He cleared his throat. “If I could have a moment, my lord?”
Lord Swartingham glanced up from the paper in his hand. “What is it now, Hopple? Come in, come in, man. Sit down while I finish this. I’ll give you my attention in a minute.”
Felix crossed to one of the armchairs before the mahogany desk and sank into it, keeping an eye on the dog. He used the reprieve to study his employer for an idea of his mood. The earl scowled at the page in front of him, his pockmarks making the expression especially unattractive. Of course, this was not necessarily a bad sign. The earl habitually scowled.
Lord Swartingham tossed aside the paper. He took off his half-moon reading glasses and threw his considerable weight back in his chair, making it squeak. Felix flinched in sympathy.
“Well, Hopple?”
“My lord, I have some unpleasant news that I hope you will not take too badly.” He smiled tentatively.
The earl stared down his big nose without comment.
Felix tugged at his shirt cuffs. “The new secretary, Mr. Tootleham, had word of a family emergency that forced him to hand in his resignation rather quickly.”
There was still no change of expression on the earl’s face, although he did begin to drum his fingers on the chair arm.
Felix spoke more rapidly. “It seems Mr. Tootleham’s parents in London have become bedridden by a fever and require his assistance. It is a very virulent illness with sweating and purging, qu-quite contagious.”
The earl raised one black eyebrow.
“I-in fact, Mr. Tootleham’s two brothers, three sisters, his elderly grandmother, an aunt, and the family cat have all caught the contagion and are utterly unable to fend for themselves.” Felix stopped and looked at the earl.
Silence.
Felix wrestled valiantly to keep from babbling.
“The cat?” Lord Swartingham snarled softly.
Felix started to stutter a reply but was interrupted by a bellowed obscenity. He ducked with newly practiced ease as the earl picked up a pottery jar and flung it over Felix’s head at the door. It hit with a tremendous crash and a tinkle of falling shards. The dog, apparently long used to the odd manner in which Lord Swartingham vented his spleen, merely sighed.
Lord Swartingham breathed heavily and pinned Felix with his coal-black eyes. “I trust you have found a replacement.”
Felix’s neckcloth felt suddenly tight. He ran a finger around the upper edge. “Er, actually, my lord, although, of course, I’ve searched qu-quite diligently, and indeed, all the nearby villages have been almost scoured, I haven’t—” He gulped and courageously met his employer’s eye. “I’m afraid I haven’t found a new secretary yet.”
Lord Swartingham didn’t move. “I need a secretary to transcribe my manuscript for the series of lectures given by the Agrarian Society in four weeks,” he enunciated awfully. “Preferably one who will stay more than two days. Find one.” He snatched up another sheet of paper and went back to reading.
The audience had ended.
“Yes, my lord.” Felix bounced nervously out of the chair and scurried toward the door. “I’ll start looking right away, my lord.”
Lord Swartingham waited until Felix had almost reached the door before rumbling, “Hopple.”
On the point of escape, Felix guiltily drew back his hand from the doorknob. “My lord?”
“You have until the morning after tomorrow.”
Felix stared at his employer’s still-downcast head and swallowed, feeling rather like that Hercules fellow must have on first seeing the Augean stables. “Yes, my lord.”
EDWARD DE RAAF, the fifth Earl of Swartingham, finished reading the report from his North Yorkshire estate and tossed it onto the pile of papers, along with his spectacles. The light from the window was fading fast and soon would be gone. He rose from his chair and went to look out. The dog got up, stretched, and padded over to stand beside him, bumping at his hand. Edward absently stroked its ears.
This was the second secretary to decamp in the dark of night in so many months. One would think he was a dragon. Every single secretary had been more mouse than man. Show a little temper, a raised voice, and they scurried away. If even one of his secretaries had half the pluck of the woman he had nearly run down yesterday . . . His lips twitched. He hadn’t missed her sarcastic reply to his demand of why she was in the road. No, that madam stood her ground when he blew his fire at her. A pity his secretaries couldn’t do the same.
