Tainted by Temptation (22 page)

She spun and took the steps fast enough that he worried her skirts would trip her. He followed behind ready to catch her if she took a misstep.

As she said, he couldn’t afford to have another woman’s violent death associated with him.

V
elvet found the days torturous. The guests were all abuzz with Lucian’s attentions to Miss Bowman. They had even walked alone several times, and Lucian was distant in his dealings with her. The schoolroom was not even much of a sanctuary, with the constant battles with the dressmaker to keep her dresses plain.

“R-Rick of limb-b,” said Iris.

“Rack of lamb,” corrected Velvet.

“Why is there a
b
if you aren’t supposed to say it?” asked Iris.

“I don’t know. English had silly rules.” She rubbed the girl’s shoulders.

Watching the meal planning with the kitchen staff had piqued Iris’s interest. Yesterday, even though it had taken three times as long, she had written out today’s menu one painstaking letter at a time. Velvet was grateful for anything that made Iris want to learn.

“Are you ready to take the menu down to the kitchen?”

Iris hopped up and snatched the paper from the desk. “Will Cook be able to read it?”

“Of course she shall,” reassured Velvet. Even if she couldn’t, they would go over what it said. Besides, the remaining contents of the larder and pantry had determined the menu.

They descended to the lower level and opened the green baize door leading to the bowels of the house.

“Miss Campbell,” called Mrs. Bigsby in stentorian tones. “I’d like a word with you?”

Velvet paused. She steeled herself to turn around. Mrs. Bigsby’s displeasure was apparent in the grooves from the corners of her lips to her chin. She’d been avoiding the housekeeper, who didn’t like having her place usurped by a governess.

Iris paused and looked between the two adult women. Her eyes grew big and round.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Bigsby?” asked Velvet warily.

“Where are you taking Miss Iris at night? Nellie tells me she has not slept in her own bed in well over a week.”

“We are sleeping where Mr. Pendar instructed us to sleep.”

Mrs. Bigsby’s upper lip pulled up, and then her mouth flattened into a thin line. “I hardly think that it is appropriate that you have Iris with you when you . . . entertain the master.”

“I don’t ‘entertain him,’ ” protested Velvet, but her cheeks burned. “Perhaps you should voice your concerns to Mr. Pendar.”

“We’re sleeping in my mama’s room,” said Iris. “Miss Campbell locks the doors every night, although Papa comes in and kisses us good-night.”

Out of the mouths of babes.

Velvet’s ears burned and she wished she could crawl away. “He kisses Iris good-night and sleeps in his own room, and I do not enter it.” It wasn’t strictly the truth, but close enough. She’d never been in his bed, which actually might be more respectable than their encounter on the ground. “We are both concerned about Iris having
nightmares.
”

Fortunately, Mrs. Bigsby seemed too shocked to respond, but the gasps of two maids going through with breakfast trays no doubt meant all the servants would soon know. It was amazing they had managed to keep it quiet for a full week.

Iris opened her mouth to say more, but Velvet interrupted. “Cook needs that menu now.”

Velvet’s furious blush probably condemned her. Pushing Iris forward, she practically ran to the kitchen. Had Iris been awake that first night when Lucian came in the room? Just outside the door she whispered, “Your papa does not kiss me good-night. It was only once—”

“Yes, he does. He waits until almost morning, and he comes in our room and kisses me and tells me to go back to sleep. Then he looks at you a long time and kisses your forehead.” Iris bit her lip. “He always looks sad. Why don’t you want my papa kissing you?”

But she did want him kissing her. Her hands shook as she led Iris into the kitchen. The shaking took over Velvet’s entire body as Iris handed over the menu.

“What is wrong with you, Miss Campbell?” asked the cook. Her little mouth pursed between her puffy cheeks. “You aren’t sick, are you? You’ve been looking mighty pale these last few days.”

“I’m not ill,” she answered. She was heartsick, and no matter how she denied it, she was in love with Lucian. And maybe there was a chance he cared about her. “I just need some fresh air. Iris, please wait for me here.”

Velvet rushed through the kitchen and out the cellar door. Tears burned her eyes, and her sobs threatened to choke her. She had been so certain Lucian did not see her as more than a moment’s indiscretion. After all, on the cliff she had thrown herself at him. But if all he ever wanted from her was a physical encounter, why would he watch her sleep?

