Almost a Countess by Jenna Jaxon

Chapter 6

“What makes you think we are alone here, Lord Aberfoyle?” A shiver of dread coursed through Dora as she shot up from her seat. She’d decided to address the man according to his claim, despite her grave misgivings about his actual station.

“Because I’ve no’ seen a soul other than ye or yer servants the entire time I’ve been here.” The man seemed rather satisfied about his observations. “Yer parents would surely have put in an appearance immediately, if they were here.” He peered at her mercilessly. “Who are yer parents, if I may ask?”

With the truth on the tip of her tongue, Dora hesitated. If his claim of not knowing London Society was true, he likely wouldn’t recognize her parents’ names. But until she ascertained he was who he claimed, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered she should keep him in the dark as much as possible. The best way to do that, she’d learned, was to keep a person off balance. “Why do you believe I live with my parents? I could just as easily be the mistress of this estate.”

He grinned. “Ye said earlier this was yer father’s estate, but even so, ye dinna wear a wedding ring.”

She glanced down automatically and cursed under her breath—which was another admission, of course. “I may not have a husband, but I am the mistress of this estate at present, with servants enough to act as chaperones.” Staring into his face, she hardened her gaze. “And if you have any improper ideas, I daresay I could repulse your advances simply by outstripping your pace in your current condition.”

“True enough.” He chuckled, which reassured Dora, then turned serious. “I fear only for yer reputation, Miss Harper. After the great kindness ye’ve shown me, I would hate tae have ye come tae harm through my presence here in yer house.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Touched by his concern, Dora backed up a step. She really should go before the young man’s handsome face and charming manners did bring her to ruin. “I’ll send Larkin up for the tray. I must attend to organizing tomorrow’s tasks. If you will excuse me, I’ll say goodnight.”

“Good night, Miss Harper. Pleasant dreams.”

“You as well.” Dora turned and all but fled the room before the strong pull to sit down beside him took hold of her.

True, she’d had no company in the far north since her arrival in April. It was only to be expected that she would enjoy conversation with someone of her own station. If he was of her station. Somehow, now she believed he was telling the truth about that. The pain in his eyes when he spoke of his father’s death, his obvious manners and way of speech declared him someone of good breeding. Someone who would be an eligible match in the eyes of Society. She shook her head and hurried down the corridor. If he weren’t a criminal.

Dora paused on the steps. Why was she thinking about him being an eligible parti? She had no business entertaining such ideas about any man, much less a stranger to whom she’d not even been properly introduced. And even if they had, she couldn’t believe her father would agree to a match with a wild Scotsman with a price on his head.

Not to mention Lord Aberfoyle would scarcely consider her eligible when he discovered she’d been betrothed before, jilted the man, and now had no dowry to her name. Her father had made it abundantly clear before she left home that she could expect to be his dependent for the rest of her life. No one would want to marry her without some kind of compensation, which he would refuse to provide.

But still she sometimes allowed herself to dream.

Like now.

After consulting with Cook about tomorrow’s menus, Dora climbed the steps again, more than ready for bed even though the evening light had not yet faded. However, the day had been trying in so many ways—the stress of evading the soldiers coupled with that of actually finding their prisoner, not to mention her unexpected and inexplicable attraction to her houseguest. So a long soak in a hot tub and a good night’s sleep would put her world back into the proper perspective.

“Larkin, please prepare a bath for me. After that dip in the creek and all the excitement of the day, I need to soak and relax tonight.” Dora sank down onto the chair before her dressing table, suddenly too weary to stand.

“Very good, miss.” The maid rang for James and gave the order for hot water then bustled about the room readying the wooden tub.

Soon Dora was seated in hot water up to her chin, the steam coming off the surface gently caressing her face, adding to her comfort. At last, she settled back, breathing a deep sigh, and one by one her muscles began to relax.

“Shall I wash your hair, Miss Harper?” Larkin hovered over her, the jar of rose-scented soap flakes in her hand.

“Yes, please, Larkin.” With a groan, Dora sat up. “We are likely to have visitors in the next day or so. I must look my best.” Dora doubted Lieutenant Scarlet and his company would pass her by. She needed to be ready, presenting a comely figure, and with a story to account for Lord Aberfoyle’s presence in the house.

“Lean your head back.”

Dora complied, and the hot water cascaded over her head, soothing her all over.

“Who do you think will be coming to call?” The maid raised an eyebrow. No one had come to call on her in the four months she’d been at Bromley.

“Not callers. Soldiers.” Dora stared into Larkin’s widening eyes. “Searching for an escaped prisoner.”

