“That it does, miss!” Frankel agreed wholeheartedly. They beamed at each other.
“After you have fixed the earl’s dinner, can you see that all the counters are washed down, the floor swept and mopped? And the pots and pans should be done immediately.” There was more, so much more, but Jane knew she would have to stand there and supervise personally to see it done. “Do you need more staff?” she asked innocently, knowing that he did not.
“No, miss.” Frankel began barking out orders, puffed with pleasure, the general with his army performing for the lady. It had never occurred to Jane that she would not be obeyed. She was used to winning people with her smile, beauty, and good nature.
But Molly hadn’t moved. She was watching her nervously. Jane turned to her inquiringly. “Mum, did his lordship say it’s all right?”
Jane fought the blush. “His lordship will not mind.”
Molly gave her a glance filled with doubt.
In the breakfast room Jane waited for Molly to set her a place. That was when she saw him.
Through the tall, arched windows she watched him come galloping around the corner of the house. Galloping. Across the beautiful, perfectly tended lawns. Clumps of grass and dirt actually flew up and hit the windowpanes. His stallion was as black as the devil. He sat bareback. They appeared unnatural, like some ungodly creature, or something out of mythology, a Centaur, perhaps. The earl went galloping away, riding like a madman. In his wake he left an endless gash of mud and dirt.
“He is mad.” Jane didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until she heard herself. “He’ll kill himself!”
“Oh, no, mum, there’s no one who can ride like he can.”
Jane glanced sharply at Molly. There was no mistaking the pride in her tone and, now, the shining of her eyes. Why, Jane thought, startled, she’s half in love with him! “But look what he’s done to the lawn!”
Molly shrugged. “He don’t care.”
Jane thought of the mud she’d seen in the foyer yesterday and the dust in the parlor, the state of the kitchen. No, he didn’t care. “Molly, how long have you worked for his lordship?”
“Just a few months, mum.”
Jane was disappointed. “Are the stories true?”
Molly’s face lit up. “About his wife?” she whispered.
Jane bit her lip. She shouldn’t be gossiping with the servants, but … “Yes.” She was whispering too.
“He could have killed her,” Molly said. “He’s so angry. And so strong.”
“Yes, I think …” Jane stopped, looking at Molly. “How do you know he’s strong?”
Molly actually blushed.
Jane was no fool. Molly was pretty and plump, the earl a handsome man. She felt the hot hurt balloon in her heart and told herself she was being a ninny. Many lords dallied with servants. It was not unusual. Why had she felt such a rush of tears? She turned away, to look back out the window. To her shock, she saw an army of gardeners, a dozen of them in their baggy knickers with shovels and spades—and they were patching the vast runnel he had made with pieces of sod right before her very eyes. Jane gasped.
“He never comes back this way,” Molly explained. “He’ll be gone until dinner. When he returns, it’ll be as good as new.”
It was unbelievable. “Where do they get the sod?”
“They buy it every week, keep tons of it out back. He does this every day.”
The amusement faded. The man was insane, she decided, and it was incredibly arrogant of him to treat his home with such disdain.
“Thomas was here when it happened,” Molly confided, low.
Jane whirled. “The butler?”
“Yes’m. You know, she died in the fire.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
Molly nodded toward the south wing, just visible through the window, the walls black and crumbling, the windows gaping, jagged holes, like toothless open mouths. “They think he set the fire —to kill her?”