She strode forward as fears assaulted her. What if Iris
dreamed
her papa’s presence? Velvet swiped at the tears. She couldn’t fall apart now.

As she paced the length of the kitchen garden, she realized a couple was talking on the other side of the fence. Wanting to be alone with her thoughts, she slowed her steps and began to tiptoe away from the voices.

“Are you certain our daughter would be safe married to him?” a female voice asked. “That scar . . . and what happened to his first wife. I know our Eliza would never be so unmannerly as to conduct an affair under her husband’s nose, but I cannot be easy about this scheme.”

“Eliza wants to be rich. Pendar will certainly make her that. He will make all of us rich. I have explained she will always have family around her.”

Velvet searched her limited knowledge of the young ladies for which one was Eliza, but of course it had to be Miss Bowman.

“Are you sure he will propose, because Eliza reports he says he must give her time to know her own mind, and he wants to escort her to the opera in London before tendering a proper offer.”

“He will see the sense in marrying our daughter if he wants this railroad deal.”

Velvet gasped. Was Lucian being coerced into marrying Miss Bowman? She clapped a hand over her mouth. She knew she should quit eavesdropping, but she couldn’t tear herself away.

“What was that?” said the female.

Velvet ducked and looked for a place to hide.

“Just the sea, love. It is so restless. Eliza will be safe with us in London for most of the time. Beyond that, should Pendar ever step out of line, why the disappearance of a female from his household would be enough to see him hanged. No, I imagine he’ll be controllable.”

“My God, you are not suggesting . . .”

“Not to worry, my dear. At least one serving wench could be bribed to disappear and start a new life in America or some such.”

“But no one would be able to prove—”

“Yes, well with his mistress found with her head bashed in and his wife thrown over a cliff, he will surely not be offered the benefit of the doubt.”

Velvet’s heart raced.

“And someone would need to run his affairs,” said Mr. Bowman in a speculative tone.

“I see,” said Mrs. Bowman. “But I shall never forgive you if our daughter is harmed.”

“She’s a tough one. Reminds me of myself, if I do say so. Come what may, she’ll land on her feet.”

The voices moved away, and Velvet tried to still the wild beating of her heart. She had to warn Lucian of the hellish pit he was about to fall into.

Miss Campbell raced by as if she’d seen a ghost. Iris popped off the stool where Cook made her sit in the corner of the kitchen.

“You’ll get trampled, miss. There’s too many going to and fro with knives and all that. Now how do you think I’d feel if you accidentally got tossed in the soup?” Cook said.

Taking a page from Miss Campbell’s book, Iris said, “The meals have been so good, Papa is eating too much.”

“I ’spect he works up a good appetite swimming like he’s fleeing demons,” said Cook. “Go on, now. I’m sure your governess is going to look around and wonder why you’re not right behind her.”

One of the day girls looked like she was about to burst with wanting to talk to Cook. Iris suspected they wanted to talk about grown-up things. She sighed and left the kitchen. If the girls in the village weren’t so stupid, maybe she could have girl secrets with someone her own age.

She trailed after Miss Campbell and saw her cross the hall and open the library door. Iris swallowed hard and walked across the cold echoing marble. She only hoped Papa would not be too mad that she had revealed his secret visits. But she wasn’t stupid. If Papa had to marry, she much preferred Miss Campbell to Miss Bowman.

Miss Bowman looked at her as if she were tempted to sweep her out with the dust.

Iris opened the heavy door and slipped inside. Her footsteps turned silent as she stepped onto the heavy Indian rug. Miss Campbell stood in the doorway to Papa’s office, but she had gone very still.

“Yes, did you need to speak to me, Miss Campbell?” asked Papa.

Miss Campbell stepped back into Iris and twisted around, steadying her. Her eyes were wild. Her expression was scary, because Miss Campbell was so good at staying calm. She hadn’t even looked this upset when she discovered all her clothes destroyed.

“It will wait.” Miss Campbell caught her hand and squeezed hard.

“Iris, take Miss Bowman and show her the pictures in the gallery. Count how many times your bracelet appears.”

Miss Bowman leaned forward in the chair where she was lounging in Papa’s office. She slowly stood and plastered a fake smile on her face. “Shall we sally forth, Miss Iris? I have been wanting an opportunity to get to know you better.”

