Come Midnight (12 page)

Chapter 9

The charm's effect ended when Caitlin fell asleep. Abruptly freed from the binding, Adam stumbled forward, barely avoiding a fall on his face. He blinked owlishly and looked about in bewilderment. Where the devil was Caitlin? Had he imagined her? Staggering to the door, he halted, swaying on his feet. In the antechamber, a chamberstick he recognized as hers lay on the carpet, beside a jumble of books. No, he hadn't imagined it. She'd been here, in his rooms. He didn't think he'd imagined kissing her, either. Or the feel of a sweetly rounded breast. But .. . something devilish queer had happened. That little Irish minx ....

He yawned, trying to follow the thought. Hours of imbibing at last caught up with him, and it faded. With a dismissive shrug, he staggered back into the bedchamber and fell into bed without further ado.

***

When Adam awoke, however—well past noon, his head pounding like the devil—he wasn't inclined to be as dismissive—or charitable. He rang for a footman, his thoughts black while he waited for the servant to fetch him coffee. Seeing his lordship's scowl, the poor man nearly dropped the tray before he hurriedly withdrew.

Little by little, the events of the previous night fell into place as Adam sipped the strong brew. Summoning his valet, he endured the man's fussing as long as he was able, at length dismissing him with a growl. The coffee and a long soak in his bath made him feel slightly more human but hadn't improved his mood one jot.

There was no dodging it. He'd behaved egregiously. Toward Caitlin, the last person in the world he wished to offend. Save one, he amended, thanking his stars Andrew hadn't seen him last night. Caitlin should have been spared his odious presence as well. Instead, he'd gone to the servants' wing and ....

Try as he might, he couldn't recall how she'd come to be in his chambers. That part was all a blank. Yet she'd been here, and what had followed .... Guilt stabbed him. He couldn't even call it a seduction, which would have been bad enough, given who she was ... who and what he was. But the scratches on his hand said it had been something much uglier: he had tried to rape her. He, who'd had men in his regiment flogged for rape! Who'd never in his life taken an unwilling woman to bed.

He sank into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. He'd have to face her. .. somehow make it right with her. But how did one ever rectify something so cowardly and despicable? Hell and damnation, if she hadn't managed to elude him .... An image arose in his mind: Caitlin, sprawled across his bed, staring up at him in shock. And then she'd—

He hadn't imagined it. She'd mumbled some gibberish at him—and that had stopped him—stopped him cold. What the devil had she done?

Erupting from the chair, he sprang for the bellpull. The footman who appeared moments later was white-laced and out of breath. "Inform Miss O'Brien I wish to see her in the library," his lordship barked, "at once!"

Adam paced the length of the library and back yet again, scowling at the clock on the mantel. He'd sent for Caitlin twenty minutes ago. She wasn't coming. Had she fled? Not that he'd blame her, but—

A scratching at the door had him stalking across the carpet and yanking it ajar. The solid oak panels vibrated in their frame. "Well ... ?" he growled at the hapless footman.

"M-Miss O'Brien d-doesn't answer her door, y-your lordship."

"Doesn't—or won't?"

"I-I cannot s-say, your lord—" The servant flattened himself against the door as his lordship thrust past him and raced down the hallway.

Minutes later, Adam stood at Caitlin's door. He raised his fist to knock, then thought better of it. In his present mood, he'd pound the door into oblivion. "Caitlin," he called, "are you in there?"

No answer.

"Caitlin, I realize it may be difficult for you, but we need to talk."

Again, no response. Then he thought he detected movement within. What if she was in difficulty, unable to respond? He wasn't entirely clear on all of his actions last night. He had a horrifying thought that hadn't occurred till now: If I hurt her . .. injured her ... .

"Caitlin!" Anxiety rang in his voice. "If you're in there, I beg you will say something. Let me know you're all right!"

Alarmed by the continuing silence, he tried the door, surprised when it gave no resistance. Without further thought, he flung it wide—and froze in his tracks.

She stood facing him across the small room. Wearing one of her ubiquitous mourning gowns. The unrelieved black as well as the red of her hair contrasted starkly with the deathlike pallor of her face. As did her eyes, when he dared to meet them. He took a faltering step back.

