Kitabı oku: «A Scoundrel By Moonlight», sayfa 2

Chapter 2

Blast, blast, blast.

Exhausted, angry, disgusted with herself, Nell collapsed onto the narrow bed in the small room that had become hers a fortnight ago. She buried her head in her hands.

Why, oh, why did the depraved marquess have to catch her searching his library? And when he did, why on earth hadn’t she behaved like a proper servant? Until now, she’d managed to hide any rebellious impulses under a subservient mask. If she’d been humble and silent, he’d have sent her away, instead of finding her of surpassing interest.

But she’d just been so furious to see him alive and well, when her beloved half sister had died in such shame and misery. Caught by surprise, she’d forgotten to play the circumspect domestic.

And now she’d attracted his attention.

She didn’t want to arouse James Fairbrother’s curiosity. She wanted to find the diary that proved his offenses, then leave Alloway Chase and pass the matter of Leath’s destruction over to the Duke of Sedgemoor, his sworn enemy. A woman of her humble background would get nowhere, taking on such a powerful man. But the duke could use the book to blackmail Leath into behaving himself, or publish the details and expose the marquess to trial by public opinion.

Nell hoped he chose the second course. Lord Leath deserved general condemnation.

In her bedroom at Mearsall, the plan had appeared straightforward, once she’d come to terms with the exalted status of Dorothy’s lover. A check of her stepfather’s old newspapers had confirmed his lordship’s presence at a house party in Kent, around the time Dorothy fell pregnant. Leath had been near enough to seduce Dorothy. Given her deathbed confession, that was enough evidence to convince Nell to pursue the marquess’s downfall.

As Dorothy had promised, discovering the location of the marquess’s family seat had been easy. It had also been surprisingly easy finding employment as a housemaid.

She’d set herself a daunting task, but she’d made a promise to someone she loved—and she was angry. The idea of this devil ruining more innocent girls like Dorothy made her want to scream with rage. She’d left Mearsall to seek the diary and other evidence of Lord Leath’s sins. If she failed in Yorkshire, she’d find work in his house in London and continue her quest there. However long it took, she’d make him pay for his crimes.

But now that she’d met the marquess, nothing seemed so clear-cut. After that oddly charged encounter downstairs, her heart still galloped like a wild horse—and her mind whirled with bewilderment.

Dear heaven, when his wicked lordship had locked the door, she’d nearly collapsed with horror. She was alone in the middle of the night with a lecherous monster. She’d never imagined that her quest might involve physical risk.

Cursing her naivety, she’d prepared to fight off the hulking brute.

Then the marquess had confounded every fear. Apart from catching her to stop her escape, he hadn’t touched her.

Which was … puzzling. And troubling.

She’d sensed his interest. At twenty-five, she wasn’t a green girl, and she knew what it meant when a male leveled that prickling, intense concentration on a woman. Yet he’d kept his distance and remained remarkably polite, given her barely concealed insolence.

In her mind, Lord Leath had always been a caricature of a villain. But tonight, once she’d realized that he wouldn’t leap on her—and she’d realized quickly despite that unwelcome awareness—he’d proven much more real. And much more alarming.

Immediately she’d noted his cleverness, his calmness, his confidence. All worked against her. The man in the portrait in his mother’s apartments was big and powerful, with a personality that threatened to burst from the frame.

In the flesh, he’d been … more.

He wasn’t a pretty man, by any means. But there was beauty in that tall, strong body and that craggy, individual face with its beak of a nose and heavy black brows. No wonder Dorothy had been smitten.

Still, Nell had expected more overt charm, a Lothario from a play, all smooth words and false compliments. She couldn’t picture this man filling a girl’s head with nonsense until she spread her legs.

These riddles gave her a headache. And she faced a day’s work and, if she could evade the marquess, a night’s searching.

Hope staged an uncertain return. Perhaps Leath’s unexpected arrival was more blessing than curse. Perhaps Nell hadn’t yet found the diary because this dedicated seducer kept his record of ruin with him.

If so, the diary was now at Alloway Chase.

“Darling, I didn’t know you’d come home.” From the chaise longue, Leath’s mother extended her hands toward him.

