings on Katherine’s bed last night so she didn’t have to wear her uniform. “It’s beautiful in here, isn’t it?”

“Aye, but I’ve seen the room before. It’s a poor lass bein’ treated like a queen I can’t fathom.” She lowered her voice. “Is he a kind bedfellow?”

Rachel felt herself flush. The exchange they’d had in the wee hours made her feel guilty. They’d only touched hands but it had felt like so much more. “He didn’t come to me.” Except to put salve on her hands. She was still amazed by the fact that he’d gone out in the cold in order to gain the remedy, but she didn’t mention it.

Mary’s eyebrows shot up. “Why not?”

“I don’t know what his intentions are,” she admitted.

“But ye’ve been together before. I ’eard all about it. Caused quite an uproar below stairs, it did.”

There wasn’t any point in denying what’d happened. All of Creswell knew of that night. “We were together
once
,” she admitted. “But… I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“And if he pays ye a visit, ye’ll be out of yer mind again,” she said with a laugh. “So be prepared. A man of ’is age and station doesn’t install a maid in the lady’s quarters for nothin’. ’E obviously wants more.”

Everyone else had to be thinking the same thing. Even Geordie would hear of her new living arrangements. But there wasn’t anything Rachel could do to stop the servants from talking. And she had little choice but to stay where she was. She couldn’t go back into the ranks of service—not here with Mrs. Poulson. She’d barely survived her last stint.

She knotted her hands in her lap. “He claims he does not expect that.”

“Oh, ’e expects it,” Mary said. “An’ ’e’s got a right with what ’e’s doin’ for ye. E’s a fine figure of a man, regardless. I don’t blame ye for liftin’ yer skirts. I’d do it, too, if only ’e’d ask.” She put the tray on a table and started to go out, but Rachel pulled her back.

“Stay for a few minutes. There is plenty here for the both of us.”

Mary hesitated as if she wasn’t convinced she could trust the invitation, but when Rachel gestured again, she smiled a conspirator’s smile and closed the door.

Rachel pulled the tray close, and they ate everything on it as if they hadn’t seen food in weeks. There
had
been far too little of it.

“I ’ave never been so full in my life. I’m guessin’ that was intended for the earl hisself,” Mary said, rubbing her stomach in satisfaction.

“It’s nice, how the other half lives,” Rachel murmured.

“Aye, but whatever ye do, don’t get used to it.” Mary stood and indicated the elaborate trappings surrounding them. “This won’t last, and it’ll break yer bloody ’eart if ye expect it to. Soon ye’ll be back in the garret with me, or some other garret.”

“I know,” Rachel said, sobering.

Mary seemed to realize she’d just cast a pall over everything, because she smiled again and gave Rachel a quick hug. “But that doesn’t mean ye can’t enjoy it while it lasts, eh? And that goes for what the earl’s got ’tween ’is legs.”

When Rachel covered her mouth, Mary laughed at her scandalized reaction, grabbed the tray and twitched her bottom as she sauntered out.

“Good luck with Mrs. Poulson,” Rachel whispered after her. But she wasn’t really thinking about the housekeeper. She was remembering that night in the earl’s bed, how eager she’d been to join their two bodies, how she’d ached for the completion he promised. There’d been that terrible flash of pain, which had almost mucked it up, but… if he came to her again, would letting him have his way be more enjoyable now that she was no longer a virgin?

Chapter 13

Mrs. Poulson knocked shortly after lunch. Rachel had just bathed and dressed. At the moment, thanks to the earl, the housekeeper could do little to hurt her, but Rachel worried she might attempt to make Geordie’s life miserable.

The older woman frowned in obvious contempt as her gaze traveled down Rachel’s body. “You are finally awake, I see.”

Rachel said nothing as Mrs. Poulson pushed past her.

Once inside, the housekeeper stood in the center of the room and surveyed her surroundings. “You don’t deserve all this.”

“Did you come for a reason?” she asked.

That she would dare respond with a bit of ice in her own voice caused Mrs. Poulson’s eyes to narrow. “Do not think you will be here long. He will toss you out as soon as he is finished using you. And then where will you be?”

