An Affair Downstairs (2 page)

“I suppose we're about to find out. Sophia is probably already making out the invitation. But just in case, our mission should be to see the lemon trees replanted and thriving as soon as possible to send him on his way.”
Our
mission. She liked the idea of them sharing in something. It was a start.

“Agreed, Lady Alice, on that point. I'm not looking forward to seeing the man any more than you are, I suspect. Perhaps much less.”

“No sign of gloves, I'm afraid.” Mrs. Hoyle interrupted. Alice had no idea how long the woman had been standing there watching them together. Not long, most likely. Mrs. Hoyle wasn't the sort to wait to be heard. “Will that be all, Lady Alice? There's still time to join your sister at breakfast, I believe.”

“I suppose I will take a moment to say hello. Thank you, Mrs. Hoyle. Mr. Winthrop.” As much as she hated to pull herself away from him, it wouldn't do to stand in conversation with the estate manager now that Mrs. Hoyle had reappeared. “I look forward to the arrival of the lemon trees. Good day.” She delivered a brief nod in parting and willed her feet to walk away.

***

He'd made a new life for himself at Thornbrook Park. No longer was he a gentleman's son, free to court gentlemen's daughters. Lady Alice made him want to forget, but it wouldn't do to allow himself the liberties he wanted to take with her, a breath of fresh air in his otherwise dreary life. He'd failed to grasp happiness when fate might have allowed it, and now it was beyond his reach.

Alice deserved a young man of fortune and good standing, someone who could give her the kind of life befitting her station, not an estate manager with a tarnished past. But sometimes, when she stood close and studied him with that look of awe in her eyes, he wanted to take her in his arms and remember what it was to be young and in love. He was entirely wrong for her, and he dreaded the day he would have to make it clear to her by behaving in a manner that would frighten her off for good.

For now, he sensed she needed a friend, and it didn't hurt to lend her an ear. How she did prattle on sometimes, drifting from one topic to the next. It made his work go faster when she was near, like a symphony playing on the wind. And when he had a chance to stop and really listen to her, she had some remarkable things to say. The girl had good sense. Perhaps he needn't have worried that she seemed to be developing an inadvisable interest in him.

It was entirely possible that he flattered himself, imagining that a strong-willed young beauty could be falling in love with him. Likely, her real interest was horticulture, just as she'd often claimed when she appeared at his side as he supervised the trimming of roses, the planting of seedlings, or the tilling of the soil. An estate manager needn't dirty his hands, but working the land helped Logan feel some little bit of hope restored, that he could control what grew from the earth, what flourished, and what faded, after so much time spent out of control in his own world.
His
old
world.
The life that came before, that he'd struggled to put behind him.

“Are you all right, Mr. Winthrop? You look a little pale.” Mrs. Hoyle appeared with a cup and saucer in her hand. He'd been standing in the kitchen where Alice had left him, frozen in place after watching her walk away. “Something to refresh you?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hoyle. I am a little tired.” He didn't want the tea, but he accepted it, drank it down in one gulp, and handed her the empty cup. That he'd been up since dawn without stopping for a meal might have been the real reason for his mental ramblings. “You're very kind to think of me.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Winthrop.” A blush? From Mrs. Hoyle? “We must look out for one another. If one of us falls ill, who is to look after our family?”

“Our family? Oh yes.” She meant Lord and Lady Averford of Thornbrook Park. Their “family.” “Must keep up our strength. I'm off to get some keys from Mr. Finch. Good day, Mrs. Hoyle.”

“And a good one to you, Mr. Winthrop.” She turned to bring his cup to the sink.

With family on his mind, he set off to find the butler, Finch. Logan had a family that was not the Averfords. Logan's father had been the Baron Emsbury, as his older brother had become upon their father's death. Logan hadn't seen his brother much since what they all referred to as “the incident,” but he exchanged letters with him and his wife, Ellen, and with Mrs. Leenders, Grace's governess, who assured him that the girl was happy and thriving in the care of Logan's brother and his wife. Grace would be nearly a young woman now, twelve years old, the same age her mother had been when Logan first kissed her.

“Mr. Finch.” He turned the corner, glad to find the butler at his desk going over an inventory list so that Logan could put thoughts of family behind him and delve back into his work. “I wonder if you have the keys for the equipment shed. I seem to have mislaid mine.”

“Mislaid your keys? How unlike you, Mr. Winthrop.”

“I believe I simply left them on my table at the cottage, nothing to fret over. I thought perhaps to borrow yours instead of going all the way back. Not that it's all that far, of course, but I'm eager to bring a few things over to the farm. Tilly Meadow is in need of some new shovels that can handle deep snow. Their current set is ancient, likely to snap under significant weight.”

