Chapter Two
Damian eyed the young woman sitting calmly before him. For someone who had chosen hard work after being raised in the lap of luxury, she seemed remarkably sanguine.
The self-assurance of the overprivileged miss. It seemed she hadn’t learned her place. Or was she merely playing at being a member of the lower orders? Was her family supporting her, while they let her play with her patty pans?
He wouldn’t be surprised.
He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the contract and handed it back.
‘I had expected to find I would have a scullery maid to help,’ she said.
Aha, here it was, just as he had expected, the lady needing someone else to do the real work. ‘I doubt there is enough to keep two people busy.’
Her lovely mouth tightened. ‘It took me four hours to clean the kitchen this morning, My Lord. A cook does not normally undertake that sort of labour. Why don’t I seek help from a woman in the village for the days each week your household is in residence? It will not cost that much.’
He felt a sense of disappointment. As if he had wanted her to be different. Which was nonsense, of course.
‘If the work is too much for you, perhaps I need to look for someone else.’
Her soft grey eyes focused on his face.
Dammit it. She was going to call his bluff.
She straightened her shoulders slightly, a stiffening of her resolve no doubt. But what was it she had decided?
‘Very well,’ she said briskly.
He let go the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and nodded.
‘I will see how it goes,’ she continued. ‘I reserve the right to revisit the issue if necessary.’
If necessary. He could not help but admire her gall. But having passed one hurdle, he wasn’t going to erect another. ‘As you wish.’
She rose to her feet.
He stood up and opened the door. She paused on the threshold and glanced up at him. ‘And I am not required to feed your guests?’
Oh, yes, she really did not want to work too hard. She was exactly what he had expected.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘No. My London staff will take care of their needs, you have no need to worry that you will be overburdened.’
‘I see. Thank you.’ She turned and walked away. Her stride was purposeful, but exceedingly feminine. Quite enticing, in fact. Womanly and elegant at the same time. He muttered a curse under his breath.
He had the odd feeling she would prove to be more of a challenge than he had expected. Now if he could only figure out why that would be, he could solve the problem.
He glanced down at the papers on his desk. Some bills from tradesmen, an estimate for a new roof on the east wing from a local carpenter, and a bill for feed, which reminded him—he had planned to visit his horses this morning.
He put on his coat and headed across the courtyard.
In the stables, he found Pip in his shirt sleeves, already at work. No point in hiring a stable master and grooms when the animals were only here a couple of days a week, so he and Pip took on those duties.
The same logic did not apply to his cook, of course. Her wages were a small price to pay for the punishment he planned to exact.
He glanced at the bay standing patiently under Pip’s ministrations. ‘Is Caesar all right?’
Pip straightened. ‘He seems fine. I was worried he had the colic last night, but everything is right this morning.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Damian picked up a pitchfork and began mucking out the stall.
‘I met your cook,’ Pip said.
An odd sensation tightened his gut. Damian straightened his forkful of manure and regarded his friend. ‘Did you?’
‘On her way to see you. Une bellepetite fille, mon ami. Be careful she does not turn the tables on you.’
He grunted and heaved the load of stinking straw into the barrow. ‘Unlikely. She’s not my sort of female at all.’ He preferred the earthy experienced type who expected nothing but a generous gift at the end of an association.
Pip chuckled. ‘You are right, of course. She struck me as very prim and proper. Perhaps she is more my sort.’
Damian snorted. ‘Prim and proper would have you running for the hills. Prim and proper is looking for marriage.’ He was banking on it. He leaned on his fork and glowered at his friend’s grinning face. ‘I meant what I said. Stay well away from her. This is mine to finish.’
Pip grimaced. ‘You don’t have to warn me off. I am not in the market for a wife, I assure you.’ Pip put away his brushes and tossed a blanket over Caesar. ‘You, however, are a different story. A nobleman needs an heir, does he not?’
Damian grabbed the barrow’s handles and lifted it. This conversation was pointless. ‘The title is nothing but a means to an end. And when that end is accomplished, I’ll have no use for it.’ He stomped out into the yard and tipped his load on the manure pile.
