Except that, oddly, he did care. When he’d seen her hands last night, and then again today... The woman was quite literally working herself to the bone. No, that wouldn’t do. He would tell her so. Perhaps he would hire more staff to help...
They won’t come... Damn this house.
No one within fifty miles would set foot here, and that was being generous. No matter that none of the staff whoactuallylived and worked here were all alive, and had no ghastly tales to tell. No matter that the worst thing to happen here in ten years was a string of incapable housekeepers, who had most likely spread some tales themselves to excuse their ineptitude. No one would come. The house was cursed. Just as he was.
Haunted.
He was lucky Mrs Hardwicke had even applied at all. Even Leonards had advised him that, for all his money, should Mrs Hardwicke depart, there would likely never be a housekeeper at Thornhallow Hall again. So why had she come? When so many feared to even speak the name of the place?
It mattered not. She was here. And for now, Liam resolved, the quarrelsome Mrs Hardwicke could stay. Though for all her will and gumption, he doubted she would last long. Perhaps she would find a young fellow to marry. Or simply take fright, or succumb to what he suspected was an already growing hatred of him. Sooner or later, everyone left him.
Pushing open the door to his study, gazing out onto the grounds through the French doors behind his desk, he sighed, feeling the weight of it all crashing down again. Why the Devil indeed had he thought returning was a good idea? He should have left Thornhallow to the care of Mrs Hardwicke, and Thomas, and the others. Perhaps he should do so now, and return to his life of wandering beyond the horizon...
Yet even as he thought it he knew he could not.
The time had come to face the demons so that he might be free. Of this house and this land, which called him back even from the ends of the earth. Of this curse which gnawed at his soul, destroying him a little more with every passing day.
Oh, Hal...my darling, what have you done to me? Will we never have peace?
And in that moment of utter desolation, Liam bleakly registered that he was barefoot.
The flickering of the candle worsened as it neared its end, but Rebecca knew that if she intended to continue she would have to forgo lighting another. If she allowed herself to move but an inch, even if only to ease her hunched squinting with more light, she would never return and finish the task she’d set herself: reconciling ten years’ worth of accounting.
Come on, Rebecca, nearly there...
Three weeks she’d been studying ledgers, half-torn payment slips and smudged invoices, barely sleeping so that now numbers swirled before her eyes together in one great jumble. Perhaps if she changed the candle she would be able to see better...
No. You know you’ll find a way to distract yourself.
Rebecca desperately wanted to finish—neededto finish so that she could show the Earl. After this morning’s embarrassing display, she needed something to redeem herself and prove her worth. When she’d met him again in the study, no reference had been made to theirdiscussion. He had behaved like the perfect gentleman, and she had been the most demure, contrite housekeeper the world had ever seen.
They had spoken of the arrangements made for Thornhallow, of the staff and of the weather. He had seemed content with what she’d told him, though he had offered no blatant opinion. He had asked nothing, demanded no changes, nor expressed any sort of interest whatsoever. Oddly, the only thing hehadinsisted on was that she take care of her hands. But even that had been said with such detachment. In other masters the coldness might have seemed natural, but with him it seemed...a rebuke? A reminder of his displeasure?
You really do read too much into things, you senseless ninny.
She had met the man this morning, and now she presumed to know his moods? Presumed to know the measure of his character because what? He was the sort of man to lay a blanket on a sleeping employee? At least she knew she wasn’t going mad.
I knew I hadn’t put the blanket on myself...
God, she was tired. It had been a trying day; surely that was why she was feeling so...out of sorts. She’d risen this morning expecting to fill the day with vigorous cleaning, to expend some of her overbrimming energy, and counter the effects of having spent too much time indoors over the past weeks. Instead, what had she done? Expended her energy shouting at the Earl. Of course she hadn’t meant to, but then he had appeared and begun admonishing her and, truth be told, she might have been less surprised if Lucifer himself had waltzed in.
‘Keep the house as if the master might return at any day,’Leonards had said.
Easily said, and easily done.
But, considering the man hadn’t set foot here in a decade, it was no wonder she’d been so astonished to see him standing there. The man had given no notice of his arrival—indeed, he must have scarcely made a sound when he came in. And she had disappeared before dawn to set about her assault on the West Wing, before anyone who might have advised her of the miraculous arrival could do so.
What a hash she had made of it all.
What was truly miraculous was that she hadn’t been dismissed. But then, what had the man been expecting? For her to just sit and while away the hours in idle contemplation whilst the house disappeared as he had?
Apparently so...
And what business was it of hers to argue, if that was his wish?
He had just been so...
Argh!