He hated to see his mother’s health deteriorate to a point where she spent most days in her apartments. At least his rustication meant that he could devote more time to her. Guiltily he realized that he hadn’t been home since his sister Sophie’s hurried wedding last May. Parliamentary business had been pressing, as had his need to rise above the scandals engulfing his family.

“I got in late last night.” He took his mother’s hands and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You look well.”

It wasn’t true, but it was less of a lie than last time they’d met. The gray morning light through the large windows was stark on her thin body. But her cheeks held a hint of color and her eyes were brighter than he’d seen them in years.

“I’m feeling better.” She indicated a chair, inviting him to stay. “How long are you here?”

“Until people can say the Fairbrother name without a sneer,” he said flatly. He supposed that he’d learn to accept his exile, although at least with his mother he needn’t hide his bitterness.

She frowned. “I’d hoped the brouhaha about your uncle might blow over by now. After all, it’s a year since he shot himself to escape a hanging.”

A year in which everyone had eyed Leath as if afraid he might resort to violence and larceny the way his odious Uncle Neville had. A year in which Leath’s every political plan had fallen foul of some opponent mentioning the Fairbrothers’ infamous criminal tendencies. A family flaw only widely recognized since his uncle’s exposure as a thief and murderer. Thanks to Camden Rothermere, the damned meddling Duke of Sedgemoor, the whole world knew about Neville Fairbrother’s crimes.

For months, Leath had been furious at Sedgemoor and his cronies. Only gradually had he admitted that ultimate blame for the family’s straits lay with Lord Neville.

That was little satisfaction when another snide comment in the House of Lords topped one of Leath’s speeches with jeering laughter. For years, the Marquess of Leath had been the most powerful personality in parliament, his progress to the premiership taken for granted. The gossip now dogging him gratified his enemies—and a disappointing number of people he’d counted as friends. He was cynical enough to recognize that the world loved to witness an ambitious man’s fall. But recognition made it no more pleasant to be that man.

“You forget Sophie,” he said grimly, rising and prowling toward the window, too restless to sit when reviewing his recent disasters.

His sister had set tongues wagging afresh when she’d eloped with a penniless younger son who happened to be Sedgemoor’s brother-in-law. Sophie’s timing had been calamitous for Leath’s political hopes. The whole world now considered Fairbrother a synonym for flibbertigibbet. Or scoundrel.

Neither adjective befitted a future prime minister.

His mother looked troubled. “She’s safely married now, and you and Sedgemoor united to approve the match.”

Much against Leath’s inclination, he’d offered the runaways what countenance he could. He and Sedgemoor had even patched up their feud, at least in public. They were never likely to be friends, but Leath no longer itched to punch His Grace’s supercilious nose.

Whatever measures both families had taken, they couldn’t contain the scandal. Especially as it followed so closely on the heels of his uncle’s disgrace. Even worse, Sophie had jilted Lord Desborough, one of England’s most powerful men, and as a result his lordship had shifted from Leath’s greatest ally to his implacable foe. “My political career still hangs in the balance, Mamma.”

He turned to see her raising a frail hand to her lips. “James, I’m sorry.”

Damn it. His chagrin got the better of him. Upsetting his mother was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t himself this morning. And he knew who to blame. A housemaid! He had bats in his belfry.

“At the moment, the party powerbrokers consider me more hindrance than asset. I’m to retire to my estates, keep my head down and my nose clean, and reappear once the world has had time to forget the gossip.”

“That’s unfair. None of this is your fault. Your uncle was an out-and-out rogue. Your father banned him from the house after he got that poor girl into trouble.”

Leath had been a boy when his uncle had raped a maid. “Perhaps Uncle Neville’s crimes aren’t my responsibility, but Sophie was,” he said heavily.

“At least she’s happy.”

Her voice indicated that Sophie’s happiness hardly counted, compared to the damage she’d done to her brother’s career. His mother had married the late marquess, expecting to be a political hostess and eventually wife to the prime minister. After a carriage accident crippled his father in his forties, her hopes had focused on her then twenty-year-old son. For the final eight years of his father’s life and the four since, Leath had devoted himself to fulfilling his parents’ political dreams. He’d loved his father dearly. The possibility of failure now when the prize hovered so close made him grind his teeth in frustration.

“Your exile isn’t all bad.” His mother had clearly decided to take the news stoically.

