Mary Blayney (43 page)

26

I
T WAS NOT YET LIGHT
as Olivia hurried downstairs. The courier’s satchel was on Lyn’s desk as always and she pushed the letter way to the bottom. She ran the rest of the way to the kitchen. She could hear Mary talking to someone, sounding much more cheerful than she usually did at this early-morning hour.

Rising before dawn to renew the fire, warm water and begin the bread for the day did not come naturally to Mary. Olivia often wondered why she had opted to be a kitchen maid. She did not have her mother’s talent for cooking and was never shown any favoritism, this early-morning task being proof of that. But, Olivia realized, she herself had spent years trying to play the pianoforte as well as her Mama, never winning more than a sad smile and the suggestion that she “practice more.”

Olivia loved the early morning, only partly because it was time to start cooking. She enjoyed the quiet of this little part of the world, her world, with usually nothing but Mary’s yawns for company.

It only lasted an hour. By the first light, Cook would be in charge and the kitchen staff would stumble in. The garden boys would bring in their baskets and fruit from the succession houses.

Olivia heard a male voice rumble an answer to Mary’s prattle and slid to a halt to listen just outside the kitchen door.

“He is the most proper of valets. Wants the duke’s water hot enough to burn. Says he can cool it easier than he can heat it.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

Delight thrilled through her as she realized who it was.
Reasonable
was one of Mr. Garrett’s favorite words. Even more than the words, it was his voice, the friendly quality. Intimate even, so that you wound up telling him more than you ever intended.

What was he doing up at this hour? Her pleased surprise faded as it occurred to her that he was trying to sneak away before she had a chance to see him again. He was already tired of her and flirting with someone else.

“Water that hot may seem reasonable to you, sir. You are not the one carrying boiling water up and up and up. Been many a water boy burned doin’ it.”

“Good morning, Mary.” Olivia breezed into the kitchen with every intention of ignoring Mr. Garrett, until she saw that he was sitting on the table where she usually did her baking.

“That is not a chair, Mr. Whoever-you-are. People prepare food on that table. Stand up and find someplace else to sit. Better yet, go into the servants’ hall.”

He stood with a nod of apology.

“Miss Lollie!” Mary said.

“Mary, you know better than that. No one is supposed to be in the kitchen unless they have business here.”

“It’s not even light yet, Miss Lollie. This is Mr. Garrett. He is new to the staff and has had a long night. Besides, I don’t mind the company.”

“You’re working here!” What in the world was this game? Olivia could not decide if she was pleased or put out by his new status. So she gave him a look she hoped duplicated Tildy at her most suspicious.

“Yes, I was offered a position last night.” He acted as though they had never met. She could hardly complain about that.

“I am Lollie.” She bit back several less appropriate comments, most of them born of pure curiosity. She could wait and talk to Lyn or David. After all, one of them had hired him.

He gave her a perfunctory bow. “How do you do, Miss Lollie.”

“What is your position, Mr. Garrett?” After all, Lyn wasn’t here right now and Mr. Garrett was.

“I am to provide security for all who need it. To be sure that there is no threat to anyone who lives here. Especially at night.”

She nodded, chastened by his gravity. Mary made a swooning sound. “Ooooh, you are? I didn’t think Lord David was afraid of anything.”

“He does strike one as extremely competent, but he must sleep sometime.”

“I don’t know when, Mr. Garrett. I see him late at night and early in the morning.”

“Obviously he sleeps in between, Mary.” Olivia turned her back on Mr. Garrett’s smile and Mary’s confusion. She did sound like a shrew. Or someone who was jealous. How could she begrudge Mary a few minutes with an attractive man? Mary’s world was as filled with sisters as hers was filled with brothers.

Olivia sorted through the basket near the side door, searching for a cap. At least the cap would forestall comments about her hair. Mary was definitely flirting; she had not even noticed that Olivia’s hair was gone. Of course, since most days Olivia just piled it on top of her head, it could be that Mary did not really know how long it was. Had been. She heard Mary giggle. Flirting, Olivia decided.

Pulling on the cap and the smock that would protect her dress, Olivia stepped to the table, across from Mary with her back to their morning caller. She pulled away a chunk of dough and began to help with the kneading.

“Mr. Garrett was telling me he started his rounds last night.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder at him. He was sipping from the mug of ale that must be his choice of morning drink. Or was it his bedtime favorite?

“I did not see a soul moving about. Hackett was at the main entrance, Big Sam was at your door and the halls were as empty as the grounds.” He spoke directly to her, his eyes reassuring.

“We all feel better knowing that, Mr. Garrett,” She kept kneading as she spoke, but she turned her head so he could see that she was as serious as he was. “Thank you.” Now that she took a moment to look at him she could see that fatigue accentuated the lines in his face. Olivia turned back to her work torn between feeling sorry at being the cause of his exhaustion and immeasurably relieved that he was still here. To protect her.

“Oh we truly do feel better, Mr. Garrett, sir.” Mary spoke with such enthusiasm that Olivia raised her eyebrows at her and felt churlish when the girl blushed.

They worked on for a few moments, but Mr. Garrett did not take the hint and leave.

“How are you, Miss Lollie?” Mary asked loud enough to include Mr. Garrett in the conversation. “Are you feeling well enough to be in the kitchen?”

Olivia heard her curiosity and wondered what the servants’ gossip was. “I feel wonderful, Mary. In fact I am well enough to make cinnamon buns.”

Before Mary could do anything more than grin with pleasure, Mr. Garrett interrupted. “If you will excuse me, ladies, I am off to the gatehouse.”

“You can’t leave now, sir. You must wait and have a cinnamon bun.”

