Love's Tangle (3 page)

She should have left then and scuttled back to the safety of the servants’ area. Charles and Louisa had just one message for her and it was that she didn’t belong where she stood. But an enormous spiral staircase at the end of the hall was too tempting. It wound its sinuous pathway in a double helix through the whole height of the building. Would it not be helpful to know something of the layout of the house? She tiptoed up the staircase to the first floor and was met by a battalion of doors. The first three or four proved to be cupboards or led to unused spaces, but further along the corridor a door stood open. From a brief glimpse, she could see it was a drawing room. The next door displayed a helpful label which told her it was the Music Room. The final door was shut and unlabeled.

Very slowly she opened it just a few inches but she could see immediately from the wall nearest her that the room was a library—a very large library—and as far she could see, empty of inhabitants. She was about to slip into the room when a noise from the hall below made her jump back and flatten herself against the corridor’s wood paneling, but it was only Mr. Jarvis chivvying an idle footman. She let out her breath; she had been so gripped by her exploration she hadn’t known she was holding it. The scare had been a reminder, though, that she needed to proceed a deal more cautiously. Swiftly she retraced her path, intent on regaining the servants’ hall as quickly as possible.

“Are you lost, Nell?” It was the butler who materialized at her side as she regained the bottom stair.

She tried to keep her voice calm. “I must have taken a wrong turning, Mr. Jarvis.”

“This part of the house is out of bounds to any but house servants and then only between certain hours.” His voice was coldly severe, punishment if not dismissal lurking in every syllable. She waited to hear her fate but rescue was to come from an unexpected quarter.

“Jarvis, where are those damn deeds? They need to be with the lawyers—now!”

Gabriel Claremont erupted into the hall from a room at its furthest end, his hand combing an agitated path through already rumpled hair. Close fitting fawn breeches and glossy top boots were his sole concession to formality. A waistcoat of blue embroidered silk was left unbuttoned to reveal the frilled white shirt loosely cloaking his powerful frame. In his half-dressed state, he looked little more than a boy, she thought. A small jolt disturbed the measured rhythm of her heart.

The butler’s severity vanished and harassment took its place. “Hannah took them to the study, Your Grace, and placed them on your desk. She found them in the library while dusting.”

“Dusting!” Gabriel’s voice bounced off the flagstones. “Important legal papers—and they are to be at the mercy of a housemaid’s cloth!”

“The documents were found beneath the family bible, Your Grace. There is a deal of paper stored in the room and the book had been used as a weight.”

Gabriel strode furiously towards him. “A deal of paper which that rascally bailiff was supposed to organize months ago. Where is the villain?”

“Mr. Joffey is visiting Hurstwood to oversee renovations, I believe.” If the butler was trying to soothe the situation, it did not appear to be working. Gabriel’s expression was unrelenting. “The property your late uncle left to Mr. Roland?” Jarvis added hopefully.

“I know what Hurstwood is, dammit, and I’ve no interest. Meanwhile I’m left poking around this mausoleum trying to find deeds which will allow Pargiter to buy the fields his family has been renting for centuries. It’s not good enough.”

“No, Your Grace. I quite see that. Allow me to search your study.”

“You’ll be wasting your time.”

“A minute only, Your Grace.”

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders in irritation and began to retrace his steps when he became aware of Elinor standing silently beneath the portraits of Charles and Louisa.

“Nell? Nell Milford? Are you not a little far from home? Or were you intending to set up a dairy in my hall?” He moved closer and she felt the warmth of his body filling the space between them.

He looked up at the portraits hanging above her head and grimaced. “Or is it perhaps that you are transfixed by my family history?” He made an expansive gesture with his right arm, “Allow me to introduce you, Nell. I give you Uncle Charles and Aunt Louisa.”

She followed his glance and a shudder traced its way down her spine.

“Terrifying, aren’t they?” he asked genially. “But not half as terrifying as they were alive.”

She did not know how to reply since her menial position made it impossible to express her true feelings. “They are…uncompromising,” she managed at last.