“I will no longer be working for you. We can both agree on that,” she countered.

“Once he turns you out, maybe you will be more grateful for honest work. Starvation will humble the most uppity of maids.”

The venom in those words made Rachel shake her head in wonder. “What have I done to make you hate me so?”

She sniffed. “You don’t know your place.”

Could this stem back to the night she’d appeared at Blackmoor Hall, frantic because her mother was dying? Did it bother Mrs. Poulson so much that the earl had overridden her authority when she tried to turn Rachel out?

It was no use trying to talk to such a person. Rachel had never met anyone so spiteful. “What is it you want?” she asked.

“Mr. Cardiff, the dressmaker, is here. Lord Druridge had him summoned from the village.”

Rachel stepped back. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Apparently you are to have one of Lady Katherine’s gowns.” She’d spoken as if the words tasted bitter on her tongue.

“But there is a needlewoman on staff who is probably capable of making the alterations.”

“Which is what I told him.” She tilted her head back and glared down her blade-like nose. “You must have done your part last night to make him want to be so generous.”

Rachel could have argued that she hadn’t done anything immoral. But why bother? Mrs. Poulson would assume the worst no matter what. And with the thoughts going through her head lately, Rachel wasn’t sure she was innocent enough to expect anything different. She was beginning to feel as if she might be willing to sacrifice her virtue—to sacrifice almost anything—to be part of his life.

“Where is Mr. Cardiff?” she asked.

“In the drawing room. He has asked that you bring your choice of gowns from Lady Katherine’s wardrobe down with you,” she said and stalked out.

She was to pick out a
gown
? That would only make the other servants more jealous than they probably were. They would all feel as if she were putting on airs. And the villagers…

Dropping onto the bed, Rachel wondered how to handle this latest development. If she was to entertain the earl at his bidding, he likely wanted her to be robed in something that reminded him less of her station. But she would always be a poor village girl, and there was no getting aro und that.

A soft knock sounded and Mary poked her head in before Rachel could even stir. “Did ye ’ear? The dressmaker is in the parlor, and ’e’s waitin’ for
Mistress Rachel!
I ’eard ’im tell Mrs. Poulson so!”

“I know. Poulson just left, but… what am I to do?”

“What do ye mean? Ye pick yer favorite, of course.” She dragged Rachel into the dressing room and opened the armoire. “’Ave ye ever seen more fancy gowns than these?”

Rachel felt so out of place she almost couldn’t bring herself to
touch
Katherine’s clothing, let alone select something that would be altered to fit
her
. “I am happy with my own plain clothes.”

“Get what you can,” Mary admonished. “Ye can sell ’is gifts later, if ye ’ave need.” She pulled a beautiful green velvet frock from the armoire and held it against Rachel. “See what this one does for yer eyes? I bet ye’ll look even prettier in it than the former mistress did.”

Rachel caught Mary’s arm. “You knew her? Lady Katherine?”

“Not as well as Rosie did. Rosie was her lady’s maid. She went to the Abbotts after the fire, but ye didn’t ’ave to be close to get an inkling of what Lady Katherine was like.”

“So? Tell me about her.”

Obviously afraid she might be caught loafing, Mary peeked into the other room. “She was spoiled and haughty, threw a tantrum every time somethin’ didn’t go ’er way, she did. I don’t know of a single servant who liked her. She’d get especially spiteful when she was bored, and she grew bored any time the master wasn’t around because ’e was the person she loved to torment most.”

“Would you say he cared a great deal for her?” Rachel knew what Lord Druridge had told her, but she was curious to hear how the servants perceived their relationship.

Mary shrugged. “Och, what does love matter? It was an arranged marriage, a calculated match.”

“Weren’t they ever tender with each other?”

Mary’s expression changed. “Ye canna fall in love with ’im, Rachel. Ye need to listen to me.”

Mary had already warned her once. “I won’t. I just… I saw Katherine occasionally on the streets of Creswell. She was
so
beautiful.”

“On the outside, maybe.” She left the dress in Rachel’s hands. “Ye’d better not keep Mr. Cardiff waitin’.”