What that made this tragic event easier to bear was the Frenchwoman his father had married. Guy’s mother’s warmth and love for them all overcame everything. He swallowed the sorrow and loss that threatened to overtake him. Family meant everything to him. And apart from Genevieve, they were all gone. He must live his life in a way that honored them.
No doubt Eustace would be more approachable, if not more respectful, when Guy provided the proof of his birth. But as time passed, and he failed to find it, he wondered if it might have fallen into the wrong hands. The bag might have fallen off anywhere. Grateful the snow had melted, he would continue his search the next day.
Guy returned to the salon and poured himself a brandy. Eustace and the servants had gone to bed. The house was quiet except for the usual clunk of the mantel clock, the creaking of timbers, and mice scrambling behind the wainscoting. A candelabra throwing an eerie light before him, he made his way to the solar, below it was the secret passage his father told him about.
The steps took him down to a cellar, pitch black and airless. He moved along the walls but could detect no sign of a door. After a frustrated hour of searching, he gave up and returned upstairs.
He must deal with the matters at hand. Eustace certainly, but first… He paused and smiled. Simon.
*
When Monday came,Hetty picked at her breakfast. She ate even less at luncheon, drawing a concerned comment from her father. Just to please him, she forced down several mouthfuls of ham and a slice of bread.
At half past one, she excused herself from the library where she’d knitted while her father smoked his pipe and read a book on fly fishing. She hurried upstairs and donned the groom’s clothing, her fingers stumbling over the hidden button on the fall-front breeches.
Jim, the stable boy, chatted to Cook in the kitchen. Hetty slipped past without being seen. Jim had needed little urging when Hetty suggested he sample Cook’s biscuits fresh from the oven.
Outside was blustery and cold, but snow hadn’t fallen in days. The slush crunched underfoot while heavy gray clouds hung low. Hetty hesitated as the wind whipped around the corner of the house, a gelid touch on the bare skin at her nape. She’d forgotten her scarf. With an annoyed shake of her head, she hurried toward the cozy warmth of the stables. It would be flying in the face of fortune to return to the house for the scarf, and it wouldn’t be needed if she kept to the shadows.
Pleased that the stables were gloomy, she hurried inside. The General whickered a greeting. Simon had gone to the village apothecary to fetch her father’s medicine. That was the only reason she could think of, but as her father would soon be in need of it, the order caused no comment.
Hetty patted The General’s nose and fed him an apple. By the time the last of it had disappeared, the clip of a horse’s hooves sounded on the gravel drive. She peeped out of the barn door. The baron, tall in the saddle, rode toward the house.
Hetty stepped out and beckoned him. As he reined in and dismounted, she slipped back into the stables.
“Sorry, my lord,” Hetty said, adopting Simon’s gruff voice. “We have no footman here. No undergroom neither. I’ll stable your horse.”
“Simon, good fellow,” he said warmly as he led his horse inside. “I came to thank you again.”
“No need for that, my lord,” she said. “Everything’s right and tight here as it happens.” She busied herself, settling his horse in a stall, then bent and swept the brush over the gelding’s flanks.
He patted The General’s nose, then came to rest an arm on the stall door. “I am relieved. If you should lose your job, you must come to work at Rosecroft Hall.”
She straightened to brush the horse’s back, confident of the poor light. “Mighty good of you, my lord. But not at all necessary.”
“Merci encore. I must go to the house. They will wonder where I am.” He turned toward the door.
Relieved it had gone so well, Hetty stepped out from behind the horse. She looked up to see if he had gone and walked purposefully toward the stable door planning to slip inside and change her clothes.
“I do hope you enjoyed our waltz.”
Hetty froze where she stood and slowly turned to see Guy emerge from the shadows. The elation left her, and she took a deep, shaky breath. “How long have you known?”
“The red hair was a definite hint, even partly disguised beneath that hair adornment. I wondered how far you would carry this ruse.”
She backed into an empty stall. “My hair’s not red,” she said incensed.
Guy followed her into the stall and reached over to whip off her hat. Her hair slipped from its perch and tumbled around her face. “Even in this light it looks red to me. Why deny it? Your hair is the color of an excellent burgundy wine. While I remain grateful to you for my life, I’m interested to hear what you have to say about your attempt to fool me with that disguise.”
“I was a victim of circumstances, my lord.” Hetty lifted her chin, her heart pounding loud in her ears. She would have to brazen this out.
“Oh? In what way?” Annoyed blue eyes stared into hers. “I do not like to be toyed with. I worried that the knock on the head had scrambled my brain.”
“Have you had headaches?” she asked with an innocent expression.
“Zut! How you still toy with me! When you bent over in those breeches! From the first I felt a strong attraction that a man has to a woman. It confused me. And then, when I saw you dressed as one, I understood.”
She scowled. “You deliberately teased me that night.”
