Chapter 2
By the time Ben located Aldercombe Grange, tidied himself in his new bedchamber, and went downstairs to await a meeting with Mr. Hayward, the land agent, he’d nearly convinced himself that he could forget the day’s prior mishaps and enjoy a return to order.
Nearly, until a plaintive wail floated out from the kitchen, followed by a woman’s stern bark.
He paused with his foot partway between two steps on the servant’s staircase, his not-quite-relaxed muscles promptly squeezing themselves into knots.
After the various sources of tumult he’d encountered already today, he hadn’t imagined that going to the kitchen and ensuring ample food was prepared, should Mr. Hayward wish to stay for dinner, would provide another of them.
However, when he prompted his feet back into motion, descending the remainder of the staircase and hurrying down the basement corridor, it became clear the servants were in an uproar.
He halted at the threshold of the kitchen, peering in to discover that the cook, kitchen maids, and housekeeper had all abandoned their tasks in favor of gawking at the scene unfolding by the back door.
Namely, one of the chambermaids—Molly, he seemed to recall from his earlier introduction to the staff—was being dragged off by an irate older woman with a reddened face and eyes that bulged.
“You can’t make me leave, Mum!” Molly cried, wrenching her slender arm free and throwing her body against the door like a barrier. “I don’t want to return to the farm.”
Her cry only made the woman’s—her mother’s—scowl deepen, and she set her hand back on her daughter’s sleeve without missing a beat. “Tending livestock and threshing corn was good enough for me and will be good enough for you, too. It’s honest, wholesome work.”
Molly shook her head urgently, holding her position despite how her mother had a clear advantage in size. “Mrs. Wheeler says I’m one of the best. She says I could even be promoted to lady’s maid someday.”
“Lady?” Her mother let out a snort. “I’m not sure you should count on any ladies entering this house of … of … of ill repute!”
“I’m certain it’s not bad as all that.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Wheeler, stepped forward to intervene, although the sound that escaped Ben’s throat caused her to whirl around, her words faltering and her brows shooting up in horror as she took him in.
“Mr. Prescott.” The spry, middle-aged woman stumbled into a curtsy, quickly schooling her features into impassiveness. “What may we do for you?”
But Ben couldn’t answer. He was busy studying the chambermaid and her mother—the former diffident and quivering, the latter turning purple with indignation.
For a long moment, the woman glowered at him as though she’d never seen anything so revolting in her life.
And then, before any of them pieced together a sentence, she pushed past her daughter to fling open the door, hauling the startled girl out with her.
“Come along. You’ll not set foot in this house again. ”
The door slammed closed, cutting off Molly’s answering protest and leaving the kitchen in weighted silence.
After an indeterminate number of seconds passed, the kitchen maids began muttering amongst themselves, and Mrs. Wheeler repeated his name. Ben, though, was impervious to everything but the chatter within his own head.
What in hell had just happened? What had he done, after a mere afternoon at Aldercombe, to so grievously offend a servant’s mother that she would remove her daughter from the house while giving him the cut direct?
Could she have somehow discovered his expulsion from university and the reason behind it? The thought caused his skin to prickle with unwanted heat. But no, she had no way to discover such things—did she? Surely, a farm woman in Wiltshire wasn’t privy to the goings-on at Cambridge.
Her displeasure must be because of something else—a conflict already in place before his arrival. Maybe there was trouble amongst the male and female staff for which he, as new head of the house, was now considered responsible. Whatever it was, he would need to remedy it immediately.
Yet just as he moved to reply to Mrs. Wheeler and beg her assistance in sorting the matter, a raspy throat cleared, and a male voice came from behind him. “Mr. Prescott? Mr. Hayward has arrived to see you.”
He spun abruptly to find Pearce awaiting him, the seasoned butler showing not a trace of discomposure.
That was a promising sign, at least—the turmoil from the kitchen must not have made its way elsewhere in the house.
As for the nature of the turmoil, it turned out he’d have to wait until later to discover it, after all.
