No, she could not be like her predecessors, but she might have told him so calmly, coolly, with some semblance of professionalism. Not scolded him as if he were her equal.
Sighing, Rebecca set down her quill and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
A mess. Of truly epic proportions.
That was what she’d made and, worse, that was what she was.
Staring down at her hands—her bloody, ink-soaked hands that she could not get clean, no matter how hard she tried—she felt...dejected. Confused and lost. She had since this morning, when she’d tried to compose herself before meeting the master again. When she had seen the mass of unruly hair and the soot all over her reddened face... A wild, lowly creature. It was no wonder the man had a low opinion of her. Her inadequacy at being what a housekeepershouldbe was plain to see, without even taking into account her behaviour.
Unprofessional, unseemly and entirely condemnable. What is the matter with you?
What, indeed? she wondered, staring down at her hands, disheartened by the fact that no amount of cleaning, tidying or rearranging would ever be enough.
For what?
To be seen, she realised suddenly.
Rebecca laughed mirthlessly, her heart sore at the discovery that she could be such a vapid fool after all.Thatwas what lay beneath her frustration and shame.Thatwas what had really discountenanced her. Not his words, buthim. Of all she might have expected, none of it had been what William Reid, the Right Honourable the Earl of Thornhallow, had turned out to be.
The fact that he’d been sporting masterfully tailored, albeit dishevelled clothes, whilst barefoot, had been the first thing to catch her attention. Then there was his age. Though she knew it approximately, her mind had crafted him into some old, dissolute wastrel.
The mystery surrounding him, Thornhallow, his disappearance—all had served to obfuscate any truth that might have lain in the rare, whispered descriptions of him. Anyone who knew him before he’d quit the country—if indeed he had—was unable to remember quite what he looked like. There were no names on the portraits in the gallery. And the speculatory tales of where he’d been these past ten years only served to lend credit to the idea that he was a dark man, capable of the greatest sins, who had let himself go to the Devil.
It was, in fact, no such man who had walked in this morning.
Handsomedid not quite fit properly. Yes, he had sharp, fine features, a long, strong nose and straight brows, one of which was traversed by a thin white scar. Yes, he had the most inviting generous lips. Yes, he had an unmistakably fine figure. Narrow waist, broad shoulders—very broad, in fact—long limbs and elegant, strong hands. Yes, he was tall—very much so, to have towered over her. Yes, he had the swept-back, longer-than-fashionable golden hair that seemed to gleam in the sunlight. All of those things were, when brought together to form a complete sum, the markings of a handsome man. And yet...
When she recalled that image of him as he’d stood before her, it was nothandsomethat came to mind. She had met—known—very handsome men. But William Reid, Earl of Thornhallow, was not what she would call handsome. He was almost closer to...beautiful? Entrancing?
Then she remembered his eyes... What colour had they been?
Grey? No...
They had seemed so at first...so cold... But, no...
Hazel. With flecks of gold, grey and green.
Eyes that had seen too much, and still retained light. Enchanting, rapturous light...
Mrs Murray’s shouts echoing sharply down the corridor brought Rebecca back from her reverie. Cursing under her breath, she picked up her quill and returned to the ledger. It didn’t matter what she qualified his manner to be, or what precisely she thought of his eyes. Truly, it mattered not one bit that he would neverseeher. And she was glad of it, verily.
Over the years she’d been blessed with good masters who had treated her well. She had never suffered unwelcome advances, nor had she had the terrible misfortune of developing a fondness for any of her employers, nor anyone in their circles. She wasn’t about to jeopardise her position, herlife, by becoming foolishly intrigued by this master.
The Earl of Thornhallow might be the most beautiful angel to descend from heaven; it would matter not one bit. She was his housekeeper. And she would do her duty. As she always had. Infallibly. Beginning with presenting him these accounts.
Rebecca smiled to herself, imagining his face when she did so.
The smile faded a moment later, when a knock sounded on the door. Finishing was becoming an increasingly elusive dream.
‘Yes,’ she sighed, rubbing her eyes so that she might focus on whoever it was needing her at this hour. ‘Come in.’
‘Working late again, I see, Mrs Hardwicke,’ Mr Brown said as he entered. ‘You will forgive me for the hour, but I wish to have a word, if I may.’
‘Of course, Mr Brown. Please, do have a seat,’ Rebecca said, before noticing the piles of papers strewn across the armchairs. She rose precipitately and cleared a space. ‘Tea?’
‘No, thank you. I will not keep you long.’
‘How can I—Oh, blast,’ she muttered as the candle flickered wildly. She rushed to find another, before settling down to face Mr Brown. ‘Apologies. How can I assist you?’
