The Maid of Fairbourne Hall (41 page)

He cleared his throat. If Nathaniel had lost his self-control for one moment, now by painful degrees he mastered it again. He removed his hands, and she felt bereft, nearly chastised, for she had been as overcome with passion as he. For a moment she feared he regretted the kiss, but he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, chasing those doubts away. He then placed his fingertip where his lips had been, tracing the hollow beneath her cheekbone.

She asked, “How long have you known?”

“Ever since I saw you coming from your bath with a towel around your head.”

“So long! And you never said a word?”

“At first I thought I must be imagining things. Then I feared you would be mortified to be discovered in such a role. Finally, I decided I needed to learn what was going on—why you were here, and what you were running from—before I tipped my hand.”

“And have you?”

“I learnt of your coming inheritance and of Sterling Benton's desperate financial situation. That coupled with the installation of his favorite nephew under his roof led me to believe he was pressuring the two of you to marry. The pressure must have been strong indeed to cause you to run away. To”—he gestured vaguely toward her discarded wig and feather duster—“drive you to this.”

She nodded. “You're right.”

His gaze roved her face. “I am glad you came to Fairbourne Hall.”

She glanced at him, uncertain. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he said, mouth quirked in a lopsided grin. “We needed a new maid.”

He leaned in for another kiss.

Voices in the corridor brought them both up short. This was not the best manner nor place to end her charade. She quickly slicked back her hair and pulled the wig into position. He tugged on her cap for her and crossed to the door while she replaced her spectacles.

Fiona pushed open the door and started at seeing Nathaniel just inside. “Pardon me, sir.”

“No matter, I was just leaving.”

Fiona gaped at Margaret, brows high. Margaret hoped Fiona didn't notice her eyebrows, or lack thereof.

In return, Margaret shrugged and gave Fiona a bewildered look. It was no doubt convincing.

For she
was
bewildered.

Nathaniel took himself back down to the library, whistling as he went.

Helen looked up at him from the novel she was reading. “What has you so happy?”

His only answer was a grin.

Hudson, standing near the library window, gave the old globe on its stand an idle twirl, running his finger along the equator as it spun.

Helen watched him. “How much of the world have you seen, Mr. Hudson?”

“Oh, I saw many places in my younger days. The Cape of Africa, Trinidad, Tobago, Antigua. . . . I traveled with a merchant for several years before I decided to stay on in Barbados.” He looked over at her. “And you, Miss Helen?”

“Me? I have been nowhere, save London. Do you miss traveling?”

With a glance toward Nathaniel, he said apologetically, “I admit to a growing restlessness, being indoors so much of the time, and being so far from the sea. I was raised along the coast, you know. And later in Barbados, I was never far from the sea.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

“I don't suppose, Miss Helen . . .” he began cautiously, as if he dreaded her answer. “I don't suppose you can imagine life anywhere besides Fairbourne Hall?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Actually, Mr. Hudson, after my years of self-imposed seclusion, I find myself longing for a change. I don't know if you are aware, but my first love was a sea captain. I looked forward to life on the coast, perhaps even traveling with him from time to time.”

Hudson's eyes dulled. “I am sorry for your loss.”

She nodded. “I felt sorry for myself too. For a long while. Too long. It was a blow at the time, but it is in the past. I am ready to leave it there.”

Hudson studied her closely. “I am glad to hear it.”

“Which part?”

He grinned. “All of the above.”

Nathaniel was glad to hear it as well.

Arnold appeared in the open doorway. “That Mr. Tompkins is here to see you again, sir.”

Nathaniel pursed his lips in surprise. “Is he? Very well, I shall see him in the morning room.”

Hudson stepped toward the door. “Shall I go with you?”

“No thank you. I will see him myself.”

“Then I suppose I shall return to my duties,” Hudson said with little relish.

Helen looked over at him. “I have a few things to discuss with you, Mr. Hudson, if you wouldn't mind staying a little longer?”

Hudson stilled. “Of course, miss.”

Helen turned toward Nathaniel. “Unless you wish me to go in with you again, like the last time . . . ?”

Ever the big sister. “No need; stay as you are.”

Leaving Helen and Hudson in quiet conversation, Nathaniel crossed the hall. When he entered the morning room, the bald man stood, chimney-pot hat in hand. Did he not trust the under butler with it?