Larkin jerked upright, the cup she’d been using to rinse Dora’s hair clattering to the floor, splashing water everywhere. “Oh, I’m sorry, miss.” The maid scrambled to mop up the mess. “You don’t think his lordship…”

“I’m afraid he is, Larkin. He told me so himself.” Dora steeled herself for hysterics.

“Gracious, Miss Harper.” The maid was apparently made of sterner stuff for she rose, a little wobbly, her face a trifle paler than before, and resumed rinsing Dora’s hair. “Whatever will you do?”

“Do?” Dora frowned at her maid. “What do you mean, Larkin?”

“With his lordship. Tonight.” Larkin seemed to think Dora should do something with the man other than give him supper and a bed. “Are you going to lock him in his chamber?” The girl grabbed a piece of toweling as Dora rose then wrapped it around her dripping body.

“You think I should?” Startled that she hadn’t thought of that precaution, Dora clutched the towel to her chest.

“That I do! To make sure he doesn’t murder us in our beds.” Larkin gave Dora a knowing glance. “Or do something else in your bed, miss.”

Dora’s cheeks heated, although that could’ve just been the steam from the water. “I hardly think that will happen, Larkin. Lord Aberfoyle is a gentleman.” At least she hoped he was. “And he’s barely able to move, much less wreak havoc during the night.”

“Well, he must have committed some horrible crime to have been arrested by the soldiers.” Larkin rubbed Dora’s body vigorously with the towel, hard enough Dora feared she might take off the skin.

“He wore a kilt, is all, Larkin. That was his crime.”

The maid stopped her toweling and stared at Dora as though she’d run mad. “They arrested him for that?”

“It’s a long story, but yes, apparently, there’s a law against it. Suffice it to say his lordship is no true criminal.”

“You believed that story, miss?” Larkin gave her a disbelieving look before applying the towel to Dora’s hair.

Dora sighed, and the dregs of doubt began to creep into her mind. Perhaps she was being too naïve with a man she’d met only hours ago. If she was letting her attraction to him cloud her judgment, the whole household might suffer. There was something she could do to remedy that, although she couldn’t help but feel badly for not trusting Lord Aberfoyle’s word. “Take my keys and quietly lock his door. With any luck, he’ll sleep through the night and if you unlock it early enough, he’ll never be the wiser.”

“Yes, miss. I’ll go right now.” Larkin scooped Dora’s household keys from the decorated glass bowl on a table next to the door and hurried out.

Dora continued to sit, methodically squeezing water from her hair with the towel. She’d been so accepting of Lord Aberfoyle’s explanation, she’d let her guard down. She couldn’t allow herself to do that again. She doubted the man was dangerous and certainly was unable to get into any mischief with his wounded ankle. Still, it made her uneasy to think she’d accepted his story almost without pause. Blinded by his dark auburn hair, cool blue eyes, and charming smile.

A dangerous combination, it seemed.

Well, she’d restore her vision and see him with both eyes open from now on. Tomorrow morning, she’d assess his condition as best she could. She had some slight skill in tending to wounds and sickness, so she felt capable of treating him. After an evaluation, she’d know better if he could ride. If he were able to sit a horse, she’d loan him one of her father’s, provide a packet of food, and send him off to London, if that was where he was determined to go. If not, she’d await the appearance of the soldiers, learn their version of the story, and cover Lord Aberfoyle’s presence as best she could. Would Lieutenant Scarlet take her word there was no one save her and her servants in residence? What would she do if he insisted on searching the house?

One way or another, her quest for answers to these questions would keep her awake long into the night.

****

Next morning, after a very few hours of fitful sleep, Dora sat down bleary-eyed to breakfast. As she sipped her fragrant tea, trying to wake herself up, she hoped if anyone did appear they wouldn’t notice the dark smudges under her eyes. She’d taken to her rouge pot this morning—something she rarely did—to give her the appearance of blooming health, if one didn’t look too closely at her face. If they did, they would realize she was tired to the bone.

After tea, toast, eggs, and bacon, Dora persuaded herself she was ready to face the day and anything it would bring.

Larkin had informed her when she woke that she’d had taken Lord Aberfoyle’s breakfast to him early and he’d seemed none the wiser about being locked in last night. She’d go up and see him shortly. Now, she needed to work out the details of the story she’d come up with in the earliest hours of the morning to explain his lordship’s presence in the house. A wild plan, to be sure, but then desperate times called for desperate measures, or so they said. At the moment, Dora was inclined to agree with “them.” If the plan actually worked, it would assure the earl’s safety here for several days—long enough for him to regain his strength before continuing his journey.

The fact that she would also have several more days of his company didn’t factor into the situation at all, of course.

