The Bed and the Bachelor (4 page)

Parker, the upper housemaid, Sebastianne already knew, but the plump blond girl with her was a stranger. She assumed this must be the much-discussed Cobbs.

With the staff lined up in a neat row, the introductions continued. The curly-haired man’s name proved to be Jasper, and he was the upper footman. His affable smile and open, cheerful demeanor put her instantly at ease. She’d already met the kitchen maid and scullion, of course—Polk and Finnegan returning to their tasks as soon as they were formally made known to her by Mr. Stowe. Parker, the upper housemaid, gave her a friendly nod while the other housemaid, who was indeed the elusive Cobbs, squeaked out a quiet greeting before executing a respectful dip of her knees.

Mr. Stowe informed Sebastianne that Lord Drake also employed a coachman, Mr. Morton, and two grooms, Jem and Harvey.

“You’ll meet them at mealtimes,” he said, “since otherwise they stay in the mews, occupied with the horses and carriages.”

And last was his lordship’s valet, Waxman, who not surprisingly kept his own schedule and took orders from no one but Lord Drake himself. As if mention of his name had summoned him, Waxman abruptly appeared, walking quickly into the kitchen.

At first glance he reminded her of a rule-bound gendarme—tall, proud and full of arrogant self-assurance. His dress was immaculate, as it should be, she supposed, given the custom of valets receiving their masters’ cast-off clothing. His light brown hair was brushed into a sleek wave that he combed high in an obvious attempt to hide the bald spot forming on the back of his head. His features were even, pleasant in a bland sort of way, but not his eyes—his gaze an exacting steely grey that was critically observant of all it surveyed.

I’ll have to be careful not to unduly attract his notice,
Sebastianne thought, instinctively realizing she would need to take pains to avoid Waxman when she conducted her search of the house.

“His lordship requires breakfast,” the valet announced in an imperious voice. “Eggs, toast and coffee. I should like the tray made ready in no more than ten minutes.”

Mrs. Tremble shot him an annoyed look. “Ye’ll have it in fifteen and be glad of it. Takes nearly that long to grind the beans and set the brew to steep.”

Before the valet had time to offer a rejoinder, Sebastianne stepped forward. “I would be happy to prepare the coffee for his lordship. Are the beans and mill kept in the stillroom?”

“Aye, and thank ye kindly,” Mrs. Tremble said, appearing grateful for the offer. Clearly focused on the meal she was about to prepare, the cook hooked a wicker basket over one arm and disappeared into the larder.

“Name’s Waxman,” the valet said, suddenly addressing Sebastianne. “And you must be the new housekeeper.”

Sebastianne met his gaze. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Greenway. How do you do?”

“Busy.”

She paused. “Ah, but then aren’t we all?”

Waxman pursed his lips, casting a sideways glance at the housemaids and footmen who loitered listening, and who he clearly thought should be engaged in some more active task.

Before he could make a further remark, Mr. Stowe rejoined the conversation. “I still need to show you around, Mrs. Greenway,” the butler said. “But it can wait a few minutes more while you see to Lord Drake’s breakfast. Pray join me in my room whenever you are ready.”

“Yes, I shall, thank you, Mr. Stowe.“

She frowned as she watched him leave, hoping she hadn’t offended him. But then why should she worry how smoothly she fit into the household? She wouldn’t be there long enough for it to matter.

Remembering the promised coffee, she hurried toward the stillroom.

Chapter 4

“D
rake, you came!” Claire, Duchess of Clybourne said, gliding toward him only moments after he entered the elegant Clybourne House drawing room.

“Well, of course, I did,” he replied, leaning down to brush a friendly kiss over his sister-in-law’s soft cheek. “Mama would have my head if I failed to turned up for your party, nor have I the least wish to disappoint you. So? How are you?”

Pausing, he cast an appraising glance at the rounded curve of her belly, which to his untutored eye seemed to grow bigger every time he saw her. “Still glad you braved the journey to London rather than remaining at Braebourne this spring?” he asked.

“I’m barely seven months along and have plenty of energy,” she defended, as if she’d heard the same before—quite likely from Ned. “Anyway, I couldn’t very well let the fact that I’m with child keep me from being in Town for my own sister’s come-out.”

“Your mother could have handled it surely.”

Claire made a face and lowered her voice to a careful sotto voce. “Yes, but could poor Ella?”

He barked out a laugh that drew glances from several guests, who studied him briefly before turning away again.

“And what of you, Drake?” Claire inquired. “How have you been in the week since last we met? Have you located a new solar system or something of an equally amazing nature? You’re always dug deep into one endeavor or another that we mere mortals can barely hope to comprehend.”

He raised an amused eyebrow at her teasing. “I believe you comprehend just fine, dear sister, even if your interests don’t lie among the stars.”

“Oh, I like the stars just fine—star
gazing
that is. I simply don’t care to know the best method for calculating their orbits.”

