Chapter Nine #2
When she vanished behind the row of hedges, he returned to the ladder with leaden steps.
As he climbed the rungs to reach the ripening apples, he wondered if a man could die from the weight of his own deceptions.
Nothing was as he’d thought it would be.
Most especially the daughter of Lord Wentworth.
*
He’d filled three buckets with apples for Mrs. Carter in less than an hour.
Thorncroft had instructed him to deliver them to the kitchen when he’d finished.
Thus, he set them into a wheelbarrow and headed out across the gardens toward the manor.
When he arrived, one of Mrs. Carter’s cooks was just stepping outside, shears in hand, presumably to cut herbs from the beds nearby.
“Good morning,” Sebastian said. “Shall I take these inside?”
“Mrs. Carter would be pleased if you could.” She scampered away without making eye contact.
He carried two of the buckets in, figuring he’d come back for the third. The kitchen was abuzz with activity, already warm despite the early hour. Feeding a dozen additional people could not be easy. Yet, Mrs. Carter seemed to do it without breaking a sweat.
He placed the apples on the floor near the table, breathing in the delectable aroma of frying bacon, roasted coffee, and cinnamon and cloves warming in a pot of morning porridge.
A crackling fire licked at the iron pot swinging from its sturdy hook in the hearth, and the brick oven radiated heat.
When a maid opened it, Sebastian saw loaves of bread turning a delicious golden tan.
The long wooden worktable in the center of the room was cluttered with flour-dusted dough waiting to be shaped, a row of eggs in their shells, and a pile of freshly baked scones.
A brace of pheasants hung by their feet from a ceiling rafter.
Mrs. Carter stood at the table’s end, her sleeves rolled high, wielding a knife as if it were an extension of her arm.
Scullery maids darted back and forth, carrying bowls, chopping herbs, and tending the bubbling pots on the range.
A young kitchen boy struggled to keep up as he ferried logs from the woodpile to keep the fires blazing.
Sebastian set down the buckets. “I’ve another one. Shall I bring it in too or store it somewhere else?”
Mrs. Carter glanced up as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Thank you, love. These will do nicely for my tarts and pies. You must’ve been up with the rooster this morning.”
“Whatever you do with them, I know it’ll be delicious,” Sebastian said politely. “And yes, Mr. Thorncroft asked me to wake early to make sure you have what you needed.”
Mrs. Carter blushed, clearly pleased by his compliment and Thorncroft’s thoughtfulness. “Amos is such a thoughtful man. You thank him for me if you see him.” She paused, her expression growing troubled. “Though I do hope Lady Rose appreciates all our efforts on her behalf. Poor lamb.”
Sebastian’s pulse quickened. “Is something the matter?”
“Well, I shouldn’t speak out of turn,” Mrs. Carter said, lowering her voice as she continued chopping. “But I overheard His Lordship speaking with Baron White after dinner last night. Something about moving the ceremony up. Much sooner than planned, from what I gathered.”
Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. “How much sooner?”
Mrs. Carter glanced around, then leaned closer.
“Within the fortnight, if I heard correctly. The Baron seemed quite insistent about it. Said something about ‘settling matters quickly’ before returning to his estate.” She shook her head sadly.
“That poor girl. As if this whole business wasn’t rushed enough already. ”
Sebastian felt the blood drain from his face. A fortnight. That gave Hale’s detective barely two weeks to find something damning enough to stop the marriage. It gave Sebastian even less time to decide whether to abandon his mission or press forward, knowing it would destroy Rose’s world.
“You’ve gone pale, love,” Mrs. Carter observed, setting down her knife. “Are you feeling poorly?”
“Just—tired, I suppose.” Sebastian forced himself to smile. “Mr. Hale asked me to keep an eye on Lady Rose. Apparently Baron White is not to be trusted.”
Mrs. Carter’s face creased with worry. “Oh, the dear thing. She’s been through so much already, losing her mother so young.
And now to have her wedding rushed…and to him.
” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
“Mark my words, there’s something not right about that Baron.
The way he looks at the serving girls, and his demands about this and that.
A proper gentleman doesn’t need to hurry a lady to the altar. ”
“No,” Sebastian agreed quietly. “He doesn’t.”
Mrs. Carter studied his face with sharp eyes, as if she knew exactly how he felt about Lady Rose.
Heat crept up Sebastian’s neck.
Mrs. Carter returned to her work, but a worried crease in her forehead did not lessen.
He went out for the other bucket and placed it next to the others, his mind racing. Two weeks. The detective would have to work quickly. But what if he found nothing? What if Baron White, for all his unpleasantness, had covered his tracks too well?
Still, there was hope in the new constable. Perhaps he was already suspicious of White’s and Wentworth’s business. And he could count on Hale. The detective may find something damning any day now.
A plump kitchen maid swept past with a tray of fresh butter, while another girl shot Sebastian a curious glance before resuming her work peeling potatoes.
Across the room, one of the footmen entered to fill a silver coffee urn and place a stack of steaming rolls onto a platter.
“Goodness me, it’s warm already,” Mrs. Carter said, fanning herself with her apron.
“It certainly is.” Sebastian reached into his pocket for his handkerchief to wipe the back of his damp neck before remembering that he’d given yet another one to Lady Rose. The memory of her tear-stained face made his chest tighten. Two weeks, and then she’d be trapped forever.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, needing to escape before his agitation became too obvious.
Mrs. Carter frowned for a split second, then shook her head. “No, thank you. And take a scone for your trouble. You’ve grown too thin.”
“I doubt that. Not with the food you and the ladies send out for us.” Despite his discouraged mood, he would never turn down one of Mrs. Carter’s scones.
“Thank you. Your scones are a piece of heaven, Mrs. Carter.” Sebastian took one from the pile and stuck it in his gardener’s belt. A little dirt wouldn’t hurt it.
He nodded to the ladies and then hustled toward the door, eager to be alone with his thoughts. He’d only just stepped outside when he heard one of the maids say, “Easy on the eyes, that one.”
“Shush now and get back to work,” Mrs. Carter said, chuckling.
He didn’t stay to hear anything further. His heart felt heavy. Two weeks to save Rose from a fate worse than death. Hale’s man had to find something to save Rose. Or the constable?
Strangely enough, that felt more important than his own mission.