“And
you
are a diplomat, Nell. But be honest. How would you like that pair hanging in your house? You should be thankful you have no hall in which to hang your ancestors.”

“I have no ancestors either,” she replied composedly, “at least none I know of.”

“No ancestors? You have no family?” Once more, he seemed genuinely interested. His blue eyes, almost sapphire in color, were fixed on her face and she felt another uncomfortable jolt. What was he doing talking to her like this? It was unfair. She was the dairymaid and should not be mixing with a duke—or with his attractions.

“I have no family living that I know of,” she amended.

“Then we are in the same case.”

Should she remind him he had a cousin and an aunt, housed just yards away? She thought not. It was as though Roland and his mother did not exist for him.

With barely a pause, he spoke again. “Do you consider it a blessing, Nell, or a sadness? Not having a family, I mean.”

“A sadness, Your Grace, an infinite sadness.”

His expression softened at her words and she was emboldened to ask, “And you?”

He looked back at the portraits once more and then gazed past them as though he would bore through the oak paneling to a world beyond. When he spoke, his tone was dull with weariness. “One cannot choose one’s family. On balance I would say it’s a blessing.”

“Your Grace, I have the papers here.” Jarvis bustled importantly towards them. “Hannah placed them underneath the blotter, foolish girl. I will arrange for them to be dispatched to the lawyers in Brighton without delay.”

Then, noticing that Elinor was still where she should not be, the butler made haste to excuse the lapse. “Please forgive this intrusion, Your Grace. The girl is new and does not know her way around. Leaving the servants’ hall, she inadvertently took the wrong turning.”

Gabriel smiled faintly. “Don’t we all at some time or another?”

He turned back towards his study and Jarvis shooed Elinor through the door into the servants’ passageway.

****

As the week wore on, she began to find the work less onerous. Martha might have a sharp tongue but she was good hearted and with her help Elinor was becoming skilled enough to earn her mentor’s qualified praise.

“I’ll give it yer. Yer may not be as fast as Letty but yer neater. And yer don’t waste time flirtin’ with them that’s above yer touch.”

It was fortunate, Elinor reflected, that she was used to domestic work. Fortunate, too, that the girl whose job she had taken had never arrived. From a young age Nell had been given charge of the Bath household, spending her days cooking and cleaning, helping Grainne to mix paints, buy supplies and spread the word to bring in new customers for her mother’s delicately painted miniatures. She had given little thought to the future—not, that is, until that desperate January day when Grainne had returned from delivering her latest commission, soaked and shivering. There had been no money for a doctor, no money for nourishing food or even for warmth during what had been the bitterest winter for years, and a severe chill had quickly turned to pneumonia. But she must not allow herself to drown in sadness; she was here for a purpose, to carry out Grainne’s last wish.

Her final task of the day was to load two churns of milk onto a small cart and trundle them to the kitchens. The cart was too cumbersome to use the footpath and she was forced to drag it part of the way along the main drive. As she walked, yesterday’s conversation with Martha replayed in her mind. The evidence her mother had ever been at Allingham was the flimsiest. A foreign woman, Martha had said, but how significant was that? Her mother’s Irish origin was no more than a story after all.

And while she had leaped at the idea that the previous duke might be the man of Grainne’s dying words, the evidence for that was even flimsier. He wasn’t the only rich and powerful man to inhabit Allingham Hall, she was sure. There was the present duke’s father for a start. And there might be cousins or children of cousins. It was an enormous house and any number of people could have lived here eighteen years ago. She would get nothing more from Martha, she knew, and questioning the august Mr. Jarvis, the only other servant likely to have been here at the time, was laughable. He was less approachable even than the master he served. His affronted expression when he had recovered Gabriel’s lost papers still made her smile.

Her heartbeat quickened slightly. Jarvis had mentioned a family bible. Might that hold a clue? It was the custom to inscribe in the book the names of every member of a family. The Claremont dynasty must be vast but the bible might just contain a clue as to whom she should seek. Was it worth the risk of searching for it? She recalled those last few hours of her mother’s life: the hot, paper-thin skin of her hands, the hoarse whispers as Grainne used every mite of her remaining breath to help her daughter. It had to be worth it.