“Ah,” he mused aloud, deciding to indulge in his own bit of teasing. “Then I suppose I won’t engage you in a discussion about Kepler’s Laws and why they apply to planets but not stars. Nor point out that the sun is really an extremely large star, which means that when you look into the sky on a sunny day, you’re actually stargazing then too.”

Seeing her arrested, faintly slack-jawed expression, he realized he’d gone as far as he ought. “But enough talk of astronomy.” He paused, changing the subject. “You asked how I’ve been. Truth be told, my time of late has been spent in rather ordinary pursuits. I’ve hired a new housekeeper, who started only this morning.”

As soon as the words were out, he wished he could recall them, his thoughts abruptly filled with images of Anne Greenway—her bewitching features, her lyrical voice, the luminous intensity of her golden eyes and the kissable shape of her full, ripe, ruby lips.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“Might you care for a refreshment?” he asked, glancing around in hopes of finding a footman circulating close by with a tray of beverages. He could down two or three, he felt sure.

Luckily, Claire didn’t seem to notice his abrupt discomfort. “A lemonade would be most welcome,” she said. “And I am relieved to hear that you have found a replacement for Mrs. Beatty. I know her abrupt departure caused a great deal of unnecessary strife, but now you’ll be able to relax again.”

Drake fought the urge to admit that, for him at least, his new housekeeper was anything but relaxing.

“Come and let us have that refreshment,” she told him with a smile. “Then I suppose I should do my duty and mingle. As should you. No retreating to a convenient corner with pencil and paper in hand so you can scribble away the afternoon.”

“But that’s my favorite occupation at parties. You’re heartless to deny me.”

Chuckling at his mock outrage, she tucked her arm through his and led him forward.

As they walked, he took note of a great many people with whom he was acquainted, as well as many members of his family, including aunts, uncles and the usual assortment of cousins. He caught Edward’s gaze and exchanged a slight nod, unable to help but notice the expression of annoyance on his brother’s face as he stood conversing with the prime minister, Mr. Liverpool. As a confirmed Whig, Ned’s opinions were rarely in accord with the Tory leader’s.

Moving on, he saw his brother Cade, Cade’s wife, Meg, his younger sister Mallory and her new husband, Adam, Earl of Gresham—an old friend of the family’s whom he’d known since they were both very young men.

Mallory laughed just then and smiled up at Adam, her eyes shining with undisguised love. Adam smiled back, his own adoration—that frankly bordered on the besotted—clear for all to see. Drake was glad Mallory was so happy, particularly after the heartache she’d suffered not so long ago.

Honestly, though, he mused, he was beginning to feel a bit outnumbered, what with all of his older siblings and one of his little sisters falling in love and getting married. Even Jack, the wildest, most rakish Byron brother of them all—assuming one discounted the twins, Leo and Lawrence, who at twenty were working hard to outstrip Jack’s well-earned reputation—had traded in his freedom for a ring and vows of true love.

In fact, Jack wasn’t in London at all right now, having opted to skip the Season to be with his wife, Grace, their daughter Nicola and new baby, Virginia “Ginny,” at their home in Kent. Based on the last letter he’d had from Jack, his brother seemed to prefer the quiet, rural existence he shared with his new family. Apparently the raucous, fast-paced city life he used to enjoy with such exuberant excess was now little more than a vague, unmourned memory.

Certainly Drake wished all his married siblings the best and liked his sisters-in-law and brother-in-law very much. Yet he couldn’t help but fear it was giving his mother ideas concerning him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d soon find himself wed as well.

Not if I have a say in the matter,
he thought, stopping to procure a lemonade for Claire and a glass of wine for himself.

He’d just taken a drink when his mother appeared at his elbow, Claire drifting away with a friendly waggle of her fingers.

“Drake, you came!” exclaimed Ava Byron, in an echo of her daughter-in-law’s earlier remark. Her clear green eyes, that were very much like his own, sparkled with youthful exuberance and delight. Truthfully, if she wasn’t the mother of eight children—only one of whom was still young enough to be in the schoolroom—no one would believe she had passed her fiftieth year. With barely a few strands of grey in her light brown hair and scarcely a line on her face, she was still one of the most beautiful women in the room.

“I told you I’d be here,” he said, leaning over to press a kiss her cheek. “You and Claire ought to have more faith.”

“We have plenty of faith, but we both know you well enough to realize how . . .” She paused, clearly in search of a word that wouldn’t offend. “ . . .
preoccupied
you sometimes become with your work.”

“Forgetful, you mean. Well, not today. Otherwise, you told me that I was in danger of becoming dull.”

Ava smiled. “You could never be
dull
. You’re a Byron! But you do seem to spend a very great deal of time locked inside that workshop of yours. You need to be out among people. You need to mingle more.”

He sent her a penetrating look, a prickle of warning running down his back. “As hostesses, it’s your and Claire’s job to mingle. I’m just here to eat and drink, speak to a select few people, then go home.”

