To Beguile a Beast (13 page)

The carriage rolled majestically to a stop and a bewigged footman jumped down to set the step and open the door. A very tall lady emerged, bowing her head to clear the carriage roof. Helen nearly dropped to the ground in relief. The lady wore an elegant cream dress with a striped underskirt and a lace cap topped by a straw hat. Behind her was a shorter, plump lady, all in lavender and yellow with a great frilly cap and bonnet framing her jolly red face. The tall lady straightened and frowned at Helen through a pair of formidable and rather odd spectacles. They were large, entirely round, and had thick black frames with an X between the eye pieces.

“Who,” the woman said, “are you?”

Helen curtsied, rather well she thought, considering she was holding a broom. “I’m Mrs. Halifax, Sir Alistair’s new housekeeper.”

The tall lady raised her eyebrows skeptically and turned to her companion. “Did you hear that, Phoebe? Chit says she’s Alistair’s housekeeper. Does it seem likely to you that he’s hired a housekeeper?”

The shorter, plump lady shook out her skirts and smiled at Helen. “Since she said she’s the housekeeper, Sophie, and since she was sweeping the step as we arrived, I think we must assume that Alistair has indeed obtained a housekeeper.”

“Hmm,” was all the tall lady said to that. “You might as well show us in, girl. I doubt Alistair has a decent room, but we’re staying nonetheless.”

Helen felt her face warm. It’d been quite a while since she’d last been called a girl, but the lady didn’t seem to mean anything by it.

“I’m sure I can find something,” she said, not sure at all. If she set the maids to cleaning two of the spare rooms right away, they might be ready by nightfall.
Might.

“Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves,” the shorter lady murmured.

“Should we?” wondered her companion.

“Yes.” Was the firm reply.

“Very well,” the taller lady said. “I am Miss Sophia Munroe, Sir Alistair’s sister, and this is Miss Phoebe McDonald.”

“How do you do?” Helen curtsied again.

“Very pleased to meet you,” Miss McDonald beamed, her plump, red cheeks shining. She seemed to have forgotten that Helen was a servant.

“Won’t you come this way?” Helen said politely. “Um… is Sir Alistair expecting you?”

“Of course not,” Miss Munroe said promptly as she stepped inside the castle. “If he was, he wouldn’t be here.” She took off her hat and frowned around the hall. “He
is
here, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” Helen said, taking both ladies’ hats. She looked about the hall and finally laid them on a marble table. Hopefully it wasn’t too dusty. “I’m sure he’ll be quite pleased to know you’ve come to visit.”

Miss Munroe snorted. “Then you’re more sanguine than I.”

Helen thought it best not to reply to that comment. Instead, she led her guests to the sitting room that she’d set the maids to cleaning, crossing her fingers that things had progressed since luncheon.

But when she opened the door, Tom the footman was sneezing explosively, his head covered in an enormous dusty cobweb, and both Meg and Nellie were giggling uncontrollably. The servants straightened at her entrance, and Nellie slapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter.

Helen sighed and turned back to the ladies. “Perhaps you’d prefer to wait in the dining room. It’s the only entirely neat room in the castle, I’m afraid—barring the kitchen.”

“Not at all.” Miss Munroe swept into the room and stared critically at the moth-eaten row of stuffed animal heads that lined one wall. “Phoebe and I can direct matters here whilst you fetch Alistair.”

Helen nodded and left the servants behind with the ladies. As she mounted the stairs, she could hear Miss Munroe barking orders. She hadn’t seen Sir Alistair since their argument this morning in the kitchen. The truth was that she’d been avoiding him, she’d even sent Meg up with his luncheon instead of delivering it herself. In fact, she realized as she made the third floor, she wasn’t completely sure that Sir Alistair was lurking in his tower room. For all she knew, he’d decided to take one of his rambles.

But when she knocked at the door to the tower, Sir Alistair’s deep voice rasped, “Come.”

She opened the door and stepped into the tower. Sir Alistair was at the biggest table, bent over a book with a magnifying glass in his hand.

He spoke without looking up. “Have you come to distract me from my work, Mrs. Halifax?”

