An Affair Downstairs (6 page)

He didn't wake up every morning eager to see her smile. He never went out of his way hoping to bump into her. She wasn't on his mind unless she was directly in front of him, making herself unavoidable. He had no feelings for her at all. She was just another member of the family he served. Or so it had to be.

An ache filled his lungs, nearly cutting off his ability to breathe. He hadn't felt so empty, so alone, since Julia's death years ago. But it wasn't as if Alice had died, he reminded himself. She had her youth and good humor. A little heartache was part of growing up. What young woman hadn't once cried bitter tears for the wrong man?

Had Julia cried for him? He wondered. He'd never known. She'd chosen to marry Stanhope, and it had cost her dearly. She'd certainly cried over Stanhope, time and time again. In the end, Logan had been the one to comfort her, but he'd been all too aware that she'd soaked his handkerchief with tears of pain, sorrow, and regret for the man that the Earl of Stanhope had turned out to be, and not for what she'd given up with Logan. He'd lost her as a lover, but had remained her dutiful friend. Duty kept him centered. His life's purpose had become to serve. There really wasn't anything else left for him.

Once Alice drifted entirely from view, Logan turned back toward the woods, lifted one of the loaded rifles, and shot at the thick trunk of the tree he'd stood in front of not long ago. He couldn't see in the dark, but he knew that his shot hit dead center. His shots never missed the mark, even when words were his chosen weapon, a pity for poor young Alice's heart.

***

Alice wasn't giving up. Once she'd calmed down and thought things through, she realized that Mr. Winthrop simply did not understand how much he needed her. Yet.

The truth was that she'd given him reason to laugh again. Whatever he'd gone through in the past was serious and shattering, and no one had bothered to build the man back up. He certainly wasn't capable of doing it himself. He'd buried himself in duty and responsibility and forgotten how to
live
. She meant to remind him.

If he hadn't been such a thoughtless prig during her shooting lesson, he might have had the honor of a visit from her after hours in the conservatory. She might have finally been bold enough to deliver the kiss that would rouse him from his slumber. Fairy tales could be reversed, couldn't they? Perhaps in their version, he was the sleeping beauty, and she would have to fight the dragons of his past that weighed on him and leave him free to live again. She fancied herself in head-to-toe armor headed to battle. It was a good look for her. But tonight, instead of armor, she wore a rose-colored gown that Sophia had once feared would clash with the red in Alice's hair.

Ridiculous, she thought, looking into her mirror. It looked entirely too pretty on her to waste on Mr. Brumley. Suddenly, she wished she hadn't left the plum sheath with the Elizabethan collar in Sophia's dressing room. Perhaps if she left early, she would have time to change? But the Thornes were still in residence. Eve would probably interfere again and agree that the rose looked lovely on Alice, and Sophia would realize that even with Alice's hair, the rose was better than the plum by far. She resigned herself to the rose.

In any event, she wouldn't see Mr. Winthrop tonight. He needed time to himself to realize just how miserable his dutiful life was without Alice to delight him.

“Alice, you never fail to delight me.” He had said it in his kitchen just that morning. He could deny it and claim he'd said “surprise” instead of “delight” all he wanted, but she knew the truth. She'd heard him loud and clear. In an unguarded moment, he'd admitted how she truly affected him. He'd never convince her that he was indifferent to her, at least not for long.

“The spirits have been active!” Agatha declared, storming into Alice's room. “We have a poltergeist.”

“A poltergeist? Is that why you're not ready for dinner?”

Agatha's white hair, out of her chignon, flew every which way. She wore only her camisole and pantalets. Agatha hadn't bothered with a corset in twenty years. “Indeed. No need for fear, my child. Poltergeists are seldom vindictive. They're more known for mischief and playful tricks. It seems that tonight's playful trick was to hide my canary gown that I'd planned to wear. I've looked everywhere. No sign of it.”

“Where could it be? Spirited away?” Alice knew exactly where it was, left behind at Winthrop's, but she could hardly confess that to Agatha. Tonight, she would let the ghost take the blame.

“Exactly!” Agatha wagged a finger. “Whisked into the spirit world until our culprit decides to bring it back. Perhaps if I leave a bowl of sweet milk and crackers on the bedside table, the spirit will take an interest and return with my gown.”

“Poltergeists like sweet milk and crackers?”

Agatha nodded. “They adore sweets. Oh, but so does Miss Puss. She might drink it all up before the poltergeist returns. Dear, what's to be done?”

