The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (81 page)

She frowned. “I don’t want to, I wish to be a member of the household.”

“Apparently, miss, what you want and what milord wants are two separate facts. Unfortunate as ‘tis for you, in this house Lord Trumbull has his say.” He turned and proceeded to the breakfast room.

She sighed and followed. Being set apart from the household wasn’t going to garner her any consideration from his staff. It was going to set her away from them, and she would never belong then. She shook her head and followed him in.

Perry stood when he realized the small figure behind the footman wasn’t yet another of his staff, but Lilly. “What, pray tell, are you doing entering from the servants’ passage?”

She shook her head and he saw the sadness in her eyes, then motioned her to a chair next to him.

“They’ll never accept me here. As well they shouldn’t, if I’m to be set apart. They’ll never see me as one of them.”

Perry studied her severe expression. There was no way around that fact. “Sweet Lilly, you will take a position in another household when you are no longer my guest. Until then, please act as my guest. You must have attended enough to know what their place is. There’s no need to make my household more uncomfortable with your position here in my town house, but I will speak with them. There’s no fighting me on this. You’re my guest for now, and you’re to behave as my guest. I thought that understood.”

She looked as if she was about to cry, and his heart wrenched in his chest. He took a deep breath. “To that end, and no doubt to your own mortification, I have requested a seamstress to come today to aid with your wardrobe.”

Her eyes went wide and her spine straightened. She shook her head again. He patently ignored her reaction, though taking note of it. “I understand, Lilly, but as you have so clearly pointed out already, you are no longer one of the underservants. You are my guest, you do not fit in, there’s no reason for you to dress as a servant. You will accept a wardrobe from me, as well as some tutoring. Perhaps you would make a lady’s maid someday.”

“I did not expect this of you and I cannot accept it, milord. There’s no need to dress me. My wardrobe is perfectly acceptable for who I am. I do not want to change. I asked for your help in one area, nothing more.”

Perry glanced at the footmen, who were obviously faking their unaware countenances, something they often did in his house. “Lilly, you asked for my help, which I have given and will continue to give,” he said under his breath. “But where my help ends isn’t up to you, but me, and to be seen with me anywhere in London, you cannot be attired in such a fashion. I have a reputation, and I would prefer it remain intact. Everyone is buzzing of my charges, so they will merely assume you are one of them. Which is perfectly acceptable as far as I am concerned. When my charges are finally presented to the
ton,
none will be the wiser.”

Lilly glanced around the room at the faces she was familiar with for their station, if not their family. She’d put herself on this path and would not be able to return to the quiet life she’d become so well accustomed to. She lifted her hand to her face, tracing the faint scars on one cheek. She felt as though she didn’t belong anywhere anymore. Her hand shook, and a single tear escaped her, running to the tip of her finger.

She looked up to Perry’s concerned face, then stood, forcing him by courtesy to stand next to her. “I do not like what has been done to me.” Her jaw dropped, shocked at her own admission. It seemed obvious, but she had never voiced it before; she had always been accepting of her status and position in the world. Her injuries. She was one to be used.

She stared at Perry. “This is not my position, this is not my choice. Simply because I was born to serve does not mean that anyone can choose to use me, to push me ‘round. I’m angry!” she yelled.

“I understand,” he whispered. “I don’t wish to force you into anything, and yet—”

“And yet you have!”

His head dropped penitently.

“The hand of God points to this one and that one, touches them, blesses them with status and money. Then shuns the others, those not worthy. How is the man who did this to me worthy of the hand of God? How is he to be held in a position of authority, one to be cowered from, respected? How does God choose one and not the other?

“I do not wish to punish you for something that was not your doing, milord. But I do ask you to be more aware of my wishes. If I am truly a guest, you will make requests of me, not demands. I do have something to say, but nobody seems to listen.” She paused, and was immediately contrite. “If it pleases you.” She looked to the footmen, who had not moved the least, not even flinched. She knew what was to happen next, and knew that rumors of this scene would spread like wildfire through the town house, then beyond. She glanced at Perry, expecting to see the anger she so richly deserved. She sank to the chair and steeled herself for what would come.

He watched when she looked at the footmen as if they were suddenly the enemy. “As it happens, it does please me, Lilly, and I must beg your forgiveness, for we all know I am accustomed to women who are readily accepting of my charms and my sponsorship. You are welcome to refuse me and I suppose I haven’t behaved in a manner that would presuppose that. No doubt I’ve crossed a line, and no doubt I will do so again. I will endeavor, however, to ask your opinion and permission in the future.”

She nodded nervously. He followed his apology with a wave to the footmen, who finally moved forward to bring the trays of food to them. “Lilly, my household is very well compensated, so you never need fear rumors. Gossipmongers are not welcome here, and the pay is outrageous enough to keep every one of my men quiet.” He observed her from the corner of his eye, wondering at her disposition as he thought back to his brother’s betrothed, Francine.

“I had a notion,” he said carefully, “that you might be in need of a few dresses suitable for London.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “Might I send for a dressmaker to accommodate you?” He took a bite and suppressed a grin.

“Well, milord, when you put it that way, I simply cannot refuse. I would be happy to be…accommodated,” she said in her best haughty accent.

