Emily Greenwood (9 page)

***

As soon as Crispin had left, Felicity turned on Mr. Collington. “That was incredibly high-handed of you. You practically dismissed him.”

“So I did,” he replied haughtily and urged his horse upward again toward the stable. “If you and Markham want to have a lover’s quarrel, do it on your own time.”

“How dare you. Crispin Markham’s behavior has always been that of a gentleman,” she said, though something hitched inside her at these words. “What a sordid mind you have.”

“Do I?” he murmured with a sly curling of his lips. “Forgive me.”

As they entered the stable, her spirits sank lower and lower. Things just kept getting more complicated. The efficient James Collington was at the moment legally entitled to do what he wanted with her family estate—the estate her mother had given into her charge on her deathbed—and now Crispin was pressuring her to let herself be courted, when marriage was the last thing she needed.

A stable boy appeared to see to them as they entered the stable, and James came over to help her off her horse. She reluctantly accepted his help, pulling away the instant her feet touched the ground. He seemed not to notice but took the reins to lead her horse into a stall.

She watched his tall, expensively dressed form disappear into the stall and felt a violent surge of frustration. If only Jonathan hadn’t been so weak, none of this would be happening. But he had brought this man into her life, and she was not going to surrender to him in any way whatsoever. Tonight she would haunt him again, and she’d find a way to make it far more disturbing for him than it had been before.

And she was absolutely not going to allow herself to think of him in any way, except in terms of how to get rid of him. No thoughts lingering on the memory of a kiss, no wondering how he felt about her, and absolutely no yearning.

She was at the stable doors without having said so much as good-bye when Mr. Collington caught up with her.

“Just a minute,” he began pleasantly, taking her arm. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

His smile was tame, as if he were not holding her there against her will, but his grip was a restraint. “I am having a house party here at Tethering. A few friends and family members, nothing too large. I would like you and your father to join us.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, join you?”

“I mean I’d like you to join us at dinner, and perhaps luncheon, and for anything else.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t know,” he said impatiently, waving his free arm vaguely, “picnics, excursions, that sort of thing. Lighthearted country fun.”

“No,” she said, and tried to pull her arm away. He held on. His blackguard’s eyebrows shot up.

“No? Just no?”

“Right,” she said, pushing down the huskiness threatening her voice. Why should she feel betrayed that he didn’t understand things at all? “My answer is ‘No, I don’t want to be part of your gathering of people come to see the quaint manor you won.’” She tugged firmly on her arm. He let her go.

“I’m trying to help you as well as myself. You need to get comfortable with the way things have changed.”

“Anyone with a modicum of feeling would see why I—we!—wouldn’t want to come.”

“Oh, do stop being melodramatic.” He sighed. “This situation is simply one of life’s gray areas. It’s unfair, but you resisting won’t make it go away.”

“You going away would make it go away,” she said, and marched out of the stable.

James had an unreasonable urge to punch his hand into the stone back of the house. Felicity Wilcox was nothing if not infuriating. Usually he was good at letting other people’s displeasure slide off him, and he was ready for her to hate that he was there. But he didn’t want her to hate
him
.

Well, he would not let her be the thorn in his side that she so wished to be. She would get over her anger. And he would get over caring what she thought. He began to whistle, thinking he would go inside and satisfy himself with the degree of progress being made in the house. Few things were so gratifying to him as work proceeding apace. The sight of all the guest rooms thoroughly cleaned and prepared neatly for his houseguests would surely drive all thoughts of Felicity from his mind.

Miranda was to arrive the next day, along with his cousins Hal and Josephine, and Josephine’s family. James wanted things as perfect as possible. Even more so since he’d received a note that morning from Hal informing him that Thomas Block, the powerful local MP and a friend of Hal’s, would join the party briefly. James would take advantage of this opportunity to start laying the foundation for his future. Collingtons had always been MPs, and he was the last of the Collingtons at the moment.

