The Seduction of an Earl (15 page)

A mix of dread and excitement gripped him. Lily Parker would be a member of the servant staff at Gisborn Hall. Her room would be mere steps from his, although those steps required one to descend a ladder, walk the length of the stables, cross the backyard to the kitchen door and shuffle down a thin hallway to the servants’ quarters. But it was the idea that Lily, who used to live in Witney before her family went into service for the Coley’s household, was back in the Gisborn earldom. Back to a place that was close to home. Back to where he could bask in the glow from her smile and imagine a life with her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily watched as a stable hand approached the coach-and-four. A shiver passed through her when she realized she recognized the boy.
Billy O’Conlin?
she wondered, sneaking another look in his direction as she made her way to the front steps of the decrepit mansion that was Gisborn Hall. She wasn’t positive, but she might have actually said something by way of a greeting to the poor boy.

She had to suppress a shudder at the sight of the late Elizabethan monstrosity planted onto flat land and surrounded on two sides by farmland and the barest hint of parkland on the other two. Whose idea had it been to plow a mile or more of beautiful lawn that ended at the River Isis to plant wheat, beans and barley? Ugh!
The late earl’s, of course.
The miser had turned every bit of available Gisborn land into farmland.
Anything to make money
, she thought, remembering her father’s comments on the topic. Well, this might be her home for a day or two, but if her plans worked out, she would soon be gone and married to her true love.

Did Lily just wave at me?
Billy wondered.
Did she call me by name?
Billy looked up from where he was undoing tack and gave her a nod.
A nod?
He could have said something. Could have said, “Welcome back, Miss Parker. We missed you,” or something to at least let her know she had been missed. But the opportunity was lost as she ascended the steps to Gisborn Hall.

Sighing, Billy went back to work. There would be other opportunities to gain her attention, to draw her into conversation, to propose marriage.
What the hell?

Lily hurried to where Hannah appeared at the double-doors of the front entrance, a matching smile on her face as she hugged her mistress.

Hannah let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Lily again. Other than Harold, Lily was her only other acquaintance from London. To have her in the household might help to make Gisborn Hall feel comfortable, to feel like home. Although Hannah didn’t intend to share anything about her first night with her husband, she was still eager to tell the maid about her new life at Gisborn Hall.

Although Hannah expected she would feel a bit homesick – it was the first time she had been away from Devonville House since visiting friends in the Lake District before her mother’s death – she found the wonder of a new home and surroundings enough to keep her mind off of London. And after her late night with the earl, she’d slept quite late, waking to a brightly lit room. The new sensation of soreness at the top of her thighs was not unpleasant, especially considering the pleasure that had radiated from that spot only hours ago, but she wondered if it would fade with time.

By ten in the morning on any other day, she would have had tea with Lady Bostwick. Even if she was still in London, though, Lady Bostwick would not have called on her today. Elizabeth and George were on their way to their estate in West Sussex.

“Welcome, Lily, Murphy,” Hannah offered as her maid curtsied and Henry’s valet bowed. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Thank you, milady. I did. Your husband’s coach was most comfortable,” Lily lied as she made her way through the vestibule, noticing Hannah’s simple coiffure. Braids of her pale blond hair were wrapped atop her head, and where the leftover wisps weren’t captured into the braids, they simply floated around her face.
Wasn’t there a maid in the household who could have seen to Lady Hannah’s hair?
she wondered.

Murphy took his leave of them, hurrying off to his master’s suite. Mrs. Batey introduced herself and took Lily in hand, telling Hannah she would see to giving the servant a tour and show her to her quarters. Footmen were bringing in a trunk, setting it aside as they returned to the coach to unload another. Lily pulled a folded parchment from her reticule. “Would it be possible to have this posted? I wish to let my family know that I am no longer working in London,” she explained when she noticed the housekeeper’s raised eyebrow. Another trunk appeared in the vestibule, forcing the women to step into the hall to make room.

“We’ll see to if, of course,” Hannah said as she took the parchment and placed it with her own letters. In all the excitement of the quick wedding and making the trip to Oxfordshire, she had been unable to send announcements of her marriage from London. She had spent her morning writing correspondence to several friends. In addition, letters to Elizabeth and Charlotte as well as her father were piled on a salver.

Hannah added Lily’s missive, noting the address on the outside.
Thomas Babcock, Witney
. Glancing over at her maid’s back, Hannah thought of the girl’s name.
Lily Parker
.
Odd,
Hannah thought, wondering if Lily’s mother had remarried.