He glowered out the dark window. And then there was this other nagging . . . disturbance. His boyhood home was not as he remembered it.
True, he was a man now. When he had last seen Ravenhill Abbey, he’d been a stripling youth mourning the loss of his family. In the intervening two decades, he had wandered from his northern estates to his London town house, but somehow, despite the time, those two places had never felt like home. He had stayed away precisely because the Abbey would never be the same as when his family had lived here. He’d expected some change. But he’d not been prepared for this dreariness. Nor the awful sense of loneliness. The very emptiness of the rooms defeated him, mocking him with the laughter and light that he remembered.
The family that he remembered.
The only reason he persisted in opening up the mansion was because he hoped to bring his new bride here—his prospective new bride, pending the successful negotiation of the marital contract. He wasn’t going to repeat the mistakes of his first, short marriage and attempt to settle elsewhere. Back then, he’d tried to make his young wife happy by remaining in her native Yorkshire. It hadn’t worked. In the years since his wife’s untimely death, he’d come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t have been happy anywhere they’d chosen to make their home.
Edward pushed away from the window and strode toward the library doors. He would start as he meant to; go on and live at the Abbey; make it a home again. It was the seat of his earldom and where he meant to replant his family tree. And when the marriage bore fruit, when the halls once again rang with children’s laughter, surely then Ravenhill Abbey would feel alive again.
Chapter Two
Now, all three of the duke’s daughters were equally fair. The eldest had hair of deepest pitch that shone with blue-black lights; the second had fiery locks that framed a milky-white complexion; and the youngest was golden, both of face and form, so that she seemed bathed in sunlight. But of these three maidens, only the youngest was blessed with her father’s kindness. Her name was Aurea. . . .
—from The Raven Prince
Who would have guessed that there was such a paucity of jobs for genteel ladies in Little Battleford? Anna had known that it wouldn’t be easy to find a position when she left the cottage this morning, but she’d started with some hope. All she required was a family with illiterate children needing a governess or an elderly lady in want of a wool-winder. Surely this was not too much to expect?
Evidently it was.
It was midafternoon now. Her feet ached from trudging up and down muddy lanes, and she didn’t have a position. Old Mrs. Lester had no love of literature. Her son-in-law was too parsimonious to hire a companion in any case. Anna called round on several other ladies, hinting that she might be open to a position, only to find they either could not afford a companion or simply did not want one.
Then she’d come to Felicity Clearwater’s home.
Felicity was the third wife of Squire Clearwater, a man some thirty years older than his bride. The squire was the largest landowner in the county besides the Earl of Swartingham. As his wife, Felicity clearly considered herself the preeminent social figure in Little Battleford and rather above the humble Wren household. But Felicity had two girls of a suitable age for a governess, so Anna had called on her. She’d spent an excruciating half hour feeling her way like a cat walking on sharp pebbles. When Felicity had caught on to Anna’s reason for visiting, she’d smoothed a pampered hand over her already immaculate coiffure. Then she’d sweetly enquired about Anna’s musical know
ledge.
The vicarage had never run to a harpsichord when Anna’s family had occupied it. A fact Felicity knew very well, since she’d called there on several occasions as a girl.
Anna had taken a deep breath. “I’m afraid I don’t have any musical ability, but I do have a bit of Latin and Greek.”
Felicity had flicked open a fan and tittered behind it. “Oh, I do apologize,” she’d said when she’d recovered. “But my girls will not be learning anything so masculine as Latin or Greek. It’s rather unbecoming in a lady, don’t you think?”
Anna had grit her teeth, but managed a smile. Until Felicity had suggested she try the kitchen to see if Cook needed a new scullery maid. Things had gone downhill from there.
Anna sighed now. She might very well end up a scullery maid or worse, but not at Felicity’s house. Time to head home.
Rounding the corner at the ironmonger’s, she just managed to avoid a collision with Mr. Felix Hopple hurrying in the other direction. She skidded to a halt inches shy of the Ravenhill steward’s chest. A packet of needles, some yellow embroidery floss, and a small bag of tea for Mother Wren slid to the ground from her basket.