Behind him he heard Pip’s laughter.
Damn him.
He could laugh. But Damian had decided long ago he cared nothing about the title or the duty it entailed. He had set himself one purpose in life and that was to make those who had caused him and his family to suffer humiliation and degradation suffer it tenfold in return.
Nothing would ever get in the way of that, even if it took him the rest of his life.
He certainly didn’t want to marry. Women came with a whole set of expectations of their own. And if you failed to meet them, they did not take it well. His own mother had died of a broken heart, her sensibilities weakened and living in squalor too much to cope with after his father’s failures.
Their family had lost everything because Father had believed the smiles and promises of a couple of noblemen he admired and who hadn’t hesitated to use his admiration to their advantage.
Now the tables were turned. He, Damian, was the one the ton admired and fawned over. And he would have no hesitation in turning the tables on them and their offspring when the time was right.
He gazed across the courtyard at the house he had lived in until he was ten. The last twenty years had not treated it kindly. The bailiffs had taken anything of value that was not nailed down, but since it was entailed, it could not be sold to clear their debts. His family had been forced to leave England or face debtors’ prison. Over the years several renters had come and gone and ultimately it had been abandoned to its fate. The cost to put it right would be enormous.
The estate belonging to the title he had recently inherited he would sell at the first opportunity, if anyone would buy it. He didn’t give a damn. He would have loved to have sold it all—this estate, this house—and be rid of the financial and emotional burden, but its entailment meant he had to make do.
Once his plan had borne fruit, it could fall down for all he cared. He and Pip had set their sights on a new life in the New World.
The staff who had arrived earlier in the afternoon was a strange lot indeed. Pamela had expected housemaids and footmen and, indeed, when they had arrived, they had apparently gone about those sorts of tasks in the upstairs rooms, but the chattering jolly bunch who had come down from their quarters for dinner were like no servants she had ever seen.
The men wore the powdered wigs of footmen to be sure, and a livery of sorts, but rather than being of all the same discreet colour designed to fade into the background, their coats were bright blues, reds and greens and embellished with quantities of gold braid.
The women wore evening gowns and elaborate coiffures and glittering jewellery at throat and wrist. Stones made of paste, no doubt, but they sparkled in the candlelight of the plain servants’ dining hall. And they all carried masks.
At the direction of the head footman, who had introduced himself as Albert, his underlings carried the tureens of stew from the kitchen to the table. She joined them, seating herself at one end of the table with Albert at the other.
The moment Albert finished saying grace everyone helped themselves to stew and fresh baked bread.
She turned to the young woman beside her, who was tucking in with apparent relish. ‘I expect you will be busy when the guests arrive?’ Dressed as she and the other women were, Pamela could not imagine their tasks were limited to bed making or fire lighting.
The girl eyed her up and down somewhat suspiciously, Pamela thought. ‘Ain’t that the truth?’ She broke apart a slice of bread and dipped it in the gravy. ‘Good grub for a change.’
A woman further down the table shot her a glare. ‘Anything is better than what you got at the workhouse, Meg,’ she called out.
A tall handsome young man in a red coat seated on the other side of Pamela chuckled. ‘Don’t take any notice of Betsy, down there. She’s cross because you are a better cook. I’m Johnny, by the way. How do you do?’ He raised his voice. ‘Isn’t that right?’
There were mutters of agreement around the table.
A sudden silence descended and people rose to their feet. Surprised, Pamela glanced up to see His Lordship in the doorway.
Clearly dressed for the evening in a black form-fitting coat that showed off his broad shoulders and lithe body, a dazzling white cravat with an emerald glinting in its folds and an emerald-green silk waistcoat, he looked gorgeous.
Her stomach gave an appreciative little flip. She was horrified to notice similar reactions on the faces of the other women.
‘Please,’ he said with a charming smile, ‘sit down. Do not let me interrupt your meal.’
Everyone resumed their seats.
Pamela schooled her expression into one of cool enquiry. ‘May I be of assistance, Your Lordship?’