“Lady Gisborn,” Parkerhouse spoke from the parlor door. “Tea is served.”

Hannah turned her attention to the butler. “Thank you, Parkerhouse,” she replied, wondering if tea time was at four o’clock every day or if the servants simply started the practice with her arrival. She made her way to the parlor and took a seat, realizing it was her first opportunity to sit since she’d had luncheon with Henry at one.

Her husband – the thought made her smile to herself – had come in from what she’d thought was a ride for pleasure. But he had been out in the fields, overseeing a crew of laborers digging the trench for an irrigation ditch and then down to the village to see his son’s tutor, and by default, his son, and out to the stables to see the new colt that had been born while he was in London. Upon his arrival at the house, he had given his hat and greatcoat to Parkerhouse and joined her in the small dining room.

Their first moment alone had been a bit awkward. Should she curtsy and hold out her hand, or lift her cheek in anticipation of a peck, or tilt up her head and, if there weren’t any servants about, kiss him? She had seen married couples together at dinner parties, but they arrived on each other’s arms at the same time. Whatever did they do when one arrived while the other was already present?

Apparently, Henry wasn’t familiar with the protocol, either. He entered the room, the scent of sandalwood and
man
emanating from him as he made his way to the table. And then, upon seeing her, he paused. “Good afternoon, milady,” he said as he gave her a formal bow.

Hannah stood up and curtsied, saying her own, “Good afternoon, Gisborn.” Moving to meet him where he stood, Hannah paused mid-step; Henry had already begun walking toward her. The hand she was going to extend for him to kiss seemed to take on a life of its own as it lifted to his cheek. She angled her head up intending to kiss him – there were no servants in the room – but he misinterpreted her move and simply lay his own hand over hers.

“Has it already begun to bruise?” he asked in a quiet voice, a hissing sound coming from between his teeth.

Bruise? His cheek?
Hannah’s eyes widened in alarm. “What happened?”

Henry pulled her hand away from his face and kissed the back of it, his lips sending a shiver through her bare fingers. She could hardly believe a kiss could incite such sensations in her skin!

His cheek was a bit red, although no bruising was evident. “It’s nothing, milady. A bit of horseplay with my son is all,” he added when her look of alarm remained on her face.

“I do hope the horse survived,” she replied with a hint of humor. “Perhaps a cold compress?” she suggested, about to ring the bell next to her place setting.

Henry’s hand settled over hers before she could lift the bell. “Perhaps the kiss of a fairy tale princess instead?” he suggested, a teasing light in his eyes.

Hannah grinned, her dimple appearing as she lifted her lips to his cheek and, ever so gently, kissed him. Moving his head just a bit, Henry was able to capture her lips and finish the kiss against his mouth. With the sound of footsteps just outside the servant’s door, the two were suddenly a foot apart, Hannah’s face pinking up and Henry staring at her with a look of amusement. Sheepishly, the two took their seats at either end of the table.

When the footman had departed, having filled their wine glasses and left plates of bread and cheese and bowls of savory stew, Henry waved at her from his end of the table. “I do believe we need a shorter table, milady,” he pretended to shout.

Giggling at his antics, Hannah lifted her wine glass. “And if I’m to call you Gisborn, you should call me Hannah,” she countered.

Henry sobered a bit. “Hannah,” he repeated, as if saying the name for the first time in his life. “I shall call you Hannah, but only when we are alone,” he stated finally. He took a drink and set his glass down. “May I ask, did our servants arrive from London yet?”

Shaking her head, Hannah said, “Not yet. But my maid Lily is very glad to be coming back to Oxfordshire.”

His brow arching at the comment, Henry regarded his wife. “Lily? Lily Parker?” he wondered. He remembered thinking the maid he’d seen at Devonville House looked familiar. “She’s your abigail?”

Hannah smiled. “Yes. You must have known of her before she went to London?” she wondered, hoping Lily had left with a good character. She actually hadn’t hired the girl; Lily was sent from an agency shortly after Hannah’s mother died.

“Just knew of her, I suppose,” Henry replied carefully. “Her parents are in service to my new estate manager, Frank Coley,” he explained. Hiring the man to replace Grainger had been his second order of business following his return to the earldom; the first had been to order the building of two greenhouses. His construction foreman was seeing to their plans and building details and promised one finished structure, ready for covering in glass or oilcloth, in two weeks.

