Fury slipped up her spine, and she lifted her chin in stubborn reproach. “Nothing has possessed me to act as your conscience, sir, except for the undeniable fact that you clearly don’t possess one of your own,” she retorted. And before he could form a response, she swept out of the room and snapped the door shut behind her.
It might have cost her her position, but she would not regret it. As long as she lived, she would never regret that shocked, dumbstruck look upon his face—and she would relish the delight of having placed it there.
∞∞∞
His new housekeeper, Gabriel reflected as he bounded down the stairs, had turned out to be a bit of a shrew. He’d seen a glimpse of it before now, of course, but he’d chalked her prior waspish comments up to the shock of having been dragged into his bed and into his arms.Thenshe had been understandably concerned.
Nowshe was simply an insolent woman who thought to condescend to him. Tohim. He wondered if she’d even given the slightest thought to the possibility that he could simply tell her to pack her things and leave his house at once. He could have dismissed her without a reference and sent her on her way to attempt, probably without success, to find a respectable position in another household.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even been tempted to do so. It had been so long since anyone had treated him with anything except the utmost respect, and he’d found the situation more amusing than irksome. And something had fluttered at the back of his brain, like a memory that hovered just out of reach, like he’d experienced something similar before, somewhere, in the scattered scraps of memory that yet eluded him.
Mrs. Hotchkiss had provoked that brilliant glimmer of memory, and he would be a fool to send her on her way.
He arrived in the foyer just as Mr. Bradshaw and one of the footmen were carrying a trunk to the carriage that waited in the drive. On the steps he saw Mrs. Hotchkiss and Mrs. Cartwright embracing, and he caught just a sliver of Mrs. Hotchkiss’ face through the window, and the genuine sadness that crossed it. Though she would now step fully into her role as housekeeper, she seemed truly sorry to see her predecessor leave at last.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Cartwright as he appeared on the steps. “Sir. I didn’t expect you.”
Of course she had not. He was not the sort of man that would linger over farewells to a servant. At least, he hadn’t been in recent years. He had given her the funds that would comprise her pension and had considered the matter resolved. But just now, as he realized that it might truly be the last time he would ever see her, this woman who had been a constant fixture of his life since his infancy, he felt a pang of what might have been regret somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
“Mrs. Hotchkiss came to inform me you were soon to leave,” he said. “I thought the least I could do was to see you off safely.” His gaze drifted briefly to Mrs. Hotchkiss, who could not have looked more shocked had he walloped her with a mallet. Her sherry-dark eyes were wide with surprise, fringed by thick, dark lashes, and he suspected she’d onlyjuststopped her mouth from falling agape.
Tears glistened in Mrs. Cartwright’s eyes. “You were always such a sweet boy,” she said. “It’s been my pleasure to serve you these many years.” She patted at her cheeks. “I hope you’ll keep yourself well,” she said, her voice taking on a motherly tone. “And listen to Mrs. Hotchkiss if you should come down with a chill. I know she hasn’t had the luxury of a long acquaintance with you, but youdopress yourself, my lord, and she’s responsible for your health and well-being now.”
Somehow, the thought of the lovely Mrs. Hotchkiss tucking him into bed and pouring beef tea down his throat was not nearly as unpleasant as it should have been. He suspected a good number of men would have been perfectly pleased to suffer her tender ministrations.
“Of course I shall not give Mrs. Hotchkiss any trouble,” he assured Mrs. Cartwright.
She laughed lightly. “Of course you will, dear boy,” she said. “Men always do.” And with a last fond look at the both of them, she climbed into the carriage along with her luggage, and it rumbled away.
Beside him, Mrs. Hotchkiss surreptitiously wiped away a tear.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “It was kind of you to come after all. I’m certain Mrs. Cartwright appreciated it.”
She had. He knew she had. And he had, too, in a way. Mrs. Cartwright had always seen him as the boy he had been. She’d ignored the worst of the man he’d become, always going forward with the hope that one day he would recover himself and become who he had once been, who hemighthave been had he not lost so much of his life.
And he had been prepared to reward that faith with his indifference. Perhaps Mrs. Hotchkiss had spoken out of turn, in a manner that no respectable servant would dare to dream of speaking to her employer, but it had, he admitted, been merited.
“I think I would have regretted not seeing her off,” he said, conscious of the way she jerked around to face him in her surprise. “Ididowe her that.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Hotchkiss said, in a low voice. “You did.” And then, after a moment of hesitation, she said, “I suppose I ought to pack my things.”
“Now, now, Mrs. Hotchkiss,” he chided, “I’ll thank you to leave the sacking of the upper servants to me. Your authority does not extend beyond the kitchen staff and the maids.”
“You’re—you’re not letting me go?” she inquired.
“Not at present,” he said. “Iwouldhave to go to the trouble of finding a new housekeeper, after all.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said, and felt another curious skirl of emotion in his chest which had for so many years felt as though it contained nothing more than essential organs, devoid of feeling or sentiment. He could not recall the last time he had tendered an apology of any kind, though he’d behaved badly enough to merit one on numerous occasions.
But somehow, he hadn’t found it nearly as uncomfortable as he had thought he would.
Chapter Nine
Gabriel had put off the letter for a full day, though the mere thought of it burned at the back of his mind like an ember that had tumbled from the hearth. He’d waited for it for weeks now, but when it had at last arrived, he had found himself dreading its contents. It had sat, accusingly, in his hand—just a letter, a missive that presumably contained the information he’d spent a small fortune in sending a Runner to seek out, but it hadfeltlike a warrant of arrest, or some other such document that would send his life careening into an uncontrollable spiral.
There was nothing outwardly threatening about it. It was only a piece of paper, folded over and sealed quite neatly with a dab of wax. But it hadfeltominous. Whatever it contained, once read, could not beunlearned.
And so he had left it sitting, unassumingly, upon his desk, and fretted, and paced, and fretted some more, until at last he’d given up and taken the letter into his library and sat, fortifying himself with an appalling amount of whisky, whilst he worked up the nerve to peel away the sealing wax to get at the contents of the letter at last.
Noon had sailed by. And then one. Followed promptly by two. Three came on its heels, and then half three—at which point Mrs. Hotchkiss had flown out the door, heading…wherever it was she went on her half day off—and then, at last, as the sun made its slow descent in the sky and limned the windows with a vibrant orange and he’d been so full of liquor he’d practicallysloshedas he’d paced, he had finally—finally—torn it open.
