The Hired Hero (6 page)

True to the doctor’s expectations, Mrs. Collins did arrive a short while later with a tray of steaming porridge and pot of tea. Caroline submitted to the housekeeper’s ministrations even though she felt capable of feeding herself, for it gave her the opportunity to learn more about her surroundings between bites.

“Why, Hemphill is the closest village. Ye ain’t from around there, then?”

Caroline took a long swallow of tea, then quickly changed the subject. “ Please thank her ladyship for the loan of a nightdress. I’m most grateful for the kindness.”

“Can’t,” replied Mrs. Collins. “Thank her, that is. She ain’t around anymore.”

 Caroline wondered what the housekeeper meant by that indelicate phrasing. Was he a widower? That would account for his rather gruff demeanor, especially if he was only recently bereaved. Or perhaps his was like many marriages of the ton, one of convenience rather than any mutual affection, and his wife spent her time in London or —

“I expect there are some other things in the attic that will fit,” continued the other woman. Her expression indicated what she thought of Caroline’s plan to take a needle to her own ragged garments. “I’ll have a look up there as soon as you are finished with your meal.”

 “But perhaps, well, perhaps his lordship would be upset?”

  Mrs. Collins shrugged. “Why ever should he care?”

  Caroline took a few swallows of the hot, fragrant tea. She wasn’t sure how to answer, but she found herself growing more and more curious about the earl. “Does his lordship spend most of his days out overseeing his estate?”

The housekeeper gave a snort. “If that’s what ye still call this place. But I give him credit. There’s not many gentleman would strip off their shirts and work along with his tenants.” She must have noticed the look of disbelief on Caroline’s face. “Aye,” she nodded. “Shoulder to shoulder with ‘em in the fields, that’s a fact.”

“How strange.”

“Place is mortgaged to the hilt, so they say. Who knows how long afore the creditors foreclose. If there was other decent work to be had, I’d leave in a trice.” Mrs. Collins, naturally garrulous, was taking full advantage of a fresh—and captive—audience.  “Not that it’s all that bad here, mind you. Most of the house is closed up, under holland covers, so the work is manageable fer me. Only other help is Owens and the Cook, but his lordship don’t seem to need much....”

The butler stuck his head into the room. “Mrs. Collins, Cook is threatening to give notice unless credit is extended at the butcher’s. Says she won’t waste her talents baking bread and slicing cheese.”

The housekeeper muttered something under her breath regarding the cook’s culinary talents. “Well, I better go see to her. It looks as if yer finished here anyway, miss.” She gathered up the dishes. “I shall visit the attic and see what I can find after I’ve dealt with the kitchen.”

 Mrs. Collins was as good as her word. She reappeared later with an armful of things, all in muted, if not somber, colors. The earl’s late wife was apparently not of a lively nature. It was all of good quality however, and Caroline was grateful though still hesitant about the propriety of accepting her ladyship’s clothing without the earl’s approval.

“You are sure it won’t upset his lordship?” She asked while eyeing the dark merino day dress that the housekeeper had draped over the foot of the bed.  “I mean...”

But the other woman had already bustled from the room in response to a shriek coming from downstairs.

Caroline slowly stood up. She still felt slightly woozy and dreadfully sore from all her knocks and bruises. But she forced herself to dress. She had lain about entirely too long. Now that she had recovered her senses, at least, she must resolve on a course of action.

 As she fumbled with the buttons of the gown, she thought about her current situation. Her reticule was lying somewhere in the shattered remains of the carriage so she hadn’t a penny to her name. Name. Now that was a problem. Not only was she set on not revealing her own, but she had no idea whose house she was in. He had told her his name, that she remembered vaguely. But she couldn’t for the life of her recall what it was. Darrencott...Dovepot—it was no use. She must remember to ask Mrs. Collins at first opportunity to avoid making a cake of herself. However, she did know one thing. He was a gentleman, and as such, he would be expected to offer her assistance without asking awkward questions.

There wasn’t a soul around when she made her way downstairs. No doubt Mrs. Collins and Owens were busy putting fires out in the kitchen. Curious, Caroline decided to look around on her own. Immediately to her right was the drawing room. It was done in shades of rose and emerald that had faded into lifeless shadows of their former hues. The carpets were threadbare and the mahogany sideboard, though recently waxed, showed its nicks and dents with little grace. Even the cushions on the sofas and wingchairs had a deflated look, as if depressed by all they had witnessed.