“Snow shovels, good old reliable implements.” Mr. Finch nodded approvingly. “I expected you were about to inform me that we've a newfangled steam thingamabob to melt away the snow as it falls. I'm glad to know that some things haven't changed as fast as others.”

He gestured to the telephone hanging behind him. They'd had it for more than a year, but Finch was still adapting to the idea of placing and receiving calls through a box on the wall.

“I don't know, Mr. Finch. That steam thingamabob sounds very handy. Perhaps it will come along soon. Mr. Sturridge says it's going to be a stormy season.” Winthrop trusted the groundskeeper's instincts in such matters as precipitation. Sturridge had an uncanny sense for predicting what was in store for the upcoming season, as well as detecting oncoming storms before they hit.

“Ah, well, Sturridge is seldom wrong about such things. I should warn Mrs. Hoyle to be prepared.”

“Knowing Mrs. Hoyle, she needs no warning. I would be surprised if she hasn't already stocked enough to survive two consecutive winters trapped in this great house.”

Mr. Finch laughed. “True enough.”

“Thank you for the keys. I'll return them when I'm done.” After leaving Mr. Finch, Logan walked the corridor that would lead him up and past the breakfast room instead of going out the back door, in case he might run into Lady Alice again along the way.

Alice wished she could say that she hated Lord Brumley on sight as he stepped from the car, but what she felt was more of a marked indifference. Her enmity was reserved for the sharp howling wind that sent her hair every which way and made her skirt cling unflatteringly to her legs under the watchful stare of Mr. Winthrop, standing just across the driveway.

“Watchful stare” was perhaps more hopeful than true, she had to admit. It was more of an occasional glance. And he could have been looking behind her to the potted arrangements of holly and freesia that he had recently placed to frame the steps leading to the front door. But Alice preferred to believe herself to be the object of Winthrop's attention, even under the worst possible conditions. Brumley barely registered a passing thought. Even when he took her hand upon introduction and declared himself “enchanted.”

“If I had magical powers, Lord Brumley, I would have made sure that the lemon trees were here to greet you so we wouldn't keep you one day longer than necessary.” She smiled sweetly to take some of the sting out of her words. He arrived no later than two weeks after Sophia sent the invitation, some time before the expected lemon trees, which had been held up in a Sorrento port.

He paused a moment as if taken aback. Sophia scowled in her sister's direction.

“What a thoughtful girl.” Brumley looked past Alice to speak to Sophia, as if they'd been having a conversation about Alice in the next room instead of standing with her in the infernal wind. “She must realize how hard it is for me to be away from my beloved Brookfield.”

Sophia began to extol the virtues of Thornbrook Park, probably to put thoughts of returning to Brookfield from his mind. Brookfield was the glorious house Brumley had inherited from his wealthy wife upon her death, or so Alice had heard from Lucy, her sister's head housemaid. As much as she liked Lucy, Alice suspected the maid had been under her sister's orders to parrot information that might raise Brumley in Alice's esteem.
Impossible.

Behind his spectacles, his eyes were a watery gray-blue. His russet hair had already thinned to the point that he tried to hide the baldness by parting his hair too far on one side and combing it over the other. He looked like he enjoyed a good meal but disliked the athletic pursuits that might keep his abundant appetites from becoming apparent in his physique.

In short, Lord Brumley was no Logan Winthrop. She glanced over to see the estate manager already taking his leave, making his way around the house, probably in pursuit of a gardener to repot the freesia that had blown away. She had time to admire the way his wool coat stretched across his broad shoulders and to imagine his taut behind under the coattails before he turned the corner. She would have her own money. What did she care for Brumley's status next to Winthrop's godlike physical perfection?

“Enough talk. I'm getting carried away with the wind. Shall we go in?” Alice, to Sophia's evident surprise, took Brumley by the arm and led him to the house.

Once they were settled in the drawing room, Brumley turned to Alice after accepting a cup of tea from Sophia. “It seems we have something in common, Lady Alice. You dislike the outdoors as much as I do.”

“On the contrary.” She resisted the urge to smooth her hair one more time, convinced that she must look a fright and all the happier for it. The sooner she could scare Brumley off, the better. “I love to be out of doors, just not in so much wind. I thought you were a great enthusiast of flora and fauna, Lord Brumley? Does it not require you to be out in the elements?”

He laughed. “I'm more of an armchair gardener, to tell the truth. I read all about the various growing techniques in agricultural journals and then make my recommendations to the staff.”

