Carisbrooke Abbey (3 page)

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ he glowered.

‘No, I do assure you —’

‘Someone in the village put you up to it. A wager, no doubt.’

‘Not at all —’

He grimaced. ‘Well, you have had your fun. And now you had better leave.’

He prowled over to the door, but before he could open it she spoke.

‘It is no wager,’ she said.

Something in her tone gave him pause.

‘I applied for a position as your librarian,’ she went on, taking a deep breath, ‘and you offered me the post.’

He eyed her suspiciously, but then seemed to become aware of the young gentleman’s interest in the exchange.

‘This is none of your business, Ulverstone.’

‘But it is so interesting,’ returned Mr Ulverstone mildly.

‘Harumph! Interesting to you, perhaps, but not to me.’ Lord Carisbrooke turned back to Hilary. His chin jutted out. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re doing here but it seems I won’t be able to get rid of you until I’ve heard you out. Your claim to be my librarian is preposterous, but I want to know why you’re making it, so you had better follow me.’

He turned and strode across the cavernous hall without further ado.

Hilary hesitated.

‘I’m most dreadfully sorry,’ said Mr Ulverstone, looking at Hilary with an apologetic smile. ‘I’m afraid my cousin has never had very agreeable manners, and of late they have become even worse. But if I might give you a word of advice. He is not an easy man to work for. You would be well advised to leave the abbey and seek a position elsewhere.’

Hilary shook her head. Finding an alternative position might seem an easy task to Mr Ulverstone, but before being offered the job at the abbey she had been seeking work for months without success, and Lord Carisbrooke was her last hope. Whatever his manners, she would have to keep the position if she could.

By this time Lord Carisbrooke had almost disappeared. Recalling her thoughts to the matter in hand she hurriedly followed him across the hall, her footsteps echoing on the flags, before venturing into his study. It was of cavernous proportions, but it was at least mellower than the hall. Gold drapes covered the windows and a worn red carpet covered the floor. An oak desk, littered with papers, was pushed to one side of the room. Behind it was a heavy oak chair, carved with spires and pinnacles. In the far corner was a more comfortable-looking chair, set to the left of the fireplace, and standing in front of the fireplace was Lord Carisbrooke.

He made an imposing sight. His large body was encased in buckskin breeches, an ill-fitting tailcoat and a pair of muddy boots. His grizzled hair, covered in raindrops, reached to his collar, and his body was so huge it almost obscured the crackling flames.

His eyes ran over her in one swift, disparaging glance, and Hilary swallowed, becoming suddenly aware of how dishevelled she must look. Her bonnet was battered and her pelisse was soaked. Her hair had come loose of its pins and had escaped her bonnet, straggling in rats’ tails across her shoulders. Her face was smeared and her boots were filthy. Her portmanteau was no better, being old and worn.

Still, she raised her chin.

‘Now, Miss Wentworth - if you are who you say you are - why have you been trespassing on my property, walking through my woods and then turning up on my doorstep claiming to be my librarian. What do you mean by it?’

She swallowed the qualms that were assailing her and replied, ‘It is perfectly simple.’ She put her portmanteau down on the floor to give her a minute to steady herself, for he was glaring at her in such a way that her heart was thumping uncomfortably in her chest. ‘I answered your advertisement for a librarian, and you wrote back saying that my application had been successful. I have the letter here.’

She took out the crumpled, soggy piece of paper and gave it to him.

He took it roughly out of her hand, eyeing her disbelievingly as he did so. Then he dropped his gaze and read the letter through.

‘As I thought, I made you no such offer. This letter is addressed to
Mr
Wentworth.’

Remembering the gleam of admiration she had seen in his eye when she had stood up to him in the woods, she knew that this was a moment when she must be bold, and so she replied audaciously, ‘An unfortunate mistake. But not one I hold against you.’

‘Oh, isn’t it?’ The dark pools of his eyes turned to her. They were appraising. ‘That is very generous of you.’

But despite his beetling brows she could tell that by standing up to him she had not done herself any harm.