“And I know just the people with whom you should speak.”

“
Mama,
” he said, the prickle sending up a definite alarm this time. “What are you up to? You’re not trying to matchmake, are you?”

Ava looked offended. “Of course not. And I’m not
up
to anything. You know me better than that.”

He nodded, relaxing slightly.

“But an old acquaintance of mine, Lord Saxon, does happen to be here. He’s a widower, and he has brought his daughter with him. It’s her very first Season, and she’s a rather shy girl, in spite of her pretty face.”

“Mother—”
He scowled.

“—You don’t have to pay court to her. Just engage her in a little conversation, perhaps offer to escort her into nuncheon.”

“I’m not
escorting
her anywhere, and nuncheon is out of the question.”

“Just make her acquaintance then. And be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” he said on a rumbling growl.

Ava sent him another look. “Nicer than that.”

He swallowed a sigh of resignation. “Fine. I’ll be good. Lead on, and don’t blame me afterward if she wishes we’d never met.”

S
ebastianne collapsed into the wide chair in the housekeeper’s room—
her
room she supposed now that she had officially assumed her new duties. The chamber was small, yet tidy, an interesting combination of office and sitting area that was located in the basement. Here she could prepare marketing lists of goods and foodstuffs, reconcile the household accounts and speak to any staff who needed a word in private. The room was also the place where the senior staff—Mr. Stowe, Mrs. Tremble and Mr. Waxman—should he decide to join them—removed each day to enjoy their dessert, coffee and a glass of sherry once the servants’ dinner was finished.

After her tour with Mr. Stowe, she’d assumed she might be able to sneak in a few minutes here and there to search for the cipher. With Lord Drake out of the house for the afternoon and evening, it seemed an excellent opportunity. But to her great frustration, she couldn’t find a moment to spare amid the myriad tasks that settled upon her shoulders. First, there were Parker and Cobbs to be satisfied, the housemaids hovering with clear expectation that she would want to inspect their work. Aware that this task was indeed part of her job, she walked through each room, checking for cleanliness and order. All the rooms, that is, except Lord Drake’s workroom.

“We’re not to go in there without his lordship’s express permission and never when he’s out of the house,” Parker volunteered in a confidential tone. “Says we disarrange things even though they’re all a jumble to start. But he has a system, he says, and it’s not to be meddled with.”

Cobbs nodded her agreement with solemn assurance.

“Yelled at me something frightful one time when I first started,” Parker continued. “All’s I did was straighten a pile of his papers, and you’d think I’d tossed ’em all on the hot grate the way he carried on. Says I cost him an entire week’s work, but I don’t see as how I could have.”

Sebastianne did, though, thinking of her father’s seemingly hap-dash way of organizing his own space. He too had a system that was incomprehensible to everyone—everyone but her. Over the years, when she hadn’t been busy taking care of the family household, she’d served as his assistant. As such, she’d learned mathematics from him even though females were traditionally discouraged from studying such a masculine discipline. But Papa had always been proud, encouraging her to learn in spite of her mother’s gentle admonitions that such knowledge would only lead to trouble.

Ironic that her mother had been right though not for the reasons either of them had imagined at the time. Fateful that Mama, who died when Sebastianne was only fifteen, had unwittingly provided her with the other essential skill she needed in order to perpetrate her current charade. For if her mother had not been British, Sebastianne would never have known how to speak English so flawlessly that everyone would assume she was a native born and bred.

Half–born and bred
, she corrected, thinking of her dual heritage and her resulting affinity for languages. In addition to French and English, she was fluent in Spanish and Italian, with enough German and Russian to make do. But she had a pretense to maintain, she reminded herself, aware that she must remember to appear as British as possible at all times.

Linking her hands behind her back, she forced her memories aside, struggling as she did to quiet the churning in her stomach over knowing herself a cheat. For no matter what choices she made now, she was destined to hurt and betray someone. Better those for whom she did not care, she reasoned, than those she loved.

Without warning, Drake Byron’s face popped into her mind. Her pulse sped faster as she thought of his angular features and clear green eyes, which were so honest and insightful, so captivating and breathlessly male. It would be easy for a woman to lose herself in eyes like those. Easy to forget herself and her true purpose.

Bah!
she told herself, coming back to the present.

With an imperceptible shake of her head, she sternly banished the image, calling herself a ridiculous widgeon.

“If we are not to enter his lordship’s workroom,” Sebastianne said, returning to the discussion at hand, “then how is the chamber ever cleaned?”

“Oh, he lets us in every so often to do a dusting and polish,” Parker volunteered. “So long as we don’t move anything, he’s fine enough. Mrs. Beatty used to wait until he went out, then sneak in and clean.”

But despite her own wish that she could “sneak in,” Sebastianne found her afternoon far too busy to play spy. Instead, after her inspection of the housemaid’s work, she went to the linen cupboard to sort and arrange the contents—removing a few sheets that needed mending.