Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman (8 page)

Thursday, May 5, 1814

“Now, if you'll snuff out the candles and draw the drapes, I think I will try to rest.” It wouldn't hurt the man to say please, Elenore thought, as she quickly obeyed Lord Brattondale's commands, anxious to get out of the depressing room and away from its hard-to-please occupant. Once she had blown out the last flickering candle, she exited the room without even bothering to bid Lord Brat goodbye.

The cheery brightness of the hall was in stark contrast to the dark room she had just left. Her spirits were instantly buoyed by the sun's rays that were peeking in through the tall stained glass windows on either end of the hall. She began to slowly walk, not exactly sure where her feet were going to take her.

Life at Westbrooke Hall had settled into a not-so-comfortable routine. For since she had arrived, she spent nearly her entire day waiting hand and foot on the insufferable earl. She couldn't blame his family for wanting to seek out somebody else to care for him so the responsibility wouldn't rest solely on their shoulders. It was probably a great relief to Lord Bridgerton that he no longer had to be the one to attend to his father.

The thought of Lord Bridgerton made her instantly feel warm. She hadn't seen him since the morning he offered to give her the grand tour of Westbrooke Hall and had quickly left before he had ever finished it. She had wondered over and over if he had somehow read her mind when she had allowed herself to think about being kissed by him and that is why he had been so anxious to flee from her presence that morning. She desperately hoped that wasn't the case. For surely she'd die of shame, if he knew the directions her thoughts had wandered, while they sat gazing into one another's eyes, his face mere inches from her own.

Before she had a chance to realize where she was going, Elenore's feet had led her out of the house. As she stood on the lawn, she couldn't help closing her eyes and inhaling the fresh country air. She briefly allowed herself to imagine she was home in Bristol, her mother and father still alive, her brother Paul at home for one of his customary visits. She missed the happiness of those simpler times, the time in her life when she knew exactly where she belonged and what she wanted to do with her life. Now everything was different; going to America filled her with great anticipation, but she wasn't sure exactly what to expect once she got there or what she would do. Her aunt, her mother's sister, had left with her husband to live in America when she was but a girl. She hardly remembered her, nor did she know exactly how to go about finding her once she got to the strange country. But she was adamant that she would, that she'd live with family once more and no longer be a burden to practical strangers.

Pondering her dilemma, she realized that she had not heard a single word from Black Lightening since he had deposited her at Westbrooke Hall. She sincerely hoped that he would keep his end of their bargain. The thought of caring for Lord Brat, without any compensation, was enough to make her want to go mad. The only thing that kept her half sane was the thought that, soon enough, she would be sailing safely to America to start a new life.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she began heading towards the stables, sure that some time spent amongst the horses would help her calm her mind. She had to remind herself that it hadn't even been a fortnight since she had come to Westbrooke Hall, and there was still plenty of time to hear from Black Lightening.

It was the first time she had dared pay a visit to the stables. She used to love riding before her parents passed away, but ever since leaving Bristol, she hadn't had occasion to ride. As soon as she entered the stable, she was greeted by a middle-aged stable hand dressed in the navy and gold livery of Westbrooke Hall. “Good day to you, Sister. Can I be of any assistance to you?”

“I was just hoping I might be able to take a look around. I've always loved horses.”

The man smiled kindly. “Of course. Do you want me to introduce you to them?”

“I'd like that, thank you.”

“My name's Daniel,” the man said, as he led her to the far end of the stables.

“I'm Sister Genevieve.” It still felt odd referring to herself in such a manner.

“Pleased to meet you.”

The two walked on in silence and finally Elenore spoke up, if only to try to break the silence. “Have you worked for Lord Brattondale for long?”

“Most of my adult life,” he said proudly. “What about you? I don't remember ever seeing a nun on the property before. I didn't think the master was much of a religious man.”

“He's not. I've only been brought here to help nurse Lord Brattondale until his health returns. The only time he ever mentions God is when he's shouting out vain obscenities, usually after I've accidentally poured some sort of hot liquid down his chest.”

Daniel looked over at her, a curious expression on his face. “You have occasion to spill on the master frequently?”

“Multiple times a day, I have the pleasure of spoon feeding the man his meals. I can't be held responsible if he sneezes or itches while I'm attempting to spoon hot broth into his mouth. Have you ever spoon fed a grown adult before?”

He laughed at her absurdity. “I can't say that I have. And if I ever had any desire to do so, you're apparent distaste for the task has completely squelched that longing completely.”

Elenore laughed nervously in return. “Beg pardon. I spoke out of line. I have a nasty habit of doing so. I really shouldn't have complained about caring for Lord Brattondale. It is my job, after all.”

“Just because it is your duty does not mean you are required to enjoy every task that is laid before you.”

“I suppose. Is that how you feel? Are there things that even you do not like about your job in the stables?”

Daniel rested casually against the stall while he thought. "I confess that I don't find the task of mucking out stalls all that enjoyable, though I truly do love almost every other aspect of my job. The horses are like friends to me—beautiful creatures that I can tell anything to. They never betray my confidences, never get bored of listening to me complain, and always appreciate the time I spend grooming and caring for them.”

Elenore nodded in understanding, as she reached up to stroke the silky brown coat of the mare in front of her. “That one there is Sally. She's a real gem," Daniel said in a quiet voice so as not to startle the mare.

Elenore's eyes lit up. “She reminds me so much of my horse when I was a little girl. Cinnamon was her name, and she was just as sweet as Sally.”

“Would you like to take her for a ride?” Daniel couldn't help but offering, though he wasn't sure if it was acceptable for a nun to do so.

Elenore's eyes widened in surprise. “Truly, you would let me?”