Miss Puss was Agatha's ghost cat, a remnant from Lord Averford's grandmother's time. Only Agatha had seen Miss Puss in recent years. “I suggest you choose another gown for dinner. Sophia's sending the car for us in a quarter hour. I can meet Dale and delay.”

“Good child. Yes. That will help. I'll wear my chartreuse instead. If only we could figure out who our poltergeist is and what he wants. Once they get what they're after, they usually fade back into the netherworld.”

Alice shrugged. “Perhaps he's a she. She did take your gown. I hardly think a male would do such a thing.”

Agatha smiled as if Alice had said something ridiculous. “Sweet, innocent Alice. There are plenty of men who enjoy dressing up in gowns. You wouldn't know about such things of course, but I had a lover once who…”

“You? Had a lover?” Alice had imagined that Agatha had always been single, never married or even kissed. Never before had Agatha mentioned having a lover.

“I've had several. Why do you think I never married? I was ruined before I was eighteen. I couldn't resist Lord Pottersdam, the scoundrel, and he convinced me to run away with him. He refused to marry me, of course, because he had an understanding with Lady Sylvia Mannersly, a much wealthier heiress. After that, there were Lord Fitzharris and Mr. Scottsdale. Oh, and Lord Beauville. He's the one who liked to wear my clothes.”

“You've never said anything. All these years. I thought you were a spinster.”

“Well, of course. I never married. Your mother prefers people to think I've been chaste. It has been so long since I've had a lover that everyone's forgotten. Remember that, dear heart, if you're ever in a pinch. Scandals pass. There's always a new one to wipe away the old.”

“I'll keep it in mind.” She wondered if her aunt had foreseen scandal in her near future. Alice certainly hoped so. “You get ready. I'll go down and wait for the car.”

With the arrival of the lemon trees two weeks later, Alice decided to resume speaking to Mr. Winthrop. She'd offered her help with them after all, and it hardly seemed fair to leave the man alone with Brumley, even if Winthrop had behaved wretchedly toward her in pretending there wasn't an attraction between them.

Unfortunately, Brumley wouldn't be put off, no matter how she'd tried to dissuade him. She believed in equal rights for women. He believed wives should be subservient to their husbands. She enjoyed outdoor activities. He preferred to sit inside with a book. Every time she pointed out a departure of sensibilities between them, he seemed to take it as encouragement to further press a courtship.

She had a feeling that he was getting dangerously close to proposing, putting her in the awkward position of having to say no and explain the refusal to her sister. Sophia would never understand why Alice would turn down such an opportunity, leading to arguments between them, and what if Sophia threatened to send her home to Mother? It would be far easier to simply convince Brumley that there could never be any love between them.

She paused outside the conservatory. What if Brumley were there, but Winthrop wasn't? She couldn't risk being alone with Brumley when he seemed to be waiting for the chance to request her hand. Winthrop would never appreciate how vulnerable a position she had put herself in for his sake. Still, she decided to hazard a walk downstairs, target the first available maid, and insist that she needed assistance. She would ring for one except that they were all so carried away with preparations for the ball that most of them had stopped responding to bells unless they could be sure the earl or countess was ringing.

At the bottom of the stairs, Alice bumped straight into Winthrop, who was carrying an enormous pair of gardening shears.

“You seem intent on impaling me,” she quipped. True to form, he didn't even manage a small smile. Why did she put herself out for him?

“The sharp end is facing my way. I would never risk carrying shears point-out. It would be madness.”

“Relax, Mr. Winthrop. I was joking.”

He raised a dark brow. “Do you find something funny in safety hazards?”

“Says the man who pointed a rifle at someone he did not intend to shoot, or so he claims.” She would not lose her sense of humor, no matter how stone-faced he chose to remain.

“We've been over that. The rifle wasn't loaded. You might have been a robber. But speaking of rifles, why haven't you turned up for your next lesson? Capricious Lady Alice, her interest proves short-lived once again.” His eyes flashed with a challenge.

She would not be cowed. “I thought you had enough duties in running Thornbrook Park without taking on the burden of one more. I'll learn to shoot. Eventually.” She hadn't been near a rifle since her ill-fated afternoon with Winthrop.

“Soon.” His eyes narrowed. “Or you'll forget everything I already showed you and our efforts will have been a waste of time.”

“Not a waste, Mr. Winthrop. I have a sharp mind. I'll not soon forget the lesson I learned.” She smiled, smug. “To further prove I'm not capricious, I've come to offer my assistance with the lemon trees. I'd told you I would, and here I am. How did they fare on the journey?”

“We lost half, one to the cold and one to disease.”

