The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (12 page)

Now, after a simple wind of the key, sweet, tinkling music filled the bedchamber.

Pamela sat up, her eyes brightening. “Have you brought me a music box, cousin?”

“I am told it plays a melody for nearly half an hour,” Calliope said, beaming. She’d finally managed to alleviate
one
of her worries. Nell would no longer be in danger of permanent damage to her fingers. All that was needed for Pamela’s entertainment was to take turns winding the key. Between Calliope, Nell, and Bess, the task should be simple enough.

F
rom a discreet distance down the hall, Gabriel caught a glimpse of a smiling Miss Croft. Obviously, her morning jaunt to the attic had proved fruitful. Pleased, he slipped around the corner and headed toward his chamber for a change of clothes.

Fitzroy was an accommodating valet and usually had tea waiting for him. Although currently, Gabriel needed sustenance too, or else he’d run the risk of imagining a meal of Calliope. Giving into temptation had been a grave error. The sweet flavor of her flesh still lingered on his tongue, and he craved more.

Walking into his chamber, Fitzroy indeed had a pot of tea, along with a silver dome-covered plate. His face was split in a wide grin that exposed the gradient slope of his upper teeth to the back of his jaw, giving him somewhat of a rabbit appearance. “A bright and happy morning to you, my lord,” he said with a bow.

Gabriel eyed his valet with speculation. Usually, he wasn’t greeted with such an excessive amount of cheer. Looking around the room for a clue, however, he saw nothing amiss. Draped over the bed was a fresh change of clothes: pressed white shirt, gold striped waistcoat, brushed hunter green coat, pristine cravat, buff breeches, wool stockings, and beside the bench at the foot of the bed, Hessians polished to a mirror shine. Even though he could only wear one currently, his valet always set out the pair.

Resting his cane against the footboard, Gabriel began to shrug out of his jacket from the previous night. He’d made a habit of late of sleeping in the map room and changing clothes in the morning. “Why the sappy grin, Fitzroy? One of the upstairs maids
accidentally
find her way into your room again last night?”

Fitzroy sprang into action and rushed around behind him to remove the coat. Then, draping the jacket over the back of a nearby chair, the man actually blushed. The valet was abundantly shy but still managed to charm the stockings off the female serving staff. “Forgive me, my lord, but the staff is buzzing about the news. May I be the first to offer my congratulations?”

“And why, precisely, are you congratulating me?”

“While there has been no formal announcement,” Fitzroy said, grinning even wider, if such a thing were possible, “Mr. Valentine has made it abundantly clear that Miss Croft’s status will soon be elevated, second only to yours.”

“
Miss Croft?
But why the devil would Valentine—” Gabriel stopped. This morning, when he’d told Valentine to have Mrs. Merkel report directly to Miss Croft, the butler had no doubt assumed that such an honor would only go to the
lady
of the manor.

Gabriel had sabotaged himself! Why bother worrying about Montwood and Danvers conspiring against him when his own stupidity was the real enemy?

His head back, Gabriel stared at the ceiling and laughed wryly. “Hold your congratulations, Fitzroy. I was merely giving our guest an occupation to keep her from turning Fallow Hall upside down in search of a letter.”

His valet looked deflated. “In regard to the letter, my lord, I’ve heard mention that all of Lady Brightwell’s other belongings have been accounted for, save for the small ivory-handled box. The letter she desires most is still missing.”

“I do not believe it is Lady Brightwell who desires the letter most of all,” Gabriel murmured and then addressed Fitzroy more formally. “Should you or any of the other servants encounter this letter, bring it to me at once.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He opened his mouth to have Fitzroy summon Valentine. Not wanting any confusion about his motives, he would rescind his instructions to Valentine and have Mrs. Merkel report to him again.

Instead, he closed his mouth. Oddly enough, the misunderstanding wasn’t entirely unappealing.

In fact, it was more appealing than he cared to admit.

C
alliope slipped out of Pamela’s chamber and closed the door with a quiet click. She walked down the hall, prepared to use her newfound free time in finding that letter and exposing Casanova once and for all.

