A Marriage 0f Convenience_Historical Regency Romance Read online

  Crossing to the bell pull, he gave it a jerk. Half a minute later Jessie appeared and looked from one to the other before saying, ‘Yes sir?’

  ‘You may clear the table, Jessie.’

  Jessie glanced at Miss Ellis and then towards him again. She sniffed. ‘Usually Grace—’

  ‘I’m aware of what Miss Ellis usually does, but while I’m here she is at my disposal, and will be taking coffee with me after dinner while we plan for the house to be closed down. We will use the drawing room for that purpose.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Jessie said, and curtsied, throwing his delicious little companion a mean look at the same time.

  In her turn, after Jessie had gone, Grace Ellis pursed her lips at him, making herself look kissable rather than angry. Her voice rose. ‘Disposal?’

  ‘A bad choice of words, Miss Ellis, and I apologize. Rest assured, I have no intention of disposing of you … I promise.’

  ‘In that case I will accept your apology.’

  He was the guest, and in his honour she’d exchanged her servant gown for a bluebell-coloured taffeta that had faded into its folds and rustled when she walked. Dominic appreciated a woman who used the power of her femininity, even if she was unaware of the fact.

  They went across to the drawing room and he gazed around the place with an assessing eye. This room was untidier than the dining room due no doubt to the guests Oakford House had catered for this day. It wasn’t a large house compared to the one he’d grown up in, but it was of comfortable proportions for a family with six bedchambers, and attic rooms for the servants. It stood on two acres of land in a good position in the countryside surrounding the town of Ringwood, and fronted on to the main highway that snaked through the New Forest.

  From the upper floors there was a view over three fields. Then a partial view of the church behind a copse, near enough to add to the view and far enough so the bells didn’t annoy. The copse was rapidly losing its bounty of gold and ruby leaves. Beyond was a glimpse of the cemetery Lady Florence now occupied.

  Although it had a slightly neglected appearance, the warm, red-brick house sat solidly in its spacious grounds. It would sell easily if tidied up, and for a good price. The ornamental spires at the front gave it a faintly bizarre, slightly Gothic appearance.

  Inside, the house seemed to have attracted everything to it. Ornaments nudged each other on the tables and mantelpieces and the dust was a sticky fixture in the spidery corners. There was enough staff to keep a house of this size clean if they worked for the common good, but he could see that the bulk of the work fell on the shoulders of the delightful Miss Ellis, while the key staff took advantage of her need to be useful to someone.

  They would be set to it on the morrow, counting the contents. He must sort things out with the staff first, and as quickly as possible.

  He stood near the fireplace and gazed down at his unlikely host while the shadows leapt and danced around the room.

  ‘Would you be seated, Mr LéSayres. You’re giving me a crick in the neck.’

  Dominic chuckled. He was not quite as tall as his brother, but tall enough to be an inconvenience to shorter people on occasion. He sank into the chair opposite her and stretched his legs towards the fire.

  ‘You mentioned earlier that you have a brother. Is he as tall as you?’ she asked.

  Dominic casually added an inch or two to his own height. ‘About the same.’

  ‘Is he younger or older?’

  Dominic didn’t like gossiping about himself or his family, but on this occasion it was harmless social chat. ‘My brother Alex is older by a year or so. He and his wife live in Dorset and have an infant son. I’m his godfather.’

  He nearly laughed at the pride in his voice, especially when she murmured, ‘An honour indeed, what is the child called?’

  ‘It’s Nicholas after his LéSayres great-grandfather, and Ambrose after Vivienne’s father, Reverend Fox.’

  ‘Am I to assume Vivienne is the boy’s mother?’

  She was rewarded with a smile. ‘You are.’

  Jessie brought the coffee tray in and set it on the table. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

  ‘No … it’s been a busy day for all of us so thank the staff for their cooperation.’

  ‘We will have to make up a guest bedchamber,’ Grace said with panic in her tone.

  Jessie gave a thin smile. ‘Already done, second left at the top of the stairs.’ The door closed firmly behind Jessie and smoke billowed down the chimney into the room.