“That means two trees survived the journey, which seems fortunate considering the recent drop in temperatures.”

He nodded. “If they'd stayed in port any longer, we'd have lost them all, most likely. Mr. Brumley is very excited to supervise their replanting.”

“He's in the conservatory now?” She let go her sigh of relief that she hadn't gone right in. “Alone?”

“Alone with his books. He has brought three manuals with him, and he's trying to decide which soil composition will be most suitable. Shall I congratulate you?”

“On what?” She felt the color drain from her face, fearing the worst.

“Your happy change in circumstances? The impending nuptials?”

“To Brumley? Good lord, I would rather impale myself on your shears.”

“So you haven't accepted him?” Finally, a note of happiness in his voice. “A wonder he stays around.”

“He hasn't asked. I have a feeling he's waiting to get me alone, which is why I came in search of a maid to accompany me into the conservatory. I prefer not to be alone with him, if I can help it.”

“Be warned. He has been speaking of you as his future bride. I think it's only a matter of time. Perhaps at the ball.”

“The ball!” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Of course. The perfect opportunity to whisk me out into the moonlight and propose. I don't want to dance every dance, but I have to be sure I have partners to avoid being alone with him.”

“It sounds like an impossible task.”

“Help me.” She placed her hands over his on the shear handles. “Keep watch and dance with me every time I look to be without a partner. Please, Winthrop.” Her eyes held his gaze, and she hoped he could see the urgency in them.

“I would love to be of assistance to you, Lady Alice, but I'm not attending the ball.”

“Not attending? You must. It's a ball. At Thornbrook Park. Which you oversee.”

He shrugged. “It's not a requirement for me to attend. I do what needs to be done and step back. I could attend, of course. Lady Averford has invited me to join the festivities. But I tend to avoid such affairs.”

“Avoid? But it was
your
idea.”

“That doesn't mean I have to attend. I've seen to it that everything is in order. The overnight guests begin arriving tomorrow. The rooms have been readied. The ballroom floor has been uncovered and mopped. The wall separating the dining room from the parlor will be removed today, which is why you'll be dining on trays tonight, or at the Dower House in your case.”

“You took down a whole wall? Just for an event?”

“It folds up, to be concealed in a space between the rooms. It was constructed so that it could be removed to enlarge the space for parties. The hinges had to be repaired, however, due to the length of time the wall has been left in place.”

“Oh. You've been busy.”

“Overseeing the stocking of the pantry, the menus, the budget, and the preparations of the house and gardens.”

“It's so cold in the gardens at night.”

“Not cold enough to deter guests from seeking a late-night stroll. It gets stifling in a crowded ballroom, or haven't you noticed?”

“I have. I suppose you're right.” She hadn't been to many balls, and none of them recently.

Still, she could remember the heat and the excitement, getting carried away with the feeling of triumph when a handsome man asked her to dance, and defeat when a better-looking one asked one of her friends. It all seemed such a part of her past, her dazzling youth. She was a woman of the world now, or so she preferred to think of herself.

She supposed she wouldn't truly be a woman until she'd properly made love with a man. Nibbling her lip, she absently studied Winthrop's solid jaw. What it would be like to drop kisses, soft as butterfly wings, along his jaw and down his neck?

Suddenly he dropped the shears, snapping her to attention, and wrapped his arms around her. He felt it, too! He was overcome.

“Logan.” She spoke his given name before crushing her lips to his.

***

Her mouth covered his before he realized what was happening. But once he tasted her sweetness, he couldn't stop. He drew on her tongue as she boldly slipped it between his lips, urging her to explore before he took the lead and showed her the pleasure created when two tongues met and tangled. He kissed her until he lost all power to breathe, and then he backed away, prepared to apologize profusely.

“Lady Alice. I'm sorry. I reached out because I thought you were going to faint again. You were so still for a minute there, and your eyes became heavy-lidded.”

“I may yet,” she said, looking up at him, eyes wide. “But I'm not sorry. I've wanted to kiss you for a long time, Logan. I think we could have something wonderful.”

“Something wonderful,” he repeated, lost for a minute in her hazel eyes. How could eyes have so many colors? Green, brown, gold. Her eyes were bewitching. He could study them all day long. But he remembered himself in time. Not quite in time. He'd kept an arm around her waist, resting on her backside, for a few seconds too long. He pulled it back.

“Lady Alice, you know I admire you. You've become a dear friend, and I've had precious few of those, honestly. But we can't have anything like you're suggesting. Please. Be my friend. Expect nothing more from me.”