“Your sister has arrived.”

He glanced up sharply at that. “What?”

She blinked. He’d shaved. His unscarred cheek was quite smooth and rather nice-looking, actually. She mentally shook herself. “Your sister—”

He surged around the table. “Nonsense. Why would Sophia come here?”

“I think she’s merely—”

But he was already striding past her. “Something must be the matter.”

“I don’t think anything’s wrong,” she called as she trailed him.

He didn’t seem to hear, descending the stairs rapidly. She was panting by the time they’d made the lower hall, but he wasn’t out of breath at all.

He stopped and frowned. “Where did you put her?”

“In the sitting room with the ugly animal heads,” Helen gasped.

“Wonderful. She’s sure to say something about that,” Sir Alistair muttered.

Helen rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as if she could leave his sister waiting in the
drive.

Sir Alistair strode ahead and burst into the sitting room. “What’s happened?”

Miss Munroe turned to him and frowned through her odd spectacles. “Grandfather’s hunting trophies have moldered completely. They should be thrown out.”

Sir Alistair scowled. “You didn’t travel all the way from Edinburgh to critique the state of Grandfather’s hunting trophies. And what are those things on your face?”

“These”—Miss Munroe touched her ugly spectacles—“are Mr. Benjamin Martin’s visual glasses, which he has developed scientifically to reduce the damage that light has upon the eye. I had them shipped all the way from London.”

“Good God, they’re ugly.”

“Sir Alistair!” Helen gasped.

“Well, they are,” he muttered. “
And
she knows it.”

But his sister was smiling tightly. “Exactly the reaction I’d expect from a philistine such as yourself.”

“So you traveled all the way here just to show them to me?”

“No, I came to see if my only brother was still alive.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?”

“I haven’t received an answer to my last three letters,” his sister shot back. “What was I to think but that you lay rotting somewhere in this old castle?”

“I answer all your letters.” Sir Alistair frowned.

“Not the last three you haven’t.”

Helen cleared her throat. “Would anyone care for tea?”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Miss McDonald said from beside Miss Munroe. “And some scones, perhaps? Sophie loves scones, don’t you, dear?”

“I loathe—” Miss Munroe began, but then stopped abruptly. If Helen didn’t know better, she’d swear that Miss McDonald had pinched her. Miss Munroe drew in a breath and admitted, “I could take some tea.”

“Good.” Helen nodded to Meg, who, with the rest of the servants, had been standing watching the argument. “Please ask Cook for some tea and see if she has any scones or cakes to go with it.”

“Yes, mum.” Meg hurried from the room.

Helen stared pointedly at the remaining servants until they followed reluctantly.

“Won’t you offer your sister a seat?” Helen murmured to Sir Alistair.

“I’ve got work to do,” he grumbled, but said, “Please sit, Sophia, Phoebe. You, too, Mrs. Halifax.”

“But—” she started, then thought better of her objection when he turned his one eye to glare at her. She sat primly in an armless chair.

“Thank you, Alistair,” Miss Munroe said, and lowered herself to one of the settees.

Miss McDonald sat beside her and said, “It’s so nice to see you again, Alistair. We were disappointed that you couldn’t come for Christmas. We had a lovely roast goose, quite the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“I never come for Christmas,” Sir Alistair muttered. He chose a chair next to Helen, making her rather self-conscious.

“But perhaps you should,” Miss McDonald chided gently.

Her words seemed to be much more effective than Miss Munroe’s strident ones. Sir Alistair’s high cheekbones actually looked a little ruddy. “You know I don’t like to travel.”

“Yes, dear,” Miss McDonald said, “but that’s not sufficient reason to ignore us. Sophie was quite hurt when you never even wrote her a Christmas letter.”

Beside her, Miss Munroe snorted, looking far from hurt.

Sir Alistair frowned and started to open his mouth.

Helen feared what he might say and hastily addressed Miss McDonald. “I understand you live in Edinburgh?”

That lady beamed. “Yes, indeed. Sophie and I have a lovely Whitestone house with a view of the city. Sophie belongs to quite a few scientific and philosophical societies, and we can attend a lecture, a demonstration, or a salon nearly every day of the week.”