  Grace offered him a coffee along with a wry glance. ‘I’m sorry, with everything else going on I forgot about your bedchamber.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it your task, but that of the maid.’

  ‘I imagine Ella will be washing the dishes, I usually help her with it before getting Lady Florence ready for bed. Jessie doesn’t understand how hard it is for invalids to carry out everyday tasks.’

  ‘Oh … I imagine she’s well aware, but does as little as she can get away with,’ he said, using his hand to fan the smoke away. ‘Who’s in charge of this household?’

  ‘It used to be Mr Pawley, but now he’s gone … I don’t know.’

  ‘You were closest to Lady Florence, and she gave you a position of trust. With your permission I’ll make it clear to the rest of the staff that you’re in charge.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. Lady Florence had a good, active mind, and she appreciated my help. Would you like a brandy, Mr LéSayres?’

  At his nod she crossed to the decanter and held it up to the candlelight. ‘There doesn’t appear to be much left. Somebody must have drunk it. Mr Archibald, I expect. He said he wanted the key to the cellar so he could take a couple of bottles home with him.’

  ‘I thought he was staggering a bit on the way to the funeral. Did you give him the key?’

  ‘Certainly not! The brandy’s not mine to dispense. Would you like what remains in the decanter in your coffee? There’s only a tablespoon, hardly worth soiling another glass for.’

  ‘That’s a contradiction if ever I heard one.’

  Her smile warmed his heart. ‘Do you think so?’

  Sipping at the brandy she handed him, he smiled. ‘This is good liquor; do you know who her supplier is?’

  ‘It’s one of her former acquaintances, a smuggling man called Rafferty Jones. He and Lady Florence had known each other since childhood, or so she said. He came to see her when she was lying in state. You probably didn’t notice him.’

  ‘Let me think … he was about forty and wore black breeches and a blue jacket. His eyes were dark and he wore side-whiskers. He stood to one side of the potted plant and you stood at the other side.’

  ‘I stayed in the room with him in case he stole something.’

  He spluttered, because this innocent girl didn’t have the slightest idea of the nature of the trouble she was courting … a smuggler? ‘You must not place yourself in danger by consorting with criminals.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t consort with them. Rafferty Jones doesn’t say much, though he looks fierce despite being very shy and respectful.’

  ‘How is the brandy despatched from here?’

  ‘It’s picked up by the wine merchant Jones & Son. I understand they are related. It comes in small kegs and is decanted into bottles, labelled and corked in the cellar, or so Lady Florence told me.’

  ‘Miss Ellis, I beg you not to get involved with the business of smuggling.’

  ‘I’m not involved. It’s what Lady Florence told me. I wouldn’t dare tell anyone else. She was full of tales, and she told me all sorts of things – things I didn’t want to know about, and sometimes didn’t believe.’

  Her laughter made the hair prickle on the back of Dominic’s neck when she said, ‘Would you really beg me? You don’t look to be the type of man who would beg for anything.’

  ‘I would not like to see you hurt. A lovely young woman like you, all alone in the world, can become prey for many men, especially those on the wro
ng side of the law. Although you’ve escaped the fate of many young women, as far as I can see it’s more like luck than design.’

  She leaned forward and gazed at him, the candle flames reflected in her eyes. ‘You’re a proud man, but a kind one nevertheless, Mr LéSayres … and not at all what you seem.’

  ‘And how is that?’

  ‘You are quiet, but you’re used to exerting your authority, and without raising your voice. No … you wouldn’t beg, but you’d expect people to act on your word, and without question.’

  She was right, but this woman with her air of independence would never do as she was told.

  Her mouth had a graceful curve to it and the air vibrated with tension around them. She needed to be kissed, and he needed to kiss her. ‘Forgive me for what I’m about to do.’ Dipping his finger in his coffee he ran it along her lips, dewing them with moisture. Then he kissed her.

  For a moment she stiffened, and then for just a moment she responded, her mouth clinging to his. A few seconds later she pulled away and gave a soft, trembling laugh. ‘That’s the first time I’ve been kissed.’