‘However, I’m not about to offer
Miss
Wentworth a job that was offered to
Mr
Wentworth,’ he continued. ‘Let this be a lesson to you to tell the truth in the future.’

‘I never did anything else,’ she replied. ‘It is not my fault if you assumed I was a man. I certainly made no such claim.’

‘No?’ He swept a piece of paper from his desk. ‘This is your letter. After telling me of your experience, you sign the letter - but perhaps you had better read it,’ he said, holding it out to her.

She looked at the signature, and then met his gaze. ‘It says
Hilary Wentworth
.’

‘Exactly. Hilary Wentworth. And that isn’t you.’

‘Yes. It is,’ she said, straightening her spine.

‘Hilary is a man’s name.’

‘And also a woman’s. I made no mention of my sex in the letter, and you never enquired. I cannot be blamed if your assumption was incorrect.’

‘Splitting hairs,’ he growled.

‘Speaking the truth,’ she returned.

He glowered down at her. ‘You’re very outspoken for a librarian.’

‘I have to be. If I don’t plead my case, no one else will plead it for me,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘Hah!’

She thought she had angered him, but then saw that his face held a grudging esteem.

Suddenly turning the conversation, he rumbled, ‘What were you doing in the woods? I gave you directions in my letter. You should have come across the moor. If you had taken my advice you could have cut a mile and a half from your journey, and spared yourself a painful ordeal.’

He glanced at her foot as he spoke.

‘I lost my bearings. I went into the wood so that the wind would not whip your letter out of my hands when I read it. As chance would have it, a shower of rain loosed from one of the branches landed on the instructions, smudging the ink. I thought it better to carry on the way I had been going, rather than turn back and face the hill. The rest you know.’

‘It’s a pity you didn’t turn back. There is nothing for you here.’

She flushed, but she was not prepared to give up so easily. Her livelihood depended on it.

Straightening her shoulders, she said, ‘I fail to see why not. I can do everything that is required of your librarian. I can arrange and catalogue your library. Moreover, I can work on my own without supervision, something you stated was important to you.’

He regarded her intently.

‘You cannot have had many answers to your advertisement,’ she continued. ‘You appointed me without meeting me, something I am persuaded you would not have done if you had had a choice of applicants. And I am here. I can start work first thing in the morning.’

His bushy eyebrows lifted, and she thought for a moment that her words had swayed him. But then his face closed.

‘I can’t have a woman in the abbey. It would be sheer stupidity.’

She was startled. What a strange thing to say! Even so, she was not prepared to let the matter rest.

‘You will not know I am here. If I work without supervision, then we need never see each other. I will spend my days in the library and I will not get in your way.’

Her eyes ran over her assessingly. But then he growled, ‘No.’

Her spirits sank, for this time there was a note of finality in his voice.

He pulled the huge, tasselled bell rope that hung next to the fireplace, and a minute later Lund entered the room.

‘Miss Wentworth is leaving, Lund,’ he said. ‘Show her out.’

Hilary was horrified. ‘Leaving?’

She glanced towards the rain-lashed windows, and then looked back at Lord Carisbrooke. ‘You surely can’t expect me to walk back to the village tonight?’

‘It would serve you right if I did,’ he rumbled. ‘But I suppose you will have to stay until the morning.’ He turned to the aged servant, who was watching the exchange with a dour expression on his face. ‘Lund, take Miss Wentworth upstairs and put her in the Red Room.’

‘No good’ll come of it,’ said Lund with gloomy relish.

Hilary shared his gloom. She was no more desirous of staying than Lord Carisbrooke and Lund were of having her, but she could not venture further tonight.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.

‘There’s no need to thank me - as you’ll discover. You will leave first thing in the morning.’

It was not a supposition, it was a command.

Cold, wet and tired, Hilary had no more desire to argue. She might be in need of work, but she had changed her mind about wanting to work at the abbey. She never wanted to speak to this bad-tempered bear of a man again!

An hour later, Hilary was finally able to do what she had longed to do all day, and that was to relax in front of a tolerable fire. The time since quitting Lord Carisbrooke’s study had not been easy. First had come the painful business of climbing the stairs. Then she had seen why Lord Carisbrooke had told her not to thank him for the use of the Red Room, as it was a cold, cavernous chamber, with its furniture swathed in dust sheets and an empty grate.