The fear in her eyes sickened him.

Without another word, Adam turned and left. Furious with himself for his loss of control, for what he'd done, for things he couldn't yet put a name to. He was in a towering rage by the time he reached the hall and sent for Jepson. "Prepare for the household's removal to Ravenskeep Hall," he told the butler. "Inform Hodgkins, and set the staff packing without delay."

"Yes, your lordship. And when shall I inform her you expect to—"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, m'lord?" Even the impassive face of Jepson couldn't contain his shock. The removal of a great household from the city to a family's country estate normally took days of preparation.

"You heard me, man," Adam snapped. "I don't give a damn if the packing takes all night. By this time tomorrow, I expect to be on the road to Kent!"

***

Caitlin learned of the marquis's decision without having to ask. The sounds of scurrying feet drew her into the hallway. Maids hurried past with piles of Holland covers in their arms; footmen lugged portmanteaus and trunks hastily hauled from the attics. Their muttered complaints made clear what they thought of their task. His lordship's insistence on leaving by tomorrow was crack-brained, it was! Who ever heard of packing up a household on such short notice? Fine for him to say. Wasn't him had to do the work, was it? Everything from stripping the beds to taking down the knocker from the door. Aye, his lordship paid good wages, but when he was in one of his tempers, a body could be worked something cruel.

Caitlin listened with but half an ear. Her mind was on what she had to do. Her own few belongings were packed. It only remained for her to say her good-byes, and she could leave.
Only?
questioned an inner voice, and she swallowed past a surge of emotion. Taking leave of friends she'd made among the staff, especially Jepson and Mrs. Hodgkins, would be hard enough. Saying good-bye to Andrew—

She sucked in a breath and released it, forcing back tears. Saying farewell to the lad would be past hard. But there was no help for it. She could no longer function as she had done, not after last night. Andrew would miss her, but he no longer needed her healing skills; he was recovering nicely from his wounds. Not so, his father. From whatever wounds he carried deep inside. And she hadn't even learned what they were. Instead of helping him, she seemed to have made matters worse. Before she botched things completely, she must leave. Take her healing skills back on the road, perhaps even to Ireland. What she'd feared hadn't been there, but here.

You're running away again
, the inner voice taunted. She shook her head to dispel it. She'd wrestled with that voice all morning. Andrew had gone for a fitting with the tailor; she'd had time on her hands to contemplate her options.

She'd had her mind half made up when she awoke this morning. What had decided matters was what she had seen on his lordship's face when he fled her chamber. No one should have to endure that much anguish. Sure and he'd been a troubled soul before she came. But after last night, he seemed more tormented than ever.

All because of her.

Don't be daft,
said the voice.
You didn't pour those spirits down his throat!

No, she hadn't. She'd done something far more imprudent. She very much feared she'd fallen in love with him. With Lord Adam Lightfoot, a man as far above her as the moon. There, she'd admitted it. She'd fallen in love with the man, and no good could come of it. Best to leave now, before she was no good to anyone.

Turning back to her chamber, she went to collect her things.

***

"Never say you mean to leave for good?" Sally Hodgkins placed an imploring hand on Caitlin's sleeve as they stood beside the green baize door in the dining hall. Around them, servants hurried to and fro, tending to chores in frantic haste. She waved away a chambermaid who approached with a torn Holland cover. "Not now, Letty! Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I've no choice but t' leave, Mrs. Hodgkins," Caitlin said as the maid scurried off. "With countless souls ailin' and desperate, how can I not? How can I ignore their plight when I've been blessed with the means"—she indicated the worn satchel at her feet—"t' help them?"

"But—but what of Lord Andrew?" the older woman stammered. "Doesn't he need you? The child will be sorely grieved to lose—"

"His patched t'gither governess?" Caitlin smiled wryly and shook her head. "I'm a healer, Mrs. Hodgkins, not a ... "

''You've become much more than that to him, Caitlin, and well you know it. He regards you as his friend."

Jeremy isn't my onliest bestest friend anymore. Now you're my bestest friend, too!
Caitlin winced as she recalled the child's own words.

