“You said it didn’t matter.” Hannah snuggled her head on his bare chest. “You said you didn’t sleep anyway.”
“I don’t. But I’m in bed now, and I’m uncomfortable.”
“I suppose we could do this somewhere else.”
“Your bed is lumpy and too damned narrow.”
“I didn’t mean in my room. I meant in here.” She lifted her head and gazed around at his dismal furnishings, then lowered her head and sighed. “Never mind. It’s all awful.”
Dougald looked around. She was right. It was all awful, but even if he were inclined, there was nothing to be done about it. He had hired workmen to restore the castle’s beauty. He had them laboring from dawn ’til dusk and beyond to prepare for the Queen’s visit. He didn’t have time for the frivolity of fixing his own bedchamber, regardless of the pleasures he and his wife shared, albeit clandestinely, in the darkest part of the night.
He frowned. He hadn’t yet gained the discipline he sought. When she came to him tonight, he should have turned her away. Instead he told himself that, because she had come to him, he had won a victory. Yes, that was how he would choose to view this. As a victory.
Lifting himself, he dumped her backward on his bed. Leaning over her, he said, “I can make you forget your discomfort.”
She linked her hands behind his neck. “Yes, do. But tonight is positively the last time.”
Hannah picked her way through the ladders and Holland cloths along the upstairs corridor on her way to the aunts’ workroom. She had taken to arriving at the workroom early every morning. Then Hannah had a moment of quiet to organize the day’s weaving before the laborers arrived for the day’s work. A moment she didn’t know if she wanted. After all, when she was busy she had no time to think of Dougald and the wretched weakness he engendered in her. When the sun was high and her lusts satisfied, she resolved to stay away from him, refuse his attentions and take what pleasure she could from her principles.
But every night for the past week she had tossed and turned, knowing he waited just down the corridor, that he expected her…wanted her. Most nights she clutched her pillow to her chest and stared into the dark. But some nights she rose from her narrow, cold bed and crept to his door. The dark corridor was just as lonely. The endless, empty rooms were just as frightening. But his presence drew her like a moth to the flame, and like a moth she burned in his fire. Madness, but such sweet madness.
And on the nights she didn’t go to him…he came to her.
Doubts about his intentions still dogged her, but pleasure and affinity inexorably overlaid the old bad memories. Slowly, hope was growing in her, and she wavered between exultation and incredulity. Was she being a fool to believe they could reconcile, or was she a greater fool to think Dougald planned anything but her subjugation?
But passion was one thing.
Love was another.
Was this emotion that simmered within her love? Not the girlish, immature sentiment she had imagined nine years ago, but a deeper feeling, one that saw Dougald’s fears and courage, his imperfections and his strengths, and loved him in spite of, and because of.
She scarcely dared think of what might happen if she loved him.
Stepping through the door that led to the tower, Hannah looked up the rounded turret. The narrow stairway spiraled toward the landing outside the aunts’ workroom. The simple wooden steps were shallow and a rough handrail had been erected for the old women’s convenience and safety.
Hannah feared Queen Victoria would wish to see where the work on the tapestry had been done. So a hasty coat of paint had been applied to the plaster walls, and the carpenters had begun the job of replacing the treads with polished oak and creating a curving banister of cherry wood. It would be handsome when finished, but for now Hannah stepped carefully, testing each board before she placed her weight on it. After all, the work was being done with undue haste, and one mistake could end in unnecessary injury.
On the landing at last, she gave a sigh of relief. When the aunts arrived for the day’s work, they would be safe on the stairway.
The key was in the reticule hanging from Hannah’s belt. She reached for it as she stepped up to the door—and screamed as the board cracked, and her foot went down into nothingness.
19
Dougald stood in his bedroom in his stocking feet and glared at his tardy valet. “If it is your desire that I sport a properly tied cravat, then I would suggest that you arrive in a more timely manner to assist in my dressing.”
Several of Charles’s sparse hairs floated about his head in a haphazard manner, his coat gaped open and his own cravat moved as he swallowed. “My lord, there’s been an accident.”
