Orphan Bride

Chapter 1

c. 1895, England…

”Miss Heath.”

Felisa started at his voice, as she hadn”t realized she wasn”t alone, and she certainly hadn”t known that he was home, either. As he well knew, she often hid in the library at night, after her employer had gone to sleep. She preferred to camp out on one of the very comfortable and inviting window seats with a small glass of sherry and, if she could cadge it from Mrs. Underwood, a second taste of something sweet that had inevitably been left over from dinner.

Luckily, the cook seemed to have a soft spot for her, and tonight, it was a frothy, almost but not quite tart, syllabub. She”d only had a few spoonsful of it—being much too involved in her book to pay much attention to the pudding, which was quite a compliment to the writer—and when he greeted her, the beautiful crystal bowl, which had been resting on her lap, became quite unsettled. Just as she had.

Upon hearing that deep, inappropriately intimate tone, the memory she would most like to forget flooded back into her errant mind. She hadn”t had much success in banishing it, and with him standing there not two feet from her, looking even more appealing than she remembered, it was first and foremost in her thoughts, causing her pulse to rise, to the point that she was worried his eagle eyes could see it pounding through her body, and the rest of her to flush with a heat she couldn”t escape.

And what was worse, she didn”t want to—a fault within her character with which she had also unsuccessfully grappled over the months he was away.

But surely, he couldn”t find fault with her being there, since he”d absented himself.

Her gasp, therefore, was not just of surprise but more prominently of dismay. And watching the bowl begin to head for the floor was just the most obvious of causes.

But he was quick in averting the imminent disaster, catching it even before it had a chance to turn face down, to present it to her with a small, mocking bow, teasing, ”It would be a tragedy of epic proportions to spill one of Mrs. Underwood”s puddings.”

Before she reclaimed it, though, he boldly swiped his big finger along the top of the treat, just enough to get a taste, sticking the confection laden digit into his mouth and closing his eyes in what appeared to be sheer ecstasy.

For a long moment, Felisa was transfixed by the sight of him like that, but luckily, she came to her senses and diverted her eyes just before he opened his.

”Just as I remembered it to be. She does work a trick with sweets, doesn”t she?”

She knew she was blushing at his impertinent behavior, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. So instead of concentrating on how much he disturbed her, Felisa carefully placed the bowl—not back on her lap—but on the small side table she often commandeered to hold the things she wanted to keep easily at hand while she was reading. Then she got off the seat and dropped him a perfunctory curtsey.

”Good evening, m”lord,” she whispered, a bit belatedly.

She supposed propriety would dictate that she should have vacated the premises, but she was loath to go, instead reclaiming her space on the seat behind her, sitting, however, not at all as casually as she had before. He”d been gone for so long that she”d nearly forgotten that he frequented the library almost as often as she did, and she”d become used to it being her after hours” haven, especially in his convenient absence.

”Is there anything I can get for you or do for you, m”lord?” she inquired in the most neutral tone she could muster, barely daring to look up at him for a split second before removing her gaze to the expensive carpet just in front of her toes.

And he stood there quietly, for the longest time, looking her up and down in the most audacious manner, as if she was some filly for sale that was being paraded around in front of him, then he murmured most improperly, ”Nothing you would agree to do, I”m afraid. No, thank you, Miss Heath.”

That did give her pause to consider the situation. She knew exactly what he was capable of, and she was alone in this vast, book filled room. His mother—her employer—was fast asleep in another wing of the enormous house. The older woman was not likely to be awakened by much beyond an earthquake, anyway, thanks to the posset that Felisa concocted for her every evening, laced, as it was, with more than a modicum of whiskey, not to mention the draught of laudanum she consumed at the same time. The servants—of which she was one, she supposed, technically, but not really—were all asleep, too, even Ruth, the scullery maid, whose alarmingly long list of duties always seemed to cause her to be the first one working in the morning and the last one able to get to bed.

So, if he decided to take his improper comment and turn it into an improper advance on her person—as he had before—there would be precious little help coming her way.

And, even if he did, she”d already tried to come to grips with the fact that she would have to put up with it, because she didn”t intend to lose this job.

She”d done other—much more odious—things in her time, and Felisa had no interest whatsoever in going back to doing any of them.

She”d been a parlor maid in Lady Whitcomb”s employ when she”d had an attack of whatever it was that ailed her, and Felisa had been the only person in the room at the time. She had done her best to make the woman—who was a guest of the house—comfortable, went to fetch help, and brought back a warm, damp cloth which she pressed to her neck and wrists, as well as pressing it to her forehead.

His mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Sommerville, was so impressed by the impromptu care she had received that she had engaged her as a lady”s companion on the spot, and she quite liked the job. It was far from taxing, it kept her housed and fed—in quite a grand manner—but best of all, it afforded her the ability to borrow books from this library any time she liked. That was the perk she enjoyed the most, by far—although the food wasn”t far behind, as her waistline, which was generous for the first time in her life, could attest.

But, as he sat down on the window seat himself, she began to rethink her strategy of remaining where she was. Perhaps a hasty retreat was called for.

”And what are you reading that keeps you up so late, may I ask?”

She knew—even though he”d added that last phrase as an obvious afterthought—that he wasn”t really asking her permission, and when she didn”t reply to him immediately, he proved her supposition by reaching over and taking possession of her book.

”Madam Bovary.” His eyebrows rose. ”Really. That”s quite an improper book for one so young as you, although I suppose I recognized your bad reading habits before I departed. But I”m still surprised my mother allows you to read that kind of thing.”

Surprising herself, Felisa reached over and all but snatched the book away from him. ”Your mother does not concern herself with what I read. She is not my mother, after all.”

”No, she”s not. But what you do—how you behave and comport yourself, Miss Heath, well or badly—reflects directly on my mother and, thus, myself.”

Not thinking that she needed to keep a better grip on it—lest it be lost again—he easily took it away from her a second time. ”I think it”s a good thing that I”m back. The manners and morals in this house have obviously been lacking since I”ve been gone.”

Felisa—having read the book many times—didn”t bother to try to retrieve it again. Instead, she stood, gathering her things about her and turning to make her way to the door.

”Does my mother give you leave to borrow books from the library, Miss Heath?” he asked almost conversationally.

She turned back toward him, balancing her armload of books, the now empty glass of sherry, and the bowl of dessert, which remained unfinished since he”d dragged his disreputable finger through it.

”Yes, sir, she does.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to delay her further on some sort of flimsy pretext of denying her the ability to do so. ”Hmm. You may go,” he allowed instead.

Felisa gritted her teeth, biting back a smart response, something to the effect that she hadn”t asked to be allowed to leave. Then she gave him another half-hearted curtsey and left his presence. She headed to the kitchen first, where she carefully washed, dried, and put away the dishes and utensils she”d dirtied.

Then she used the back stairs to get to her bedroom, which was right next to the dowager”s, in case she needed anything at night. Once she”d put her things away in her room, she used the connecting door between the rooms to check on the older woman, as was her habit every evening.

But tonight, again, she was brought up short by his presence there, too, although she refused to allow him to silently bully her into not following her usual routine, which was to arrange the covers over her lady—if she”d kicked them off—freshen her water glass, and bank the fire if the room was chilly.

As she finished those tasks as efficiently as possible and headed for the connecting door, she heard him say something that was more unexpected than anything he”d ever said to her before. ”You take good care of my mother, Miss Heath. Thank you.”

This time, her curtsey was more genuine than it had been all evening. ”You”re welcome, sir. She”s a wonderful woman, and I”ve come to care quite a bit for her. I would take care of her even if I didn”t get paid to do so.”

Felisa saw his eyes grow wide at that admission, but she”d turned away from him before she could see how his jaw clenched, completely missing what he whispered under his breath in favor of absenting himself from his presence as quickly as possible. ”And I sincerely hope you never have that vow tested, Miss Heath.”

Rune Alderton, the seventh Marquis of Sommerville, stayed there for a few more minutes, gazing at his mother, then at the door through which her companion had so precipitously exited his presence, and back again.

With a long, low sigh, he left her room, pausing to gaze back at the closed door before heading for the loneliness of his own room.

* * *

The next morning,Felisa accompanied her employer down the stairs bright and early as was the old woman”s custom. Her arm was out, in case she needed it, although she”d only ever taken it when she was truly sick. No, the Dowager Marchioness of Sommerville wasn”t the type to lean on anyone. Her back, even at the ripe old age of sixty-five, was ramrod straight, with or without the help of her corset. Her pure white hair was elegantly arranged atop her head, even for this hour of the morning, and her pale, silk lilac dress—if slightly less than haute couture—accented what was still a trim figure. She was not about to let herself go, and in her general stubbornness, she reminded Felisa very much of her son.

They entered the morning room together, the marchioness aiming immediately for her seat at the head of the small table, while Felisa made a plate for her from the sideboard, which was groaning with food.

Even if she hadn”t known that his lordship had returned home, she would have deduced as much merely by the sight of it. He was a big, dynamic man, and he required a lot of fuel. When he was absent, rarely more than just toast and some kind of eggs were laid out for the two of them. Felisa would have eaten more, if it had been made available, but her ladyship was keeping a close eye on her companion”s slightly expanding waistline.