“How lovely,” Helen said. “And you must be interested in science and philosophy, too, Miss McDonald?”

“Oh, I have an interest,” she replied, smiling, “but not the avocation that Sophie has.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Munroe barked. “You do quite well for an untrained mind, Phoebe.”

“Why, thank you, Sophie,” Miss McDonald murmured, and twinkled conspiratorially at Helen.

Helen hid a smile. Miss McDonald seemed to know exactly how to handle her formidable friend.

“Did you know that Sir Alistair is working on another wonderful book?” she asked.

“Really?” Miss McDonald clapped her hands. “Can we see it?”

Miss Munroe arched an eyebrow at her brother. “Glad to hear you’re working again.”

“It’s still in the early stages yet,” he muttered.

The maids returned with the tea things at that point, and for a moment all was chaos as they set up.

Sir Alistair took advantage of the bustle to lean toward Helen and murmur, “Wonderful?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “Your book
is
wonderful.”

His brown eye searched her face. “You’ve read it, then?”

“I haven’t—not all of it—but I looked through part of it last night.” She felt her breath catch at the intensity of his gaze. “It was fascinating.”

“Was it?”

He was watching her mouth now, his eye narrowed and intent, and she wondered if he was remembering their kiss. She’d vowed not to repeat it. Involving herself with this man would be yet another example of rushing into folly without a thought for the danger. But as he raised his gaze and met her eyes, she knew.

Dangerous as it was, this folly was beginning to look very tempting, indeed.

She turned and saw him at that moment, and for a second she paused, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable, her lovely cheeks pink and innocent. He should simply turn and remount the stairs. Lock himself in his tower and order her from his castle and his life. She hoped for some starry future, and he knew he had none.

Instead he strolled toward her. “You seem to have everything well in hand for dinner, Mrs. Halifax.”

She looked distractedly into the dining room. “I think it’ll do. Let me know if the service isn’t properly done. Tom’s still learning about serving soup.”

“Oh, but you’ll be there to observe,” he said, taking her arm. “Have you forgotten our bargain to dine together? You were quite adamant about my part last night.”

“But your sister!” Her cheeks flamed. “She’ll think that… that… you
know.
”

“What she’ll think is that I’m eccentric, and
that
she already knows.” He watched her sardonically. “Come, Mrs. Halifax, this is no time for missish nerves. Where are your children?”

She looked, if possible, even more scandalized. “In the kitchen, but you can’t—”

He beckoned to one of the maids. “Fetch Mrs. Halifax’s children, please.”

The maid hurried off. He arched an eyebrow down at his housekeeper. “There. You see. Quite simple.”

“Only if one disregards all propriety,” she muttered darkly.

“There you are, brother,” Sophia’s brisk voice came from behind them.

Alistair turned and bowed to his sister. “As you see.”

She finished descending the stairs. “Wasn’t sure you’d come down for dinner. And quite neat, too. I suppose I should be honored. But then”—she eyed Mrs. Halifax’s hand on his arm—“perhaps your pretty toilet wasn’t for me.”

Mrs. Halifax tried to withdraw her hand, but Alistair placed his firmly over hers, preventing her. “Your favor is always uppermost in my mind, Sophia.”

She snorted at that.

“Sophie,” Phoebe chided from behind her. She shot an apologetic look at him. Poor Phoebe McDonald was always smoothing things over in his sister’s wake.

Alistair was just opening his mouth to point out just that—perhaps unwisely—when Jamie came rushing around the corner, nearly cannoning into Sophia.

“Jamie!” Mrs. Halifax cried.

The boy skidded to a stop and stared at Sophia.

Behind him came his sister, more sedate as always. “Meg said we were to come to dinner.”

Sophia looked down her long nose at the girl. “Who are you?”

“I’m Abigail, ma’am,” she said, curtsying. “This is my brother, Jamie. I apologize for him.”

Sophia arched an eyebrow. “I’ll wager you do that quite a lot.”