“Isn’t it?” he said gloomily, wandering to the dressing table and picking up a delicate Meissen shepherdess. The simpering expression mocked his pretensions to taking on his brilliant father’s mantle.

“I’ll see more of you.”

He sighed and replaced the figurine. “Yes, and my tenants will be pleased I’m home.”

“There’s no substitute for the lord of the manor.”

“Perhaps not,” Leath said shortly. “But I can’t angle for influence in London and be here at the same time.”

“No,” Lady Leath said without offense. “But a period of reflection won’t go astray. It’s time you thought about a bride.”

Startled, he bumped the crowded dressing table, setting the china figures and glass bottles rattling. “What?”

His mother regarded him patiently. “Don’t pretend it’s an outlandish suggestion, James. You need an heir. Right now, you need more than an heir; you need allies. If this mess hasn’t taught you that a man can’t stand alone in politics, nothing will.”

“With the stink surrounding the family name, who would have me?”

“Don’t be a fool. You’re the Marquess of Leath. Anyone with a scrap of acumen knows that you’ll return stronger than ever.”

“So nice that my private requirements count in this decision,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

His mother didn’t smile. “You’re not an amorous shepherd in a poem, James, free to bestow his heart and hand where he likes. Fairbrothers marry for advantage, not because they fancy a pretty pair of blue eyes.”

“You loved my father.”

Her face softened. “I did. But even if I didn’t, I’d have married him.”

Leath struggled to contain his surprise. And disappointment. He’d always thought his parents had married because they were soul mates. Yet it seemed that they’d married for the same cold-blooded reasons as most other aristocrats.

“My wife and I will enjoy a mutual regard.” He must marry to continue the line—and a woman from an influential family was the obvious choice. While he mightn’t pant after neck-or-nothing passion, nor could he be completely pragmatic about his choice. He was a man before he was a politician, however ambitious he might be.

This time his mother smiled. “Of course, that would be ideal.”

Ideal but not essential, he noted. His mother continued, “What about Marianne Seaton? She behaved perfectly when Sedgemoor got entangled with that dreadful Thorne woman. You might balk at Camden Rothermere’s leavings, but her father would make a valuable friend.”

Poor Lady Marianne, jilted when the Duke of Sedgemoor fell in love with the notorious daughter of a scandalous family. A love match that had only caused trouble. Just as Sophie’s love match had. Still some hitherto unsuspected part of Leath’s soul revolted at the idea of marrying without affection.

“Mamma, I can choose my own bride,” he protested, even as he pictured lovely, sedate Marianne Seaton in the Fairbrother sapphires. They’d match her eyes. Which seemed a dashed stupid reason for proposing to a chit.

“What about Desborough’s sister? An engagement would heal the rift between you. Honestly, I could box Sophie’s ears for ruining that match.”

A chill slithered down Leath’s spine. “Lady Jane is forty-five if she’s a day, not to mention a dedicated spinster.”

His mother sighed. “Pity she’s too old to bear children.” She paused and Leath hoped the discussion was over. A hope quickly shattered. “If only Lydia Rothermere hadn’t married that penniless libertine. She was a marvelous hostess, and a Rothermere match would silence talk of a feud.”

“God made a mistake when he created you female, Mamma,” he said drily. “You’d make a capital prime minister.”

She laughed and dismissed his comment with a wave, although it was true. “I’m a mere woman, James.”

He smiled, hoping that she’d stopped listing possible marchionesses. “And clever as a fox.”

“You flatter me, darling.” Briefly he saw the beautiful girl who nearly forty years ago had captivated the brilliant marquess with the glittering political future. Fate had played his parents some cruel cards.

“Not at all.” He sank into one of the frail chairs near the blazing hearth. The chair creaked beneath his weight. He was a large man and the furnishings in his mother’s apartments were decidedly dainty. “Let me establish my credentials as a respectable landholder before we plot my walk down the aisle.”

“You’ve always been a solid, reliable, thoughtful gentleman. People will eventually remember that. You’ll be back in London before you know it.”

He smiled, while his vanity bucked at the description. What a dull dog he sounded. “Ever the optimist, Mamma.”

“I have every faith in you.”

Sometimes he wished she didn’t. Each step of his life, he’d carried the weight of his father’s unfulfilled promise and of his invalid mother’s hopes. No wonder he’d never kicked over the traces like his less burdened colleagues.