"And the boy isn't the only one thinks of you that way." Having noted Caitlin's reaction, the housekeeper pressed her advantage. "Why, Jepson and I were saving just the other day—ah, there you are, Jepson!" she exclaimed, spying the butier entering the room. "Perhaps you can convince her."

"Perhaps I can," said Jepson, depositing an armload of polished silver on the sideboard and turning to face her. "If you will be so good as to inform me—"

"Miss O'Brien's set on leaving us!" the housekeeper cried.

The redoubtable butler's sangfroid didn't desert him, but his brows lifted. "Indeed?" he said, turning to Caitlin. "Do I take it you've given his lordship notice?"

Caitlin shifted uncomfortably. His lordship was the last person she wished to see. "Er ... I was hopin' ye'd carry word t' him for me, sorr."

The butler contained a smile. Then, there's time to change her mind. "I fear that's not possible," he said gently.

"It...it isn't?" Apprehension showed clearly on Caitlin's face.
If I have to face him
....

"Perhaps I'd better explain how it's done," Jepson said. He glanced at the housekeeper. "Mrs. Hodgkins, Lord Andrew's just returned from Bond Street. Be so good as to see if he's in need of help with his packing." He sent her an arch look over Caitlin's head. "And then, as we could all do with a respite, I suggest you join us in the servants' hall for a dish of tea."

Hodgkins gave him a comprehending nod and hurried off. The pair had worked together for years and understood each other perfectly. Jepson had no doubt there'd be a fourth for tea, even if the venue weren't his usual. He drew Caitlin gently by the arm. "Come along, my dear. There's a proper protocol for giving notice, do you see, and ..."

***

Twenty minutes later, Caitlin knew she was in difficulty. The chat with Jepson supplied her first clue she might not be able to leave. At least, not at once. Even the lower servants, he told her, were expected to give at least a week's notice. Upper servants—a governess was loosely grouped with these—normally gave a fortnight's warning, or more. Indeed, a governess or tutor usually stayed on until a suitable replacement was found. Barring emergencies such as illness or death, there was no departing from these strictures. None that was honorable, he said.

She was trying desperately to devise a means of calling her situation an emergency when Andrew entered the servants' hall: her second clue she was in difficulty. Propelled forward in his new Bath chair by Hodgkins, he spied her at once. "Caitlin!" he cried. "We're all going to Kent—did you know? Kent's where Jeremy lives, and I shall introduce you to him straightaway, and then we can all be friends, and ..." His words faltered as he noticed the dismay on her face. "What—what's wrong?''

When she didn't answer, the boy glanced at Jepson.

"What is it?" he asked, his lower lip beginning to tremble. "Oh, please—tell me!"

The butler cleared his throat. "Ah ... Miss O'Brien was thinking of giving notice, I'm afraid."

"Giving ... notice? D'you mean leaving?"

Before Jepson could reply, Andrew's head whipped toward Caitlin. "It's not true, is it?" Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at her distraught face in abject misery. "Oh, please say it's not true. I shan't be able to bear it if you leave, Caitlin—I shan't!"

Caitlin couldn't bear it either. She stayed.

***

The next afternoon the marquis's entourage lumbered along the post road to Kent. A frazzled but pleased Mrs. Hodgkins as well as the perennially unruffled Jepson remained behind, for their domain was the London residence. They had their counterparts in Kent, who saw to the running of Ravenskeep Hall. Congratulating themselves on "keeping the Irish Angel in the family," the pair settled back for a well earned rest.

Except for a skeleton staff left in London to assist them, the rest of the servants were not so fortunate. Ravenskeep was a vast holding. When the master came to reside at the Hall, those who went with him could expect to work as hard at settling him in as they had with his removal. And in the present circumstances, perhaps harder, since the marquis hadn't resided there since he went to war. True, some of them had served his marchioness in Kent before she stuck her spoon in the wall, but his lordship was another kettle of fish. No telling what he'd require settling in.

Caitlin gleaned all of this, as well as a host of interesting details about the marquis's country estate, from the servants. Tired and overworked from the peremptory removal on such short notice, they grumbled prodigiously over their grievances; Caitlin couldn't help overhearing them when the entourage stopped to rest or water the horses. And what she didn't learn from the servants, she learned from Andrew.

