Chapter Three
Although stupidly disappointed that Mr. Durward did not call the following morning, Carina felt it important not to be seen by him at the Mansels’ house.
Accordingly, she made sure to be there well before two, in the hope of finishing with the correspondence and being well away from the manor by teatime.
Inevitably, she was kept kicking her heels in the morning room.
Another couple of letters had been added to the pile on the desk.
Despite itching to get on with the business, Carina forced herself to sit at her usual side of the desk and merely make preparations, sharpening a couple of pens with the knife lying to one side.
It was while she performed this mundane task that she noticed the newspaper.
Folded several times to show a particular article, it had an ink blot beside the heading that said something about an honourable gentleman.
On impulse, Carina reached across the desk and picked up the paper.
It was hardly the trusted Morning Post, though it was not quite a scandal rag.
It appeared to specialize in stories about prominent people in Society and government, including the royal family, though it steered clear of libel laws by using hints and pseudonyms. Just the sort of paper to appeal to Lady Mansel before she scaled the heights of the ton next year.
The story that seemed to have caught her attention was about a dying man—a young gentleman of excellent family whose sense of honour had led him to a meeting on Putney Heath from which he had apparently been carried by his friends.
The young gentleman was not expected to survive.
Meanwhile a nobleman and former friend of the dying man had apparently fled the country, via an illegal boxing match featuring the famous soon-to-be champion, Mullins.
Despite her ignorance of Town Society, Carina could translate most of that.
The meeting on Putney Heath was clearly a duel from which one participant was about to die, while the other, a nobleman, had to flee the country.
Two lives ruined over a stupid quarrel, no doubt amplified, or even manufactured, by the imbibing of alcohol.
Someone should clearly have knocked their heads together rather than encouraging them in folly.
What the devil was honourable about blowing a friend’s brains out?
It might have been marginally more interesting than who danced with whom at some countess’s ball, but it didn’t seem like the kind of story to interest Lady Mansel. Unless it was Sir Hugh who had been reading it? Or perhaps they knew one of the duellists...
Carina caught her breath. Lady Mansel was interested in Lord Durward, a young nobleman. And Carina’s Mr. Durward had booked passage on a ship to Lisbon, according to Papa. If they were the same man...
Had he really killed a man? Certainly, he had been pretty free with his fists the other night, and eager to shoot the last attacker rather than allow him to escape. Disappointment warred with alarm, even fear, though what exactly she was afraid of remained a mystery.
Approaching footsteps in the passage caused her to replace the newspaper where she had found it and rise quickly to her feet.
Lady Mansel, resplendent in a pure white morning gown trimmed with exquisite lace and red silk bows, hurried into the room looking flustered.
“Goodness, there is so much to do today,” she exclaimed. “I had almost forgotten you were coming, but I do want to get the rest of these letters off today...”
“I am at your disposal,” Carina said. “In fact, if there is anything else I might do for you, you need only say.”
Lady Mansel cast her a quick assessing look. “How are you with flower arranging? My stupid girls have no artistry and no appreciation of colour. Let’s get this done, then see where we are...”
At least she was happy to let Carina move things forward more quickly than usual, so that they galloped through the remaining pile of correspondence.
Even as Carina wrote the direction of the final letter and tried to come up with the best way to remind the clearly distracted Lady Mansel of the money owed, her employer rustled to the door.
“James,” she instructed the footman in the passage.
“Bring all the drawing room flowers here to the morning room, and as soon as Miss Jasper has finished with them, return them...” She glanced back over her shoulder.
“Thank you, Miss Jasper. The drawing room, if you recall, has been tastefully redecorated in shades of lavender...”
Carina, who had never been in the drawing room, recalled no such thing. “I shall do my best,” she said hastily. “May I also remind your ladyship of the—”
“The money, yes, yes, you always have your eye on the coin, do you not?” Lady Mansel snapped. “Be assured I have not forgotten. Make decent work of the flowers and of course you will be paid before you leave.”
Carina had often noticed that those with lots of money tended to be disdainful of those in dire need of it.
Her face still burned from the entirely unfair accusations of mercenary intent.