Now he faced a solid, reliable marriage. The prospect was depressing. “I thought to find you all cast down with your own company,” he said. “You’re in better spirits than I expected.”

“I was lonely at first. There’s no denying it.”

“So what’s happened?”

She looked almost mischievous. “Aha, I must reveal my secret.”

Whatever she was up to, he was in favor if it lent her this spark. “Do tell.”

She rang the bell on the side table. The door to the dressing room opened and a neat, fair-haired young woman entered, head lowered and hands linked decorously at her waist.

Leath’s gut tightened with a premonition that the alignment of his planets changed forever. Of course, the girl was the mysterious Miss Trim who had kept him restless and intrigued past dawn.

Chapter 3

“My lady?” The girl’s curtsy conveyed considerably more respect than she’d granted him a few hours ago, Leath was piqued to note.

“Nell, let me show you off to my son.” The fondness in his mother’s voice troubled him, although only moments ago, he’d been grateful for whatever had brought about this positive change in her. His mother turned to him as if she presented a huge treat. “James, Miss Trim is my companion.”

The girl poised in the doorway. She wore the same plain gray gown and her hair was still wrenched back. She looked biddable and competent. Why, then, was he so convinced that she was up to no good?

During his sleepless hours, he’d wondered if his imagination exaggerated her attractions. Daylight didn’t lessen her physical impact. There was nothing flashy about Miss Trim, nothing vulgar. The purity of her features struck him even more strongly now than in candlelight. And that miracle of a mouth still made his skin itch with unwilling sexual response.

“Good morning, Miss Trim,” he said calmly.

Her gaze shot up to meet his. With a satisfaction completely out of kilter with the fact, he noticed that her eyes were a coppery brown, striking against her pale hair. “Welcome home, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

What the devil was she playing at, calling herself a housemaid? What the devil had she been playing at in his library at three this morning? The revelation of Miss Trim’s position in the household raised more questions than it answered.

“Nell has become indispensable.” His mother’s voice was warm with affection. Which made him uneasy on so many levels.

“I’m sure.” Leath mustn’t have contained the irony in his tone because his mother cast him a puzzled glance.

“She’s transformed my life,” his mother said, in answer to his unspoken criticism.

“You’re too kind, my lady.” Miss Trim’s voice was low and melodic, like a cello.

“You didn’t mention Miss Trim in your letters,” Leath said neutrally. Given his mother wrote most days, the omission had to be deliberate.

“I wasn’t sure you’d approve,” his mother said.

“I’m not sure I do,” he said. “When I’ve offered to arrange a companion, you’ve always declined.”

His mother grimaced. “You’d saddle me with some destitute relative. Bores, every one.”

“A little harsh.”

“But only a little.” His mother reached for Miss Trim who, blast her, took her hand. “Nell does me perfectly, especially since Sophie left. I need someone young and bright to talk to.”

Leath had no right to resent the implication that he wasn’t young and bright. Miss Trim cast him a nervous glance under thick lashes, dark like her brows. She must expect him to betray her midnight wanderings. He wondered why the hell he didn’t.

“Perhaps. But I would have liked to help you find someone suitable.”

The girl’s lips flattened. His mother looked equally unimpressed. He realized that he’d handled this as badly as a parliamentary novice with an unpopular petition. He must be wearier than he’d thought. Or Miss Trim’s silent and subtly hostile presence unsettled him.

“Nell is completely suitable. You’ll see.”

He’d see something, that was sure. He wasn’t letting the manipulative Miss Trim out of his sight.

“My lady, perhaps it would be better if I finished ordering those embroidery patterns.” The girl shifted uncomfortably. Obscurely it galled him that her manners proved better than his. He and his mother should hold this discussion in private.

“If I’m going to quarrel with my son, perhaps you should,” his mother said.

“No, stay. I want to talk to you, Miss Trim.”

“Bully her, you mean,” his mother sniped.

Leath ignored the gibe and focused on his mother. “Where did you discover this paragon?”

“In the kitchen, my lord,” Miss Trim said with a hint of challenge.

“Nell, don’t bait my son. He doesn’t like to be crossed,” his mother said as if describing a fractious toddler. “James, Nell came to us in July as a housemaid. I was suffering … megrims and she was drafted into my care. It was immediately apparent that her talents extended beyond dusting and scrubbing.”

