What would her uncle say to that?
Chapter 4
Montgomery Fairfax’s townhouse was not appreciably different from Uncle Bertrand’s home. It was smaller, of course, being in the center of a row of houses, but the square in which it was situated was as proper and well maintained.
Veronica had a brief view of a long corridor and a steep staircase, but that was all she was able to see since Montgomery had grabbed her hand once she’d exited the carriage and marched up to the third floor, nearly pulling her behind him.
Lust was evidently not on his mind, for which she was deeply grateful. However, she didn’t like being treated as if she were a package he’d been given, one that belonged to another person and whose disposition was an irritant.
He knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and when it was opened by an older woman, thrust her forward.
“You are to guard her, Mrs. Gardiner. She is not to leave your company. You are not to let Miss MacLeod out of your sight. Do you understand?”
The older woman nodded, her surprise replaced by an earnest expression.
He turned to her, his expression as closed as it had been earlier. “You’re to remain with my housekeeper. It’s the only chance we have of extricating ourselves from this damnable situation. Is that clear?”
She nodded.
Without another word, he turned and left. Any questions she might have had were buried beneath embarrassment as she and Mrs. Gardiner stared at each other.
Neither of them was properly attired for an introduction. She was in her borrowed monk’s robe, and Mrs. Gardiner was dressed for night, her hair tied in dozens of little cloth knots, her pink cotton nightgown adorned with pin-tucking and embroidery wrinkled from bed.
“Please come in, Miss MacLeod.”
She nodded and stepped inside the room.
Mrs. Gardiner’s quarters were furnished simply. Beside the window was a soft and comfortable looking chair accompanied by an ornate needlework covered footstool and a round table on which a lamp sat. Across the room, a double mattress lay plumped atop an iron bedstead. The comforter had been dislodged, indicating that the woman had been asleep when wakened by her employer.
The housekeeper was not much older than Veronica’s mother would have been, possessed of thick brown hair, soft brown eyes, and arched brows that gave her a perpetual quizzical expression. Short and plump, Mrs. Gardiner exuded a warm kind of peace, as if the emotions swirling around her were a faint and pleasant potpourri.
They stared at each other for another moment, words evidently being as difficult for the housekeeper as they were for her. What did she say? How could she explain?
Mrs. Gardiner went to the bed, began fussing with the sheets.
“I couldn’t take your bed, Mrs. Gardiner,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit in the chair.”
“For the night, miss?”
For however long she was going to be a prisoner in Montgomery Fairfax’s house. That wasn’t quite right, was it? For as long as she was a prisoner of her own stupidity.
In the mirror, she’d been happy, almost joyous. In the mirror, she’d been laughing. What had she seen? Had it been a delusion? Had the drugs she’d been given somehow altered her perception of reality?
She couldn’t remember much of what had happened at the Society, a fact that disturbed her. Yet did she want to remember? She’d been given something to make her acquiescent, but Montgomery Fairfax had done nothing to her, only commanded that she stay with the housekeeper. Like an obedient hound, she was doing exactly what he’d told her to do.
The problem with rebellion, however, was that it should be based on principle. She had no guiding cause to inspire her to rebel. In fact, her rescuer had seen to it that she had a roof over her head for the night. If she marched out of his house, intent on independence, where did she go?
No, she was not going to be stupid twice in one night.
When the morning came, she’d find a way back to her uncle’s house and beg his forgiveness. If that failed, she’d obtain her lockbox. With it, she might have enough money to buy passage back to Scotland.
There, a plan, albeit an incomplete one.
She sat in the chair beside the window, thanking Mrs. Gardiner for the warm throw the older woman gave her. Tucking her cold feet beneath her, she closed her eyes and pretended sleep. Or if not that, then oblivion for a few hours. Anything but think of the disaster she’d caused to fall on her own head.
An hour past dawn the next morning, the downstairs maid announced visitors. Montgomery was already dressed and waiting for them. He descended the stairs to where the Earl of Conley stood bundled up in coat, hat, and gloves, accompanied by his two sons similarly attired and wearing identical expressions—righteous anger.
He didn’t have a majordomo, but there was no necessity for them to remove their clothing on their own. They wouldn’t be in the house that long.