As it was, she took one piece of buttered toast and a small spoonful of eggs for her employer, pouring her a steaming cup of tea before returning to make her own plate.

”Not too much, Felisa, or you won”t be able to fit into your new clothes.”

”What was that, Mother?” Rune asked as he entered the room, striding up to his mother first thing, pausing to bend down and kiss her wrinkled cheek.

”You”re back. I didn”t hear you come in,” the dowager commented, capturing his face in her hands and kissing both of his cheeks warmly. ”In answer to your question, I was cautioning Miss Heath not to eat too much. She has a tendency to run to fat, and I”m trying to prevent that from happening, especially since I just bought her a new wardrobe.”

Felisa wanted to die at that blatant criticism, and at the idea that her employer had felt it necessary to buy her clothes. She didn”t have a uniform, like the rest of the downstairs household. And what she owned from her previous life didn”t meet the marchioness” standards, by far—she”d been told so quite frequently. So, his mother had gone with Felisa to her dressmaker in order to make certain that she had enough dresses—plain but not too plain—of an acceptable quality and style that would allow her to accompany the older woman wherever she went, whether it was a ride in the park or a ball.

To her surprise, his lordship troubled himself to defend her. ”Mother, not everyone eats like a bird as you do.”

”Not everyone eats like a glutton as you do, either, Rune,” was her acerbic answer.

But that didn”t seem to bother him in the least. In fact, he was smiling broadly as the two of them made up their plates.

Felisa took eggs, toast, and two rashers of bacon. She would have had a sweet bun, too—which she knew the marchioness would object to—only he was standing in front of them, and she didn”t want to get close enough to him to reach for one.

”Well, Mother, I do a lot of physical activity, so I work off what I eat.”

”Yes, well, Miss Heath doesn”t do much in the way of physical activity, and thus, that rationale does not apply to her.”

Felisa was horrified when he actually winked at her, while countering, ”I”m quite sure that you run her ragged all day long, asking her to do this and fetch that, so that she”s forced to climb the stairs multiple times, which is exercise, of a sort. Leave the poor young woman alone. I think she looks lovely.”

Taking her breakfast to her chair at the older lady”s left, she was again surprised when the marquis put his own plate down on the buffet to come pull her chair out.

Her ”thank you, sir,” was strangled, and she dedicated herself to not looking up—and thus, right at him when he took his seat across from her—but just trying to eat her breakfast and get out of there as fast as she could.

”Felisa. Felisa!”

She had been so single-minded about her plan to avoid and ignore him that she didn”t hear when her employer had spoken to her until she called her name in a loud, strident tone, which had her bright red again.

”I”m so sorry. What was the question?”

”I was asking you if you”d had a chance to reply to the Hepplewhite”s invitation?”

”Yes, your ladyship. I replied to all of those that we received yesterday, as per your instructions,” she answered honestly.

”Thank you.” She turned to her son, who was neatly devouring the mound of food on his plate. ”Will you be going?”

”To the Hepplewhite”s ball? Possibly. I haven”t seen my mail yet. That”s the first thing I”ll do this morning.”

”It would be nice if you could take me, Rune. Everyone will be so glad to see you.”

Even as she tried to ignore him, his deep chuckle flowed over her, heady as a strong drink, awakening areas on her person that she would much rather had remained asleep, especially in conjunction with him. Felisa did not want to be attracted to him. It would be considerably inconvenient, especially since it seemed that he had come home for good—at least, that was what his mother was hoping, she knew—and it was likely that they would be in close contact from this point on.

She couldn”t help but fall in love with him. He was the embodiment of all of the heroes in all of the romantic stories she read voraciously—tall, dark, and often brooding. He was bigger than any man she”d ever seen before, but his clothes fit him like a glove, although she knew from his mother that he didn”t give a fig about them. If it hadn”t been for his manservant, Keillor, he”d look as disreputable as he did the entire time he was growing up.

Felisa had gathered that he was a bit of a handful as a child, especially since his father had died while he was quite young, and he tended to be a bit headstrong. He was a handful as an adult, too.

She knew that his mother despaired of the idea that he might ever get married. When she”d first hoped that he”d apply himself to that duty, Amelia Alderton had had quite high standards for a potential daughter-in-law.