“Oh, do excuse me, Mrs. Wren,” the little man gasped as he bent to retrieve the items. “I’m afraid I was not minding where my feet carried me.”
“That’s quite all right.” Anna eyed the violet and crimson striped waistcoat he wore and blinked. Good Lord. “I hear the earl is finally in residence at Ravenhill. You must be quite busy.”
The village gossips were all abuzz at the mysterious earl’s reappearance in the neighborhood after so many years, and Anna was just as curious as everyone else. In fact, she was beginning to wonder about the identity of the ugly gentleman who had so nearly run her down the day before. . . .
Mr. Hopple heaved a sigh. “I’m afraid so.” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I am on the hunt for a new secretary for his lordship. It is not an easy search. The last man I interviewed kept blotting his paper, and I was not at all sure of his ability to spell.”
“That would be a problem in a secretary,” Anna murmured.
“Indeed.”
“If you find no one today, do remember that there will be plenty of gentlemen at church on Sunday morning,” Anna said. “Perhaps you will find someone there.”
“I’m afraid that will do me no good. His lordship stated he must have a new secretary by tomorrow morning.”
“So soon?” Anna stared. “That is very little time.” A thought dawned.
The steward was trying without success to wipe the mud from the packet of needles.
“Mr. Hopple,” she said slowly, “did the earl say he required a male secretary?”
“Well, no,” Mr. Hopple replied absently, still involved with the packet. “The earl simply instructed me to hire another secretary, but what other—” He stopped suddenly.
Anna straightened her flat straw hat and smiled meaningfully. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking lately about how much excess time I have. You may not be aware, but I’ve a very clear hand. And I do know how to spell.”
“You are not suggesting . . . ?” Mr. Hopple looked stunned, rather like a gaffed halibut in a lavender wig.
“Yes, I do suggest.” Anna nodded. “I think it will be just the thing. Shall I report to Ravenhill at nine or ten o’clock tomorrow?”
“Er, nine o’clock. The earl rises early. B-but really, Mrs. Wren—” Mr. Hopple stuttered.
“Yes, really, Mr. Hopple. There. It is all settled. I shall see you tomorrow at nine o’clock.” Anna patted the poor man on the sleeve. He really did not look well. She turned to go but stopped when she remembered a very important point. “One more thing. What wage is the earl offering?”
“The wage?” Mr. Hopple blinked. “Well, er, the earl was paying his last secretary three pounds a month. Will that be all right?”
“Three pounds.” Anna’s lips moved as she silently repeated the words. It was suddenly a glorious day in Little Battleford. “That will do nicely.”
“AND NO DOUBT MANY of the upper chambers will need to be aired and perhaps painted as well. Have you got that, Hopple?” Edward leapt down the last three steps in front of Ravenhill Abbey and strode toward the stables, the late-afternoon sun warm on his back. The dog, as usual, followed at his heels.
There was no reply.
“Hopple? Hopple!” He pivoted, his boots crunching on the gravel, and glanced behind him.
“A moment, my lord.” The steward was just starting down the front steps. He seemed out of breath. “I’ll be there . . . in . . . a . . . moment.”
Edward waited, foot tapping, until Hopple caught up, then he continued around the back. Here the gravel gave way to worn cobblestone in the courtyard. “Have you got that about the upper chambers?”
“Er, the upper chambers, my lord?” the little man wheezed as he scanned the notes in his hand.
“Have the housekeeper air them,” Edward repeated slowly. “Check to see if they need painting. Do try to keep up, man.”
“Yes, my lord,” Hopple muttered, scribbling.
“I trust you have found a secretary.”
“Er, well . . .” The steward peered at his notes intently.
“I did tell you I needed one by tomorrow morn.”
“Yes, indeed, my lord, and in fact I do have a-a person who I think may very well—”
Edward halted before the massive double doors to the stables. “Hopple, do you have a secretary for me or not?”