“Oh, I see.” She sipped her tea, uncertain of what else to say. The man couldn't even take up his own rake or spade? What good would he be with the lemon trees? She glared in Sophia's direction.

Sophia seemed to be at an uncharacteristic loss for words. Fortunately, the butler broke the silence with the announcement of new visitors, Captain and Mrs. Thorne.

“Brumley, old man. There you are.” Ever the charmer, Captain Marcus Thorne swept into the room and took over, clapping his brother's old schoolmate on the back in greeting. “Have you come to lose yourself in our fine library?”

Alice wished he would lose himself anywhere out of her way. She might have said so, had she not been distracted by a tiny hand reaching out to tangle in her fallen chignon as Eve leaned in to say hello, baby in her arms. “Oh, the darling Miss Mina has come to grace us with her presence. And you, too, Eve.”

“I've become used to being ignored in favor of my daughter.” Eve laughed. “Even her father fails to notice I'm in the room when Mina's cooing away in her pram.”

“An exaggeration,” Marcus declared. “I never fail to notice you, my angel wife. I do notice that my brother is missing. Hunting again?”

“Deer stalking,” Sophia corrected. “With Lord Holcomb. They'll be back for dinner. My apologies, Lord Brumley, that they didn't wait for your arrival, but perhaps tomorrow.”

“Oh dear, no.” Brumley shuddered. “I'm more the type to sit by the fire with a good book. As you were saying, Thorne, I used to envy your fine library when I visited, but now I have my beloved Brookfield…”

He went on for the next quarter hour about Brookfield's library, but Alice didn't mind. She made a mental note to take up hunting, or at least to show great enthusiasm for such sport, and relieved Eve of the baby so that Eve could sit and have some tea unencumbered.

“Nurse will come along in a minute,” Eve said, reluctant to hand her sweet bundle off once Mina started to fuss. “She's just getting things settled.”

“Nonsense. No need to wait for the nurse.” Alice cradled the baby to her shoulder and added a light bounce to her step that seemed to quiet Mina's fussing. “You and Sophia catch up. Mina and I will have a nice little walkabout. Won't we, darling girl?”

Alice never had much interest in babies until Mina, short for Wilhelmina, came along over the summer. Captain Thorne and Eve's delightfully good-natured first child was born a bit too soon after their rushed wedding if anyone cared to do the math, but no one would say so if they did. Alice adored the child as much as anyone, but perhaps more now that Mina provided a distraction from the dreadful Brumley. She walked the baby into the hall, as far as she could get from Brumley's droning on about his exceptional library.

In the hall, she nearly walked right into Logan Winthrop. “Oh. I didn't expect to find you here.”

“I didn't expect to find you with a baby.” He smiled. “I take it the Thornes have arrived. You look quite natural with the child.”

“Ha, I must be doing something wrong. Don't let my sister hear you say it.”

“She must have seen you with Mina. She will draw her own conclusion.” He drew close enough to lean in to whisper. “Mine is that you already can't stand Brumley to the point where you needed an excuse to escape.”

“Will you gloat if I confess that you're right?”

“Not at all,” he said, as Mina started to fuss in Alice's arms. “Allow me. We don't want to send you rushing back in right when you've made a successful break of it.”

“Allow you?” Mina's fuss turned to a loud cry.

He nodded and held out his arms. “I have some experience with infants.”

She handed the baby to him. He turned Mina around to fit in the crook of his arm and offered her his clean, white knuckle to suck. The baby quieted instantly.

“That's remarkable. How did you know?”

He shrugged. “A little trick I picked up. The suckling seems to calm them.”

She studied him, feeling the warmth expand inside her until it became a tingle that slid along her nerves. Never had she imagined that the sight of a strong man cradling a delicate baby could be such a powerful aphrodisiac. Instinct drew her closer to him so that she pressed her body right up against his, her head on his shoulder with the pretense of studying darling Mina. She wondered what he would do if she took the opportunity to lean in and kiss him. He would be shocked, but not enough to drop the baby. If anything, keeping a protective hold on Mina would prevent him from pushing Alice away…

“There you are.” The nurse appeared from the stairs, stealing Alice's chance. “I'll take our wee little lamb. Her nursery is set, and she's ready to eat from the look of her, aye?”

“Aye,” Winthrop said, handing her over. “Yes. She's hungry all right.”

“You're verra good with her, Mr. Winthrop,” the nurse said in her Scottish burr.

“We managed to get on,” he said, seemingly reluctant to acknowledge what he had readily admitted to Alice moments ago, that he had experience with infants. One infant, many infants? How did a bachelor happen to know about babies?