Around the corner, she nearly collided with the housekeeper. “Oh! Please forgive me, Mrs. Merkel.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Croft,” the housekeeper said, hastily dipping into a curtsy, which was peculiar on many levels. Not the least of which was the fact that Calliope held no title or position in society. “I was actually just coming this way so that I might speak with you, if you have a moment.”

“With me?” Calliope placed a hand to her chest. Confused by the uncustomary greeting, it took a moment for her sort out a reason why the housekeeper would seek her out in particular. Then a swift rise of guilt filled her as her mind went to her recent scavenger hunt through the attic and the disturbed crates. “Oh. If this is about the crates in the attic, I have every intention of putting everything back in order.”

“How kind of you, but the footmen have already seen to it.” Mrs. Merkel smiled at her. “And I daresay that I am grateful for your generosity on Nell’s behalf. Her return has eased many burdens.”

“I wish I could take credit, but Mr. Valentine discovered the music box and directed me to it,” Calliope deferred. She certainly did not expect such a response due to a music box, but now she was even happier at the serendipitous discovery. “However, I would be glad to assist in any way I can.”

Mrs. Merkel’s eyes brightened. “Very good. If you have a moment, I would like go over the linen schedule with you, as well as the service you’d like to use at dinner and the menu you wish prepared.”

Calliope blinked, dumfounded. “While I’m honored that you would seek my counsel, I really do not wish to overstep my position here as a guest.”

“Certainly not, miss. I would value your input.”

Surely, if any woman in this house should be chosen, then her cousin—a baroness—should. Then again, Pamela had likely turned down the offer.

Calliope imagined it was quite taxing to be the housekeeper and manage all of Fallow Hall on her own. Her own mother and father had shown faith in her abilities to manage their townhouse in London. But to assist in running a large estate? It was such an honor that she felt rather giddy at the prospect. As a spinster, it wasn’t likely she would have such an opportunity again. “That would be splendid, Mrs. Merkel.”

“Shall I have a tea tray delivered to the sitting room across the hall, Miss Croft?” The housekeeper opened the door to the room in question.

Calliope agreed and made her way inside while Mrs. Merkel gave instructions to one of the housemaids. A wash of pale gray light filtered in through a row of tall narrow windows, transforming the bright green-striped upholstery into a mellow, welcoming shade. Between two tufted chairs, a low table sat. On that table was a long piece of foolscap marked in a neat, tidy script. Upon closer inspection, she noted that it was a list—a rather substantial list—itemizing everything from the linen schedule to the number of tapers in the cupboard.

It appeared that Calliope would be very busy. Too busy to spend much time with her cousin. Too busy to spend much time searching for the letter. Even so, part of her relished the new challenge.

Fallow Hall under her care? It was the highest compliment she’d ever received.

CHAPTER NINE

“W
hat fine animals have you given to the cook to make inedible this evening, gentlemen?” Gabriel asked of Brightwell and Danvers as they strolled into the map room, dressed in their dinner jackets and finery.

Typically, they would meet in the drawing room before dinner. However, since Valentine tended to lavish delicacies on Gabriel—
when one has a broken leg, one must keep up one’s strength, after all
—the gentlemen made this room their first stop. Unfortunately for them, Valentine’s tray had been delayed.

Brightwell turned a bit green at the mention of the cook’s lack of skill. “A rabbit and a grouse.”

“And by dinner’s end, we will believe Mrs. Swan served us a leathery mutton.” Gabriel laughed, making himself more comfortable on the sofa. Beside him, Duke nudged his hand with the tip of his wet nose until Gabriel consented to scratch his head.

Danvers looked over his shoulder as he stood at the sideboard, pouring a glass of the port that Valentine had decanted a few hours ago. “
We?
Not with you hiding in here, night after night, supping on bread and cheese—and whatever delights Valentine smuggles to you from his secret pantry—leaving us to curdled soups and porkpies so salty I’d swear they were stuffed with barnacles. And you’ve no right to gloat either.”

Right or not, Gabriel gloated, linking his hands behind his head. Indeed, Valentine had promised another hunk of blue-veined cheese.