Nathaniel said, “Well, Tompkins. I am surprised to see you. I thought you would be celebrating your capture of the poetic Preston and spending your reward by now.”

The man smiled, but the gesture did not reach his eyes. “I have, sir. But there is still one outstanding piece of business between us.”

“If it relates to my brother, perhaps you have not heard. He has regained his senses and told the sheriff of Kent all about the ill-advised duel. The challenger has left the country, and considering what Lewis has suffered already, the sheriff has decided not to pursue legal action.”

“I had heard that, yes, sir.”

“Then why are you here? Sorry not to claim that reward as well, from the man who hired you?”

“Finding your brother's assailant wasn't what he commissioned me to do.”

“No?” Anger and alarm wrestled within Nathaniel, but he clenched his jaw and waited to hear the man out.

“No.” Tompkins's high forehead creased into many furrows. “Sorry, sir. A convenient subterfuge.”

Nathaniel guessed the answer, but still asked, “Why were you here, then?”

“I think you know, sir.”

Nathaniel merely stared at him, jaw ticking.

“I came here to find Miss Margaret Macy. Quite a reward was offered me for her return too, should I succeed.” He glanced up at Nathaniel, expectant.

Nathaniel clenched his fist at his side, torn between wanting to pummel the man and wanting to bolt from the room and find Margaret.

He said, “I take it, then, that Sterling Benton hired you?”

“Oh, not exactly
hired.
But he did put up the reward.”

“Too bad you failed to find her.”

One brow rose. “Oh, but I did not fail.”

Nathaniel clenched both fists now. “Oh?”

“Come, sir. We are men of the world, the both of us. And I see how it is. I would have taken her too, had Preston not shown up here the very night I meant to snag Miss Macy. And as your reward was twice Benton's, and as I never cared for the man, I took my leave of Kent without her, wishing the both of you happy.”

Nathaniel stared at the man, stunned.

“I only returned to tell you.” He sighed dramatically. “I needed someone to know I'd succeeded, even if I can't tell anybody else.”

Nathaniel stepped forward, offering his hand. “Thank you, Tompkins.”

The man shook his hand firmly and smiled at last. “Thank you, sir.”

Nathaniel hesitated. “May I offer you something for your kindness?”

Pursing his lips, Tompkins shook his head. “No need. With my new reputation as the thief-taker who brought in the Poet Pirate, I'm set for life.”

Abruptly, Tompkins dug into his coat pocket. “By the way, sir. I've brought you some news from London. Hasn't reached you here yet, I'd wager. I'll leave it to you to do with it what you will.” He handed Nathaniel a torn and folded piece of newsprint.

Glancing at the torn page and seeing only a portion of the society section, Nathaniel tucked it into his pocket to read later.

No sooner had Mr. Tompkins taken his leave than Dr. Drummond arrived to pay a final call on his patient. Walking upstairs with the physician, Nathaniel quite forgot about the news smoldering in his pocket.

Endeavour to serve with such good will
and attention to the interest of your employers,
that they know they are blessed in having gotten
such a good servant, one who serves, not with
eye-service as a man-pleaser, but in
simplicity of heart as a Christian.

—Samuel and Sarah Adams,
The Complete Servant

Chapter 32

D
r. Drummond took his leave, quite satisfied with Lewis's recovery, and Nathaniel walked him out. On his way back through the hall, Hudson called him into his office to discuss the latest repair estimates and the progress of the new tenant cottages. Before Nathaniel knew it, it was time to dress for dinner.

When he entered the dining room at seven, he noticed that Helen wore a pretty blue evening gown he didn't recall seeing before.

“You look lovely,” he said.

She lifted her chin. “Yes, I do.” She gave a saucy grin. “Thank you for noticing.”

As they began the first course, Helen asked, “How did it go with Mr. Tompkins?”

“Fine.”

“You explained the situation?”

She referred to Lewis and the “duel,” he knew. Aware of the listening ears of Arnold and the footmen, he decided to wait and tell her the real reason for the man's visit another time.

“He went away satisfied, yes.”

“Good.” Helen expelled a relieved breath, and their conversation moved on to other pleasantries in no danger of being repeated in the servants' hall.

It wasn't until later that night, when Nathaniel returned to his room, that he recalled the newspaper in the pocket of the coat he'd worn earlier that day. Expecting nothing more than an article about Mr. Tompkins's success with the Poet Pirate, or some piece of gossip about Sterling Benton, he pulled it out and unfolded it by the light of a candle lamp.