He had planned on seeing to some of the preparations for the guests himself since he had sent Fulton into town on several errands. At the bodega, Old Pedro often teased James that no detail was too small for his notice, and it was true. But all his work was paying off now, because the bodega was finally becoming profitable.

He walked along the upstairs hallway and stopped outside the room that would be Miranda’s. The room had been covered in cobwebs and dust when he arrived, the bed badly needed a fresh mattress, and copious bird droppings had decorated the outside of one window. Nonetheless, the room had a very pretty view out over the orchard, and he knew it would suit his aunt nicely when clean, and he had emphasized that this was the new housekeeper’s first priority. He opened the door and stepped in, expecting to find a fresh, pleasant country room.

Nothing had been done. Not a blessed thing, he thought furiously, looking around. The place was as filthy and unfit for his aunt as ever.

He stomped out of the room and yanked open the door to the chamber next to it. The same sort of sight met his eyes.

He went down the hallway and looked in on room after room of neglected filth, his jaw growing tight. He was ready then and there to dismiss the new housekeeper, that Mrs. Withers whom Felicity had recommended. She was clearly the worst sort of slattern. Which was no doubt why she had been recommended to him.

But.

He reined in his billowing temper.

Guests were arriving and he must have a clean, presentable place for them.

And good help was not easy to find. Clearly, he hadn’t found it yet in her case. But perhaps he could mold it, he told himself as he turned to stride purposefully downstairs. He had a party of visitors arriving the next day and he could not afford to have a too-spare staff here to help. The staff who were here would have to make do.

He went in search of Mrs. Withers.

He found her sitting in the drawing room, ostensibly sewing a hole in the drapes, but her dreamy gaze was directed out the window. He cleared his throat. She glanced up immediately, a defensive look on her face. He smiled charmingly and came toward her.

“Mrs. Withers,” he began in a pleasant voice.

“Sir?” she replied, managing to look as though she couldn’t bear to stop work long enough to talk to him.

“I just wanted to let you know, myself, how pleased I am to have you here at Tethering.”

Her jaw dropped in astonishment. He had by now guessed that his new housekeeper did not have a reputation for hard work. Rather, the latter, he expected. Fortunately, she looked vigorous enough.

“You are pleased, sir?” she finally managed to say.

He poured honey into his smile. “Very much. I myself was told by numerous individuals,” he lied blithely, “that you have sometimes done the work of three women.”

She made a choking sound and fluttered her hands around her throat. “Really, sir?”

“Truly. So of course I had to have you here at Tethering, where there is so much to be done.”

Here was a topic a lazy woman could agree with. She nodded earnestly. “That is true, sir, there is a great lot of work to do here, the house bein’ neglected for so long.”

“Exactly so,” he said deferentially. “And I cannot but be glad that the care of this home will be in the hands of someone as capable as yourself.”

“As myself,” she mumbled, her eyes taking on a bemused, faraway look.

He hoped that would do to light a fire under her. He’d found that most people, once they believed others thought well of them, would work very hard to make sure that good opinion held.

He winked at her for good measure and saw her plump cheeks blush. “You will not be disappointed, sir, I believe.”

That was one problem likely solved. And a good thing, too, since he was extremely hungry for his lunch. Although, as he walked toward the dining room, he remembered that Felicity had recommended the cook as well. He wondered with a sinking heart what Cook would have in store for him, if anything. Probably something burnt. He shuddered to think of what his guests would say if the food were disgusting. And more serious, what if she poisoned someone?

But he was pleasantly surprised by his luncheon of poached turbot in butter. It was, in fact, delicious. He even had one of the footmen send his compliments to Cook. And he thought with satisfaction that Felicity Wilcox had not been so clever as she thought.

Dinner changed his mind. The meat with its Madeira sauce was burnt to a leathery state that resisted his knife like wood, the bread managed to be both blackened and gooey, and the amount of salt used in the vegetables would have served to preserve an entire ham. Fulton, back from town, was serving him.

