During this discourse, I was wholly aware that Mr Hart’s other hand had strayed beneath the table and now rested lightly on his thigh. I willed him to keep it to himself, but his fingers moved to pat my leg every now and again whilehe was talking. But was he doing it idly? Or deliberately? Whichever it was, it was causing a strange sensation in my spine. Drawing in a breath, I attempted to shift away from him, but there was nowhere to go but the floor.
‘All the ladies?’ I queried, determined to make him do some squirming himself. ‘Pray, exactly how many ladies has Maurice had the pleasure of meeting?’
Mr Smith-Withers sniggered, and the patting fingers beneath the table stilled, then withdrew. Mr Hart seemed disinclined to answer my question—making a big show of asking if anyone wanted more broth, ladling two spoonfuls into his own bowl, and cutting further slices of cheese that were not really needed.
‘Ah. Well, I can always ask Maurice, I suppose. He seems like a conversant-enough fellow,’ I threatened softly but loud enough for Mr Hart to hear.
A moment later, his thigh began juddering against mine under the table, as if he were mightily disturbed by my comment; and I smothered the urge to laugh.
Yes, I thought,you dastardly rake.Indeed, you should be worried!
Chapter 13
The supper had been light, but nutritious, and I silently commended Maurice on his cooking. But thanks to exhaustion and the warmth of the room, Jane and Lucinda were on the verge of nodding off into the dregs of their soup.
‘I believe it might be time to retire,’ I said, rising abruptly before I myself fell asleep on Mr Hart’s shoulder. I began to stack the bowls, but he placed a hand on my arm.
‘Leave them for now, Felicity. Maurice will clear them,’ he said. Before I could protest (at the dishes being left, him touching me, and him using my first name without permission), he added, ‘By the way, you are right to point out my shortcomings as an employer. Maurice does need more help while we are here. I will hire a cook and a maid from the village to assist him.’
I nodded, too tired to scold him further. ‘Good. I am glad to hear it.’
‘We used to have more staff,’ Mr Hart continued as we all left the parlour, the gentlemen escorting us ladies to the foot of the stairs. ‘But Father has seen fit to let them go.Maurice is the only one he trusts completely.’
‘Where exactly is your father? When will we meet him?’ I asked. Now that Mr Smith-Withers was here, there were an equal number of unmarried men to women, so it would be more appropriate to have another chaperone. I could not be expected to be everywhere at once. But would Mr Hart’s father even be a suitable chaperone if he was responsible for bestowing his son with such a loose nature?
‘So many questions, Felicity,’ Mr Hart said playfully, and I bristled at him being overly familiar again. But I could not request that he call me Mrs Fitzroy now as I had not corrected him previously. ‘All in good time. You will meet him tomorrow. He gets tired easily and takes supper in his room. And with that, I bid you good night.’
He bowed, cutting off our conversation, and took his leave to say good night to Lucinda and Jane. It was then that I realised that the shroud of mystery he was creating around his father wasn’t for dramatic effect. There was something he wished to keep hidden. But what? A wave of weariness rolled over me, and I decided not to try to unpick the knot that was Mr Hart this late at night—I was only going to give myself a bad headache.
Mr Hart had given us a stub of one of the foyer candles by which to see, but it was still darker than sin, so Lucinda wished us to accompany her to her room. With both of themhuddled on either side of me, I held the candle aloft, and we set off down the hallway. A faint creaking noise sounded overhead like someone was walking around.
‘What’s that?’ hissed Jane, and we all stopped to listen, but it did not come again. Lucinda made a whimpering sound in my ear.
‘It is nothing but the wind,’ I told her firmly. ‘There is no such thing as ghosts.’
‘Ghosts!’ she moaned. ‘I had not been thinking of them until now ...’
To get her mind off apparitions, I spoke cheerily of what we might do after breakfast the next day if the weather was fine. ‘We could explore the grounds, see what the castle looks like from thefront, and it might have a library.’
‘Oh yes, it does have one,’ said Lucinda, loosening her grip on my arm so the blood could flow freely again. ‘Mr Hart said it contains quite an extensive collection of books. He told me he spent practically every waking moment of his teenage years in there when he was not at Eton.’
‘Ah! Well, then you will sleep like the dead having that to look forward to.’
Lucinda’s grip tightened on my arm again, and I sighed.
I really had to watch what I said around her.
In my room, I had another cursory wash (as Ifelt sullied after Mr Hart’s proximity under the table), removed my dress, and slipped between the cool sheets wearing my chemise. But that man’s sly words, wondering if I wore a chemise to bed or not, kept mocking me. And I fancied I could still feel the warm touch of his leg against mine. Oh, he was insidious! And his counterpart on the wall was not much better. His eyes seemed to search for me even in the darkness. It was a state of affairs not conducive to sleep even though I was dog-tired.
Frustrated, I threw back the covers, grabbed my shawl, and went next door to Jane’s. I knocked softly and poked my head around the door. She was in her nightdress and shawl hunched over a piece of paper on the nightstand. The candle had burnt low, so her proximity to what she was writing was such that she was nearly singeing her plait, and there were a fair few ink splotches on the page.
Jane lowered her quill and glanced round at me. ‘Can’t you sleep?’ she whispered.
I shook my head.
She sighed. ‘Neither can I. There are a thousand words in my brain clamouring for escape. I cannot wait to have my desk back tomorrow. This set-up is throwing me off my plot.’
I came in and sat on the edge of her bed, curling my feet under me for warmth.
