Authors: Charis Michaels
And he watched her.
She took care with her appearance every day, but for the chess, she spent extra time. It was impossible to hide the effort from Jocelyn, so she asked for her help. And when Piety swept into his drawing room each afternoon in a favorite dress and her cheeks freshly pinched, his narrow-eyed reaction caused her stomach to flip.
Yet, she reminded herself that all of it—the attentiveness, however gruff; the watchfulness, however covert—meant nothing. She knew when the games finally came to a fair end, there would be no further reason for them to pass the time together. Counsel about the stairwell or no, she knew he had meant what he said when he’d asked her to retreat from his life forever.
But in the meantime, two of their games had ended a draw, and the third game had stretched over two afternoons, with the possibility of a fourth. And the house was coming along nicely, slowly but nicely. She and Jocelyn had begun to interview applicants for a real housekeeping staff. Even Lady Frinfrock had stray compliments for her progress. She had allowed herself to think that she might actually pull the whole thing off, that she might successfully move herself and her fortune to London, set up house, and live out her days safely and happily with new friends and a fresh start, free from her mother and the possibility of an oppressive marriage.
And then Eddie Limpett turned up.
He arrived at the end of the second week of chess—a Friday, rainy and gray. To say his arrival took everyone by surprise was like saying that her new home was
dusty
. She had never expected any of them to find her so soon, and Piety had but five-minute’s advance warning to compose herself and prepare her defenses. Even those frantic moments were a stroke of unexpected luck—owed entirely to Mr. Spencer Burr, who interrupted their afternoon chess with a pounding on Falcondale’s garden door.
“It’s the garden door, Joseph,” Falcondale said, staring at the chessboard. “Send them away.”
“The boy will be run ragged, Falcondale,” scolded Lady Frinfrock, watching Joseph jog from the room. “I cannot believe you’ve sacked the previous earl’s entire staff and laid the work of fifteen servants at the feet of one boy. Is he to be butler, valet, footman, cook, and serving boy all in one? It’s unchristian, Falcondale. Positively abusive.”
“You’ve forgotten groom.” The earl muttered the words under his breath. “He also is my groom. Ah, but here he is. It’s a wonder he can still stand. Who was it, Joe, and what did they want?”
“Not what,” he began, stammering a little, “
who
.”
There was a heavy silence, and the boy looked at Piety.
She froze.
Oh, God, no.
An icicle of dread dripped down her spine.
“It was the carpenter Mr. Burr. He came through the back gate. He says Miss Grey has a guest.”
No
.
Not yet. Please.
“There’s a man at her front door now,” Joseph continued. “Mr. Burr said Miss Grey might wish to know before she receives him. Time to plan and all that.”
Lady Frinfrock snorted. “Plan? Plan for what? My God, who is it, President Madison?”
“Name’s
Limpett
,” Joseph recited. “Mr. Edward Limpett. Claims to be one of Miss Grey’s stepbrothers.”
Of all of them,
Piety thought,
at least it’s Eddie.
Piety floated up from her chair, her eyes not leaving Jocelyn’s face. “He’s sure?” Piety asked. “Mr. Burr is certain? It is Edward Limpett?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Grey,” said the boy. “Mr. Burr said the gentleman is demanding to see you right away.”
“
Oh, no
,” Piety said, shaking her head. Skirting the table, she spoke in a rush. “Tell Mr. Burr to
not
admit him. Above all. Not one foot inside the house. He must not see the condition. Tell him I’ll come out. No.” She snapped her fingers in frustration. “It’s raining. Tell him . . . Well, I . . . I cannot say. I never expected to see them so soon.” She looked frantically around the room, thinking. “Tell him . . . tell him . . . ”
“Tell him,”
intoned the marchioness, rising, “that you are taking tea as the guest of your neighbor, and that if he wishes to see you, he may call upon you here. Clearly, you are not at home to receive him. If what you say is true about these men, there is absolutely no need to jump simply because one of them turns up and croaks the word
toad
. Go, Joseph, tell the carpenter to convey this message and come right back.”
They watched the boy dart out.
“Bring him here?” repeated Piety. “I couldn’t possibly impose on the earl. And his house doesn’t look much better than mine.”