“No,” Miss Campbell said. “It is quite all right. I can wait until later.” She backed toward the door and dragged Iris.

Miss Bowman smiled like a cat lapping cream and started to sit back down.

Papa arose from his chair.

Much as she hated the idea of spending a minute alone with Miss Bowman, Iris yanked her hand loose and displayed the band circling her wrist. “My bracelet is in six paintings. I will show you, Miss Bowman. I can point out the other jewelry Papa still has in his strongbox.”

Miss Bowman looked torn.

Papa walked past Miss Campbell and opened the library door. “We’ll only be a minute.”

Miss Bowman put her hand on his sleeve as she passed. “Don’t worry about us. I’m sure Iris and I will have a lovely time getting to know one another.”

Her smile fell away as soon as the door closed behind them. Pinpoints of red grew in her cheeks and her mouth tightened. She didn’t look very pretty when she was angry.

Iris muttered a quick prayer that Miss Bowman’s face would fix like that, but she supposed Miss Campbell would chastise her. It didn’t matter, because God was a loving parent, who knew when to say no to prayer. At least according to Miss Campbell, God often said no, and one must trust He had a plan.

All the same, Iris didn’t like Miss Bowman’s anger directed at Miss Campbell. Maybe she had been the one to rip up the clothes. Maybe she didn’t like the way Papa looked at Miss Campbell. Maybe Miss Bowman wanted Papa all to herself.

Miss Bowman stared at the door. “What does she want with your father?”

Her words were so mean, like a dog ready to bite, Iris feared she just might attack Miss Campbell. Scrambling, she sorted through reasons Miss Campbell might want to talk to Papa, reasons that would not alarm Miss Bowman.

“I’m in for it now,” said Iris.

“Why? What did you do?” Miss Bowman swiveled and bent down in front of her. “Have you been naughty?”

Unprepared to answer, Iris stuttered and finally blurted, “I tore up my lesson books.”

Miss Bowman laughed. “Oh, you have been very naughty indeed. Do you not like your lessons?”

Iris shrugged. She felt disloyal to Miss Campbell. Even though the letters always seemed to swim on the page, Miss Campbell was helping her to make sense of them. The struggle seemed unbearable at times, but she finally had begun to feel she might succeed. “I like playing the piano. One day I shall play the harp like my mama.”

“How old are you?” asked Miss Bowman.

Iris opened her mouth to say she was nine, but Miss Bowman didn’t wait.

“My sister Evelyn is eight, and my sister Margaret is twelve. I should imagine when you visit you could get up to all sorts of pranks with them.” She walked toward the gallery. “George is in between them, but like all boys, he is awful.”

She walked ahead of Iris and stared at a painting. “Is that necklace part of the family collection?”

Iris shrugged. She had no idea which pieces were in Papa’s possession.

Miss Bowman walked down the gallery studying the portraits. “You are very fair to come from so many dark-haired people.”

“I favor my mama. She was very pretty,” said Iris.

Miss Bowman cast her a sour look.

“I would like to have a brother, even if he were awful,” said Iris.

“Don’t count on having one,” muttered Miss Bowman.

“Papa wants a son, even if he does say he would never trade me for the world.”

Miss Bowman flattened her mouth and said, “It is not good for a father to be too fond of his daughter . . . or her governess.”

Velvet hesitated. It was embarrassing enough to tell Lucian she had been eavesdropping, and worse in that she might appear to be trying to rid herself of her romantic rival.

“You had something you wished to tell me?” asked Lucian. He moved to lean over a table where the map of England was displayed.

“I was in the garden, and I accidentally overheard Mr. and Mrs. Bowman discussing . . .” Velvet couldn’t finish. She wanted to run away, but how could she allow Lucian to go into an arrangement where he was in peril?

Lucian straightened and folded his arms across his chest. “My possible marriage to their daughter?”

He watched her with his dark eyes intense.

A flush crept up her cheeks. “Yes, or their plans to keep you in line after your n-nuptials.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She had to just spit it out. “Mr. Bowman spoke of bribing a young woman of your household to disappear, and you would be held accountable and possibly hanged, and he would gain control of your finances.”

Lucian’s brows drew together.

It sounded almost too fantastic as she said it. “I just thought you should know.”