“I'll let her mother know you've taken her up,” Alice said, then turned to Winthrop. “I suppose I should be getting back.”

“I'll go with you. I might as well greet Lord Brumley.”

“Old schoolmates as you are.”

“Former schoolmates. I prefer not to use the word
old
.” He placed his hand at the small of her back and escorted her to the drawing room.

***

Logan dreaded his former classmate's reaction to his appearance in the drawing room. Had Brumley heard of the scandal? Would he act surprised to see Logan at Thornbrook Park, employed by Lord Averford? There was no sense in putting it off since they would be under one roof, working toward the same goal of successfully establishing the lemon trees in the conservatory. At least now he would have the benefit of Lady Alice and her easygoing nature at his side. Everything seemed brighter with Alice in proximity.

His heart had performed a flip when he walked in and saw her with the baby in her arms. There was something so warmly domestic in the scene, so inviting. So forbidden to him, he reminded himself. She would make an excellent mother for someone else's children, never his—and God willing, not Lord Brumley's. A fiery spirit like Alice could never be content with a dullard like Brumley. Unless Brumley had changed dramatically since their youth.

Upon first sight of Brumley seated on the divan, teacup in hand, gut protruding from his waistcoat and expanding over the top of his trousers, Logan did not believe the man had changed at all for the better. As desperate as the countess seemed to see her sister settled in marriage, she couldn't possibly believe Brumley to be a match for Alice, no matter his income or estates.

“Ah, look who is here,” Thorne said upon Logan's entrance. “Another old chum of yours, I believe, Lord Brumley. Good day, Mr. Winthrop.”

“Captain Thorne.” He nodded in Marcus's direction.

Logan liked both Lord Averford and his brother immensely, and he found the younger Thorne to be an excellent addition to their little community. He was glad when the Thornes had taken over the old Markham estate earlier in the year. Brothers should be close, he thought, and felt an unexpected pang of remorse that he'd allowed circumstances to keep him away from his own brother for far too long. But he refused to be an embarrassment to the family name, or the source of gossip and curiosity for Grace as she grew up. One day, perhaps, when she was older, he could return.

“Winthrop, you say?” Brumley did not get up, but wrinkled his face into a grimace as if trying to coax a memory or ease indigestion. “I don't recall a Winthrop.”

“Our estate manager, Mr. Logan Winthrop,” Sophia introduced him.

“The Honorable Logan Winthrop,” Thorne corrected. “His father was Baron Emsbury, as his brother is now.”

Alice gasped. Logan looked to see that she was well and hadn't tripped on the Turkish carpet or somehow hurt herself. She looked from Captain Thorne to him, her green eyes wide, and Logan realized that she hadn't known. She'd heard gossip surrounding his past, certainly, but she'd had no idea that he'd been raised in the same privileged circles that she had. At once, he saw her reach understanding and he prayed it wouldn't change her opinion of him. He liked the easy repartee they'd established after months of her trailing after him and him pretending to ignore her.

“I remember now.” With some effort, Brumley got to his feet. “Harrow. Yes. Good to see you, man. An estate agent now? Ah, the plight of younger sons.”

Captain Thorne, a younger son, exchanged a glance with Logan. “Ah, the bombastic pride of firstborns. Quite satisfied with yourselves for having everything handed to you.”

Thorne broke out his wide grin to show he was only joking with Lord Brumley, and Logan laughed, causing Brumley to laugh along. Only an apple-polisher like Thorne could get away with saying such things to a man without causing hard feelings. “When my brother returns, you two can clap yourselves on the back over cigars and brandy for having the good sense to shoot out of the womb before the rest of us had a chance.”

“Marcus, there are ladies present.” Eve was quick to reprimand her husband before Lady Averford could take offense. The countess had a sense of humor at times, but she tended to be more highly strung than her friend Eve. “And where's my little dumpling?”

“The nurse took her,” Alice said. “She's getting settled in your usual rooms. You can relax and enjoy some adult company.”

“I mean to do just that, which is why we're staying a few days. I've been lonely shut up at Markham House. And I'm still not sure if there's a ghost. Where's Agatha?”

Aunt Agatha claimed to be in contact with the spirit world, but Logan believed she was simply an old woman who liked attention. Still, she seemed harmless enough. She was Miss Agatha Simms formally, but she preferred for everyone to call her Aunt Agatha.

“A ghost at Markham House? The first Lady Markham, I suppose?” Alice seemed skeptical of her aunt's abilities, and she had told Logan once that she did not believe in ghosts. “I think you're safe. Agatha is resting at the Dower House. She will come over for dinner because she can't resist the urge to read a newcomer's aura.”