She had managed to persuade Lund to bring her water, logs and candles, and had set about lighting a fire. Then she had pulled the dust sheets from some of the furniture. The first chair she had uncovered had been a heavily carved armchair with a pointed back, which had looked most uncomfortable. Swallowing her disappointment she had uncovered a second chair and had been relieved to see that it was upholstered in faded tapestry. Next she had uncovered a washstand, complete with porcelain bowl; a small table; and finally a four poster bed. The bed, however, had not been made up.

A pull of the bell had eventually brought a grumbling Lund to her room and she had asked him for a pair of sheets. She had been dreading their arrival, fearing to find them dirty or damp, but had been pleased to discover that they were well aired and spotlessly clean. She had made up the bed, then, having seen to the room, she had drawn the heavy damask curtains across the arched windows to shut out the wild night and set about tending her ankle, soaking her shawl in cold water and wrapping it round her foot to reduce the swelling.

And now here she was, sitting by a reasonable blaze, with a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in, and for these small comforts she must be thankful.

She examined the shawl. Unwinding it carefully, she was relieved to see that her ankle had almost shrunk back to its usual size. Only the livid bruising showed that she had been injured.

As she lifted her foot gingerly onto a stool she could not help her thoughts returning to Lord Carisbrooke. He was a strange man. A puzzling man. He had an ancient home and a title, and yet he seemed to care for neither. He had grimaced when she had addressed him as "my lord", and if the Red Room was anything to go by, he neglected his home. He employed, it seemed, only one servant, a man so gloomy anyone else would have dismissed him long ago, and on top of this, he appeared to hate women,  for why else would he say he couldn’t have a woman in the abbey?

Her imagination took wing. Had he suffered an unhappy love affair in the past? Was that why he buried himself in the abbey? Perhaps. And yet she did not think so, for there had been something tender in the way he had taken her foot and started to unlace her boot.

She shivered slightly as she recalled the way his fingers had brushed against her ankle, touching the skin that had been exposed by her torn stocking. They had been firm yet gentle, the epitome of power held in check, and their touch had set her quivering inside.

It had been a strange feeling, enlivening and disturbing all at once.

Then, too, had been the moment when he had swept her off her feet. She had been alarmed, and yet she had felt somehow right in his arms. She could still remember the hard ridge of his muscles beneath his clothes, and the way she had trembled at the feel of them.

And then there had been his scent. He had smelled of the wind and rain, of forests and trees, of roots and musk. It had been a masculine smell, with all the strength of nature, virile and powerful.

Her senses had been heightened when she had been near him, she realized. Her body had become finely tuned, reacting to the feel of him, the sound of him, the sight of him, the smell of him ...

Discovering that her thoughts were being monopolised by Lord Carisbrooke, she thought it was just as well she was not to work at the abbey. If one afternoon spent in his company could have such a profound effect on her, what would a few weeks do?

If only it was not the only position she had been offered in the last three months. Well, she must just find another position, and find it soon, or she would be destitute.

Perhaps Lord Carisbrooke’s cousin would know of something, she thought, brightening. He seemed to be a pleasant young man, and might know of a family who needed a governess. Failing that, perhaps the rector had heard of someone in need of assistance. He and his wife had both been friendly, and they might be prepared to help her. She would call at the rectory on her way back to the village in the morning.

Having settled the matter as much as she could for the time being, she turned her thoughts away from that direction. She did not want to think of the long walk, very possibly in the rain, as the storm showed no signs of abating.

Now that she had settled herself comfortably, she found she was ready for some occupation. She wondered whether she should take
The Mysteries of Udolpho
out of her portmanteau. It was a wonderful book, but perhaps it would be better not to read it in the abbey. Its ghostly apparitions and terrible secrets were spine-tingling enough in a sunny garden; in the cavernous bedchamber they might seem too close for comfort! She decided to take out her needle instead and darn her stocking.