Albert frowned, as if he thought she should not have spoken.
‘I came to assure myself all is satisfactory,’ Dart said. His gaze took in the table and the food before falling on Albert.
‘Mrs Lamb has done us proud, My Lord,’ Albert said.
Others at the table nodded their agreement.
Pamela could not quite believe her eyes and ears. What nobleman ever came to the servants’ hall to ensure his staff was well fed?
His Lordship sent a glance of approval in her direction. ‘It certainly smells wonderful.’
It seemed she had passed muster. Was that what this was all about, him checking up on her performance of her duties?
‘Would you care to try it?’
He hesitated. ‘Perhaps another time.’
The clock on the wall struck six. ‘Come on, you lot,’ Albert, said. ‘Finish up. There’s a lot to do before the chickens arrive.’
‘Chickens?’ Pamela said. Her voice was lost in the scraping of chairs on flagstones and the general hubbub.
Or perhaps not. ‘Birds ripe for the plucking,’ Johnny said in a low mutter, leaning close as he got up.
His words had a distinctly ominous undertone. She glanced over at His Lordship who stood back to allow everyone out of the door.
A strange sensation curled in the pit of her stomach. There was something not quite right here. Something she did not understand. Something she had the feeling she should have been told before she accepted the position.
There was no chance to ask any questions. In moments, the dining hall was empty, His Lordship having followed them out.
Pamela huffed out a breath, stacked the plates and carried them to the kitchen sink.
She might be inclined to find out just what was going on here. And if it was something unpleasant, as she was starting to suspect? She would have to decide if she would go or stay.
Leaving would require she pay a heavy penalty for breaking her contract. And the employment agency might refuse to send her any more offers of work.
That would not be a good outcome.
If she could not find other work, she would have to return home—to her mother and the prospect of accepting her elderly suitor.
She finished clearing the table and headed back to her sink.
A portly man in a chef’s hat was standing at the stove with a ladle in his hand.
‘Good evening,’ she said.
The man turned. His face reminded her of a jolly elf, rosy red cheeks, brown eyes and hair which was clearly receding. His mouth turned down at the sight of her. ‘Who are you?’ His tone was definitely belligerent.
She eyed him calmly. ‘Mrs Lamb, the new cook. And you?’
‘Chandon. His Lordship’s chef.’ He took a sip of her stew. ‘Adequate. Fit for those who serve.’
‘They seemed to like it,’ she said, trying not to let him bait her into saying something she would regret.
‘They know nothing.’ He stalked out.
He was wrong. Her stew was more than adequate. It was delicious. Her father, who liked his food, had said so. Chandon was another of those men who feared female competition.
Well, this was her kitchen. Her domain. Next time he set foot in it, she would demand his departure.
She filled her sink full of dishes with hot water and soap and began the mindless task of washing up.
The sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels crunching on gravel came from outside.
His Lordship’s guests, no doubt. Along with their coachmen and grooms, who also required an evening meal.
They would definitely appreciate her stew, Chandon be hanged.
Damian surveyed his domain.
Now the obligatory meal was over, the tip of the hat to a legitimate house party, here, in the gaming room, he felt comfortable and in control.
The rattle of die and the clink of glasses amid the chatter and laughter played like a perfectly conducted symphony. Every table overflowed with players watched over by his female croupiers, smiling and nimble, while the footmen moved through the throng with trays of the very best champagne.
The more the pigeons drank, the more they played. The more they played, the more money he made.
A movement at the door caught his eye. A brief flash of drab skirt whisked out of sight.
What the devil?
There was only one woman in this house dressed in dreary grey. He passed through his guests, smiling and bowing, showing no sign of the anger building inside.
Pip, currently entertaining a couple of ladies at a game of vingt-et-un, glanced up as he passed. An eyebrow rose in question. Something wrong? the look asked.
Nothing he couldn’t deal with, he replied with a tilt of his head. They had been communicating with these silent signals since they were lads when the gendarmes would have carted them off to jail had they discerned the tricks they were up to.
