My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers
19
CAMBOURNE HOUSE 1830
Thank goodness she was taking matters into her own hands.
Lady Jeanette Cambourne schooled her face into concern, even wrinkling her brow a bit. Something she rarely did. “Oh there you are, Mr. Hartley.”
The Irish pauper stopped as his boot hit the last step, looking a bit chagrined. He likely hadn’t expected to see her waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He looked past her into the breakfast room and frowned slightly.
Probably looking for his free breakfast.
“Good Morning, Lady Cambourne.” He bowed slightly over her hand. “I didn’t realize the time. I’m not accustomed to sleeping so late. You have need of me?”
Hartley was obviously disappointed to find only herself in the breakfast room, despite the hour. He didn’t really care to speak to her, that much was certain. Pity, for she had so much to tell him.
Jeanette held out a note, still damp and mud-stained. “A messenger came to the kitchen door this morning. I was having tea when Bevins brought the note to me. You were still abed. The messenger didn’t wait for a reply.”
A complete and utter lie. The letter had arrived the previous night and the messenger had, indeed, been instructed to wait for a reply, but Jeanette made sure one of the footmen sent him away.
Hartley took the missive and ran his fingers over the elegant seal of the Earl of Kilmaire. He looked at it for so long that Jeanette was afraid he would be able to tell she’d already steamed the note open when it first arrived.
Tearing open the note, she was pleased to see Hartley’s eyes widen in surprise and concern.
“Is something amiss, Mr. Hartley?” Jeanette let her voice tremble as if concerned. Of course something was amiss. One of Hartley’s brothers had fallen ill. Hartley was being called back to Runshaw Park immediately as the brother wasn’t expected to live. Tragic, really, and quite fortuitous. She’d long been racking her brain trying to figure out how best to rid herself of Hartley. She nearly wept with relief after reading the note.
“My brother. Ian.” He looked up, worry and fear in his eyes. “He’s quite ill. I need to leave London immediately for Runshaw Park.”
“Oh dear.” Jeanette placed her hand on his arm in what she hoped was a consoling manner. “Is there anything I can do?” At his nod, she continued, ‘I’ll instruct the footman to ready your horse immediately and have Cook pack you something for your journey.”
She’d actually already told Paul, her most loyal footman, to have Hartley’s mount readied, a small basket with bread and cheese attached to the saddle’s pommel. She wanted the Irish pauper out of the house as soon as possible.
“I must make haste. Excuse me.” Hartley bounded up the stairs towards the guest room he’d slept in last night.
Jeanette waited at the foot of the stairs, tapping her foot as she watched the clock. Hopefully he wouldn’t take too long. She was not disappointed. He reappeared almost immediately.
“My lady.” Hartley cast another look over her shoulder into the breakfast room, still hoping, no doubt, to find Miranda, or even Robert. But Jeannette was thorough. She’d worked hard to make sure Hartley would see no one else before his departure. Even the Dowager, old bat that she was, always breakfasted in her chambers and rarely appeared before luncheon. She’d tell them all that Hartley had left in great haste. Miranda especially would be distraught.
“Is Lord Cambourne in his study?”
Lord, he sounded so hopeful.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hartley, but Lord Cambourne and Miranda ran out for an errand. I will express your regrets that you had to leave without saying goodbye.”
“My lady.” Hartley bent over her hand, his eyes dark with dislike.
“Safe travels, Mr. Hartley. Godspeed.” Jeanette gave him the sincerest smile she could muster, under the circumstances.
Hartley gave her one last look and strode out of Cambourne House.
“MY LADY.”
Paul, her most devoted footman, handed her two envelopes. One was addressed to her husband. She put that one aside. The other was addressed to Miranda and bulged at the corner. She eyed the small bump with distaste.
Dear God. He’s given her a token of affection.
“Hartley gave these to you?”
“Yes, my lady. Mr. Hartley was very adamant that I deliver the letters directly to Lord Cambourne and Lady Miranda.” The footman held up a coin. “And gave me this to do so.”
“He wasted what little coin he has.” She smiled as she tore into the note for Miranda. “I’ll have something for you to post tomorrow, for Runshaw Park. The only mail that is to go to Runshaw Park. No matter who writes the letter. That includes Lord Cambourne. Am I understood?”
Another bow. “Yes, my lady. And incoming mail?”
“Bring me anything posted from Hartley or Runshaw Park. That is all.”
The footman stepped back out of the breakfast room. Paul would do as she asked. He didn’t dare not to.
Someday Miranda would thank her, especially once she was safely married to St. Remy, or perhaps the Earl of Kent. Jeanette hadn’t really made up her mind who Miranda should marry, only who her daughter would not marry. Hartley.