The child was her sole companion in the carriage. His lordship rode ahead in his phaeton. They had not spoken since that disquieting encounter the morning before, and while Caitlin knew it couldn't last, she was grateful for the reprieve. Meanwhile, the lad knew a remarkable amount of the Hall's history for someone his age, and he was eager to share it.

Ravenskeep Hall was the centuries old family seat of the Lightfoots. Built in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who had stayed there during several of her many "progresses," the house had been laid out in the shape of an E to honor the Tudor monarch. Constructed entirely of native stone, it boasted over a hundred and twenty rooms. A quarter of these had been modernized by Andrew's grandfather. "But Papa added the indoor necessaries after I was born," Andrew told her.

She also learned that Capability Brown had designed the Hall's surrounding grounds. The deer park, which included a large manmade lake, covered over a hundred acres; the home farm, twelve thousand. All of the outbuildings, from the stables to the hunting lodge in the wood, were built of matching stone.

Needless to say, all this splendor had to be maintained. The permanent staff numbered one hundred and thirty, its ranks swollen by the additional twenty who now traveled with them from London. Andrew knew a great many of the servants by name, he told Caitlin proudly, and he was determined to learn the rest before long.

"Mama didn't think it was necessary to know their names," he confided, " 'cept for the upper servants, I mean, like Doris, her lady's maid, and Mrs. Needham— she's the housekeeper. But Papa told me that his papa thought it was the lord's duty to know the name of everyone who worked for him. 'Course, Papa's been away in the war, so he hasn't had the chance to do that himself—well, not yet, but I'll bet he will, now we're going to live at the Hall. And I shall be the marquis someday, so I've been practicing—doing what Grandfather did, I mean." He paused, eyeing Caitlin askance. "Er ... don't you think that's a good idea?"

Caitlin pondered this for a moment, sensing his uncertainty. As his mother had held with a different practice, perhaps he needed to be reassured that making the decision to follow in the grandfather's footsteps didn't make him disloyal to his dead mother. "I think 'tis a fine idea,'' she answered at length. "Mind ye, there are many who'd disagree—and that's their right, lad— but I think servants are people with feelin's, just like everyone else. Wouldn't it hurt yer own feelin's, Andrew, if ye were loyal and worked hard, every day, for someone who didn't even know who ye were—or at the very least, what yer name was?"

"Oh, it would," he replied, looking vastly relieved. "And I like knowing who people are." After this exchange, they rode in silence for a while. Then, as their carriage followed his father's equipage up a long drive, Andrew grew excited. The drive would soon deposit them at the Hall, he informed her. "I can't wait to see how you like it, and I just know you're going to like our Townsend," he added with a grin.

"What's a Townsend?" she asked, pulling her gaze from the window. She'd been observing a herd of deer grazing in a landscape so lushly green, it reminded her of Ireland. "And why shall I like it?"

Andrew giggled. "Townsend's not an it. He's our majordomo—that's like a butler. He's a very proper gentleman and every bit as nice as Jepson, only he smiles more. 'Course, Jepson smiles more than some people think." He gave her a look that said he had a secret "I can tell."

"Does he, now?" Caitlin asked, recognizing the look and playing along. "And how is that?"

Andrew grinned. " 'Cause he smiles with his eyes." He cocked his head and gave her a considering look. "Just like you're doing now."

"Ach, ye found me out!" Caitlin cried, her mouth mimicking her eyes. She reached over to give him a hug, and they both laughed.

Up ahead, Adam heard their laughter with mixed feelings. He was profoundly relieved that Caitlin was still able to laugh. And grateful that she generously shared that laughter with his son. He doubted she would ever again share her generous spirit with him, however. His reasons for removing to the Hall had included a faint hope that having more space would help clear the air between them. Now, as he reflected, the hope grew fainter. In all likelihood, she would use that space to put more distance between them. It was what he would do in her place. Fact was, if he were in her place, he'd be long gone. He counted himself fortunate that she hadn't bolted. The laughter coming from the carriage told him he had only her bond with his son to thank for that.

With a pang of bitter regret, Adam urged his team to a faster pace.