Besides which, she itched to be away from here and unless she was prepared to humiliate herself further by going to the housekeeper or bearding Lady Mansel in her drawing room, the evening meal would be frugal indeed.
As soon as the footman set the vases on the table, she set to work re-arranging three new displays from the same flowers. She was just finishing when she heard the clatter of carriage wheels and hooves on the gravel below and paused an instant before placing the last bloom.
Hurrying, she peered out of the morning room door and beckoned urgently to James the footman outside the drawing room. He came at once, and took the tray from the table, casting her a quick, surreptitious smile before he strode to the door.
“Please ask Lady Mansel if she needs me further,” she blurted. She could think of no other way to remind the woman about paying her, without losing her pride entirely.
James nodded without turning and vanished.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, so Carina hastily closed the door again. She wasn’t quite sure why she was hiding, but it seemed to be quite important, as though Durward—whether Lord or plain Mr.—were some kind of threat.
Only to my peace. Stupid, stupid...
Pacing, refusing to look out of the window as she heard other arrivals below, she instead stared at the clock while the minutes ticked by.
After ten, she recognized she would not be paid today at all.
Her head drooped. Either she would run out of food or her carefully hoarded emergency coins would diminish into nothing. ..
She straightened, giving herself a little shake. She would waste no more time on what couldn’t be helped. She would just have to come back tomorrow morning, beard her ladyship at breakfast...
The door opened abruptly, and she spun around to face it.
Sir Hugh strode into the room, smiling with the oily delight that made her flesh crawl. “Oh good, you are still here. You were waiting for me.” At least he didn’t bother to close the door he had thrown so wide.
“I was waiting for Lady Mansel,” she said coldly.
“She is busy with her guests. She sent me to take care of you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It is a shilling to cover yesterday and today.”
His smile broadened. “A shilling,” he marvelled. “You sell yourself short. I’ll give you another for a kiss.”
“That wasn’t my agreement with your wife,” she said woodenly, while she considered the possibilities of rushing past him to the open door. If someone—James, perhaps—would only walk past, she could time it to perfection.
Sir Hugh laughed softly. “Don’t be a little prude, my dear. My wife has nothing to do with you and me.”
“On the contrary, she asked you to pay me my shilling.” She knew bandying words would not help. It only amused him, fed his reasonless lust. What is the matter with men? “However, if the matter is beyond you today, I shall speak to Lady Mansel some other time.”
Was that not the click of a door in the distance? It was now or never. Holding his smug, mocking gaze, she moved suddenly, saying loudly, “Good day!” as she stormed past him.
Or tried to. He recovered from his surprise just in time to snake out one hand and catch her by the elbow, swinging her to such a sudden halt that she stumbled and fell against him.
His hand was at her throat, half threatening, half caressing. “Such soft skin...I’ll give you jewels to adorn that pretty neck and splendid bosom. Gowns of finest silk... What do you say, my proud bird?”
“I say the shilling Lady Mansel owes me suffices. Along with immediate freedom from constraint.” She meant it to be proud and disdainful, but of course her voice shook and threatened to break, making her sound only desperate and frightened.
His loathsome eyes gleamed with triumph, and he bent his face to hers. “You won’t regret your submission...”
In panic, she raised her foot to stamp and kick.
“I say, Mansel,” drawled a voice behind him. “Where do I find a retiring room?”
Oh, dear God, it was him.
Abruptly, she was released as Sir Hugh spun around to face the door. Belatedly, she stormed out of the room, only vaguely aware of the man in the doorway stepping aside and bowing though she did not look at him. Head high, she marched to the staircase and fled.
Damn, damn, damn and hell! she swore to herself, furious with the whole world.
Any relief at escaping was lost in the knowledge that she had lost any chance of receiving the money owed her, and of any future employment at the manor.
Sir Hugh would blame her for this humiliation and never forgive her.
He might even tell his wife Carina had set her cap at him.
Seizing her shawl from the hallstand, she threw it about her and clapped on her old bonnet. She didn’t wait to tie the ribbons before throwing open the front door and leaving.