Leath fumed under his parent’s tolerant glance, even as guilt assailed him. He well knew his mother’s courage. “Megrims” meant she’d been prostrate with pain. And he’d been in London and ignorant of her suffering. While this encroaching maidservant took advantage. “A housemaid is no apt companion for the Marchioness of Leath.”

“She is when the marchioness so decides,” his mother snapped. “If I can no longer choose who serves me, it’s time I moved to the dower house.”

Leath endured a meaningful glance from Miss Trim, as if to remind him that his mother’s health was poor and this disagreement must try her nerves. Damn it, he knew that. In frustration, he ran a hand through his hair. If they ever allowed women into parliament, every man there was doomed.

“Mamma, this is your home. There’s no need for this.”

“If it’s my home, I should be allowed to select my servants,” she said stalwartly.

Miss Trim shifted to a table covered with bottles and vials and poured a cordial for his mother. “Your ladyship, perhaps I should return to my former place in the household.”

Leath’s eyes narrowed on her. “Capital suggestion.”

His mother accepted the small crystal glass with a grateful smile. He couldn’t help noticing the glitter in her eyes. She didn’t look ill. In fact, she looked better than she’d looked in recent memory. But the doctors had insisted that too much excitement could exhaust her.

“I will not countenance you dismissing Nell just because you’ve got some bee in your bonnet.” She handed the half-empty glass to Miss Trim, who returned it to the table without glancing at him.

He sighed. “It’s a pity to start our reunion with an argument.”

His mother regarded him with a less militant light in her fine gray eyes. “Perhaps I should have told you in a letter.”

He doubted that would have changed his mind about Miss Trim’s suitability, although he might have had a clue about the identity of last night’s moonlit wraith. “I’m willing to give the girl a chance.”

He waited for his mother to insist that he had no say in the matter, but it seemed she too regretted their disagreement. “You’ll soon see how good she is for me and you’ll be as grateful as I am that she came to us.”

Somehow he doubted that. “I would still appreciate the chance to interview her.”

Miss Trim glanced up quickly and he saw that she was as reluctant to be interviewed as his mother was to allow the interview to take place. Too bad. He was master here and it was time he took control. His mother had always been an excellent judge of character and he had a large and capable staff. But even so, things at Alloway Chase were not as he wished.

“Don’t let him browbeat you, Nell,” his mother said with an encouraging smile.

“For heaven’s sake, Mamma, you make me sound like a tyrant.”

His mother arched her eyebrows. “If your guilty conscience prompts that thought, perhaps you should examine your behavior.”

He flushed, he who stood firm under the most concentrated parliamentary attack. His mother always knew how to best him, devil take her. “I’ll be gentle.”

The girl clearly didn’t believe him, but his mother took the statement at face value. “Thank you. I won’t have you upsetting someone who is so kind to me.”

Miss Trim hovered near the sideboard, looking as guilty as sin. Interesting.

“Miss Trim, if you please, we’ll adjourn to the library.” He knew she caught the faint edge as he mentioned the scene of their nocturnal encounter.

“You promise not to browbeat her?” his mother insisted.

He muffled a growl. He wasn’t in the habit of badgering the servants. At this rate, the girl would be in such a state by the time he questioned her, she’d be in hysterics.

“Do you need anything, my lady?” she asked with a calmness that belied that prediction.

“Just my book and spectacles,” his mother said and accepted them with a smile. “Don’t stand for any nonsense from James.”

Miss Trim’s smile was faint as she curtsied and preceded him from the room with a poise that wouldn’t disgrace a debutante at Almack’s. As he followed, Leath couldn’t help thinking that she was the damnedest housemaid he’d ever seen.

Nell’s heart hammered with dread by the time she reached the library. She knew Leath chose this room to intimidate her. Goodness, after his tiff with his mother, she might yet face dismissal. It was clear that he wanted to get rid of her. If he did, how would she gather the evidence against him?

Before she was summoned, her eavesdropping had been enlightening. The newspapers were right. Leath’s political career was in trouble. Good. When Sedgemoor used the diary to expose him as the villain he was, all hope of public office would evaporate.

Nell had arrived at Alloway Chase despising Lord Leath. But that was before she’d listened to him battle with a mother he loved over something he considered important for her sake, not his own.