Her eyes strayed to the carved fireplace. Above the mantel hung a large painting of an extremely elegant gentleman. The style of dress—the ornately tied cravat, the multicolored figured silk waistcoat, perfectly tailored swallow tailed coat and snug fitting pantaloons—was a total contrast, but the chiseled features were unmistakable, though there was a hardness to the mouth and eyes she hadn’t noticed....

“A fine painting, is it not?”

Caroline whirled around with a start.

“Forgive me for startling you,” said Davenport as he took a step into the room. His gaze also moved to the portrait and his mouth quirked slightly. “The likeness is quite striking, don’t you think?”

Caroline regarded his work-stained shirt, his shabby coat and buckskins, then turned back to stare at the gilt framed canvas for what seemed like ages.

 “No,” she finally answered. “I do not.”

 His lips curled in a sardonic smile. “Ah, the difference in dress...”

 “It isn’t that.” She knew that the prudent course of action would have been to remain silent but something goaded her to go on. “There is a certain cruelty about the mouth and the eyes—I wonder that you should tolerate it to be shown at all. It does you no credit.”

Davenport’s face betrayed a flicker of surprise. He stared thoughtfully at the portrait before returning his attention to Caroline. “Do you think it wise to be up and moving about so soon,” he inquired, abruptly changing the subject.

“I am unused to laying abed,” she replied, then had the grace to color as she realized how boorish her actions, as well as her words, must appear. “Forgive me for wandering around your house uninvited.”

Davenport shrugged. “You may do as you please—we do not stand on manners here at Highwood.” Again, the hint of a sardonic smile.

“Highwood?” she repeated softly. “I do not recognize....”  Her brow furrowed slightly as she pondered her dilemma. Finally she decided to settle it herself. “I find I must ask for your forgiveness again, my lord. I seem to recall that you introduced yourself earlier, but I—I cannot remember your name.

The smile deepened into real humor. “I believe you had other things to occupy your mind. I trust your arm is feeling better?” He inclined a slight bow. “I am Davenport.”

Caroline stepped back with an involuntarily gasp. “The Earl of Davenport?” she said, in barely more than a whisper.

“Ah, how heartening to be recognized.” His tone was almost amused, but a flicker of some deeper emotion flashed in his smoky eyes.

She could only stare at him in disbelief. What wretched luck! Of all the places she could have stumbled into, she had to end up on the doorstep of one of the most dissolute rakehells in England. Oh yes, she knew of Davenport. His scandalous behavior was whispered about among the ton, and Caroline was well aware of the gossip, even though unmarried young ladies were not supposed to have their ears sullied with such shocking stories. Having a cousin who did not treat her as if she was a delicate—and witless— little creature had its uses.

He was regarding her as well, an inscrutable expression on his face. Finally, he shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other and broke the silence. “You needn’t collapse in a paroxysm of terror. I prefer to choose my own victims. You, it appears, are already spoken for.”

As Caroline went pale with anger, he walked past her to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “As I said, we do not stand on ceremony here. It has been a long day and I am devilishly thirsty. Would you care to join me?”

She shook her head.

“No, I didn’t think so.” The lips were curled once again in a faint smile. Furious as she was at his cutting words, Caroline could not help but notice there seemed to be a twinkle in his eye rather than the reptilian coldness portrayed on the canvas. “You are looking a trifle pale. Perhaps you should sit down before you fall into a faint.”

“I have never had a fit of vapors in my life,” she snapped. “I cannot imagine a more absurd reaction to troubling news. That is just the sort of time you need your wits about you.”

He threw back his head and laughed. It was a very pleasant one. “You have a good deal of spirit, Miss....” He looked at her expectantly.

She clamped her teeth shut.

“Hmmm.” He cocked his head to one side. “I shall have to call you something.” He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the arm that had been injured. “Miss Socket.” His gaze traveled up to her face. “Miss Gash. Miss Hurt.”

Her lips began to twitch.

“Ah, I have it!” He rubbed at his nose. “Miss Boxer!”