As he read the words, surprise, relief, and concern washed over him in waves. But at the thought of telling Margaret, his stomach soured. He was tempted to put it off until the next day, or the next. Instead, he forced his feet along the corridor and up the back stairs.

Nathaniel felt self-conscious, as he always did, standing in the attic passageway. Thankfully, his dog had kindly shown him which room was hers weeks before. He would not like to have to go knocking on every maid's room to find her.

Had she really been a maid, he would have summoned her downstairs, but he was not overly concerned with preserving the good name of “Nora Garret.” Glancing around and seeing no one, he quietly knocked on Margaret's door.

“Who's there?” came Margaret's wary whisper.

“It's Nathaniel. I am sorry to disturb you, but I have news. . . .”

The latch clicked, and the door opened several inches, revealing the figure and face of Margaret Macy in her nightclothes. His heart banged, his lips parted. Of course he knew it was her, but somehow speaking with her as Nora had been easier. Now here she stood, in nightdress and wrapper, golden blond hair uncovered, coiling down one shoulder in a long plait, highlights of white gold flickering by the light of the bedside candle. No frumpy cap, no dark wig and drawn-on brows, no apron. Just her. He relished the sight.

She looked down at herself, self-conscious. “I'm sorry, but I was just going to bed.”

“That's all right. It's only a surprise to see you like this.”

She ducked her head, nervously twirling the end of her plait.

He could not help himself. He reached forward and caught her hand, gently capturing the blond plait inches from her collarbone.

“I had almost forgotten how fair your hair is.”

Liar
, he silently admonished. He wished he might untie the ribbon, unwind the plait, and run his fingers through the silky weight of it. He swallowed.

Down the passage a door slammed, and both of them jumped.

“Perhaps you ought to step inside a moment,” she whispered.

He hesitated, but being so near to her, common sense and propriety fled. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and stood there staring at her like an idiot.

“You have news?” she prompted.

Had he? It had flown from his mind. It was all he could do not to lean close, pull her into his arms, and kiss her. He saw a tremor pass over her body and became aware of his own gooseflesh.

“It is chilly up here,” he said. Forcing his gaze from her, he looked instead around the small, plain chamber. “How strange to find Miss Macy living in such humble surroundings.”

“I don't mind.”

“I almost believe you.” His eyes returned to her face, savoring her features. “How you have changed.”

She shivered again.

“You're cold.” He slid his hands over her shoulders, slowly sliding his palms down her arms, over the sleeves of her wrapper. He took one of her hands, then the other, rubbing each between his larger, warmer hands. “That should warm you.”

She inhaled. “Indeed.”

His hands stilled but continued to hold hers. She made no move to step back or pull her hands away. He hoped it meant she felt as he did. Or did she feel she was in his debt, afraid of losing her hiding place should she refuse? That thought dampened his ardor, and he suddenly remembered why he'd sought her out at this hour in the first place.

He cleared his throat and released her. “I've just read a startling piece of news.”

“Oh?” She became instantly alert, eyes widening and body stiffening in anticipation. He still dreaded telling her, though he knew he must. He was afraid of what she might do.

———

Margaret steeled herself for the news.

He pulled something from his pocket and began, “It's an engagement announcement.”

Margaret inwardly quailed.
Oh no.
Had Sterling puffed off the news of an engagement between her and Marcus, hoping to force her hand?

Nathaniel continued, “The engagement of Marcus Benton and Miss Caroline Macy.”

Shock rippled through Margaret. Her heart banged painfully against her ribs. “
Caroline
Macy? Are you certain?”

“Yes.” He handed her the paper and waited while she read it by the light of the bedside candle. He said, “I don't suppose this is good news.”

“How could it be?”

“Well, a man you did not wish to marry is now engaged to someone else.”

“That someone else is my sister! Who is barely seventeen. Far too young and far too innocent for a lecher like Marcus Benton.”

He expelled a breath. “That is what I feared.”

Margaret's head began to pound, and her stomach roiled. Did Marcus really intend to marry Caroline, or was Sterling hoping to flush Margaret out with the news? Margaret remembered how happy Caroline had looked in Marcus's arms at the ball. Yes, a girl not yet out of the schoolroom could have her head turned by Marcus Benton quite easily. And by the time Caroline realized the character of the man she had married, it would be too late.