“Why
have
you gone absent at dinner of late?” Brightwell asked.

Danvers handed Brightwell a fluted glass. “Because he’s avoiding Miss Croft in an effort not to—”

“In an effort not to say something disagreeable,” Gabriel interrupted, staring hard at Danvers.
Damned loose-tongued devil
. The last thing he wanted was for Brightwell to realize what Danvers had figured out. “After all, I am still cross with her for your sake, Brightwell.”

Danvers did not even attempt to hide his sly smile before he laughed.

“I am always late to the party,” Montwood said from the door. “Danvers is either foxed already or he’s laughing at one of his own inane jokes again.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “It must be the latter.”

“You needn’t come to my defense, Everhart,” Brightwell said, circling the conversation back to where it had begun. “I meant what I said about leaving the past alone. There is no reason you should not get along famously with Miss Croft.”

At the sideboard, Montwood looked over his shoulder and waggled his brows at Danvers, who lifted his glass in a silent toast behind Brightwell’s back.

Fighting back the growl in his throat, Gabriel ignored his housemates and kept his attention on Brightwell. “Then it will be for the sake of friendship that I won’t get along,
famously
or otherwise, with our guest.”

“I am undeserving of such loyalty after all these years,” Brightwell offered, hand to his chest. “I have married her cousin and not once has she shown me ill favor for it. She’s offered her support in every way. Why, just this morning she procured a music box from the attic for her cousin’s comfort. That is not the act of a young woman grown to despise the union of her former suitor and her cousin.”

Montwood shared a toast with Danvers, as if they could taste victory in their glasses instead of port. “If that isn’t a trump card in your hand, Everhart, then I don’t know what it is.”

Ha. More like a trump card in
their
hands
.

“I will give it thought, Brightwell,” Gabriel said, already knowing exactly what he would do instead. His avoidance tactics were working perfectly . . . nearly. If he decided to forget about how he’d almost devoured her neck last night. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain
he
could forget. Ever.

In the doorway, Valentine cleared his throat and then inclined his head. “Dinner is served, my lords. Sir.”

Gabriel nearly sighed with relief. At last, a reprieve from the guilt of the past and the present.

Now, it was his turn to salute the others. “Be well, gentlemen.”

They all grumbled and departed, one by one.

When the dog didn’t follow, it was a signifier of how truly terrible the cook’s food was. Gabriel reached down and gave him a solid pat. “We’ll have our bread and cheese brought to us soon enough, old boy.
What
is it you have there?”

Gabriel went utterly still.

Duke held a familiar leather pouch between his teeth. A pouch that Gabriel had kept hidden in his rooms. Seeing it now reminded him of what he’d lost and made him more desperate to avoid Calliope Croft.

Unable to help himself, he unfolded the pouch and ensured the safety of the contents. They were more of a sentimental nature—a green stone that needed polishing, a red feather that had thinned in the past five years, and the bottom corner of a letter.

Relieved that the items hadn’t suffered, he carefully tucked them away and tied the pouch closed.

“Are you conspiring against me as well?” he asked Duke.

The dog answered with a
woof
and a jolly tail wag.

Gabriel shook his head. “It isn’t that simple for me. I cannot take what I want. And certainly not”—he shook his finger—“in the same manner that you took advantage of those Pekinese.”

Duke lowered his head.

“For me, there would be dire consequences to consider.”

L
ucan Montwood led this evening’s procession into the dining room, as his ranking decreed when Everhart was not in attendance. Brightwell and Pamela followed Montwood, while Calliope entered the room last, on the arm of Rafe Danvers. This night, however, for reasons unknown to Calliope, everything changed.

The expansive paneled room was still the same. Wall sconces gleamed brightly, reflecting against the octagonal panes of glass in the windows. The table was set for five, as was the number of their dining party. Usually Everhart’s place at the high end of the table was left vacant in case he should change his mind and join them. Which he never did. Yet tonight, his place was set.

Still, there were only five in all, causing a little confusion—until Valentine stood behind the chair at the end, cleared his throat, and looked directly at Calliope. “Miss Croft, I believe you’ll find this chair to your liking.”