Mentally Nell kicked herself. His kindness to his mother didn’t mean anything. With his family, the marquess might act the civilized man, but at heart he was a monster. If she forgot that, she was lost.

She stood straight and quiet in the center of the library as he prowled across to sit behind the desk.

“It’s too late to pretend humility, Miss Trim,” he barked, making her start.

When he’d spoken so tenderly to his mother, the beauty of his deep baritone had struck her. Now his voice was like a gunshot. Of course it was; she was a lowly servant. And he didn’t like her, despite those disturbing moments last night when she’d sensed male interest. This morning he’d regarded her like a cockroach in the castle’s pantry. Should the Marquess of Leath ever condescend to visit that prosaic location.

“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly, intending to needle him.

She succeeded. He growled and gestured toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”

“It’s inappropriate for me to sit in your presence, sir.”

“It’s inappropriate to answer back, my girl.”

He had a point. She sat and concentrated on her lap to avoid those intense deep-set eyes.

Last night, his size had struck her as remarkable. Since then, she’d told herself that nervousness alone had painted him as such a powerful physical presence.

It wasn’t nervousness. He was tall and broad and dauntingly muscled. Clearly he found time for plenty of exercise away from his parliamentary activities. The portrait in his mother’s room was of a young man, long and lean and with a touch of innocence in his face. When she dared to glance up, there was nothing innocent about the man studying her over steepled fingers. He clearly awaited her full attention. She shivered and prayed he didn’t notice her disquiet.

“Tell me about yourself.”

The mad urge rose to announce that she was Dorothy Simpson’s sister and she was at Alloway Chase to ensure that he never ruined another woman.

“Well?” he asked when she didn’t answer. “Cat got your tongue?”

She licked her lips in uncertainty and suffered a jolt when his eyes focused on the movement. Immediately she was back in that strange dance of hatred and fascination. She’d been mistaken to think he’d conquered last night’s sensual awareness.

Oh, dear Lord, this was an unholy mess.

“I’m a little frightened,” she admitted.

“Rot.” He arched those formidable black eyebrows. “How did you come to work here?”

She straightened in the chair, which would have put any of the furniture in her stepfather’s cottage to shame. “I’m an orphan.”

“Is that so?”

Her lips tightened. When she’d told his mother that her parents were dead—well, it was true, however kind her stepfather was—the marchioness had overflowed with sympathy. Lord Leath studied her as if reading the layers of deceit beneath every word.

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been alone in the world?”

She couldn’t restrain a faint sharpness. “You speak as if my bereavement is a matter of choice, my lord.”

He bared his teeth. “My apologies.”

She shifted uncomfortably under his unblinking regard, before she reminded herself that betraying her fear gave him the advantage. “My father was a sergeant major under Wellington in Portugal. He died when I was a child. My mother remarried and died when I was fifteen.”

All true. So why did she feel like she’d lied?

“Where did you grow up?”

“Sussex.” Her first lie. If she mentioned Kent, he might connect her to Dorothy, although he’d shown no recognition when she’d told him her name last night.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Sussex. You sound like a lady.”

William Simpson had been an unusual man, educated on a scholarship at Cambridge despite his humble origins. He’d made sure that both girls in his charge spoke with educated accents. “Are there no ladies in Sussex?” she asked sweetly.

His lips quirked. “None that I’ve met.”

That was another surprise. In her imaginings, Dorothy’s seducer had possessed no sense of humor. Nell had expected evil to seep from his very pores. But unless she’d already known his wickedness, she’d see nothing to despise and much to admire. It was odd, the more she saw of Leath, the less she understood why flirty, flighty Dorothy had found him appealing. Perhaps on the hunt, he adopted a different style.

“How did a woman from the gentle south end up here?”

She’d prepared a plausible story. The marchioness had swallowed it without question. She had a nasty feeling that the marquess wasn’t nearly so trusting. “I was to take employment in York, but the lady was called back to London unexpectedly and shut the house. One of the other servants told me about Alloway Chase and I decided to try my luck.”

His face didn’t lighten. Her stomach sank with the certainty that she hadn’t gulled him. “So you crossed an inhospitable moor, came miles from the nearest civilization, on the off chance of finding employment?”

She kept her voice positive. “Indeed, sir. Fortunately there was a vacancy for a housemaid.”