Through the Smoke (20 page)

Lord Druridge was back. Rachel felt the excitement amongst the servants and heard the buzz of their voices in the kitchen as she put the teakettle on to boil for Cook.

A few minutes later, she saw him stride into the manse, looking slightly haggard—cold and tired. He must have been traveling all night to arrive so early in the morning.

Linley trudged in behind him and went straight to his bed while the earl climbed the staircase and disappeared into his study, where he remained all day. Rachel knew he was there because once it grew dark, she kept checking for light under the door. She was supposed to dust the bookshelves and was
afraid Mrs. Poulson would find fault with her if she didn’t get it done, whether she’d had access to the room or not.

She went ahead with her other chores and kept returning, but it wasn’t until everyone else had gone to bed that she finally found the door ajar. Eager to finish so that she, too, could seek her rest, she slipped inside before realizing her mistake. The earl had not retired. He was standing in front of the fireplace, one hand on the mantel as he gazed into the flames.

At the sound of her entrance, he turned and ran a hand through his hair, which fell long and loose about his face. “Rachel.”

“I apologize for the intrusion, my lord. I thought… I will come back.” She pivoted, but he stopped her.

“No, it’s getting too late to put you off any longer. Go ahead and take care of whatever you have to do.”

While he was there with her?

Because he had told her to go about her business, she did, but she could feel his eyes following her every move.

“Am I… bothering you, my lord?”

His face creased into a disapproving frown. “You look thinner than when I saw you last. Are you not getting enough to eat?”

“I am fine, my lord.”

“And Geordie?”

She couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at her lips when she thought of her last visit with her brother. “He is very happy. I owe you my gratitude for that.”

It was easily the most effusive thing she’d ever said to him, but he didn’t return her smile. “Gratitude,” he mumbled, as if it was an odd word for her to use.

“Yes, my lord.”

“So… you like it here?”

She hesitated as she searched for the right words. “It is a… wonderful place for Geordie.”

“You like it about as much as facing a lynch mob, eh?” He chuckled dryly. “Enough said. Do you play chess, Rachel?”

Her eyes followed his to a table situated to one side of the fireplace. “
Sir
?”

“Chess. Surely, educated as you are, you know the game.”

“Of course. I-I have a real fondness for it.”

“As do I.” Straightening, he motioned toward the seat closest to the fire. “Perhaps you will indulge me.”

She blinked at him. “You want me to play?
Tonight
?”

“If you would be so kind.”

But… what if Mrs. Poulson found her ensconced in the earl’s study with him?

She checked over her shoulder as if the housekeeper might already be watching from the door. “Mrs. Poulson would most assuredly
not
approve.”

“As if I give a fig about Mrs. Poulson’s approval.”

He didn’t have to care; he didn’t work for her. Rachel almost said as much. But she was afraid that complaining would only make matters worse. If she couldn’t succeed in his household, maybe he would be left with no choice but to sack her. She couldn’t see one reason he wouldn’t.

He pulled out the chair. “If you please.”

She didn’t see how she could refuse him. So she put her feather duster aside, smoothed her uniform and took the seat he proffered.

“The first move will be yours,” he announced. “Or”—he seemed to consider—“maybe I should give you three or four.”

“You are so confident you can beat me?”

That she would question his assumption caused him to arch his eyebrows, as if it was inconceivable for him to think anything else. “I fear I can do it quite handily, but I am hoping for a challenge, a true diversion.”

Rachel had played many hours of chess with her mother during the long winter evenings when her father worked at the mine. Even Geordie knew how to play and was quite good. “Then I shall do my best to provide one.”

Intent on that, Rachel slid her pawn forward, but she hadn’t yet retracted her hand when he grabbed hold of it.

“What is
this?”

When she winced at the pain his grip caused, he let go. “Nothing,” she said. “Your move.”

“
Nothing?
”

“They will heal. It’s the… the lye and other chemicals I clean with.”

She slipped her hands under the table. They were unsightly, apparently
too
unsightly for his view. Except for that one night in his bed, when she’d felt him touching her, he kept a glove on at all times to hide the damage the fire did. He had it on even now. If she hadn’t been so caught up in his odd request to give him a game she would’ve known better than to let him see.

“I have yet to notice another maid’s hands so cracked and sore.”

“I apologize. We don’t have to play.” She started to stand, but he got up and insisted she remain in her seat.

“Wait here.” He headed for the door.

“My lord, please. Say nothing to Mrs. Poulson.” Rachel couldn’t believe she’d uttered those words. She had no right to tell him what to do. But she could not afford to make Mrs. Poulson hate her any worse. “It will not help me,” she added more quietly.

“It absolutely will.” He ground out each word as if it were a separate sentence. He simply could not imagine that Mrs. Poulson would disobey him. But he had no idea the many petty reprisals the housekeeper would have in store. Rachel was so convinced that whatever he was about to do would prove her eventual ruin that she nearly fled. It was the thought that she’d never see Geordie again that stopped her—the same thought that had stopped her all along.

Her palms were sweating by the time the earl returned with Mrs. Poulson in tow. Although the housekeeper carried a tray of bread, cheese, nuts and apples, which she brought in and set on the desk, she’d obviously been in bed and was not pleased to have been summoned from sleep.

“What is it she’s told you, my lord?” she demanded as she turned to face Rachel. “It must be a lie. She has been nothing but trouble since she arrived—always up to the devil’s mischief.”

“I find it difficult to believe that she has been up to much of anything other than scrubbing night and day.” He strode over and held Rachel’s hands out as proof.

Mrs. Poulson’s lips pursed. “Such is the nature of the job.”

