Chapter 2 #2
Inez rose, the swish of her skirts delivering that subtle, delicious scent of hers into the air.
“I did not intend to become maudlin. I should be happy that he has finally found work. It did not suit him, life on shore, and his actions did not make it likely any other crew would want to hire him. He is doing what he loves, what meant more than the world to him, and if he should d-d—”
She couldn’t force out the word, instead took a deep breath. “If he ends his life in the work he prefers, that is no small thing.”
“It always hurts,” Joseph said. “When they leave us. Even if they die. It is the way of the world, and even so, it feels like an abandonment.”
She sat suddenly and blinked at him, her eyes wide. “I had forgotten,” she said quietly. “That you have lost your parents, too.”
His circumstances were quite different, Joseph would admit.
His father had been born the second son of a baronet and had lived like a gentleman, though his means were small; the parish of St. Cleer was not wealthy in a country known to be poor.
His mother’s father had attained the rank of gentleman by virtue of success at his trade.
Joseph’s parents had been much liked and respected in their community, and their connections to the baronet had elevated them to the top of St. Cleer’s social world, or what passed for such.
He had never known the insecurity of which Inez spoke.
Yet, given the demand for sailors on merchant ships and the Royal Navy’s resorting to press gangs to find sailors, Inez’s father should have had as steady of employment as he liked.
Even being a lascar, which meant he’d be paid less and treated worse in a line of service legendary for its inhospitality, an able-bodied seaman wouldn’t have been turned away.
Britain’s sea trade, and its burgeoning Navy, ran on men.
They stared at one another, and the air in the room changed.
Waves of sound flowed and ebbed from the streets surrounding them: the clop of shod hooves, the halloos of chairmen, the creak of wheels and the calls of children searching out their playmates.
The light slanted in, casting a golden burnish across her cheek and the slender arch of her collarbone.
Tiny motes of dust twirled and floated in dazzling combinations.
She was so lovely it hurt his throat to look upon her, yet he wouldn’t, for the life of him, tear his eyes away. That he should be confiding in Inez, of all people! The girl he’d been pulling caps with, like street cats fighting over territory, from the moment they met.
Her face softened, her guardedness giving way to a look almost tender.
“And now you have lost your sister as well,” she said.
“I didn’t misplace her. I know where she is.” The words came out more sharply than she deserved. Joseph took a bracing gulp of coffee to clear his head and shake his brain box out of his fanciful reverie.
He must not think of touching Inez. Kissing Inez. Good heavens, the woman was employed under his roof. Or, if not employed, seeking shelter. He might not have much to recommend him, but he possessed some small scraps of honor.
“Anth is running tame in Hunsdon House and across the other ducal properties,” he added. “Well, running as fast as she might with that belly, considering she’s about to drop the ducal heir at any moment.”
Inez pressed her lips again. “She is not a mare producing a foal.”
He would admit he sounded like a jackanapes.
Simply because Amaranthe, who had always claimed she was perfectly happy with her inks and her colors and her stodgy old manuscripts, had quite unexpectedly stumbled across a man who adored her, found three siblings in want of mothering whom she directly took in, then somehow unearthed proof that Malden Grey wasn’t the bastard everyone had supposed.
His sister, who had said more than once she expected to live her life in pleasant spinsterhood—and whom Joseph had assumed he would kindly provide for, giving her a room in his house and the privilege of looking after his offspring—had gone and secured herself a home and family, not to mention a title that increased her stature in the world considerably.
And what did Joseph have?
The dregs of his coffee were bitter even with the sugar dissolved at the bottom. “I wasn’t offered the Aldthorpe position,” he said. “Got turned out of the office as soon as they caught a whiff of the Duke.”
“Oh, that cannot be the reason,” Inez said at once, commiserating. “They could not be so foolish.”
He didn’t have to explain himself to her. She understood immediately what had happened, and what it meant. Few women were as discerning.
His sister was one of them, but Joseph frequently had the sense, even when he did the right thing, that Amaranthe vaguely disapproved of him.
But there was no trace of scorn or condescension in Inez’s voice or expression.
