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“It was only a few minutes, and he was being kind.”
Leath hid a wince at the unspoken criticism that he, in contrast, wasn’t kind. She had a point. Crane hadn’t deserved the reprimand. “My mother doesn’t like novels.”
“She does now. I suggested something more entertaining than those dry-as-dust treatises you send her.”
She was definitely criticizing him, the baggage. “She’s satisfied with my choices.”
At last Miss Trim raised her eyes and looked at him properly. As he expected, there was no fear in her expression. Instead more watchfulness. “That’s what she’d tell you, I’m sure.”
“She likes to keep up with my political career.”
That lush mouth quirked with a faint derision that made him feel like a gauche schoolboy. “Yes.”
An ocean of implication in one short syllable. Because Miss Trim must be aware that just now he had no political career. And if he didn’t keep his nose clean until they invited him back, he’d never have a political career again. Good enough reason, even if he forgot that he was a gentleman, to keep his hands off her, however beguiling she was. And now she’d stopped pretending to be a dutiful domestic with no will beyond her master’s, he found her very beguiling indeed, bugger it.
She was a puzzle. He didn’t like puzzles. But however closely he’d observed her over the last week, he couldn’t work out her scheme. Perhaps she was what she claimed to be, a woman down on her luck.
Perhaps.
“You’re a very unusual housemaid, Miss Trim,” he said and was intrigued that his remark made her uncomfortable. Every instinct shrieked that she hid something.
“Because I suggested that your mother might enjoy a novel?”
“I doubt many of my housemaids could recommend a lady’s reading,” he said neutrally, steepling his fingers and regarding her.
She raised her chin with un-housemaid-like hauteur. She tried to play the self-effacing servant, but she wasn’t much good at it. Something else that made him question her background. Girls went into service young and were trained to become obedient ciphers. There was nothing of the cipher about Miss Trim, and while she wasn’t exactly disobedient, there was an edge to her that indicated she cooperated only so far as she was willing.
“Have you asked them?” she said sweetly, regarding him as unwaveringly as he watched her.
His lips twitched. “No, I haven’t. But I’d still like to know where you developed this extensive knowledge.”
More discomfort. For a woman who lied so often, she was dashed bad at it. “The lady who was my last employer encouraged me to better myself.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So she read you the latest books while you polished the silver?” He didn’t bother to mask his skepticism.
To do her credit, she hardly flinched, although in her lap she gripped the Austen like a lifeline. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m surprised you left this paragon.” He could come right out and accuse her of lying, but where would be the fun in that?
Her lips tightened. “Needs must, sir. Why don’t you believe me?”
He leaned his chin on his joined fingers and regarded her. “Should I?”
“Yes.” She sucked in an annoyed breath and he felt a strange little tug in the vicinity of his heart. The housemaid shell became thinner by the moment. He still didn’t trust her, but he’d lay money that she was closer to her real self now than she’d been since their encounter on his first night home. “My lord, do you find my work unsatisfactory?”
“My mother likes you.” Both of them knew that was no answer.
Her expression softened and he realized that whatever else he doubted, she was genuinely fond of his mother. “I’m most grateful to her ladyship for her kindness. There’s no conspiracy in asking Mr. Crane to help me find something to ease her cares.”
He frowned. “Is her health worse?”
Miss Trim’s gaze became shuttered. “She doesn’t complain.”
So she was loyal to his mother. Perhaps the marchioness’s favor wasn’t completely misplaced. “She wouldn’t.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed and he remembered what had made him mistrust her motives from the first. Whatever lip service she gave to his title, she didn’t like him.
How bizarre.
He muffled a wry laugh. What an arrogant coxcomb he was. He’d never before wondered if his employees liked him. They did a job. He paid them—generously. Most of the time, he hardly thought about them.
He thought about Miss Trim far too often.
“She’s looking better for your return, my lord.”
Ha, another barely hidden accusation of neglect. He ought to put this presumptuous chit in her place and tell her that if anyone wanted him in London fulfilling his father’s dreams, it was the marchioness.
The girl shifted restlessly, behavior unacceptable in a well-trained domestic. It was clear that Miss Trim would dearly love to finish this conversation.
Too bad.
“You will tell me if my mother’s health deteriorates.” More order than request.
Her shoulders went straight as a ruler. She didn’t like being told what to do, yet domestics were accustomed to having every move regulated. Whatever Miss Trim had done before coming to Alloway Chase, he’d lay money that she’d been nobody’s household drudge.
Which begged the question—just why was she here?
“Perhaps you should ask her yourself, sir.”
“I doubt she’d tell me.”
A faint smile lightened her expression. “You’re probably right. But I suspect a man of your cleverness could get an answer.”
“Lately I’ve lost all confidence in my cleverness,” he said with a sigh, thinking how little he’d managed to glean from this interview. Miss Trim’s ability to evade a straight answer put his parliamentary colleagues to shame.
Briefly he thought she might respond to that, but another of those damned evocative silences descended. Into the quiet, the clock outside chimed eleven. He’d kept her too long. Too long for his peace of mind. Too long for her reputation with the other servants.
Just … too long.
He gestured dismissal. “That will be all, Trim.”
After a brief curtsy, she disappeared through the door with a speed that betrayed her eagerness to escape. He stood and stared unseeing through the window at the flat gray disk of the lake. A premonition that he invited danger by singling out this girl weighted his belly.
He wondered about his strange affinity with Miss Trim. He wondered about the hunger she aroused. He’d never felt anything like this before. If he wanted a woman—and he made sure he only wanted women who wouldn’t cause trouble—he made arrangements, scratched the itch, and moved on to more important issues.