“It’s barbaric.”

“She must be allergic to the soap,” she said, trying a different tack. “I have barely had her do a thing since you brought her to me.”

“Which was why she was waiting for me to retire so that she could dust in here at”—he glanced at the clock—“midnight?”

Mrs. Poulson sent Rachel a withering glance. “Perhaps she was looking to achieve more than the completion of her chores.”

His jaw hardened. “If she wants that, she knows where my bed is.”

Rachel was embarrassed by his response, but she was glad he hadn’t let the housekeeper get the best of him when she resorted to
that
reminder.

“She never even mentioned that her hands were sore!” Poulson said. “I would have adjusted her duties if only I had known.”

It was far more likely she would’ve gloated, but Rachel kept her mouth shut.

“Well, now you know,” the earl said. “She will not be required to scrub anything until her hands have completely healed. Do you understand? No”—he shook his head, then pointed a finger at Mrs. Poulson as if she had better mark his words—“she will not be required to do any work that requires the kinds of chemicals that cause this ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Surely your favoritism extends too far, my lord. How will she be of any use to me? To this house?”

At first he didn’t seem to know how he wanted to answer. Rachel was afraid he’d decide there really was no use for her. She couldn’t go back to the shop; no one frequented it anymore. She couldn’t return to the mine. And now she couldn’t work as a maid?

At best Rachel felt she could expect him to offer her a few extra pounds and a reference so she could go elsewhere. But then his gaze landed on the chess set. “I require a chess partner. Nightly. It will be her job to entertain me.”

Mrs. Poulson’s nostrils flared with disapproval. “Might I caution you, my lord, that such an arrangement would be unseemly for a man of your station?”

“I doubt others could think any worse of me than to believe I murdered my wife, Mrs. Poulson. And Rachel’s reputation is already ruined. You alluded
to that fact yourself—indelicately, I might add—so I can do no more damage there.”

“I was concerned about… that other matter.”

“What other matter?” he asked.

“Concerning the Duke of Pembroke.”

“I’m sure you were.”

“It’s true! We
both
know what is at stake, my lord. I care only for your ultimate well-being.”

Rachel could scarcely breathe as she listened. What were they talking about? From the look on the housekeeper’s face, the “matter” she’d mentioned was serious, even ominous, but the earl didn’t address whatever it was.

“Please have her moved into Lady Katherine’s chambers immediately. She will be sleeping there from now on.”

At this, Rachel almost objected herself. She could not trust such benevolence. How long would Lord Druridge be able to tolerate such an arrangement—a
maid
living in his late wife’s chambers?

“My lord—” she started, but he angled his head to indicate the game.

“Let us continue, Rachel,” he said. “Mrs. Poulson, you are excused.”

Chapter 12

The tick of the clock seemed overly loud. “Surely you didn’t mean it,” Rachel murmured, breaking the silence that had fallen in the wake of Poulson’s departure.

Instead of returning to the game, as he’d indicated, Lord Druridge had gone to the brandy decanter and poured himself a drink. She could see the starkness of his visage as he stared out the window. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

It was a simple, imperious answer. He wasn’t used to having his commands questioned. But this was madness. “Lord Druridge, I cannot take Lady Katherine’s quarters. Imagine how far word of this… odd arrangement will spread.”

“Let people wag their tongues.” When he turned, there was a hint of defiance in his demeanor. “It wasn’t as if I didn’t try a more
circumspect
arrangement.” He lifted his glass. “I trusted you to the care of my staff, and look at you. After only three weeks, I return from London to find you about to faint from hunger and fatigue.”

“While
you
have come back so very well rested?”

His eyes narrowed at the tartness of her words. “You speak frankly.”

“I am who I am. Putting a uniform on me doesn’t change that.”

“Apparently not. Anyway, I sleep when I can.”

“Will you sleep any better by having me next door?” She had made it clear she would not be his whore, and he had said he didn’t expect it. Was he breaking that promise? Why else would he put her in Katherine’s rooms?

“Perhaps I will,” he said.

“And what do you anticipate in return for your generosity?”

“Nothing you won’t be able to freely give.”

“There will be a door adjoining our bedrooms,” she pointed out. “I’ve cleaned this entire wing many times and know all the rooms well.”

“That door you may keep locked as you see fit.”

Had she heard him correctly? “Then what will my duties include?”

“You will spend your days however you like.”

“Not without work. Surely you jest.”

“If it pleases me to make your life easier, I will. You read, don’t you? I have an extensive library. You can spend your days in there. Or hold classes for the household staff, if you want, teach them as you’ve taught the miners. Other than that… you must know how to do some sort of needlework. Isn’t that what ladies do in their free time?”

“But”—she floundered for words—“how long do you see something like this working?”

“Until your hands have healed and better arrangements can be made.”

“I see.” So it was temporary. That eased her mind somewhat, but there was still the other matter Poulson had referenced, something to do with the Duke of Pembroke. Rachel couldn’t even begin to guess what that was about, and yet it worried her. “I appreciate your generosity, my lord, but you really
must
put me in a more modest room.”

“Where? In the other wing of the house, where you will be alone? Or back with the servants who will resent you too much to show you the least bit of kindness? Or maybe you meant this wing, but closer to Wythe?”

She saw his point. None of those choices sounded appealing. Fortunately, he didn’t wait for her response.

“I am done with finding you in dire straits, Rachel. It is better to keep you close.”

“But putting me in Katherine’s rooms will…” She let her words drop off because she couldn’t think of an inoffensive way to say what was on her mind.

“You’re suddenly unwilling to speak up?” He slanted her a look with his sarcasm that said he could hardly believe it.