He’d summoned his land agent for a three o’clock meeting, and as the main purpose of Ben’s being at Aldercombe was to assess the man’s management skills and see what improvements they could implement with the estate, he didn’t wish to keep Mr. Hayward waiting.
After instructing Pearce to show Mr. Hayward to the study, and informing Mrs. Wheeler he’d like to speak with her as soon as his meeting concluded, he started back into the corridor and up the stairs, trying to put the scene in the kitchen aside.
He needed to focus on ledgers. On the discussion he and Mr. Hayward would have on profits and losses.
On the questions he must pose regarding land use.
However, the incensed words of Molly’s mother kept returning to him like a gnat buzzing in his ear. I’m not sure you should count on any ladies entering … House of ill repute …
He gave his head a brisk shake as if to force them out, smoothing down the folds of his cravat and pleats of his waistcoat. Then, ignoring the knot that had settled in his stomach, he pushed into the study, where a man stood by the desk awaiting his arrival.
“Mr. John Hayward, I presume.” Ben nodded in his direction, motioning for him to take one of the leather chairs alongside the desk. “I’m Benedict Prescott.”
“A pleasure, sir.” Mr. Hayward accepted the proffered seat as Ben strode to his own chair on the opposite side of the desk, studying the land agent out of the corner of his eye.
At first glance, he appeared respectable, with a smart double-breasted tan coat and neatly clipped gray-brown hair.
Ben estimated him to be about two decades his senior, which placed him at an ideal age: old enough to possess plenty of experience, but not so old that his memory should be at risk of declining like that of the previous man to hold the position.
The only trouble was … Mr. Hayward didn’t seem quite comfortable while he sat. Nor did he look Ben directly in the eye, the edge of the desk seeming far more interesting to him.
Ben brushed invisible wrinkles out of his trousers, trying to shake off his sense of unease.
Mr. Hayward’s malaise was likely a figment of Ben’s imagination, brought on by the unanticipated contempt he’d encountered in the kitchen.
There was no reason for the land agent to scorn him.
No reason aside from his youth and inexperience, perhaps, although he was determined to prove those were surmountable obstacles.
“Let’s get right to it, shall we?” Ben reached for the account book he’d placed at the top of the pile on his desk, flipping it open to the first page.
“I understand that last year’s lack of true summer created unfavorable growing conditions, and that the man you’re replacing made some omissions in reporting, but I wonder if … ”
He trailed off, an overloud feminine whisper in the corridor interrupting his train of thought. “Everyone will know about it by nightfall. He had no care for her reputation at all, nor did she have much care for it herself, it seems. The lady is ruined.”
The knot in Ben’s gut pulled tight, his teeth clenching as his gaze darted upward. Through the partially open door, he could just make out two chambermaids sauntering along, their frilly caps pressed close together while the women animatedly conversed.
Blast it, why must they gossip here, at this precise moment? Then again, perhaps he should be grateful the house still had chambermaids and that no more incensed mamas had come to remove their daughters from his employ.
He bit back a sigh and returned his attention to the ledger, trying to shut out everything beyond the perimeter of his desk. “I wonder if, assuming more satisfactory weather this year, we could—”
“And he really acted that quickly?” the second maid exclaimed in a whisper no more subtle than her companion’s.
“Yes! He didn’t even come to the house first before he—”
“Mr. Hayward.” Ben pushed aside the ledger, his voice coming out far more clipped than he intended. He had only to look at the mottled face and pinched mouth of the man sitting across from him to realize Mr. Hayward, too, had heard every word from the corridor.
There could be no more ignoring it, for this situation was growing worse by the minute.
“Something is amiss at Aldercombe,” Ben said tightly.
“Something that’s causing disorder and gossip, and at the risk of sounding over-anxious, I’m starting to believe myself the cause. Might you know what it is?”
“I …” Now it was Mr. Hayward’s turn to trail off, his hand running agitatedly over his brow. “I couldn’t say for certain, sir.”
A lie. It wouldn’t take a keen observer to determine as much. Ben cleared his throat, forcing himself to hold the nonplussed man’s gaze. “Even if you have an inkling, I’d be much obliged if you shared it with me.”