Daniel smiled at her childlike excitement. “Of course you may, I'm sure Lord Brattondale won't mind at all. I'll get her saddled up. Then you can be on your way.”

Elenore itched with excitement. It felt as if it had been an entire lifetime since she had been back in Bristol riding Cinnamon across the open farmlands surrounding their small home. For the first time since she had come to Westbrooke Hall she felt happy.

***

Like a moth drawn to the light, Devon couldn't keep himself from being drawn back to Westbrooke Hall. He had stayed away for an entire week and a half, which wasn't highly unusual—he often came back at his father's insistence, checking on the ailing man and seeing to his comfort, but there were so many things in London that kept him occupied, he didn't have time to visit as much as his father would have liked him to.

But, if he was being honest with himself, this time it wasn't his father that was drawing him home. He immediately thought of an impish face covered with a smattering of light freckles and he groaned. No, he told himself. The fetching Sister Genevieve was not the reason for his trip home, but rather, he had a more practical mission in mind. Ever since he'd had his encounter with Lord Grayson and had been unable to retrieve any of his father's money, he felt a desperate need compelling him to go over the account books to see exactly how much his father had lost this time around. It was depressing to see how their finances were dwindling so rapidly with each hand his father lost, but he felt a dismal need compelling him nonetheless.

His carriage had just pulled into the drive when he heard an unfamiliar squealing off in the distance. Pushing the curtains back from the carriage window, he peered out to see what the commotion was all about. It took him a moment to see where the ruckus was coming from, but then he spotted it—sitting atop a galloping mare was Sister Genevieve, her long hair blowing behind her in waves of brown. Devon gasped—where was her veil? He couldn't remember the last time he had been stunned into total silence. He sat staring at her, riding Sally wild and free, as she squealed in delight, and he knew he had never seen a lovelier vision in all of his life.

Sister Genevieve was a total enigma to him; she seemed too young and too lively to be dedicated to a life of solemn piousness. It seemed a shame that somebody so spirited would choose to waste there life on such a constricted existence. It didn't really seem fair either for her to have removed herself from the grasp of potential suitors. He was sure there were many gentlemen who would be just as enamored with her joyfulness as he was. Is that what he was, enamored? He shook himself out of his trance. Intrigued maybe, but definitely not enamored, she was a nun after all, and he knew nothing about her decision to become a nun. For all he knew, she had no desire for the opposite sex, the thought making him feel oddly disappointed.

He quickly alighted from his carriage as he saw her riding towards the front of the house. He stepped into the drive and waved a hand above his head, signaling her to stop. His smile widened as she approached, her face flush and her eyes all lit up. Her expression held no hint of embarrassment to be seen without her veil. Instead, she looked happy and alive.

“Good afternoon, Lord Bridgerton. I didn't expect to see you here today.”

“Nor did I expect to see you gallivanting around the property on horseback. I must admit I prefer you without that awful headpiece covering up your beautiful hair.”

Sister Genevieve's hands let go of the reigns, as they flew up to curl around her silky waves, seeming for the first time to realize her state of disarray. “Please, you must forgive my bad manners, I just couldn't fathom riding with it on. It gets so hot and itchy. Promise you won't say a word.”

Devon laughed, “And who do you imagine I'd tell? I'm sure my father wouldn't be concerned in the least. As long as you are there to hand-feed him his meals and rub his feet, I'm sure he couldn't care less what sat atop your head.”

Sister Genevieve sucked in a shocked breath, “I do not rub his feet. How improper of you to even suggest I'd do such a thing.”

“But you do spoon feed him his meals,” Devon pointed out.

“That I do,” she shook her head in disgust. “And if I had it my way, I wouldn't do that either.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, surprised by her candor.

She scoffed. “Pardon my frankness, but coddling a grown man was not exactly what I had in mind when I...” her voice trailed off momentarily. “...decided to become a nun.”

“I see,” Devon said solemnly. Then, gazing at her sincerely he said, “But you have to know how truly grateful I am for your assistance, as I'm sure my father is as well.”

“I'm not convinced that man has a grateful bone in his body.” Both hands instantly clamped over her mouth as if she was trying to restrain any further insults from flying forth, her eyes wide with alarm.

Devon couldn't help but laugh. She was definitely not like any girl, nun or otherwise, that he had ever met. He found her honesty refreshing, if a little abrupt. “You could very well be correct, but I, fortunately, do have many grateful bones in my body, and I'm very appreciative of your service to our family.”

He could tell his words had relaxed her, as she let her hands slip from her mouth and back into her lap, where they rested casually, a small smile pulling at the corners of her perfect lips. “Well, then I'm happy to be here, though I must confess I'm not sure how much longer I can stay.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's just that I have other places to go, things to do.” She couldn't very well come out and tell him of her plans to sail to America. She didn't want him prying into her affairs and somehow letting it slip that she had any sort of involvement with a highwayman.

Devon inwardly groaned. He didn't want to add another concern to his list, having to worry about finding someone else to watch after his father, or worse, having to do it himself. She had promised him a month, but it sounded as if she was growing impatient. “Surely there's nothing more pressing than performing service for somebody in need,” he pointed out, hoping she'd reiterate her agreement to stay on as caregiver for a month.

Letting out a deep sigh she replied, “Indeed that is important, but I have other people who need me, other places to go.”

“Who are you referring, to and when do you plan on going? I could send them a missive offering to find them a replacement so you may remain here with father.”

To his surprise, Elenore giggled. “Now why would you go to the trouble, if you could just find yourself a replacement instead? No, I cannot allow you to interfere with my plans, though I'm flattered by your desire to retain my services. I shall continue to care for the earl but thought it was fair of me to warn you that it won't be for much longer.”