He couldn’t dismiss the delectable Miss Trim as unimportant, whatever he tried to tell himself. The thought of tumbling her thundered through him like an earthquake. His head might insist that he’d recover from his inappropriate interest. His ravenous senses told him that he had to have her soon or go mad with it.
That edgy, roundabout conversation just now had been a mistake. He was more intrigued than ever. And more convinced that she concealed secrets.
Even worse, he knew that he wouldn’t leave her alone, whatever the risks.
Nor was his mood improved when he checked the mail piled on the desk to find two more of the sad little letters that had haunted him this last year. The revelations of his uncle’s crimes seemed never to end, but for Leath, the most pathetic results of Neville Fairbrother’s activities were the begging notes from women raising children in poverty and disgrace. Letters addressed to Leath because Lord Neville had assumed his nephew’s identity when he’d seduced these girls.
For most of his life, Leath had done his best to ignore his odious relative, so he had no idea how long the swine had played this particular game. From the timing of the letters, Leath guessed at most a few months before his uncle’s suicide.
Why had Neville Fairbrother stolen his nephew’s name? The answer had died last year with his uncle, but Leath could guess. Some spiteful attempt to destroy his nephew’s reputation. A way of diverting blame from where it belonged. Perhaps even an attempt to impress the women with a marquess’s title.
Whatever his uncle’s motives, the scheme couldn’t have continued indefinitely. While it was clear that the man had threatened his victims to keep their mouths shut, he must have known that his deceit would emerge. Perhaps he thought that family pride would keep Leath complicit, even after the masquerade was exposed.
The women who had written to Leath had all been so desperate that they’d braved his uncle’s wrath to ask for help. His heart ached for these innocents. The scale of the devastation Neville Fairbrother had left behind beggared imagination.
Leath had employed a confidential agent to locate the women and offer aid. Otherwise he’d kept the letters private. Good God, if this got out, especially if people believed Leath rather than his repulsive uncle had fathered the children, all hope of high office would disintegrate.
His confidential agent could help him with something else. Miss Trim had arrived bearing glowing references. Perhaps it was time someone investigated her background.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_9d9a43a7-9f22-5563-ae51-12357ced4f9b)
From the corridor, Nell watched Leath entering his mother’s rooms. She hadn’t seen his lordship since that nerve-racking interview yesterday when he’d expressed his distrust. His expression this morning portended trouble. She had a premonition that the trouble concerned Lady Leath’s lowborn companion.
Nell slipped into her small office. She set down the ink she’d got from Mr. Crane—who was young and handsome and eager to help, and forgotten the moment she left his company—and crossed to close the door to the marchioness’s sitting room.
“… Miss Trim isn’t suitable.” Leath’s deep voice carried to where she stood.
Nell couldn’t see mother or son, but she guessed that the marchioness was in her accustomed place on the chaise longue and his lordship paced the floor as he did when he was impatient.
“James, we had this argument when you arrived a fortnight ago.” The marchioness’s voice was softer.
“I thought I’d give her the benefit of the doubt before my final decision.”
“Your final decision?” Lady Leath asked sharply.
“Mamma, you know I’m considering your welfare.”
“I know you’ve taken an unreasoning dislike to Miss Trim.”
“She doesn’t deserve your confidence.”
“I grieve to think I raised such a snob. Your father took people on their own merits.”
“Well, my father was clearly a better man in every way.”
Despite everything, Nell felt a twinge of sympathy. Something in his weary tone indicated that he didn’t appreciate the comparison to his brilliant father.
“Nell is from a respectable family. Poverty isn’t a crime.”
“I don’t know anything about her background, and when I ask her, she’s remarkably noncommittal.”
“Only because you bully her. Frightened people always look shifty.”
A contemptuous snort escaped Leath. “She’s not at all frightened of me, Mamma.”
“And is that why you want to dismiss her? Because she doesn’t cower at your merest whisper?”
Brava, your ladyship. The talent for political debate wasn’t confined purely to the male Fairbrothers.
“I want to dismiss her because I don’t trust her.”
“She’s worked as my companion for well over six weeks and the more I see of her, the more I like her.”
“You’re missing Sophie.”
“You’re here now,” the marchioness said with spurious docility. “Still I like Miss Trim. And you forget how long Sophie was in London before she married Harry Thorne.”
“Exactly.”
“James, stop this.” In her mind, Nell saw the marchioness glare at her son. “I mightn’t be able to run from Derby to York, but there’s nothing wrong with my mind.”
“I’m not implying that, Mamma.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m trying to do what’s best. That girl puts herself forward in a most unbecoming manner.”
Dear Lord in heaven, why hadn’t Nell been more careful around Leath? Dismay left a foul taste in her mouth. She’d tried to disappear into the background, but something about his lordship goaded her. Nell swallowed to dislodge what felt like a rock stuck in her throat and leaned forward to hear the rest of the conversation.
“What’s best is that Nell continues to keep me company in her delightful fashion.”
“I insist you dismiss the girl.”
“Why?”
“She’s sly.”
“No, she’s not.”
“And she doesn’t show proper respect.”
“Her manners are excellent. I won’t have you interfering, James.” The marchioness paused and when she resumed, a husky edge indicated that her son had upset her. Of course he had, the insensitive toad. “I’ll pay her from my pin money if you’re unwilling to cover her wages. I’m hardly at your mercy, although you’re acting like I’m a charity case.”
“Mamma,” he protested, “I can’t be easy with that girl in the house.”
“Then that’s your problem.” The husky note persisted. “I can’t be easy if you banish someone who is my friend as much as my employee.”
Nell’s fists closed at her sides, even as her conscience chafed at what her plans meant for the marchioness. Her lifelong loyalty to Dorothy clashed painfully with her newer loyalty to Lady Leath.