Margaret turned and paced the small room.

Nathaniel said, “Allow me to help.”

She kept pacing. “What can you do?”

“I can marry you.”

She whirled, incredulous. “Marry me?”

He flinched as though she'd slapped him. “I know it was Lewis you wanted. If that is still the case, I will do everything in my power to convince him. In fact, he may be more amenable, now he knows of your inheritance.”

She frowned. “I don't want to marry Lewis. How would marrying anybody help my sister?”

“If Marcus has proposed to your sister to force you from hiding . . . and still hopes to marry you for your inheritance . . .”

“My birthday is only two weeks away. If I can remain unwed until I receive my inheritance I will grant Caroline a generous dowry and she can marry someone worthy of her. And I can marry, or not, as I wish.”

He shook his head. “You have been living under our roof for months now, Margaret. A gentleman in such a situation, unusual as this one is, has a certain duty, a certain obligation.”

A chill ran through her. She lifted her chin. “I assure you there is no obligation, Mr. Upchurch. You and your brother did not know I was here, though I suspect your sister knew all along. You need not worry. You are under no compunction to uphold my honor, such as it is after all this.”

“It would be no burden, Miss Macy, I promise you.” He took a step nearer, a grin touching his mouth. “In fact, I can think of no other woman I would rather be shackled to.”

She stiffened, anger flaring. “I don't want you to be
shackled
to me. I don't want
anyone
to have to marry me. Not Marcus Benton, not Lewis, and not you.”

“Margaret, I was only joking. Don't—”

She whipped opened the door and whispered harshly, “Now I must ask you to leave, sir, this very moment.”

Nathaniel hesitated. Then, with a look of pained regret, he complied.

She closed the door behind him, then lay on her bed and wept, sorrow and confusion muddling her thoughts. Surely a marriage of convenience to a good man was not the only alternative to marrying a despicable man. Had Nathaniel offered only out of duty as she'd accused him? Or did he really wish to marry her? He had never said he loved her. She remembered his kiss. He certainly wanted her physically. But did he love her? Was he, like Lewis, only willing to overlook her faults and give her a second chance now that she came with the added attraction of an inheritance?

She detested the thought of giving in to the Bentons, especially now that her birthday was a mere fortnight away. She was so close to reaching her independence. But if she waited to save her money—her self—might her sister be lost?

But Margaret also knew the Upchurches needed money. If she gave up her inheritance to buy Caroline's freedom, would she be giving up her chance with Nathaniel Upchurch all over again?

———

What a mess he had made of it. He never should have suggested he was
willing
to marry her to protect her reputation. How condescending he must have sounded. He
wanted
to marry Margaret with every ounce of his being. He fought the urge to wallow in the sense of rejection that hovered over him like a wet wool blanket, foul and suffocating. But was he fooling himself? Had he not all but begged her to marry him as he had two years before only to be rejected again?

He tried to imagine himself in her situation. But it was difficult to guess what a woman might be thinking on the best of days, let alone in the midst of the strange muddle Margaret Macy had created for herself.

Nathaniel ran frustrated fingers over his face. Who could understand women? Perhaps another woman, he realized. He would ask his sister. But it was late and Helen had already gone to bed. He would ask her first thing in the morning.

Nathaniel awoke early. Perhaps one of the maids delivering hot water had awoken him, though he saw no one about. More likely, it was his eagerness to right last night's debacle that spurred him from bed. He couldn't wait until breakfast. He wanted to talk to his sister now and figure out what to do about Margaret.

Helen answered his knock and invited him in with a sleepy smile, sitting up in bed. “Well, well. You haven't come to my room this early since we were children. What is it?”

“It's Margaret, uh, Nora, um . . .”

“It's all right, I know. I've known all along. Well, practically.”

“I wondered if you did. You always were the cleverest of our lot.”

She frowned. “Tell me she hasn't thrown you over for Lewis again—that was my biggest fear. If she has, I promise I shall brain her.”

“No, it isn't that.”

“Then what is it? Tell me everything.”

So he told her. Everything. Well, not quite everything. He didn't exactly mention that kiss in his room. . . .

Helen listened soberly to his recounting of events and his last conversation with Margaret. When he finished, she asked, “Did you tell her?”

“Tell her what?”