The steward looked alarmed. “Yes, my lord. I do think one could say that I have found a secretary.”
“Then why not say so?” He frowned. “Is something wrong with the man?”
“N-no, my lord.” Hopple smoothed his terrible purple waistcoat. “The secretary will, I think, be quite satisfactory as a, well, as a secretary.” His eyes were fixed on the horse weather vane atop the stable roof.
Edward found himself inspecting the weather vane. It squeaked and revolved slowly. He tore his gaze from it and looked down. The dog sat beside him, head cocked, also staring at the weather vane.
Edward shook his head. “Good. I will be absent tomorrow morning when he arrives.” They walked from the late-afternoon sunshine into the gloom of the stables. The dog trotted ahead, sniffing in corners. “So you will need to show him my manuscript and generally instruct him as to his duties.” He turned. Was it his imagination or did Hopple look relieved?
“Very good, my lord,” the steward said.
“I will be traveling up to London early tomorrow and shall be gone through the rest of the week. By the time I return, he should have transcribed the papers I have left.”
“Indeed, my lord.” The steward was definitely beaming.
Edward eyed him and snorted. “I shall be looking forward to meeting my new secretary when I return.”
Hopple’s smile dimmed.
RAVENHILL ABBEY WAS a rather daunting sort of place, Anna thought as she tramped up the drive to the manor the next morning. The walk from the village to the estate was almost three miles, and her calves were beginning to ache. Fortunately, the sun shone cheerily. Ancient oaks bordered the drive, a change from the open fields along the lane from Little Battleford. The trees were so old that two horsemen could ride abreast through the spaces between them.
She rounded a corner, gasped, and halted. Daffodils dotted the tender green grass beneath the trees. The branches above wore only a fuzz of new leaves, and the sunshine broke through with hardly any impediment. Each yellow daffodil shone translucent and perfect, creating a fragile fairyland.
What sort of man would stay away from this for almost two decades?
Anna remembered tales of the great smallpox epidemic that had decimated Little Battleford in the years before her parents moved into the vicarage. She knew the present earl’s family had all died from the disease. Even so, wouldn’t he have at least visited in the intervening years?
She shook her head and contin
ued. Just past the daffodil field, the copse opened up and she could see Ravenhill clearly. It stood four stories high, built of gray stone in the classic style. A single central entrance on the first floor dominated the façade. From it, twin curving staircases descended to ground level. In a sea of open fields, the Abbey was an island, alone and arrogant.
Anna started on the long approach to Ravenhill Abbey, her confidence fading the closer she got. That front entrance was simply too imposing. She hesitated a moment when she neared the Abbey, then veered around the corner. Just past the corner, she saw the servants’ entrance. This door, too, was tall and double, but at least she didn’t have to mount granite steps to reach it. Taking a deep breath, she tugged on the big brass knob and walked directly into the huge kitchen.
A large woman with white-blond hair stood at a massive central table. She kneaded dough, her arms elbow-deep in an earthenware bowl the size of a kettle. Strands of hair came down from the bun at the top of her head and stuck to the sweat on her red cheeks. The only other people in the room were a scullery maid and a bootblack boy. All three turned to stare at her.
The fair-haired woman—surely the cook?—held up floury arms. “Aye?”
Anna raised her chin. “Good morning. I’m the earl’s new secretary, Mrs. Wren. Do you know where Mr. Hopple might be?”
Without taking her eyes from Anna, the cook yelled to the bootblack boy, “You there, Danny. Go and fetch Mr. Hopple and tell him Mrs. Wren is here in the kitchen. Be quick, now.”
Danny dashed out of the kitchen, and the cook turned back to her dough.
Anna stood waiting.
The scullery maid by the massive fireplace stared, absently scratching her arm. Anna smiled at her. The girl quickly averted her eyes.
“Ain’t never heard of a lady secretary before.” The cook kept her eyes on her hands, swiftly working the dough. She expertly flipped the whole mass onto the table and rolled it into a ball, the muscles on her forearms flexing. “Have you met his lordship, then?”