  ‘And I.’

  She experienced an irrepressible need to flirt with him. ‘That’s a bag of moonshine, Mr LéSayres. You are much too good at kissing to be a beginner.’

  ‘How can you know that when you have nothing to measure it against? Perhaps we should try it again as a comparison … just to see if I’m able to make a better job of it, you understand.’

  ‘I understand very well.’ She stood, laughter in her voice. ‘Clearly, and on those grounds alone, perhaps we should not. Goodnight, Mr LéSayres. I’ll leave you with the candle since I know my way round the house in the dark.’

  Dominic didn’t know whether to laugh, or put her across his lap and smack her behind.

  He lost both opportunities when she turned and scurried off, her footsteps pattering across the hall and up the stairs. A door opened, and then closed again. A few scuffling noises reached his ears, when he imagined her gown slipping from her shoulders and pooling around her ankles in a most erotic manner. A few minutes later he heard a key turn in a lock.

  She was taking no chances, and that amused him.

  Staring into the firelight he thought about her, smiling between sips of his coffee. Such imaginings didn’t contribute to an easy slide into sleep though.

  After a while he began to relax and tiredness crept through him. Time to retire for the night. He placed a spark guard around the fire and, picking up the candle, he headed up the stairs.

  The door to his allotted room opened with a creak. In the dark reaches of the upper corridor a provocative whisper floated, ‘Sleep well, Mr LéSayres.’

  Dominic chuckled. He was acting like a besotted youth instead of a grown man, who would have interpreted her husky whisper as an invitation and followed it to its source. But she was still young and untouched and was following her instincts without any real intent. It would be a shame to ruin her. Then again, someone would eventually, so it might as well be him.

  But not tonight.

  ‘And a sweet sleep to you, Miss Ellis,’ he whispered.

  Three

  Grace was up at first light and had washed and dressed before she remembered she didn’t have to assist Lady Florence to prepare for the new day.

  At a loose end she tidied her bed and went down to the kitchen, where she revived the fire in the stove with several new coals and a vigorous stir of the poker through the hot ashes. Soon flames began to snap and crack.

  She placed two kettles of water on the hob.

  When they began to boil Grace made a pot of tea for the staff and set the other kettle aside to keep the water hot. She thought to take a jug of hot water upstairs and placed it on the marble-topped stand outside the guest room with a dish of soap that she’d made herself. By the time he rose the water would have cooled a little.

  It was unusual to have time on her hands at this time of day. She might as well get the temporary accounting book completed for Mr LéSayres since she had the accounts ready in alphabetical order, and enough money in the strongbox to cover the total amount that would be paid out. She kept them in the morning room at the front of the house. Hardly anybody disturbed her there, and daylight adequately illuminated the paper she was working on.

  She took through a cup of tea, savouring the fragrant steam that rose from the clear brown liquid as she sipped it. After a while, and lost in her calculations, she became aware she was being watched. At the same time Dominic LéSayres said from the doorway, ‘You look extremely efficient for this time of morning, Miss Ellis.’

  She jumped, and then slipped him a smile. ‘How long have you been there?’

  ‘About five minutes. You were certainly absorbed and I didn’t want to disturb you. What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m completing the accounts for goods purchased after Mr Howard took the books away. I’m just entering the outstanding ones for Lady Florence’s funeral expenses. The tradesmen will be knocking at the door for payment soon.’

  ‘If they do, refer them to me and I’ll settle up.’

  ‘It was Lady Florence’s custom to pay them all at the same time, on the third Tuesday of every month, that’s the day after tomorrow. She used the morning room and liked to take a glass of ale and gossip with them. Lady Florence was a great believer in habit. She said it breeds trust in people.’

  ‘Then let’s not break that trust. Ale and gossip it will be.’ Three strides brought him to her. He leaned over her shoulder, his breath flirting with her ear and ran a forefinger lightly down the column of figures. ‘Unlike Mr Pawley, you have a neat hand, and an aptitude for figures. Do you usually do the accounting?’