James entered with a letter on a silver salver. “This just arrived by messenger, miss.”

She frowned. In all the time she’d been at Bromley, she’d never had a letter delivered by messenger. “Are they waiting for an answer?” She peered at the letter, but the handwriting wasn’t familiar.

“No, miss.”

“Thank you, James.” Strange. The footman retreated to the kitchen, and Dora turned the letter over and over in her hands. Addressed in a feminine hand, the letter created a puzzle in Dora’s mind. It wasn’t from Judith, for her letters always came by post. And sad to say, she had no other female friends who corresponded with her since she’d left her home in Wiltshire.

“The easiest way to find out who it’s from is simply to open it, nitwit,” she muttered.

Slipping the tip of her knife under the blob of wax popped the seal from the back, and she unfolded the single sheet, written only on two sides. She eagerly took it up.

My dear Dora,

You will find it odd that I am writing to you from Yorkshire when you must have thought Tris and I were already bound for Italy.

“Violet!” Dora sprang up from her chair, all thoughts fled save that of her friend. “She’s in Yorkshire?”

Her dear friend was now married to Lord Trevor after Dora had broken off her betrothal to the viscount in January. Dora had rejoiced in her friend’s happiness and had been given to believe the couple was bound for Italy on their wedding trip. That they were actually close to Dora—Lord Trevor’s estate abutted her father’s property—was a mystery, but one for which Dora gave thanks. She’d been lonely here in Yorkshire, no matter how she’d tried to deny it to herself. With Violet and Tris not two miles away, life would become bearable again.

She continued reading, delighted to find Violet urging her to call upon her immediately this morning at Yewtree Hall, Tris’s estate, for tea. Dora’s smile grew wider as she read. She couldn’t wait to inform Violet of all that had transpired with her Judith and her subsequent marriage to Lord Haxby. Not to mention her own adventures here at Bromley Manor, both when she’d first arrived and now that Lord Aberfoyle—

Dora gasped and clutched the letter to her chest. Should she tell Violet about Lord Aberfoyle? A risk either way, to be sure, for what Violet knew, Tris would surely find out as well. Although Dora would relish Tris’s opinion on the situation, she also knew his nature. He’d be incensed that Dora had spent the night under the same roof as a strange man without a suitable chaperone.

Dora bit her lip and shook her head. She’d have to cross that bridge when she finally set foot on it. Meanwhile, she must check on her houseguest and make sure he was provided for while she was away.

Folding the letter, Dora rose and made her way swiftly to the first floor and her bed chamber. “Larkin, I need my riding habit. I am going to Yewtree Hall, and I believe I will ride.”

“Your blue one is still being cleaned, miss.” Larkin gave her an accusatory look. “However, it’s my opinion it will never be the same again.”

“Then my brown one will have to do.” It didn’t become her as well as the blue but now Violet was here, perhaps they could summon a mantua maker from York or Leeds and have a new one made. If her father would allow her the funds, that was. She sighed as Larkin stripped the pale gray day gown from her. She’d likely be wearing the brown habit until it fell off her if she had to wait for her father to provide.

Shortly, her toilette was complete and, taking her courage in hand, she made her way down the opposite corridor to the viscount’s apartments. She knocked hesitantly on the door.

A gruff “Come in” was her only response.

That did not bode well.

Dread making her throat dry, Dora opened the door and automatically turned toward the bed, but it was empty other than a tray with the dishes piled up. Startled, she scanned the room and discovered Lord Aberfoyle sitting on the window ledge that overlooked the rear rose garden, his newly shaved face showing obvious displeasure. Without benefit of his whiskers, the man looked quite a bit younger. And more ominous.

Even more disturbing, he was dressed in some of her brother’s old clothing, which fit him well enough. Simon had been a little larger than the current wearer, but these clothes would certainly do for the moment. The suit of blue superfine was a little old fashioned—she couldn’t remember when Simon had last been to Bromley—but otherwise suited Lord Aberfoyle. The linen shirt looked crisp, although it had surely been packed away in the closet. His lordship had tied a suitable if simple knot in his cravat and his ensemble was finished with his own boots, now polished to a shine. Larkin had worked wonders with his lordship’s substitute clothing.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning.” He turned a stony face to her, and her stomach flipped back and forth. “I beg yer pardon, but I dinna have a chance last night tae inquire if it was the custom o’ this house tae lock its guests in each night?” He smiled, cold and sharp.

Dora wanted to flee the room.

“I merely wished tae know at what time I will be confined tonight sae I may decide if I wish tae continue tae avail myself o’ such ‘hospitality’ in future?”

His eyes glittered, and Dora held her breath, completely at a loss for words.