Chapter 8 #2
“And endured your worries and complaints for the last two days? I think not.” A slight tug at the very top of my dress, and then he stepped back. “Done.”
I turned to face him, crossing my arms over my stomach. “Thank you,” I managed.
He nodded, his expression unreadable as his eyes traced over me.
It was then that Mrs. Rawlings opened the door and found the two of us standing a bit too close in front of the fire. I cleared my throat and moved away.
“Food is being prepared,” she said, closing the door behind her and narrowing her gaze at us. “Now, let us sit. Tell me everything.”
She arranged herself on the sofa, and Mr. Rawlings sat beside her. I claimed an armchair across from them.
Mr. Rawlings gestured to me. “Mother, this is Miss Beatrice Lacey. Miss Lacey, meet my mother, Mrs. Ruth Rawlings.”
Well, apparently we would not be keeping anything from his mother if he was beginning with my real name.
“A pleasure, Mrs. Rawlings.” I attempted as much civility as possible. “I do apologize for arriving so unexpectedly. I promise it was a matter of great urgency that prompted our flight from London.”
Mrs. Rawlings inspected me, her expression hard. “What sort of matter?” She did not greet me in return.
Mr. Rawlings succinctly explained all that had happened in the last few days—the case, the incident at Vauxhall, our theory about the murderer coming after us. He spoke in a low tone to keep from being overheard by anyone passing the drawing room.
“We left London two nights ago,” he finished, “and traveled straight here. We mean to keep a low profile, hide away until Bow Street can find the man who attacked us.”
Funny he did not mention our night at the inn together. I imagined his mother would not take too kindly to that.
“And why should you be safe here?” she asked. “Wouldn’t this man know to look for you here?”
An excellent question, which I rather foolishly hadn’t previously considered.
Besides that, I couldn’t help but be irritated that Mr. Rawlings had had no reservations about telling his mother everything when he’d refused to even inform Ginny and Jack of where we were going.
Why should we trust his mother not to let anything slip?
Mr. Rawlings’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps if anyone knew about Briarstone, that would be an issue.”
Mrs. Rawlings made a sound of irritation. “Why do you insist on hiding your inheritance? What difference does it make? For that matter, why do you persist with this absurd profession when you have everything you need right—”
“We do not need to have this discussion again.” Mr. Rawlings’s voice was hard, commanding. “Not in front of Miss Lacey.”
“Bah!” Mrs. Rawlings threw up one hand, rising to her feet and stalking toward the window.
Mr. Rawlings took a deep breath, his shoulders stiff. He glanced at me, and there was something very . . . exposed in his expression. Since I’d met him, I’d seen nothing that indicated a weakness or vulnerability in him. But this house, his mother—there was so much I did not know.
“And what is your plan?” Mrs. Rawlings questioned sharply, turning back to us. “How are we to explain this woman’s presence at Briarstone? We cannot keep her a secret. The servants will talk; you must know that.”
“Miss Lacey,” he said, and I was gratified to hear a bit of rumbling in his voice as he corrected her, “will have a perfectly rational reason for being here.”
“Will I?” I raised my brows at him.
Mr. Rawlings nodded firmly. “We will tell anyone who inquires that you have come to be my mother’s companion.”
Silence gripped the room for all of two seconds.
“Her what?” I asked in astonishment, grasping the arms of my chair as I leaned forward.
“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Rawlings snapped.
Mr. Rawlings set his jaw, motioning for us to be quiet. “It is the only explanation that makes sense,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We shall say that I brought her here with me from London to be at my mother’s side, to keep her from growing lonely.”
“Lonely? I haven’t been lonely a day in my life,” Mrs. Rawlings declared in a harsh whisper. “This is ridiculous, and everyone will see right through such a farce.”
“Then you will have to convince them,” Mr. Rawlings growled. “It is a ruse, yes, but one designed to keep a dangerous criminal from finding us.”
I sat back in my chair, my insides a riot of indignation—me, a lady’s companion? And to the standoffish Mrs. Rawlings?
“It is only for a week or so.” He braced his forearms on his knees as he looked between his mother and me. “You needn’t like it, but it is what must happen.”
I wanted to reject everything he’d said, but as I cast about my mind for any other solution, none came to mind.
It appeared Mrs. Rawlings had a similar struggle, if her irritated expression was anything to judge by.
Undoubtedly, this was why he had decided to tell his mother the true reason for my coming here, knowing how she would react if he had actually tried to pass me off as her companion.
“Can I count on you, Mother?” he asked. “We cannot do this without you.”
Mrs. Rawlings said nothing for a long minute. Then she gave one tight nod. “Very well.”
“Thank you.” He allowed a long exhale. “I know it is an imposition, but I am grateful for your help.”
Mrs. Rawlings looked slightly mollified, settling back in her seat.
“Miss Lacey is to go by Miss Albright while she is here,” Mr. Rawlings said.
“We shall keep her away from Society as much as possible and hopefully return to London soon, putting this whole mess behind us.” He turned to me.
“While you are here, Miss Lacey, it is imperative that you remain within the house.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You are safe here,” he said. “Outside of these walls, I cannot guarantee that.”
I let out a disbelieving breath. “What of Briarstone’s grounds? Surely they are secure.”
“I’m afraid this is not something we will be negotiating.” His voice allowed no room for argument. “Unless I accompany you, you shall not leave this house.”
Who did this man think he was, to imagine he had such full and unequivocal authority over me?
I’d thought that I’d been coming to know him, at least in some small way, but it was clear now that everything I believed about him was only what he had wished to show me.
I forced back the retort that rose in my throat.
I needed time to make sense of these new developments.
I would play by his rules . . . for now.
“Very well,” I said but in a tone that made it clear how much I disliked acquiescing.
Mr. Rawlings nodded, a flash of relief in his eyes. “Shall we put our plan into motion?” He stood and strode to the door, pulling it open. “Stroud?”
The butler appeared in the doorway a moment later. Had he been listening just outside? Thank heavens Mr. Rawlings had insisted on keeping our discussion quiet.
“Yes, sir?” the butler said, standing straight.
Mr. Rawlings gestured at me. “Miss Albright will be staying with us as my mother’s companion for the time being.”
The lie fell rather easily from his lips. Was it because his manner was always brusque and commanding and one learned not to challenge him?
Except for me, of course. I delighted in challenging him.
Stroud stiffened slightly. “I see,” he said slowly.
“Take her to her room and ensure she has dinner and anything else she might need,” Mr. Rawlings said, returning to stand by the fireplace. “I need a word with my mother. Alone.”
Stroud nodded, turning halfway back toward the door. “Miss Albright, if you please.”
I had no choice but to stand, dismissed as if I, too, were a servant. My temper still roiled just beneath the surface, though I knew it would help nothing if I were to argue again.
I met Mr. Rawlings’s eyes with cool defiance. I might now be trapped here at his palace with his shrewlike mother, but I was not beaten. I bent my knees in the barest curtsy. “Mr. Rawlings,” I managed. Then I did the same to his mother. “Mrs. Rawlings.”
At least they could not say I was uncivilized.