Outside in the corridor, there was no sign of his quarry. He walked quietly along the hall to the nearest room, the library. He pushed at the door and it swung open.
On the other side of the room, his cook, in her prim grey gown and severe cap, was staring up at a portrait of one of his female ancestors in powdered wig and Elizabethan ruff, trying, no doubt, to give the impression she was completely absorbed. The tension in her shoulders indicated she was fully aware of his presence.
He stalked across the room and stood inches behind her. The severe bun beneath her cap meant her nape was bared to his gaze, soft and white and vulnerable. How would her skin feel against his lips? Would she shiver if he kissed her? Or would she turn and slap his face?
‘Mrs Lamb,’ he murmured.
She swung around as if startled, then backed up when she realised his nearness.
‘My Lord?’ Her voice was breathy, a little shaky as if her heart was beating too fast for comfort.
‘Was there something you required?’ he asked.
‘I...er... I was wondering if the staff would require supper at the end of their day?’
Quick-witted, then. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, even if it wasn’t the truth. But then he hadn’t expected the truth from her father’s daughter. Deceit ran in her blood.
‘There will be plenty left over for them once my guests depart, should they feel the need.’
‘Oh, I see. Thank you.’
She made to move around him. He cut her off. She frowned.
‘What was your real purpose for being in this wing of the house?’ he asked.
She lifted her chin in a little show of defiance, but pink stained her cheeks. Guilt at being caught in a lie? ‘I was curious.’
‘You know what curiosity did?’
She looked him right in the eyes. ‘I am not a cat, My Lord.’
And not a meek little mouse either. But then she hadn’t been raised to be meek, unless she was dealing with someone she considered her better, or a good marriage prospect. ‘I see. Is your curiosity now satisfied?’
She hesitated.
What would she say next?
‘Why would members of the ton drive all the way out here to gamble when there are plenty of hells and whatnot close to hand in London?’
Interesting that she instantly saw right to the hub of the matter. ‘Why indeed?’
She shot him a piercing stare. ‘That is hardly an answer.’
‘I don’t answer to you, Mrs Lamb,’ he said in bored tones. ‘I fail to see how it is any of your business, to be honest.’
She flinched slightly, but, to his surprise, held her ground. ‘It is my business if you are engaged in some sort of nefarious activity.’
Devil take it, did she think to cause trouble? He closed the gap between them once more. She held her ground, but her hands tightened convulsively at her waist.
‘As far as I know, house parties are not outlawed in England,’ he said evenly.
‘I—no. It is rather reprehensible for a nobleman to be setting up a gaming establishment, however. Relieving people of their money.’
And it wasn’t reprehensible to defraud a gentleman of his fortune as her father had done? ‘This is not a gaming establishment. Everyone here is a guest, invited to spend an evening among their peers, enjoying each other’s company and playing cards or die to while away the time.’
Her expression said she did not believe a word of it. ‘At every one of the tables a member of your staff holds the bank. How is that different from a gaming establishment? Everyone knows that the bank almost always wins.’
‘Unlike most gaming establishments, this house plays fair. While the odds are naturally stacked in favour of those who hold the bank, those who gamble here have a fair chance of winning large sums of money.’
Her lips thinned. ‘Only to lose it all again the next time.’
How dare she look down on him? ‘Do you think they would not be gaming elsewhere under much less favourable circumstances, if they were not gambling here?’
Her shoulders slumped. ‘I suppose not.’
Surprised that she acquiesced so readily to his logic, he stepped back and gestured for her to leave. ‘Now you have satisfied your curiosity, I would prefer it that you return to your domain and leave my domain to me. Is that clear?’
‘Very clear, My Lord.’ She looked as though she wanted to say more, inhaled a deep breath and marched out.
He watched her go. Felt the tug of his heart again. Pity? Regret that she would eventually receive her comeuppance at his hands?
How was it possible?
Had her father felt any regret about what had happened to him and his mother? It was only right that the daughter suffer a similar fate.
He strode back to the chatter and laughter in the ballroom. Everything was moving along very nicely. Nothing and no one would stop him from dealing justice to those who deserved it.