She must be of the highest purity, no hint of scandal or tinge of disgrace could mar her background or that of her family, which should be only of the most illustrious history and rank, preferably no less than an earl”s daughter. No matter how much money the family had, she would never allow her son to marry anyone from new money or someone whose background was in trade, as so many of her friends had only too happily settled for, in order to continue their current lifestyle, shored up by the influx of cash the poor girl no doubt brought with her.

But, over the past decade plus, Rune had shown absolutely no interest in the charge that was—undoubtedly—his first and foremost duty. They were each startled, in their own way, to hear that he was even considering going to the ball, since he was quite likely going to be beset by all of the mothers who were there who had daughters of marriageable age, and in the past, he had avoided such gatherings like the plague.

He would never want for a partner, but then he could hardly be trusted to dance at all, which had Felisa”s ever wandering mind wondering if that was because he didn”t dance well, perhaps because of his size. It was much more likely, his mother had advised her, that he would meet up with a group of his friends and end up playing cards, drinking, and smoking cigars all evening, rather than being about the real business of trying to get the family another heir.

Still, his mother, who could be a bit critical, did give praise where praise was due. At least her son wasn”t profligate, which was more than the majority of her previous employers had done. And Felisa kept her ears open, such that when she accompanied the marchioness to social calls at various houses, she learned much more than she wanted to about the behavior of the sons of those houses, most of whom seemed to be wastrels, if not downright scoundrels.

Because she rarely joined in the conversation—in that in-between state as she was that few others occupied—remaining quiet and as much a part of the background as her employer would allow, and the other women tended to forget that she was there and were quite frank in their discussions, especially about everyone else”s ne”er do well. She knew that the Catrall”s son was busy drinking and whoring his way through both Europe and their fortune, and that they were likely going to end up destitute. They had already been left off most of the quality”s lists of suitable company, even though their son was the Earl of Macomber. The Jamesons” fortune—which had once been one of the largest in the country—was slowly being sold off as they sat there, to satisfy their son”s gambling habits.

It amazed her how many of the gentry were really just putting on an elaborate show, just barely hanging on financially, while their spoilt children—all of them male and supposedly the flower of their generation—were busy spending money like water and doing nothing at all to see that it continued to flow in.

The Marquis of Sommerville was—thankfully—not one of those men, not that he couldn”t act like one of them occasionally. But her employer had confided in her that was one thing she had never had to worry about with him. He might go off and enjoy himself for a while, traveling and gaming and she didn”t really want to know what all else, but he always came home, and he always kept a careful eye on their finances.

Unlike an alarming number of her friends, the marchioness had never had to endure the ignominy of having the merchants in town refuse their custom because their bills hadn”t been paid in literally years.

Felisa had no doubt, though, that if it had come to that, the marchioness would have taken her son to task, and they would have gotten out of it somehow, between the two of them.

They were the smartest people she knew—definitely not the easiest, either of them, but the smartest. And she had a place in her heart for one of them, anyway. The old lady could be cranky and she was terribly fussy about things that seemed of very little importance to Felisa, but she was generous in her own way, hence the fact that she was sporting the nicest clothing she”d ever owned. And Felisa knew first hand—since she had been tasked with deciding what could be spared, that, unlike a lot of the rich, the dowager gave generously and frequently—of her own things, as well as her time and her money, to those who were less fortunate than she was.

And she considered herself chief among the grateful recipient, on more than one occasion.

”Felisa! Felisa!” The older woman banged her hand down on the table, and she jumped.

”I”m sorry, your ladyship,” Felisa said meekly.

”Don”t make me yell at you like that! Where is your mind today, girl?”

”Sorry, your ladyship.” She could feel her cheeks burning.

”I was asking whether that luncheon this afternoon was at the civic hall or at Lady Mayberry”s?”

”Lady Mayberry”s, I believe.”

”You don”t know?” the marchioness pounced.

”I will make certain first thing after breakfast.”

The older woman remained stealthily still, staring at Felisa until she met her piercing eyes, prompting the younger woman to put her fork and knife diagonally on her plate. ”Excuse me.”

As she was walking to the door, she was amazed to hear him take up for her again. ”It”s no wonder you go through companions like water, Mother. You just drove Miss Heath away from her own breakfast! You constantly harangue that poor girl.”

”I do not. I merely expect her to do what I pay her to do.”

”She goes above and beyond that, Mama, and I have no doubt you know it. I hope you”re paying her generously. I”m not sure you know what you have in her?—”

Felisa found herself pausing just outside the door, hoping to hear more, but then she caught sight of a maid coming down the stairs, which made her realize what she was doing. Not wanting to be caught listening at doors, for which she would have scolded anyone else, she allowed that to prompt her into find the small writing desk in the day room where she kept a diary of her employer”s social affairs.