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Authors: Isabelle Goddard

Tags: #Regency

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BOOK: Love's Tangle
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“Why ever not? Such a small present—but one I guarantee that will lift your spirits.” He paused for a moment. “Tell me, why are you so low?”

“I have a headache,” she extemporized.

He lifted two skeptical eyebrows. “And…”

For some reason she found herself blurting out her experience in the clairvoyant’s tent. “And I am supposed to rescue this poor woman,” she finished. “How on earth am I to do such a thing?”

He waited until she’d ended her recital but at this final wail he burst out laughing. “Nell, you cannot honestly believe such nonsense!”

“But she was in a deep trance, I swear, and why would she say such things?”

“Simply to make an impact. The trance is mere acting—bad acting at that—and the cryptic words will ensure you go away seriously awed by her powers. You will say to your fellows that they, too, should go to Madame Demelza’s tent and be frightened out of their wits.”

“I think she saw me with the other servants,” Elinor said slowly.

“Of course she did, and what a ready market they would prove. But you have disappointed. Instead of hastening to their side and spreading the word, you have been sitting here with a face as long as a fiddle.”

Her mood lightened. “You may be right but she was still quite alarming.”

“If she weren’t, would you have entertained for a minute one word she said?”

She would not, of course, and recognizing the truth of this, she relaxed into a smile.

“Now will you allow me?”

He held out his hand and raised her to her feet. His grip was warm and strong and she wanted very much for him to continue holding her hand. But he bent towards her and before she knew what was happening, had pinned the flowers to the bodice of her dress and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

“As I thought, a perfect complement. Now even the grey dress you love so much can burst into bloom.”

She didn’t love it, not at all, but its Quaker qualities had proved a powerful shield against the world, allowing her to go about her business unremarked. Until now. The brushing of his hand against her breast had made her pale skin flame, but she could not allow him to see her disturbance. “Thank you, sir, it is most kind in you.”

His face held a strange expression. “Kind? I don’t think so. Irresistible? More than likely.”

Why was everyone talking in riddles this afternoon? She wanted to demand an explanation but he was her employer, and his whims were not hers to question. They were still standing close together, Gabriel seeming unable to take his eyes from her, when she caught a glimpse of Roland Frant a short distance away, glaring fixedly at them. His expression was not pleasant. It would be wise, she thought, to disappear at this moment. She thanked the duke again, made a small curtsy and began the walk back to Allingham Hall.

Chapter Five

Gabriel whipped up his horses and swirled out of the fair in a pocket of dust. He was angry and the bays felt it, twitching and bucking in their shafts. He was angry with himself. He should have kept his distance and he hadn’t. The dairymaid held a fascination for him he could not explain. He thought back to yesterday, back to the woods and the secret glade. He had not been there since returning from the Peninsular; he could not have borne to do so and yet a few hours ago he had gone willingly and shared it with a girl he hardly knew, a servant girl at that. Conduct verging on the imbecilic! But he’d felt at peace with Nell beside him. He had no idea why that should be and it made him uneasy. For nigh on two years he had not wanted to be close to another and after yesterday’s unwise confidences, he’d drawn a silent line for himself which he’d vowed he would not again cross.

And what had he just done? He’d presented her with a corsage for her dress. Flowers, for heaven’s sake! He’d seen her sitting quite alone amongst a crowd of people, her eyes lowered, her shoulders sad—little, grey mouse. No, a tall, grey mouse. And he’d wanted to brighten her, to lighten her, to light up her eyes. The roses had been to hand and he hadn’t thought twice. He should have done. It was beyond stupid to single out one servant for special treatment, and this servant in particular.

He was still suspicious, convinced there was something smoky about her and that was an added reason, if he needed one, to keep away. He knew nothing of her references but presumed they were satisfactory; that was a matter for Jarvis and the butler seemed happy enough. Still, she had to be something more than the simple servant she claimed. Her manners, her voice, her education all told a different tale.

Whatever her history, he seemed impelled to gravitate towards her and it could not continue. He must put her back where she belonged—in the dairy and at arms’ length. Within the next few days his house guests would bring their interminable stay to an end and he would go with them, back to Brighton, to the color and intemperance of that lively town. That should do the trick. There was nothing to keep him here since Joffey, despite his faults, was capable of managing the estate without assistance. Jonathan would have done it differently, he knew; Jonathan would have flourished as the master of Allingham.