Dougald’s focus narrowed on his man. He had never seen Charles agitated before. Nothing ruffled his tedious French composure. Certainly not an accident occurring to any of the workmen. Picking up his coat, he shrugged it on. “What kind of accident?” Then he realized—“One of the aunts?” Alarm raced through his veins, unanticipated and disagreeable. “Not one of the aunts!” And why did he care so much? They weren’t really his aunts. They were nothing but a bother and a responsibility.
“No, my lord. Madame…Miss Setterington…she fell through the floor.”
Stunned, Dougald spoke without thinking. “That’s impossible. She left here only—” He caught his breath. He shouldn’t say that, but it was true. She had left him less than an hour ago, not long enough to get dressed and into trouble already.
But Charles was nodding and even dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief.
Dougald strode forward and grabbed his shoulders. “Is she alive?”
“Oui, my lord, but I fear her leg—”
“What?”
“May be broken.”
“Good.” No, it wasn’t good, but Hannah would recover from a broken leg. Damn her, she would recover.
“Where is she?”
“They are carrying her to her bedchamber.”
Dougald started into the corridor.
“Please. My lord. Your shoes!”
“Blast my shoes.” But he might need them when he kicked some arse. “No, bring them.”
He met the little procession almost at once. Mrs. Trenchard was in the lead. A serving maid walked beside her, lugging a black satchel. Hannah had her arms over the shoulders of two burly footmen. She hopped along, her skirt torn, her lips tight and a militant light in her eyes. When she saw Dougald she launched into speech. “Lord Raeburn, you must make it clear to the workmen that, before they leave at night, everything relating to the aunts is to be safe and secure. If I hadn’t gone up to the workroom before the aunts arrived, one of them could have been badly hurt.”
Dougald’s heart resumed beating. She was injured, but if she was scolding, she was unscathed.
He retained the good sense not to sweep her into his arms. “Where were you hurt?”
“On my foot,” Hannah snapped.
Yes, she was going to be fine.
“I was on the landing leading to the aunts’ workroom,” she continued. “A board collapsed under me.”
Dougald jerked his head toward Charles. Charles handed him his shoes, eased past the little group, and headed toward the scene of the accident.
“I was mindful as I climbed the stairs, but the carpenters weren’t doing work on the landing.”
Dougald realized with surprise that her voice was wobbling.
“My foot went right down. Then the whole board gave way and I fell through”—she blinked rapidly—“and if I hadn’t grabbed the handrail I would have fallen all the way and I couldn’t pull myself back because the board had splintered downward—”
To hell with good sense. His indomitable wife was weeping.
Dougald dropped the shoes, pushed the footmen aside and tenderly picked her up. The footmen fell back and none dared look surprised. Hannah shoved at Dougald for only a moment, then she clutched him as if he were her port in the storm. In other circumstances, he might have e
njoyed her neediness. Used it. But right now, it seemed right.
Hannah whispered, “If Mrs. Trenchard hadn’t found me, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Dougald noted that he owed his housekeeper a generous gratuity.
“My lord, bring her in here, please.” Mrs. Trenchard stood on the threshold of Hannah’s bedchamber.
He carried her to the bed, scowling all the time. What had he been thinking to put her in such a place? With sunshine streaming in, the room looked even shabbier than at night. If Hannah had to spend time recovering, this was a poor place to do it. And why was she even having to recover? When he was done speaking to the carpenters, they would wish they had chosen gardening as a profession. To Mrs. Trenchard, he said, “Call the doctor.”
“The doctor’s a drunk.” Mrs. Trenchard motioned the serving maid forward and took the satchel. “I’ll care for Miss Setterington myself.” She glanced at Dougald’s dubious expression. “I assure ye, my lord, my mother was the midwife for most of the district as well as Miss Spring’s nurse, and she taught me well. Miss Setterington is in good hands.”