Mary’s distress was flattering, for all that Olivia wished that Mr. Garrett would leave. When he was this close it was too hard to convince herself that her personal safety was the only reason she was happy he was still here.

She did not look him in the eye, but stared at his hands as she rhythmically rolled and folded and pressed the dough.

They were strong and square and very, very clean. As though he had never done a day’s work in his life.

M
ICHAEL COULD NOT TAKE
his eyes off her arms. Of all the ridiculous things to find appealing. While the rest of Olivia, every inch, was soft and sweet, her arms were strong, without an ounce of anything soft about them. He watched the muscles flex and relax as she kneaded the dough. Hours and hours of such work would strengthen the weakest arms. He imagined those hands, those arms doing something besides working dough, and decided it was time to leave even if he was going to miss a tasty treat.

“One of Lollie’s cinnamon buns is the only proper welcome to Pennford.” Mary said with a shy smile that made him smile back.

“I will have one at breakfast.” He closed his eyes for a minute and made himself turn away before he opened them. “Did you say that it would be ready by ten?”

“Yes, but sir, no one waits until breakfast if they can have a bun sooner. Even Cook allows it as long as there are some set aside for the duke and his brother. When the garden boys come in with the baskets, and the footmen come, they will smell the cinnamon and sugar and rush through their morning work.”

“Waiting for Miss Lollie’s cinnamon buns is hardly the way to begin my first day at work here. I will come back later and hope for the best, but perhaps not as late as ten.” Michael walked out of the kitchen to the sound of Olivia’s and Mary’s laughter, as fine a welcome as any cinnamon bun could be.

Fog rose through the trees and off the grass, as the first light seeped into the sky over the fields to the east of the castle. Michael walked along the path toward the gatehouse noting that a friendly smoke was pouring from the chimney at the stables. He could hear horses and grooms moving about, some laughter and a few curses. The day started with the light here. This was a pleasant enough life if you weren’t used to the city.

Michael considered taking Troy for a run but realized he needed some sleep before he did anything else.

He lay down on the blanket-covered bed, fully dressed, at the ready in case someone came.

Four hours of sleep refreshed him, even if he dreamt of something that smelled of cinnamon and was always just out of reach.

A sound woke him fully. Not a carriage or a horse at the gate, but the quiet click of a well-oiled door closing. He lay very still. It was not the door to his bedroom, but the sound of the door to the outside, down the narrow round of stairs that led to the small parlor.

Looking out the window he saw the fog had grown more dense, obscuring all but the vague shape of a man as he was swallowed in the mist. Since he was headed toward the castle Michael convinced himself it was one of the footmen delivering a message. Or a cinnamon bun. He took the time to dash some very cold water across his face and slick his hair back. He needed a bath, but that would have to wait.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he smelled cinnamon. Ah, the gift-giving fairy had brought him a cinnamon roll. Something between satisfaction and longing made him smile.

Michael came around the high-backed chair by the small fireplace, pretending that his mouth was not watering, but forgot food immediately when he saw, on the chest inside the front door, a basket containing a paper-wrapped parcel. He ripped the paper open and found a blue dress, with two petticoats, both white, of a quality that was obvious.

God help him, someone had left more of Olivia’s clothes here. He grabbed the basket by the handle as the distinct smell of Olivia’s cinnamon and spice perfume enveloped him.

Racing from the gatehouse he tore up the drive, certain that the man he’d seen was the culprit. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes.

He stopped and turned back without even going in the front door. The man would hardly be waiting around to see what his reaction would be. Even as he stepped away from the door, considering what to do next, Lord David came out of the castle, saw him and swore.

“You lying, thieving bastard. I have the note.”

“Note? I have no idea what you are talking about, my lord. Someone left these at the gatehouse not ten minutes ago.”

Lord David came closer to see what he held and still ready to commit murder.

“It was not me, for God’s sake. Not me. Think, man, why would I leave a note and then bring you the basket?”

“Huh,” was all that Lord David said for a moment. He closed his eyes and nodded as Michael’s question defused his rage. “Come with me.”

Michael followed him back to the castle. The porter eyed them with curiosity, but did not say a word.

Lord David trotted up the stairs and down the hall toward the duke’s office. He went into a door nearby, another office, this one filled with papers, endless piles of them, some held down with pieces of odd statuary. Other larger stone figures, equally unusual, sat on the floor and the tables.

Relics of his days in Mexico, Michael guessed. The bizarre, distorted figures were alarming on first glance. The opposite of warm and welcoming. Michael was sure it was deliberate.

“The note.” Lord David handed it to him.

It read:

She may be safe now but her reputation is compromised. How many people know? An alliance will put an end to the questions.

“Alliance.” Michael decided that was the key word in the note.

“Political. Personal.” Lord David tossed out two possible alliances.

“Personal. Marriage.” Michael said, imitating Lord David’s verbal skills. “There would be no reason to ruin her reputation if it is political.”

Her brother nodded.

“We can be easy about Lady Olivia’s safety. There will not be another attempt at abduction.”

“It is only her reputation that they wanted to ruin.” Lord David nodded as he spoke. “And they are going to use her clothes to do it.”

“Surely her reputation will survive the subterfuge. Lady Olivia is obviously well loved here. No one would believe ill of her.”

“Oh really?” Lord David sounded as curious as a suspicious parent.

“My finely honed skills of observation, my lord. They appear to have a use beyond discerning who is a spy.”

Lord David ignored the explanation. “If word of this reaches London there will never be an advantageous marriage.”

That did not matter to Olivia. Michael knew that. Surely Lord David did as well. But the duke might want it.