He remembered their childhood games when they had fashioned crowns from cardboard and robes from old curtains. Jonathan had always claimed the larger crown and the richer material and he had been content to let him. In his childish way he recognized Jonty was the important one, that one day his brother would be this person called a duke and that it was right he should practice. The practice never lasted long, of course, just until one of them tripped and fell on the over-long gown, a speedy invitation for the other to leap in and start an almighty tussle. The skirmish ended only when two small boys were trussed inextricably within the folds of curtain, rolled tight together, side by side, like sausages in a pan.

But Jonathan was dead and he had survived. Except for a quirk of military strategy he should have been one of the five thousand slain on the battlefield of Vitoria. While his brother lay dying, he was pinned the other side of rugged mountains with only a narrow defile to allow a straggle of troops to reach the plain below. Jonathan had died alone and far from Allingham. His remains had been scooped up and lowered into a hasty grave—the heat of a Spanish summer made rapid burial essential. The war was over and the grave lost; Jonty would never come home.

For his brother’s sake, he had tried to play the duke but his heart wasn’t in it. He needed to be elsewhere. He would return to Brighton, a town where masquerade was woven into the very texture of the air, and he would plunge into every last one of its dissipations. Until then he would keep out of Nell Milford’s way and this time really mean it. His guests, with one accord, had shunned this afternoon’s fair, complaining bitterly at his own forced attendance. Tomorrow he would proffer them compensation—a cross-country ride with a picnic as its goal. The outing would do double duty by ensuring his day was spent far from the Hall and far from temptation.

****

Elinor awoke the next morning still unsettled by events at the fair. In particular, the clairvoyant loomed large in her mind and though she knew the duke was right when he said cryptic utterances were vital to the old woman’s business, she couldn’t quite shake off the idea that some of it had meaning. The duke hadn’t been in the tent; hadn’t heard the change in the woman’s voice from platitude to urgency; hadn’t seen her frighteningly blank face when she’d dropped into a trance. And afterwards he’d done little to make her feel more comfortable—in fact he’d made things worse. Why accost her and then pin flowers to her breast? She had them still, brightening the small room she shared with Tilly. Last night the kitchen maid had teased her to distraction, mocking her for her unknown admirer. What would she say if she knew the flowers had come from the Duke of Allingham himself?

But it was fantasy to imagine his actions were anything more than a whim. She was in danger of drifting, beguiled by the beauty of Allingham and beguiled by its owner—the moments when they’d met and talked, the times when they’d crossed swords, the walk she had taken with him, the flowers she would keep pressed in her private notebook. She hadn’t felt so alive for years but she must not allow herself to sit out the summer in a dream. She must take action and soon.

She found Martha already at work. The woman looked up briefly and gave a grunt. “Get ter work on the cream, Nell. It needs be ready by ten.”

“Ten! But Chef…”

“Nuthin’ to do with Chef. The nobs is on a picnic and leavin’ round eleven.”

Elinor’s ears pricked, wondering if this might be her chance. “Do you know where they intend to picnic?”

Her mentor was evidently ruffled at having her schedule torn to pieces and her tone was truculent. “All I knows is the carridge takin’ the food leaves at ten and there’ll be ’ell to pay if we ain’t ready fer it.”

Elinor thought better of prolonging the conversation and set to work as fast as she could. By five minutes to the hour they had filled sufficient boxes with butter, cream and cheese.

“Yer best get it to the ’ouse, I’ll clean up ’ere. Leastways they’ll be gorn all day, if we’re lucky,” the older woman muttered testily.

This was sounding promising. If the company rode out and the duke rode with them, it might at last provide the opportunity to search Gabriel’s study undisturbed. She resolved to take the chance. It was likely to be the only one she would get.

She delivered their handiwork on the stroke of ten and stood idling for a while in the kitchen. Her fellow servants were in high spirits and ready to talk, knowing they would be free of ringing bells for at least four hours. Only two ladies were staying behind and they had ordered refreshments to be taken to the small front parlor. They were on their way there now, armed with copies of
La Belle Assemblée
. Tea and chatter would keep them company. The parlor was situated at the very end of one of the building’s wings and therefore as distant from the study as Elinor could hope.