Dougald hesitated, but Mrs. Trenchard seemed quite sure of herself as she opened the satchel and removed a series of clay jars. With a curt nod, he gave permission. “Very well.”
Mrs. Trenchard arranged the jars on the small end table beside the bed, then stopped and stared around her. In a scandalized tone, she said, “Miss Setterington, you’ve already burned your week’s supply of candles!”
“Who cares about…her week’s supply?” Dougald didn’t know what the housekeeper was talking about.
Mrs. Trenchard removed a roll of white cotton cloth. “I allow the lesser servants eight candles a week. That’s one a night and two on Sunday, but they sleep four in a room, so that’s plenty. If they’re wise with their light, they can take candles home to their mums. I allow the upper servants fifteen candles a week. That’s two candles a night and three on Sunday. Miss Setterington has exceeded her limit.”
“Yes,” Hannah said. “I…I’ve been reading late.”
A lie. She and Dougald had burned the candles during their nights together.
“I was afraid of this,” Mrs. Trenchard said. “That’s what comes of having them books. Well, I’m sorry, Miss Setterington, but you can’t have any more candles until Sunday.”
“Of course she can,” Dougald interposed.
“Please, it doesn’t matter.” Surreptitiously, Hannah thumped his thigh with her fist. “I’ll do better next week.”
As was proper, Mrs. Trenchard ignored her and responded to the master. “As ye wish, my lord, but ’tis yer tallow I’m seeking to save, and ’twill set a bad example for the other servants.”
“I can afford the tallow.” He glared down at Hannah.
She glared back.
Her damp eyes spoiled the effect. Women. Their tears weakened a man. If he were truly a man like his father, he wouldn’t care if his woman cried. He would stand strong against every unruly emotion she engendered and every appeal she might make. If Hannah had remained away a little longer, he could have achieved that level of detachment. As it was…“Miss Setterington is more than just an upper servant.”
“Please, my lord, would you just leave?” It was clear Hannah didn’t want him interceding on her behalf.
He handed her his handkerchief.
She used it liberally.
Mrs. Trenchard passed the roll of cloth to the serving girl, and said, “Start tearing this into bandages.” She lifted Hannah’s chin and examined the bloody scrape on her chin. “Pardon me, my lord, I misunderstood. Before Miss Setterington arrived, you made it clear she was to have no special privileges.”
In fact, he remembered, in a moment of excessive drink he had been rather slanderous of his wife. Not that he’d spoken of the marriage to Mrs. Trenchard. That he most certainly had not done, but she had probably wondered about the reason for his vitriol. “Miss Setterington may be wakeful because of discomfort from her wounds.” Recalling Mrs. Trenchard’s dedication to Aunt Spring, he added, “She did, after all, save the aunts from injury.”
Mrs. Trenchard nodded. “That’s as may be, but I can’t approve of bending the rules. Next thing ye know, ye’ll be banishing the curfew.”
Dougald sometimes wondered if he knew what went on in his house. “What curfew?”
“For nine o’ the clock. Gets the servants in their rooms and no one gets hurt…in the dark.”
He didn’t understand this at all, but the serving girl who assisted Mrs. Trenchard was staring at him like so many of the serving maids did—with trepidation bordering on hysteria. With a jerk of his head, he indicated the girl. “Does she think I’m going to kill her?”
The silly female nodded. Actually nodded.
“For God’s sake, girl, I don’t care about you at all.”
His impatient snarl didn’t seem to reassure her. In fact, her eyes widened and she shrank from him.
“That’s the way to hearten her,” Hannah bit out.
Mrs. Trenchard patted the girl on the shoulder. “Go on, now. I don’t need you anymore.”
“Wait!” Dougald tried to plump the thin pillow beneath Hannah’s head. “Go into my bedchamber and bring one of my pillows for Miss Setterington.”
The girl swallowed and stared.
“No, don’t.” Hannah lifted herself onto her elbow. “My lord, I don’t need any special privileges. What I need is to have Mrs. Trenchard look me over so I can get back to the aunts. They need my help to finish the tapestry.”