  ‘I took it over when Mr Pawley left. Nobody else in the house had the education to work with numbers, except Lady Florence, and her sight was beginning to fail. I used to keep my father’s books, at least as best I could since he was careless with money. You will need these figures in the coming days, I think.’

  ‘Yes I will.’ He gazed at her nearly empty cup.

  ‘It will be rather informal but can I fetch you a mug of tea? I’ve only just made it.’

  He placed a hand on her shoulder as she went to rise. ‘No … stay where you are, Miss Ellis; I know where the kitchen is and will help myself. I’m fairly domesticated and can even manage a simple meal should the need arise.’

  ‘I’ll remember that if I’m ever in the position to employ a cook.’

  He lowered his voice and grimaced. ‘Promise me you won’t hire the cook who works here.’

  ‘The meals are usually better than that. Lady Florence’s death has had an unsettling effect on everyone.’

  ‘Yes … I should have thought. May I bring you another cup of tea?’

  She handed her empty cup and saucer over with a smile. ‘I take mine without milk.’

  ‘So do I.’ He was back in a couple of minutes. Placing her cup and saucer in front of her he perched on a high stool, with one leg providing a prop against the floor and the other heeled on a rung halfway down. His long fingers curled around a blue and white mug that had appeared after the summer fair. It was decorated with a crude portrait, supposedly George III. No one in the house had ever claimed it as their own.

  They gazed at each other while they sipped the tea. His eyes were assessing, but not in an offensive manner. This morning they were a silvery grey colour and they had a faintly faraway expression, so she wondered if he really saw her but was pondering on a problem.

  She realized he did indeed see her when he said, ‘Am I disturbing you?’

  He was hard to overlook, and yes, he was disturbing her, but in a way that made her feel slightly flustered and totally aware of herself. He probably knew that. ‘Of course you’re not. Lady Florence was an early riser and I usually readied her for the day at this time.’

  ‘Old habit dies hard.’

  ‘Yes. I must admit I feel at a bit of a loose end. I keep expecting her bell to summon me.’


  He gave a faint smile. ‘There’s something sad about a house when the inhabitant dies. It seems to lose its joy at first. Then the contents are reduced to numbers on a sheet of paper and it becomes impersonal. Dust fills the empty spaces while it’s waiting for someone else to live in it and give it another life to live.’

  ‘You’re talking about soul. I used to try to discuss the existence of such with my father.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He didn’t believe in such things. He told me the soul didn’t exist, any more than fairies, elves or ghosts, and if I wanted to know about such myths I should consult with the local reverend, since he was a first-class liar.’

  He laughed. ‘And did you?’

  ‘I didn’t see the point of standing through one of his private sermons, since the reverend and my father were the best of friends and both of them thought they were right about such matters.’

  ‘Men often think their wisdoms are absolute truths,’ he offered apologetically. ‘My stepmother, Eugenie – though she was our governess then – used to take me and my brother into the garden on warm summer nights to watch the stars emerge. She told us if we saw a shooting star it was a soul on its way to eternity and if we looked hard enough we might see our mother’s soul smiling at us.’

  What a lovely sentiment, Grace thought, though she didn’t disturb his emerging memory by talking. His voice was low and pleasant, but clear.

  ‘One night, Alex, who is my elder brother, told me he saw our mother in a white gown riding a white horse through the stars. I was envious, and desperate to see her too. So I lied. The next night I told Alex I saw her in a silver carriage with flames coming from the wheels, and it was pulled by six black horses. She wore a silver gown and a gold crown covered in rubies, and was leading an army of ghouls that were going to roast my brother on a spit and eat him alive.’

  Her eyes widened and her hand crept upwards to cover her heart. ‘Oh, my goodness, such a bloodthirsty imagination … what did poor, doomed Alex say to that?’

  A smile crept across his face, making him appear villainous. ‘One thing Alex has plenty of is confidence. He accused me of lying. Then I accused him of lying. Then he punched me and I punched him. We were rolling around calling each other names and happily killing one another when our father came out of his den. He took us both by the collar and gave us a good shaking. He said the next time we mentioned our mother it had better be with more respect else he’d thrash us.’