“It bloody well does,” Falcondale said. Piety had been avoiding his gaze since the interruption, but now she hazarded a glance. He looked bored, she thought, and she let out a breath. At least he wasn’t incensed. Or frantic, like she had become. At least he wasn’t tossing them all out.
“Your house is a disgrace, and you know it,” said the marchioness. “But we can hardly trail across the street in the rain to my parlor without looking ridiculous.”
Joseph ran back into the room. “He’s telling him.”
“Good,” the marchioness retorted. “Now, go out the back door, run through the alley, and cross at the end of the block to reach my house. Tell my footman Bernard to apprehend Miss Grey’s guest in the street and escort the man to Falcondale’s door. Instruct Bernard to walk him to the stoop and show him inside.” She scowled at the earl. “Considering there is no butler, we shall leave the door ajar and allow them to breeze through without ceremony. Bernard is a professional, and he will behave as if it is nothing out of the ordinary. Go, now! Tell him exactly as I’ve said.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Joseph, darting out.
With wide, worried eyes, Piety watched him go. She looked at Jocelyn, not knowing what else to do. Her friend nodded, trying to reassure her.
She looked at Tiny.
“You better eat something,” Tiny said. “It’ll make things worse if you pass out.”
“No, no, I couldn’t possibly.” She began to pace.
“No pacing, Miss Grey, if you
please
,” implored Lady Frinfrock. “Compose yourself. Whatever the man has to say will be made no better by a rattled demeanor. Pray, do not let your anxiousness show. Better yet, rid yourself of anxiety altogether.” She looked toward the earl. “Falcondale, your uncle typically convened formal guests in a small receiving room to the left of the front hall. Have you emptied it as well?”
“We sold everything,” he said.
“Typical rash shortsightedness.” She tsked and then she addressed the room. “Everyone! Take a chair and let us convey this pitiful smattering of furnishing to the receiving room. It is smaller and will look more fully appointed if we greet him there. Marissa, you return for the tea service. And perk up! This is a call from a bothersome relative; it is not an inquisition. He is the interloper here, not us.”
Paralyzed with uncertainty, everyone stared.
“Move!”
She glared at them all. They scurried to do her bidding.
The plan made sense in theory, Piety thought, dashing to the chessboard, grabbing up the pieces. She did not look at Falcondale across the board, although she could feel him watching her. He pushed out of his chair.
“I hope you’ll remember where those go,” he said. “I had nearly beaten you.”
She stopped and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry, my lord,” she whispered. “Truly.”
His expression remained placid, even sleepy. He grabbed the fireplace poker and propped it on his shoulder.
She smiled weakly. “I never meant to involve you in this.”
“That makes two of us.” He scooped up four fresh logs stacked beside the fire and nodded to the door behind them. “Tell us, what can we expect from Mr. Edward Limpett, Stocking Heir? Besides scrutiny of my woefully insufficient receiving room. Will he bind you at the hands and feet and haul you away in a wheelbarrow?”
She chuckled. “Not this one. He is the little one.”
The marchioness began barking orders again, and they each fell into place by her command. By the time Joseph popped through the door, scrambling to find them in a different room, they were seated serenely around a new fire, the marchioness lecturing them about calm reserve and the burden of explanation being on the guest, not the host.
“They are coming,” the boy said gasping for breath. “I have opened the door.”
“Pathetic protocol,” mumbled the marchioness. “But he is American, perhaps he will not realize. You do the best with what you have.” She looked at Piety. “Miss Grey, I trust you have reclaimed your composure and your confidence. You may do the honors. Falcondale, I’m convinced, would not know how to greet a guest in his own home if his life depended on it.”
“I am prisoner of this ordeal,” he said, resuming his slouch in the chair behind the chessboard. “Above all, I hope that can be acknowledged. Anything I do beyond tossing the lot of you out on your ears—the
Limpett brother first
—is more than should be expected of me.”
“Do not speak too soon,” Lady Frinfrock said, adjusting her skirts. “You may just have to do it. Ah, but here they are.”
From the direction of the front hall, they heard a distinctive shuffling—Eddie traveled nowhere without copious effort—and Piety squinted her eyes shut, drawing three quick, shaky breaths.
Composed
, she thought.
Just as the marchioness instructed. Confident.