Dougald pushed her down. “We’ll worry about that later.” She needed a dose of laudanum, and he exchanged a significant glance with Mrs. Trenchard.
Mrs. Trenchard nodded at him, then spoke to the uncertain maid, who ran to do her bidding.
“Now, my lord, if ye would just step out…”
“No.” He planted himself on the far side of the bed.
“I’m staying.”
“Nonsense,” Hannah said. “You cannot stay.”
He motioned to Mrs. Trenchard to proceed.
20
“Considering what the results of her accident might’ve been, Miss Setterington is very lucky.” Mrs. Trenchard hustled Dougald out of Hannah’s bedchamber, leaving Hannah propped up on his pillows, sipping Mrs. Trenchard’s special soothing tea while the maid watched over her. “As ye saw, she suffered scratches up her leg and slivers in her palms. She’s going to hurt greatly from the sprained ankle and her torn fingernails, and she hit her chin so hard her head’s going to ache something vile.”
Mrs. Trenchard’s labor in Hannah’s bedchamber had convinced Dougald the housekeeper did indeed know how to care for the ill. He could trust her, and now he wondered what Charles had discovered in his hunt for the culprit. “Walk with me,” he commanded, and strode down the corridor. “How long should she stay in bed?”
“Today at least, perhaps tomorrow. For several days she should stay seated as much as possible and keep her foot elevated.”
“You will see that she does.” Dougald glanced at Mrs. Trenchard as she hurried beside him. Certainly this woman had proved her worth today. “You have been here for many years.”
“All my life.”
He paused, picked up his forgotten shoes, and stared into her eyes. “You know Sir Onslow well.” He saw the flash of wariness. Was that the reaction of a servant to interrogation, or did she know something?
“I’ve known him since he was a lad.”
“Would you call him an admirable character?”
“He’s a dear man.”
Which told Dougald exactly nothing. He walked on.
She hurried after him. “Good to the servants, likes my menus, and with a comely smile.”
“A flirt.”
“There’s no crime in that.”
Except when he flirted with Hannah. “Not at all,” he said. Mrs. Trenchard liked Seaton, that was clear, and perhaps that should weigh in the little pustule’s favor. “I
was asking only because he is my heir, and should something happen to me I wonder what kind of lord he would be.”
“A good one,” she said promptly.
She didn’t deny that something might happen to Dougald. Was it a foregone conclusion that he would go the way of his predecessors? “But he loves London. I fear he would be an absent landlord.”
“Aye, absent but not forgotten.” She slowed. “He…”
“He what?”
She didn’t answer, and he turned to see her holding her side. “What’s wrong?”
She leaned against the wall, her face paper white. “Indigestion, my lord. Sometimes it feels as if the devil is clawing at my gut.” Digging in her apron pocket, she produced a vial. Uncorking it, she swallowed the contents and stood with eyes closed until her color returned. She straightened, bobbed a curtsy, and said, “Beg pardon, my lord. It comes when I work too long.”
“Then stop.” Although he well knew the trouble he invited, he would not have the woman dropping from exhaustion.
Mrs. Trenchard sighed. “My lord, may I speak freely?”
Dougald looked down at his housekeeper. She was tall, big-boned, and capable, the kind of servant he appreciated. She kept out of his way, did her job, and never ventured an opinion. She was going to now, and he wondered which of the unusual events of recent days had driven her to this pass. “What is it?”
“I’ve not said a word about the changes here, although there’s been complaints from the other servants, because ye’re the master and ye should do as ye like.”
“Exactly.”
She flagged slightly. “But when people are in danger, I can’t help but speak out. There are men around all the time, tearing things down and building them up, and not a shred of proper reverence for the past. Seems to me, even with Queen Victoria coming, it would be better to do less and ponder what must be done first.”
“What do you mean?”
“For instance, the great hall. Just yesterday I caught one of the carpenters hanging by the beams while the others stood below with a ladder and mocked him.”