 At that she couldn’t repress a smile of her own. “Are you always so absurd, sir?”

“No. Usually it takes until the third or fourth brandy.”

Caroline’s face instantly turned stony. How had she let herself be drawn into bantering with such a man? She had come downstairs with a purpose and she had let herself be distracted.

“I must leave here immediately,” she announced.

Davenport removed his dusty coat and sunk into a faded wing chair. He wore no cravat and his shirt was open at the neck, revealing a hint of dark curls under the rumpled linen.

“I am relieved to hear it, Miss Boxer. I have more than enough of my own problems to manage without having to deal with some gothic female. Good luck to you—you appear to need it”

Caroline stood with her mouth agape. That was not exactly the response she had expected. Surely even a gentleman as jaded as the earl would offer her the use of his carriage!

She began again. “Sir, what I meant was, I should be obliged if you would have your carriage brought around to take me on to...to my destination as soon as possible.”

His bark of laughter was short and humorless. “Forgive my rudeness, Miss Boxer, but have you had a closer look around? There is no carriage. And the only animal in the stables besides my stallion is a rather ordinary hack.”

She swallowed. “Perhaps a carriage may be hired?”

He crossed his legs nonchalantly. “Have you any money?”

She shook her head.

“Well, neither have I, at least none to spare for a private conveyance for you. I’m barely scraping by as it is. Perhaps you have relatives you can send word to?”

 Caroline bit her lip. She was saved from having to reply by the entrance of Mrs. Collins, carrying a tray with a few slices of cold ham, a chunk of bread and some Stilton cheese. “I have your supper here, my lord, as you asked.” She hadn’t noticed Caroline standing to the side.  She set it down on a sidetable and ran her hands over the front of her apron. “The candlemaker’s son just brought out a package for me and said  someone—a gentleman of Quality by the sounds of it— is inquiring in the village whether any strange young ladies have passed through recently—” She was interrupted by a horrified gasp.

Caroline had turned deathly pale. Her hand flew to her throat. For a moment, she was mortally afraid that she would have to eat her words concerning a certain habit.

“Don’t you worry none, Miss,” said Mrs. Collins quickly. “ I know when to keep mum. I seen what he done to you.”

How had he found her so quickly?

Davenport regarded her intently. “You are safe here,” he said quietly. Then he rubbed at his temples and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an oath. “Perhaps in the morning we can figure a way out of this coil.”

Caroline fought to compose her voice. “If you will excuse me, I’m feeling rather fatigued. I think I shall return to my room.”

* * * *

Caroline closed the door to her chamber. Much too agitated to lie down, she began to pace the narrow confines. Was her nemesis possessed of preternatural powers? She had thought herself safe from any pursuit for at least a few more days. A shudder passed through her and she had to fight down a rising wave of panic. Then her eyes fell on the ragged dress draped over the back of the chair. She would not—could not—let those papers fall into the wrong hands. That thought helped steady her nerves. What was it Lucien always told her when she was younger and hesitated at following him up to the highest boughs of the tree or setting her horse at a difficult jump? 

 That the only enemy was fear itself.

 She cajoled herself to think. What would Lucien do? Most certainly he would not cower  like a frightened mouse waiting for the snake to strike. He would take action.

And so would she.

Her pacing became less frantic as she fell deep in thought. First of all, it appeared she could expect no help from the infamous Earl of Davenport. But she supposed she should still count herself fortunate in some respects. Not having a feather to fly with, if he could be believed, had appeared to have curbed some of his more flagrant excesses. There was no sign that any wild debauches were going to occur while she was under his roof, so her person seemed safe enough from him, at least for the time being.

 However, his claim to poverty did appear to have the ring of truth. Even the most cursory look around had revealed a household shackled by the strictest economy—the shabby furnishings, the lack of servants, the simple supper taken off a tray. Her brow furrowed. The notion of the earl’s pockets being to let certain jibed with her understanding of his character. No doubt he was rusticating in the country to hide from his most pressing creditors. But the thought of the dissolute earl actually stooping to manual labor was nearly as implausible as her own predicament. Caroline shook her head slightly and decided it was best to put the man out of her thoughts. After all, his predicaments was not her concern, just as hers were obviously of no interest to him. It was solely up to her to come up with a plan.