He held out his hand, hoping she would shake it, cementing the bonds of friendship. She closed her eyes a moment, then popped them open and tilted her head. “Friends. Yes, of course, Mr. Winthrop. I'm delighted that you count me among your friends, and I hope you continue to do so.”

Relief was what he expected to feel on such news, but disappointment weighed on him heavily. Something wonderful was within his grasp, and he'd left it on the shelf. What choice did he have? He could only give her temporary pleasure at best, a season's diversion, and she deserved a lifetime of wonderful. She was just young enough to think living for the moment a fine idea, unaware of how quickly such moments pass. And then, a lifetime of emptiness ahead, a trail of moments that ended too soon and led nowhere.

Lady Alice deserved so much more. He knew her well enough to know that no one could turn her against something she'd set her mind to. The key was in subtly convincing her that she'd wanted something else all along. He prayed that the right young man for her would be at the ball, ready to sweep her off her feet. She would forget all about him, he reflected with a pang.

“The lemon trees, and Mr. Brumley, await. Shall we face the challenge together, my friend?” He laced fingers with hers, though it pained him to do so. To let himself get close to her even in friendship, only in friendship, fed the hungry ache in his core. He was a man, after all, and she was a desirable woman.

“Stay with me,” she begged. “At all costs. Don't leave me alone with the oaf.”

“I won't leave you to Brumley,” he said, stooping to retrieve the shears. “I promise.”

At the top of the stairs, he conveniently let go of her hand to open the door for her, and he didn't reach for it again. It wouldn't do to be seen hand-clasped with a member of the family. Down the hall in the conservatory, Brumley sat, book in his lap, on the bench next to the trees in their pots.

“Lady Alice.” At their approach, he shot to his feet. “A pleasure to see you again. I'm so glad you've joined us.”

“Lady Alice has experience with citrus trees,” Logan explained, flashing the barest hint of a smile at Alice. He suspected it had been an exaggeration. “She has promised to share her knowledge.”

She wrung her hands, probably to avoid holding one out to Brumley, who looked eager to grab on. “What little knowledge I have, that is. I watched my mother tend our trees, but I provided little assistance to her, to be honest.”

“Of course. Leave the men to the work and you can look on admiringly. It's a woman's job to ornament the room.”

Logan watched Alice's face go red until he thought her pretty eyes would pop out of her head. But instead, she took a breath and offered a sweet smile. “I'll stand here and watch until I have worthy advice.”

“I'll be waiting for your wisdom. Meanwhile, it's time to transfer our prizes from the confines of their travel containers to their more spacious plots. I do believe I've dug deep enough. What say you, Lady Alice?” Logan deferred to her for advice before turning to Brumley.

“Yes. It looks sufficient.” She agreed, taking a moment to study the six-foot-square, four-foot-deep box he'd constructed for the trees. “They'll be lovely there as they grow taller, with the other greenery filling in around them.”

It would suit while they were small, before their roots spread wider. Provided they survived a year or two, he could devise a new plan for their continued growth. Once the trees were replanted, he would ornament the boxes somehow, hide them with a row of shrubbery, paint them, or affix stones. He hadn't decided, but the goal was to incorporate the trees seamlessly into their garden-like surroundings.

“I beg to differ, Lady Alice. They might be too close, both in the one box,” Brumley said.

Logan knew she took a second calming breath, because his eyes were drawn suddenly from her face to the tops of her breasts, just barely visible through the diaphanous blue material that covered her décolletage and the darker blue bodice of the gown. Blue was more her sister's color. Green suited Alice better. Or the rose color he'd seen her wear on occasion. Her breasts were small, but not as flat as she supposed. They were ripe little apples waiting to be picked. Or lemons perhaps would be more apt, considering the trees… Why was he thinking of her breasts? He had to stop thinking of her as a woman and remember that she was only his friend.

“But Mr. Brumley, we consulted on the planting, and you thought the proportions ideal. Changed your mind, have you?” Logan turned his attention from Alice. “One box, six feet square to give the roots room to spread, and three deep. I added some depth, just in case, and I've ensured for adequate drainage.”

“I suppose it looks different in execution than I'd imagined. Smaller, somehow. But of course, I referred to Edith Wharton's
Italian
Villas
and
Gardens
for such a recommendation. I'll consult Howard's
Garden
Cities
of
Tomorrow
to see if he has anything to add.” He returned to his bench and book.

“I might need Sturridge's assistance.” Logan wouldn't ask Alice to dirty her hands with stepping into the box to hold the trees upright while he shoveled the soil around them, and Brumley clearly couldn't be relied upon. “Lady Alice, could you go after him for me?”