Redness spread all the way up to the roots of Mr. Hayward’s hair.
“Uh.” He shifted in his seat, wringing his hands against the desktop.
“There’s been some trouble at the neighboring estate, Watley Hall.
It seems a young lady—a, uh, local viscount’s daughter—who’s a guest at the home was caught in an …
untoward position with a gentleman when she wandered onto Aldercombe land during a picnic today. ”
“A gentleman.” Ben repeated the word thickly, his heart slamming against his ribs. Everything was falling into place now, one awful piece at a time, but he still needed to hear it confirmed aloud. “What gentleman?”
“Well.” Mr. Hayward coughed, peering fixedly at the bookcase just beyond Ben’s head. “Based on the timing of the incident … Based on the description of the gentleman provided by a witness … There’s speculation it was, uh, you.”
There it was, the truth laid out in all its horrifying glory. A truth that made Ben’s blood run cold and his chest throb.
“There’s been a grave misunderstanding, I assure you,” he snapped, jumping up from his chair and hurrying to the window to peer out at the greenery.
He’d hoped the view would prove calming—a vast improvement to the sight of his flustered land agent.
Instead, his mind swooped back to the rolling hills beyond Aldercombe’s garden.
The hut in the muddy pasture. The ankle within his palm.
Damn it, how had things gone so appallingly awry?
“I’m afraid our meeting will have to wait,” he said to the window, because he was now the one incapable of making eye contact. “I must quell these appalling rumors at once.”
“Certainly, sir.” The sound of Mr. Hayward’s chair pushing back, along with boots hitting the carpet, followed instantly. “Whenever you have need of me again, just say the word.”
It was a remarkably polite farewell given all the uncomplimentary things the land agent must think of him. So polite that it nearly eased the sting over how quickly the man fled his presence, taking all Ben’s good intentions about remedying the estate with him.
Ben pressed his forehead to the cool glass, a colorful assortment of curses tumbling from his throat.
Perhaps he should be relieved that his disgrace had nothing to do with the scandal at Cambridge.
But if anything, this was worse. Much, much worse.
Mere hours in Wiltshire and he’d become a bloody rake.
He dug his fingers into his temples, trying to find order within his spiraling thoughts.
His entire household—the entire neighborhood—thought he’d debauched a viscount’s daughter, for Christ’s sake, and he couldn’t let that stand.
He needed to devise a way to set things right before the situation grew even worse and he had yet another irreversible smear on his name.
The great irony of it was, he’d always been the one to stay back when his classmates at Cambridge went off to establishments in search of carnal activities.
Unlike them, he hadn’t felt an interest in sharing a fleeting moment of passion with someone he’d never see again.
It was as if that component, present in every other male of his acquaintance, was missing in him.
As for the concept of a lasting relationship—a marriage—it had proved far too slippery to grasp.
How was he to envision a future with a woman when he didn’t even have a clear path forward for himself?
How was he to imagine belonging with another person—loving another person—when he himself didn’t belong anywhere finite?
Yet when a gentleman needed to repair a slight to a lady’s honor … what other option was there but marriage?
Despite his bloodline, he had little experience dealing with high society and remembering all its unspoken rules. Nonetheless, he knew how these matters worked. He knew the solution to a ruined reputation. And wasn’t a solution worth any cost?
“Mr. Hayward!” He spun away from the window, bolting out of the study and toward the entrance hall. His pulse was too quick, his head too skittish. Every rational part of his being insisted that a decision this momentous required weeks of careful planning and consideration.
But desperate times, desperate measures. He would fix this at once, for both himself and the lady.
Fortunately, Mr. Hayward was still in the entrance hall when Ben arrived, accepting his beaver hat from Pearce with a look of mild trepidation.
Ben ground to a halt and took a breath, pulling his spine as straight as it would go.
“Before you leave,” he said to the land agent, forcing himself to push past his consternation, his humiliation, and anything other than what he needed to stop this scandal in its tracks.
“I wonder if you might give me directions to the home of Miss Violet Collingwood.”