****

It was well before noon when she heard the crunch of horses on gravel as a large body of riders made its way to the main gate. She had been scrubbing the ironwork tables and chairs on the small terrace outside the dairy and listened intently as the sound of hooves gradually faded. She forced herself to wait for several minutes before stepping inside, her pulse beginning to tumble at the thought of what she was about to do. “Martha, I forgot to mention that while I was at the house, Chef asked me to deliver the rest of the cream earlier today.”

Martha looked nonplussed. “But ’e don’t like it till near dinner time. Else it goes orf.”

“He surprised me too,” she lied glibly, “but he was quite adamant. I believe he is trying out a new kind of dessert and the cream has to be mixed in at an early stage.”

The older woman shrugged her bony shoulders irritably. “If yer must go, but don’t be long.”

Elinor snatched up the two containers they had recently filled and almost ran out of the dairy. She had no idea what Chef would say when presented with cream far in advance of his needs but hopefully by then she would be out of earshot. She dropped the cream into the kitchen, making sure it was not easily visible, and then found the small passage she had wandered into by mistake on her second evening at Allingham. She was in the stone-flagged Great Hall. A temporary hush had descended on the house as it did every day at this time. Half the servants’ work had been done and there was a brief rest before they began again on the hours of toil that still awaited them. She darted across the hall, deliberately avoiding the beak-like stares of Gabriel’s ancestors, and carefully tried the door to the study. The handle turned easily. Slipping inside, she closed the door very, very quietly. The room faced towards the rear of the house looking out on a vista of rolling lawns, a lake with a fountain at its center and to the right a well-tended rose garden. Beyond the Capability Brown inspired hills and hollows stretched pasture land and grazing cattle. Of human beings there was not a sign.

She would have to work fast but this time she was unencumbered by candlelight, the sun shining broadly through large casements and illuminating every corner of the room. A couple of mahogany cabinets were positioned against the wall while a modest bookcase took up another and several small tables and a scattering of easy chairs were dotted here and there. She was surprised to think this was Gabriel’s study. It was a room devoid of his presence, a room in fact from which all personality had fled. It was also disconcertingly tidy and if there were papers here, they had been stored well out of sight. The cabinets offered an invitation but there was one other piece of furniture that dominated the room: a large desk sat in the window enclave and looked outwards to the demesne beyond. This was where she would start.

She was in luck. The drawers were unlocked. She opened them one by one and skimmed their contents: discarded pens, old envelopes, several visiting cards and a few crumpled bills which appeared to have lain there forever. Nothing of any interest. One drawer left, positioned at the side of the desk rather than the front, and it appeared to be locked. She felt a rising excitement. She had seen a key in the first drawer she’d opened and with fumbling hands fitted it to the lock. It turned easily. That cannot be right. And it wasn’t. The drawer was completely empty and why it had been locked was a mystery. A hurried glance around. Should she move on to the mahogany cabinets? But no, this desk held the clues she sought although she could not see how. She tipped out the contents of the pen container but all she found was a collection of battered quills. She turned the blotter upside down but it remained disappointingly intact. She felt beneath the desk rim for a possible secret drawer. Not a creak or a grind of hinges. Disgusted, she was about to give up on the desk and begin on the rest of the room when her foot accidentally caught in one of its carved legs. There was a sharp click and a small compartment shot out from inside of the desk’s writing surface, from what she had taken to be a simple leather inlay.

Her face grew pink with anticipation. There
was
a secret drawer! Might there also be secret papers? But when she eagerly pulled out the compartment to its fullest extent, not a scrap was to be seen. She jiggled the drawer urgently and a slight metallic sound answered. A silver object curled into a small heap, slid to the front of the drawer. Carefully she drew it out and laid it on her palm. Her heart almost stopped as she realized what she was staring at—a locket or rather one half of a locket on a broken chain and inside a beautifully executed miniature of a young man, fresh faced and blue eyed. She studied the face intently, looked and looked again as though by sheer looking she could draw out his very spirit and urge him to speak. It was the mirror image of the broken locket she carried on her person. But how could that be? The soft movement of a door sounded behind her but so caught up was she in a confusing whirl of thoughts that she heard nothing.

BOOK: Love's Tangle
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