Beneath the table, she felt a rustling, and she looked down. It was Falcondale, tapping her skirt with his boot. Her gaze flew to his face, and she saw him roll his eyes.
I don’t care about this
, he seemed to say,
and neither should you.
She smiled, feeling calmer. The pressure on her leg was warm and steadying. She relaxed, just an iota. Just enough.
Behind them, the marchioness’s servant, Bernard, stepped into room.
“Mr. Edward Limpett,” the footman intoned, “of New York City. Here to see Miss Grey.”
Just as the marchioness had commanded, Bernard’s introduction sounded both imposing and proper, as if it were perfectly natural to show a strange man into a strange house from the rainy sidewalk. Piety drew a deep breath and smiled brilliantly. “Thank you, Bernard,” she said. “Eddie. What a surprise.”
The top of Eddie Limpett’s balding head barely reached Piety’s ear, and all of his other features followed suit: stumpy legs, short arms, and tiny hands. For whatever reason, likely wishful thinking, his clothes were cut for a larger man, and the resulting poor fit made him look like a marionette dressed in a puppet’s slouchy suit. His demeanor, typically some mix of sour and suspicious, was invariably made worse by the fact that he always seemed to have too much to carry.
In spite of this, not to mention the dozen other unpalatable qualities he shared with his four brothers, Piety considered him to the most harmless of the Limpetts, primarily because he was so clearly not interested in her, at least not in a romantic sense. Who or what interested Eddie, she couldn’t guess, but he had made it very clear that the sight of her held absolutely no appeal. In her darkest moments, when Piety imagined herself unable to escape her mother’s plan, she resigned to marry Eddie. Out of all of them, he would be the least likely to make intimate demands on her.
He plodded into the room and squinted, searching every face before settling on Piety.
“The surprise is mine,” he finally said, looking at her from head to toe, “considering I discovered a tradesman answering the door of that house your father’s lawyers have told us you now own. His English was so garbled I could barely make out what he said. Sent me on a merry chase.” He gave his bulky rain-soaked satchel a shake. “He claimed to be in charge of the
work
?” He gave Piety a suspicious look. “I dare not ask what you’ve done, Piety. I dare not ask.” He began wrestling with his half-collapsed umbrella as it dripped down his leg.
“May Bernard take your things?” Piety asked, wincing at his wet, awkward struggle. “I’m still in the process of hiring a staff, but the carpenters are frequently at the front door to receive deliveries.”
“Hiring a staff?” he repeated, untangling himself from the satchel strap. “Tiny is sitting right there, for God’s sake. You would not believe the beastly service I’ve been shown since sailing from New York. Can’t even get a decent glass of sherry at dinner. Tiny, I’ll have whatever is hot. Coffee, I hope? Lots of sugar, no cream. Oh, but if it’s gone cold, don’t bother until you brew a fresh pot.”
“Tiny is on holiday,” said Piety, taking up a cup and saucer from the tea trolley. “The journey across the Atlantic was difficult for her, and she is not working as staff at the moment. But I will be happy to pour you a cup of tea. You’ll find the coffee you’re accustomed to in New York is positively bitter compared to English tea.”
“Servants do not take holidays.” He grinned at the room. “
Tiny
will be happy to fetch it. How often has your mother told you not to lower yourself to do the work of the maid? It breeds laziness.”
“Eddie, please.” Piety shoved a cup of tea at him. “If you’d like refreshment, help yourself, but no one is impressed by your rhetoric about staff.”
“Help myself, you say?” Eddie said under his breath, leaning over the tea trolley. “Look who is behaving like mistress of the manor. I was led to believe this was not even your house.” He took up a plate and began delicately piling it with food. “I swear, Piety, when we finally got your father’s lawyer to tell us where you had run off to, our imaginations went wild. He assured us you’d bought a house—ha! As if this was a desirable thing! We could only guess what sort of
accommodation
you’d take a shine to in London, England.” He chuckled.
“It’s a house, as you saw. Very much like this, actually, only I’m having a few repairs made before I’m ready to receive guests. I wish you would have written that you were coming. Is Mother with you?
“I sailed first,” he said, chewing. “Your mother needed time to pack. She was set to sail a week or so after me with the others. Eli and Ennis, you won’t be shocked to know, are particularly angry that they’ve been made to come all of this way.”