Abigail sighed, sounding world-weary. “Yes, I do.”

“Good girl.” Sophia
almost
smiled. “Younger brothers can be a chore sometimes, but one must persevere.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abigail said solemnly.

“Come on, Jamie,” Alistair said. “Let’s go into dinner before they form a Society for Bossy Older Sisters.”

Jamie headed into the dining room with alacrity. Alistair took his habitual seat at the head of the table, seating Sophia to his right as was proper, but ensuring that Mrs. Halifax was to his left. He pulled out her chair for her pointedly when she tried to make a break for it and hide at the other end of the table.

“Thank you,” she muttered rather ungraciously as she sat.

“You’re quite welcome,” he murmured gently as he pushed the chair in overly hard.

Sophia was busy instructing Abigail on the proper placement of her water glass and so missed their byplay, but Phoebe watched them curiously from the other side of Mrs. Halifax. Damn. He’d forgotten how observant the little woman was. He nodded at her and received a wink in reply.

“So you’ve begun writing again,” Sophia said as Tom brought in a tureen of clear soup with a maid to serve it.

“Yes,” Alistair replied cautiously.

“And this is the same work?” she demanded. “The one about the various birds and animals and insects in Britain?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Good. I’m glad to hear it.” She waved away the basket of bread Abigail was attempting to pass her. “No, thank you. I never eat yeasted breads after luncheon. I hope,” she continued, turning on him again, “that you’ll do a proper job of it. Richards made a hash of it with his
Zoölogia
a few years back. Tried to show that chickens were related to lizards, the idiot. Ha!”

Alistair leaned back to let the maid set a bowl of soup before him. “Richards is a pedantic ass, but his comparison of chickens and lizards was quite reasonable in my opinion.”

“I suppose you think badgers are related to bears as well?” Sophia’s spectacles glinted dangerously.

“As a matter of fact, the claws of both have a striking resemblance—”

“Ha!”

“And,” he continued unperturbed, as they had, after all, been arguing like this since childhood, “when I dissected a badger carcass last autumn, I found similarities in the bones of the skull and forearms as well.”

“What’s a carcass?” Jamie asked before Sophia could set into him.

“A dead body,” Alistair explained. Beside him, Mrs. Halifax choked. He turned and solicitously thumped her on the back.

“I’m quite fine,” she gasped. “But might we change the subject?”

“Certainly,” he said kindly. “Perhaps we ought to discuss dung instead.”

“Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Halifax muttered beside him.

He ignored her, turning to his sister. “You won’t believe what I found in the dung of a badger the other day.”

“Yes?” Sophia asked with interest.

“A bird beak.”

“Nonsense!”

“Indeed, it was. A small one—perhaps a titmouse or a sparrow—but a bird’s beak most certainly.”

“Surely not a titmouse. They don’t come to the ground that often.”

“Ah, but it’s my judgment that the bird was already dead when ingested by the badger.”

“You promised no more dead bodies,” Mrs. Halifax burst out.

He looked at her and had a hard time not laughing. “I promised no more
badger
carcasses. This is a
bird
carcass we speak of.”

She frowned at him, beautifully, of course. “You’re being didactic.”

“Yes, I am.” He smiled. “What’re you going to do about it?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophia and Phoebe exchange a raised-eyebrow glance, but he ignored them.

Mrs. Halifax tilted her nose in the air. “I just think you should be more polite to the woman who oversees the making of your bed.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you threatening to place toads in my bed, madam?”

“Perhaps,” she said loftily, but her eyes laughed at him.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, lush and wet, and he felt his loins turn to iron. He said low so no one else could overhear, “I would pay more attention to the threat were it something else you placed in my bed.”

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Don’t what?”

“You know.” Those harebell-blue eyes met his, wide and vulnerable. “Don’t tease.”

Her murmured words should’ve made him feel ashamed. But, like the basest cad, it only heightened his interest.
Careful,
a voice whispered.
Don’t let the woman seduce you into thinking you can give her what she wants.
He should listen to that voice. Should obey and turn away from Mrs. Halifax before it was too late. Instead he leaned forward, beguiled despite himself.