He was so accustomed to detecting it, he was surprised she should meet his eyes so steadily.
He already knew Inez was easy to converse with, and on serious subjects, when most girls her age had feathers in their head.
When he had no other sounding board, she listened to him expound on length on what he was reading, the latest discoveries in natural philosophy, the latest historical theories.
But he’d never really paid close attention to her before. Not beyond what common courtesy demanded.
That shift in the room again, as if the earth had tilted.
He’d never permitted himself to look, frankly. Too concerned to hide the disconcerting physical effect she had on him with the liquid beauty of her eyes and hair and all that glowing brown skin.
He stared into the bottom of his cup as if it showed him his dark future. “The solicitor couldn’t push me out the door fast enough. Said I was overqualified, if you can conscience the irony.”
“They do not wish to risk angering a duke if they treat you poorly.” Inez buttered a thick slice of bread and handed it to him. “You do not know what it is like to live at the whim of the great.”
“I very well do,” Joseph said, indignant.
Her gaze swept him from head to toe, and despite himself he straightened his shoulders, broadening his chest. She was a servant in his home. He should not feel the need to prove his worth to her.
“You are a man,” she said, and bitterness laced her tone.
“You are young and hale and handsome. You are the son of a gentleman, you were raised as a gentleman, and now you are brother to a duke.” She set her chin at a stubborn angle.
“You have no notion what it is like to live knowing a single stroke of fortune—or the whim of another man—could take everything from you.”
“That’s not true.” Joseph sank his teeth into the bread, warm and surprisingly sweet.
He’d been robbed of his parents, of half his family, in one cruel night.
In some ways he still hadn’t recovered from the shock.
And he lived at the whim of an employer, so he expected he understood what it felt like to live at the caprice of others, thank you very much.
For God’s sake, he had a Duke as a brother now. Everything Hunsdon did would reflect on Joseph. His very being cast a shadow over Joseph. How on earth was a man supposed to establish his own place in the world when he had to fight out from under the feet of a monument?
His mind clutched at, then skittered away from the observation that Inez had called him handsome.
She was his dependent. It was really not the done thing for him to confide in her, or for her to counsel him. He stuffed the last bite of bread in his mouth and chewed mightily.
He grew conscious that he was glowering at her, or rather, studying her intently. Inez drew herself up under his scrutiny.
“I don’t suppose you need be concerned at not being offered this post. You will find better, and in short order.”
Her English was proficient, nearly fluent, but an accent lingered. He wondered how long she had lived in London, and where she’d lived before then. He wondered where she lived in London when she wasn’t in his house.
He wondered if she knew she’d accidentally brushed flour into her hair, so one dusty white streak stood out against the silky black mass stuffed under her cap.
He wondered what man’s whims Inez was living under.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted.
Her look turned wary in an instant, from high summer to wintry frost. “What do you mean?”
He meant many things. What she was doing in this town, in his house, and what she was doing here, in the parlor, conversing with him as if they were intimate acquaintances. As if he were at liberty to confide in her, and she was at liberty to provide support.
He’d always wanted a companion he could think out loud with. A sensible woman of reason and intellect who could give him a proper perspective, as a man would, but without giving him instructions on what to do, as a man would. Amaranthe had served that role, but Amaranthe had other roles now.
And the women Joseph had previously attached himself to—well, one might say there wasn’t a strong record of good sense and intellect there. Those qualities tended not to rouse passion or the instinct to provide and protect.
“Here.” He cleared his throat and pointed to the Brussels carpet that covered the wooden floor. “What are you doing in this parlor?”
Because she wasn’t a servant, at least not one who had applied and interviewed for a position.
He supposed she received a salary—one hoped he paid her something for her labors—but what exactly did she do?
He had a housekeeper, a dour and efficient woman Amaranthe had installed to look after Joseph when she abandoned him to become a duchess.
Mrs. Frost had some tragic history Joseph had never inquired about because Amaranthe tended to take in people who had suffered some tragedy.
His mind stalled. Had Inez? Was there more preying on her than concern for her father and his fate abroad?