“What became of your old manager?” Hannah wondered, deciding she rather liked the stew Mrs. Chambers had made.

Henry seemed reluctant to tell her anything about Edward Grainger, but he finally cocked his head to one side. “I fired him.” At Hannah’s look of surprise, he added, “He could not ride a horse, and he did not share my desire to keep the tenant cottages in good repair.”

Hannah’s look of surprise had him wondering what he’d said to evoke such a reaction. “How could a man claim to be an estate manager and not know how to ride a horse?” she asked rhetorically, obviously sharing his opinion on the matter.

“Exactly!” he agreed, holding up his wine glass in a salute. “By the way, what we might be having for dinner this evening?”

Surprised by the question, Hannah had to think a moment to recall the list of courses that would be featured at that evening’s dinner. She had gone to the kitchens, Harold following on her heels, intending to ask about creating menus for the next week’s meals. As the new countess, she knew she would be expected to complete certain duties, the menus for dinners being one of them. Mrs. Batey was not in the kitchens, but the cook, Mrs. Chambers was. Hannah nodded her head and introduced herself, but the cook took no notice of Hannah. Her attention was on Harold, whose nose was sniffing everything he could get near, including the cook.

The woman let out a yell worthy of a Welsh milkmaid, the sound so startling to Harold, he froze in place and barked once. “Out! Out with ya’, ya’ big beastie!” Mrs. Chambers shouted, her meat cleaver pointing to the nearest exit. Harold backed up and then high-tailed it to the doorway that led to back door of the house, sounding one lone ‘woof’ as his body plowed through it and toward the stables.

Hannah stood rooted to the floor, one hand at her chest as she regarded the large, rosy-cheeked woman who still wielded the meat cleaver as if Hannah might be her next target. “Pardon me,” Hannah managed to get out as she backed up against the wall. “Could you tell me where I might find Mrs. Batey?”

The cook turned her attention on Hannah, her eyes widening in surprise. The woman blinked, as if she thought Hannah was merely an apparition. Then she turned back to her stove and slowly looked over her shoulder. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “You are real, aren’t ya’?”

Her eyes darting to the right and left, wondering at first if the cook was referring to her, Hannah took a deep breath and nodded. “I am Lady Gisborn,” she introduced herself. “And you are ..?”

The cook’s mouth dropped open, a look of profound astonishment on her face. “So fired,” she whispered, her entire body seeming to sag with her words. “Oh, milady, please forgive my impertinence.” Her eyes drifted to the door. “That was
your
dog, wasn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. A whimpering sound, quite at odds with her size, emanated from her.

“Yes,” Hannah nodded hesitantly, trying to decide if she should put on airs at the treatment of her dog, or give the cook her due. The kitchen
was
the cook’s domain. “His name is Harold. Harold MacDuff,” Hannah stated softly, deciding it was better to be nice. The woman would be cooking her meals, after all. “He is a very good kitchen dog. He’ll eat anything. And he’s a good mouser,” she claimed, realizing too late she needn’t make excuses for her dog.

The cook looked at the door again before dipping her head. “I never saw a dog that large, milady. Well, exceptin’ for Mr. Cavenaugh’s Maggie, but even
she’s
not as big as that ...that ...” She pointed toward the door.

“Alpenmastiff,” Hannah finished for her. “A very noble dog.” She took a deep breath. “I came ... what may I call you?” she asked, realizing just then the cook hadn’t yet said her name.

Sighing loudly, the woman hung her head. “Mrs. Chambers,” she said quietly, apparently still thinking she was about to be sacked.

“I came, Mrs. Chambers, because ... I believe I need to do menus for this week’s dinners.”

The large woman seemed surprised by the comment. “But Mrs. Batey does the menus, milady,” she said as she set the meat cleaver on the large wood block in the center of the kitchen. She backed away as if trying to distance herself from a loaded gun.

Hannah wondered if the woman was challenging her. Without a lady of the house, the housekeeper would be responsible for creating menus. “Very good, then,” she said. “Might I ask what we’re having for dinner this evening? I should like to know as I expect the earl will ask me.”

Holding up her hand as if she understood, the cook stood very still and listed that night’s dinner. “Onion soup, lobster patties, aspic, pot roast, potatoes, carrots, turnips, dinner rolls, apple tarts and walnuts with coffee.”