Ethan did not want work, and he most certainly did not want to revisit bad memories with the oddest collection of servants he’d ever encountered.
“What I have to say is for his ears only. I know the earl isn’t ‘in’. I’ll only take a moment to give him my message and be on my way.”
Both servants stared at him as if he were simpleminded.
“It isn’t how it’s done,” the footman muttered.
Years past caring how things ought to be done, Ethan lost all patience. He stalked out the door to the family quarters, with the footman scurrying behind.
“You can’t go there!” the boy shouted. A stern looking butler started down from the front of the house, and Ethan turned down a hallway, surprised at his spurt of energy. A study was bound to be off the back corridors, and if he made enough of a scene the earl would show himself. He yanked open a door and stopped dead in his tracks.
“You!” the speaker and sole occupant of the room stared at him in astonishment. He had wandered into the library, and stumbled onto Lady Flora.
Standing in his rags, smelling like the back-alley rat he was, Ethan did the only logical thing. He stood as straight as he could, looked at her directly, summoned his most aristocratic diction, and said, “I must apologize, my lady, but I’m here to speak to the earl.” His tutors would have been proud.
“My brother isn’t here,” the lady replied, bafflement causing her to appear too adorable for Ethan’s peace of mind.
“I tried to tell him, Lady Flora, but he run off.”
The lady studied Ethan even as she assured her servant he had done no wrong.He certainly did! The lad should have tackled an intruder before he let him anywhere near the lady.
“Who are you?” she asked, as she had the day before.
No one you should know. “My business is with the earl.”
She breathed deeply, wrinkled her nose—probably at the way he smelled—and addressed the butler who had joined them. “Kindly show this gentleman out the tradesmen’s entrance, Swift, and see that he has my brother’s direction.”
The butler raised weary brows. “Could cause an uproar, Lady Flora.” Younger than most of his profession, and the man looked more like a burly prizefighter than a butler, one more oddity in this house’s strange staff.
“We knew one would happen eventually,” Lady Flora replied, with a sad smile at the butler.
What sort of uproar?Ethan let the men drag him out, too puzzled to struggle and more determined than ever to speak to the earl.
* * *
The following morning, Flo still pondered the questions that continue to plague her: what to do with her useless life, and how to make a difference. Taking chocolate in bed, she cataloged her options. The world urged marriage as the answer to a young woman’s prayers, but Sylvia’s plight had soured her on that idea.
However, a thought came to her regarding the misery of returning soldiers. She decided to visit the Benevolent Pauper's Hospital of the Apostles. That would be a safer activity, and she had no doubt she could find something constructive to contribute there. She jumped out of bed with renewed energy.
“I’ll take my usual on a tray in the library,” she called to John the footman on her way down the stairs without pausing to hear his reply. She often took breakfast in the library, the one room kept warm all day for her. She continued on her way, humming under her breath, pushed into the room, still humming, a wide smile on her face in anticipation of a productive day, and stumbled to a stop.
Her brother sat in his favorite leather chair, a cup of coffee at his side, and a fierce glare marring his handsome face.
“Lady Flora Margaretta Landrum, what in God’s name have you been up to?” he demanded without preamble.
“How—oh never mind, you were bound to find out sooner or later. As you see, I’m not ‘up to’ anything. I merely stayed behind when Emery forced Sylvia to decamp for home, driven no doubt by creditors or an irate husband, I care not which. You really must do something about that man; Sylvia fades by the day, sunk in misery.” An attack, Flo had found, was frequently the best defense.
“I didn’t come here about Sylvia,” the earl replied. At thirty-two, William Landrum, Earl of Chadbourn, was newly come into his title and weighted down with grief and new responsibilities. He had no patience for games. “What the devil were you doing behind a squalid pub with no more protection that a half-deaf boy with no sense of danger?”
Damn. How did he find out about that?She swallowed hard. “Don’t insult John! He fought at Talavera. He tried to talk me out of it. Aren’t you glad he followed me?”
“You’re changing the subject again. You put yourself—and John—in danger for no good reason.”
“No good reason? Since you returned from Spain you’ve thought of nothing but the plight of our soldiers. Even…” Tears choked her momentarily. “Even when Father was dying, the two of you talked as much about the shame of our country’s neglect as you did about the everlasting estate and its needs. You fought with Emery about it, on the rare occasion you bothered to speak with the bounder at all—and I know he’s been no support in Parliament. Am I not supposed to care? Am I to sit idly in gentile mourning while families starve and wounded men go uncared for?”
Her brother stared back momentarily stunned by her outburst.
She drew breath and went on. “You pushed me onto Sylvia and wiped your hands of me. Problem solved. I will not be at the mercy of Emery Wheatly! Look at what he does to Sylvia. I saw her in her bath, Will. Bruises everywhere. Bruises! Never where you might see them. She has given up. Since Father’s death she retreats into her tonics and gloom. And Charles—had you spent any time with the boy you would see what a frightened little fellow he has become. You can’t—”