He could see she was biting back a smile and his broadened in response.
I could get used to this
. He finished breakfast and stood, motioning to her to stay. “I have to be on with my work. Please take your time. I believe the seamstress will be here within the hour, and Harper will set you up in the parlor. If you have need of anything, do not hesitate to ask me.” He smiled down at her until she met his eye. “Do not hesitate,” he repeated.

She watched him move to the door. It was the first time she had been able to inspect his stride. He moved swiftly with economy of motion, no doubts in his movement, in his carriage or his direction. He was powerfully compelling, and she could easily see what made him so successful. Well, this and a few other things.

Hepplewort trudged across the entry of his manor.

“Fergus!” rang the shrill voice from the front parlor. It rankled his hide like nails on a blackboard. His head sank between his shoulders and he turned away, skittering in the opposite direction, but the sharp pain in his ear stopped him in his tracks. He emitted a girlish squeal.

“Fergus!” his mother shouted again, this time at his shoulder, “what is the meaning of this? I know you heard my summons.”

He felt the spittle hit the back of his neck as she pinched harder. “Mother…” he whined.

“Oh, do shut up, Fergus. You are such a ninny. It gets my hackles up. Come to the parlor, we must discuss your issue.”

“I’ve no issue to discuss, Mother.”

“Precisely what we are to discuss,” she said as she turned and walked toward the front parlor without releasing his ear.

He followed, tripping on the hem of his robe as he tried to keep up with her whilst being dragged sideways across the foyer. She was surprisingly strong for a wrinkly sack of bones. She crossed the threshold and released him to the satin chaise, confident he was too lazy to run once seated.

“If you bear no issue, the earldom will secede from the Hepplewort lineage. Unacceptable. Absolutely. I will not see our wayward cousins take what is rightfully mine,” she said bitingly.

Hepplewort grunted. His last foray into marriage wasn’t much to convince him, as he was still recovering from his run in with the Viscount and Duke of Roxleigh. He tested his broken nose as he thought of them, wincing.

“Fergus! Your thoughts betray you, you slovenly coward! I’ve no understanding how I bore such a beast as you.”

“Mother, I will find a bride, I will bear issue.” He said it quietly, unconvincingly.

“Who, Fergus? Who will bear your children? You must find an acceptable bride worthy of carrying my grandchild!”

“Yes, Mother.” He quieted, allowing her rant. He knew argument was of no use, so he would sit and take her tirade, then return to his ways. He no longer cared to continue his line. Truth be told, he’d never cared in the first place. His only interest was the fresh chits he met on the journey. A string of drool escaped his liver-spotted maw, landing on his collar.

“Fergus!” she yelled.

“Yes, Mother,” he replied, smiling to himself as he thought of his next conquest.

“You depart for London this day. Those horrible men are away to Roxleighshire. This could be your only chance to find a bride.”

He looked at her. “Yes, Mother.”

Hepplewort dressed and departed with minimal arrangements. His mother was correct. Attending a few balls and taking a wife would be simple. His carriage was loaded, his men waited, and as soon as he mounted the brougham the party was underway.

Lilly returned to her room, determined to enjoy the viscount’s attentions. Why shouldn’t she? She’d never had a thought beyond serving, beyond rising above her station. There were those in her village who aspired to greater things, but she’d been happy to merely exist, and was doing just that until she met the beast who had derailed her future. She’d wanted no more from life than to find a position, marry a good man, bear him children, and raise them to be as happy as she had been. Kelso was a small town, but it was her life and she’d expected to be there forever.

She certainly wasn’t there now. Far from it. London wasn’t merely a physical distance from Kelso, but as far removed from her country life as one could be. Her track had changed, but she was determined to follow wherever it would lead.

She walked to the bathing room to prepare for her visit from the modiste. She’d always made her own clothing, or remade it from clothes given her. She’d never been fitted, though she had once attended a fitting. She didn’t look forward to the experience, but her nightly endeavors with Perry were proving to make her more tolerant of attention.

She prepared her bath, adding a sprinkling of the herbs and oils sitting on the shelf near the tub. She smiled as the hearty, spicy scents wafted up, remembering whose figure this bath generally cleansed and soothed. Then she blushed, remembering their attempt at bathing the night before.

She stomped her foot to cease her mind’s wanderings. She wasn’t allowed to dwell on him, she couldn’t permit herself to consider him the way her body wanted her to. She’d asked him to tutor her, and that was all she could take from him. There was nothing more he would be allowed to give. She smiled; as long as he would allow, she would accept everything he gave. Then she would move on, return home, or find a new village where nobody knew of her and she could begin her prescribed life.

She sank into the heated water, breathing the scent of him, but something was most definitely missing. She realized the body that absorbed these herbs must change them subtly. His scent—he—was more…something. She breathed deeply and tried to place the missing hue. She caught it on a soft breeze: salt, exertion, strength—that’s what was missing. She opened her eyes and bolted upright as she glanced at the door to her room. It was closed. A shiver chased her spine, and she turned slowly.

“Hello,” he said quietly from the opposite door.

She gasped and closed her eyes, willing the shudder to ease.

He shook his head. “We’ve still a ways to go, I suppose. I beg your pardon, I did not mean to startle you.”

She shook her head. “No, I— I believe any woman intimate with the knowledge of you would have suffered that shiver,” she said, looking up to his smoldering green eyes.