She had reached the point where the drive divided, the main carriageway continuing towards the graveled crescent fronting the house and a narrower one bending towards the servants’ quarters. As she took this left fork, she heard the crunch of footsteps and in a moment was overtaken by Roland Frant.

“How are you settling in, Nell?” he asked genially.

“Very well, sir.” She remembered to bob the expected curtsy.

“A little better when the house is quiet, I wager.”

Allingham had been at peace that day, for Gabriel’s entire party had descended on Worthing, a quiet and dowdy seaside town nearby. She flushed at his mention of the teasing she’d suffered but said stoutly, “I am sure I will grow accustomed. It is just that Allingham Hall is very different from my last place of work.” That was certainly true.

“I’m sure it is.” His tone was unexpectedly heated. “It couldn’t fail to be with a hedonist at the helm encouraging every kind of corrupt and lewd behavior.”

She came to a halt, astonished to hear him speak so of his cousin.

“You refer to the duke, I collect.” She wasn’t at all sure she had heard him aright.

“You may think it strange I should speak thus of such a near relative but Gabriel Claremont has succeeded to an office to which he is ill suited. He would have done far better to remain a soldier. I’m sure I don’t have to warn you to be on your guard. Any comely girl is a target for him, servant or no servant.”

She flushed hotly and made haste to turn the conversation. “I had no idea His Grace once served in the army.”

“Indeed, yes. Enlisted as did many peep-o’day boys. But his brother made sure he received a commission soon after he joined the ranks.”

“He has a brother?” This was turning out to be a most surprising exchange.

“No longer, I fear. Jonathan Claremont was killed two years ago. Hence Gabriel’s unholy succession.”

He seemed at last to become aware that tittle-tattle with a servant was hardly dignified and hurried to bid her farewell. “I must allow you to finish your work for tomorrow is race day and likely to be very busy for you all.” A brief nod and he was gone.

He is angry, Elinor thought, for some reason too angry to consider the impropriety of speaking so to a servant. His tongue had run on in a way that she found unbecoming but he was a pleasant enough man and evidently wished her well. She must not be too quick to judge him.

And he had given her something to think of. Tomorrow was race day, he’d said, so might that provide her with the opportunity she needed? Every evening loud laughter spilled through the entire house and there was a constant milling of guests from room to room, floor to floor. It would be foolish to attempt to look for the family bible while the household was awake, for it would almost certainly result in instant discovery. And since the guests rarely sought their beds until the early hours, she would have to forgo any idea of sleep if she were to search the library at night. But tomorrow might be different—a long day in the open air might end with the house party sufficiently fatigued to retire before midnight. She could only hope.

****

The first of June dawned clear and bright. A race course had been constructed towards the southern boundary of the Allingham land in the months when Gabriel had first returned to a grieving household, a time when he was desperate for distraction. Allingham Hall sat atop an incline and to the south of the house the land fell away, at first gently and then far more precipitously. It allowed the Hall magnificent views over the surrounding landscape—fields, woods, and shimmering in the distance, the South Downs—but it also meant that a race course which navigated such a steep incline was a trial for both horses and jockeys. The duke’s guests found this immensely entertaining since gambling on winners and losers was even more of a lottery than usual. Today the duke was running his favorite horse, Emperor, while the Prince Regent had pinned his colors on Pegasus, a rare palomino he had bought at huge expense from Sir John Lade.

A generous swath of the local gentry had been invited to the meeting and had entered their own favorite horses in the various races. From noon carriages of all descriptions—broughams, landaulets, elegant barouches and even a dashing high-perch phaeton or two—began to roll towards the house and deposit their inhabitants at the Hall’s imposing entrance. The duke had ordered a light lunch before ferrying his neighbors and house guests by carriage down to the race course. A few chose to walk and drifted to the meeting on foot along a path mown through the meadow, with bunting strung between the trees on either side. The atmosphere was noisy and excited, one of carnival, setting the lower pastures of the estate ablaze with silks and satins of every color.