James threw down his fork in disgust. “Fulton, what the devil is the matter with Cook? Lunch was splendid but this meal is inedible. We can’t offer food like this tomorrow.”

Fulton looked uncomfortable. “I was afraid of that, sir. When I went into the kitchen to begin serving, Cook seemed rather the worse for drink.”

James cleansed his appalled palate with a sip of wine. “But luncheon was superb. Can she only be relied upon to cook early in the day?”

“Allow me to investigate,” Fulton said, disappearing. He returned several minutes later.

“It appears that your luncheon was not cooked with any spirits.”

“Ah,” James said. “And dinner was. The Madeira.”

“Yes, sir,” Fulton said. “I believe that she consumed at least two bottles while cooking your meal.”

“Two bottles!” James exclaimed, his eyes wide. “That argues to someone with a formidable tolerance for drink.”

He groaned. Felicity strikes again. Clearly the cook was an established lush. Still, luncheon had been excellent. Cook had talent.

“Right,” he said. “Tell Cook no more meals cooked with wine or spirits of any sort for now. Then for goodness’ sake make sure all the bottles are locked up.”

“Very good, sir,” said Fulton. He cast a glance at his master’s plate full of nasty food and went to get him something else to eat.

As James tucked into his cold, puny supper of bread and cheese, he thought about Felicity Wilcox. She was causing him no end of trouble, but then, that was her goal—she obviously wanted to get rid of him by making it unpleasant for him to stay. Except she wasn’t having that effect at all. He liked her more than ever now, as if she were an acquired taste. Like preferring a complex, rather nutty sherry over a sweet one. He’d laughed more since he’d met her than he had in all the last few years put together.

She touched some part of him that he couldn’t name and didn’t want to think about, and she was unique. If the beautiful women he’d met in London were diamonds of the first water, she was an opal, soft and fiery.

Her constant nearness was driving him to lunacy, for it was lunacy to imagine doing what he wanted to do with her, a young gentlewoman under his protection on the estate. Even now the thought of her was making him quite stupid with desire for her. He’d been just about to kiss her,
again
, in the sitting room at Blossom Cottage—and he knew she would have responded.

She would make some country gentleman a good wife someday, he thought with a twist of his lips, probably Markham. There was something between them, obviously. But what?

He drummed his fingers on the table. Markham had been gone for the last several years, from what he had been told. So whatever it was between them must surely be from an earlier time. Had there been stolen kisses in the orchard or some such? Surely not, he thought irritably. That would have been totally inappropriate. And difficult. Young gentlemen and ladies were not allowed such opportunities. Parents and neighbors kept a close supervisory eye on them at all times.

He thought of Felicity’s family and felt a stab of something he didn’t want to name. Her family for the last several years had consisted only of her dreamy, distant father, someone who seemed hardly to have noticed that his own house had been changed out from under him. James could easily imagine the sort of chaperone and parent he had made.

He glowered at the candles on the table, which were flickering in the gentle breeze coming through the window. Why should he care, he demanded of himself, as his wicked mind alternated images of her disheveled in his bed with images of her sitting at a sedate country breakfast table, sipping morning tea with the vicar. It wasn’t as if he were wanting a wife. And certainly not one who thought he was a useless cad. His whole life lay ahead of him, and he intended to use it in pursuit of challenges. Marrying was something he would do someday, he thought as he downed the rest of his wine in one swallow and poured another glass, but it wasn’t anything he need think about for years.

Dammit, he knew what this was—frustrated lust. They hadn’t finished that kiss on the balcony properly. That was the problem—unfinished business, something he hated. What he needed, he realized, was one proper kiss, and then he could be resolved that there would be no more. Then it would be a simple matter to put this attraction behind him. After all, she was working so hard to annoy him. Once he’d gotten over thinking about that kiss, he could just let his irritation take over, and that should finish things off between them.

He drained his wine in several large swallows and, figuring that now at least he could look forward to the oblivion of sleep, went upstairs to bed.