Chapter 9

"My lady?" Miss Whitford asked as she arranged Eleanor's hair before luncheon. "A few pearl-ended pins there, do you think?"

Eleanor glanced up from studying the bottles and brushes on her table and inclined her head. "Perhaps," she agreed. Miss Whitford was helping her to dress since they were expecting guests at lunchtime—the gentlemen who had come to discuss business with Lord Glenfield and his father. Miss Whitford had arranged her hair in a formal style, ringlets about her face and the back in an elaborate chignon, decorated with pearls. Luncheon at Ramsgate Manor was evidently a formal event, at least when guests were visiting.

She hadn't stopped thinking all morning about the strange questions that the ladies at teatime had raised. She wasn't sure what was more disturbing—the murmurings about Lord Glenfield, or the suggestion of a curse. Since the conversation, she couldn't help the fact that the manor seemed suddenly sinister, the shadows a little darker as if something wicked lurked there.

Nonsense, she told herself firmly. She had always been practical and direct. She was not going to let some stories—about him or about anything else—bother her. She looked up at Miss Whitford. Perhaps she knew something and could reassure her.

"Have you worked here long?" she asked the woman conversationally as she styled her hair. Miss Whitford smiled, as if being questioned about herself was an unexpected gift.

"About two years, my lady," she replied, still smiling. "I started here in the kitchens, aiding Mrs. Darnley. Then I was promoted to housemaid," she explained proudly. "Tidying up, and preparing the beds and the like."

"I see," Eleanor replied, smiling at her where she could see her in the mirror. "You must have done good work." Not everyone received a promotion so fast.

"I reckon I must have," Miss Whitford answered, blushing appreciatively. "And then when you arrived, my lady, the housekeeper said that I should be the new lady's maid. I can't tell you how pleased I am, my lady. It's a grand position to have."

"I'm glad too," Eleanor said sincerely. She already liked Miss Whitford. She wasn't Betty, with whom Eleanor had enjoyed a friendship, but she was kind and polite, if a little more reserved than Betty had been.

"You must have been surprised by the promotion," she commented to Miss Whitford as she reached for a light shawl that matched with the shoes.

"I was, my lady! The news surprised me. I mean, the master..." she trailed off.

"You mean it was very sudden?" Eleanor asked inquiringly.

"Yes! Very sudden," Miss Whitford replied at once, seeming pleased for the chance not to explain further. "I didn't know as he'd been courting, my lady."

"Oh." Eleanor blushed. She didn't know what to say, since the news had seemed as sudden for her as it must have for the staff.

"Not to say I would have, my lady. I mean, the business of them in the big house is none of my business. I just clean and dust."

"I know what you mean," Eleanor said gently, seeing Miss Whitford was clearly feeling awkward. "And Lord Glenfield is a rather reserved person—I think he keeps his business fairly secret."

Miss Whitford nodded. "Indeed, it is likely that he would not divulge his affairs to us, the household staff. However, servants have a tendency to overhear conversations and gather information."

"Information," Eleanor repeated, looking the woman in the eye. She held her breath, hoping that some sort of information about Lord Glenfield was about to be given.

"Yes. Well, things," Miss Whitford said uncomfortably. She looked around as if she was desperate to get out of the awkward position she was in, but just then someone knocked at the door.

"My lady?" The butler's voice called through the wood. "Terribly sorry to disturb, but his lordship has arrived with the guests."

"Oh. I shall come down at once." Eleanor stood, hurrying to the door. She smiled at Miss Whitford, who looked distinctly nervous. "I'm glad you were promoted to be my lady's maid," she told her honestly.

"Oh! Oh, my lady." Miss Whitford beamed. "That's very kind. That's very kind, my lady."

She was blushing and Eleanor smiled to herself as she hurried down the stairs. Seeing Miss Whitford's happiness had taken her mind off her worries.

She swallowed hard, slipping into the dining-room. The long table was set, the silverware polished and bright against the white tablecloth. Tall candles in brass candle holders lined the center of it, but none of the candles were lit as bright sunlight streamed in through the long windows. Four men sat at the table along with Lord Ramsgate and Lord Glenfield. When she came in, they all stood. Eleanor blushed red.

"Gentlemen," Lord Glenfield said in a tight voice. "Allow me to introduce Lady Glenfield to you all."

"Charmed, my lady," an elderly man with thick white hair and a mustache greeted her. She smiled and curtseyed.

"Pleased to meet you, my lady," another man said.

"Good afternoon, Lady Glenfield."

"Charmed, my lady."

She curtseyed again, reddening at all the greetings and welcomes, and then went to her place at the table, which was at the foot, opposite Lord Glenfield who sat at the head. Lord Ramsgate sat on her left, in the central place on the long side, facing the door.

"Let's have lunch, gentlemen," Lord Glenfield announced, nodding lightly to the butler, who waited at the door. He wheeled the trolley in, laden with pots and bowls, and two footmen moved swiftly to start serving the meal.

"A fine day today, is it not, my lady?" The man sitting on her right asked her. He was tall and thin, with gray hair and pale eyes and he smiled at her.

"It is. Very fine," Eleanor murmured. She felt her stomach growl, distracted for a moment by how hungry she was. The footmen settled plates of soup before everyone on the table, filled up the breadbasket and went to stand and wait by the wall to serve the next course.

Eleanor sampled the soup, shutting her eyes for a moment to appreciate the flavor. It was a rich pea soup, buttery and intense, and her stomach twisted with hunger for more.

The talk around the table was heated, focused on the financial issues the men had been discussing in the morning. Eleanor listened with half an ear, not particularly interested in whatever it was they talked about. She glanced up at Lord Glenfield and her cheeks went red. He was watching her.

She looked down at the table, feeling confused. He was looking at her with a particularly intense stare, his dark eyes focused on her, and she looked at the tablecloth, cheeks burning with the sense that he was gazing at her. She risked a glance upwards and saw he had turned and was looking over at something on the wall by the door.

She lifted her napkin, dabbing her lips, confused. There was no reason for him to be gazing at her like...like...She frowned. She had no idea what to make of that intense look in his eyes. She put her napkin on her knee again, focusing on smoothing it over her skirt so that she didn't have to look up again and see him watching her.

The luncheon continued, course following course, with the soup replaced by a souffle and then the main course of roast trout, with several side-dishes, and then a dessert of trifle. The trifle was followed by savory biscuits and brandy for the men, while coffee was brought for her. She sipped it slowly, glancing at Lord Glenfield across the table as she did so.

His gaze moved to her, and she hastily looked down at her plate. She felt a tingling sensation as though she could almost feel him staring at her, and she risked a glance up. He was looking at the table, as if the tablecloth was truly fascinating. She frowned to herself.

It seemed almost as though he was as awkward about being caught staring at her as she was about having been stared at.

She shook herself. She was being silly. Perhaps she had imagined it.

She sipped her coffee while the men talked and blinked as the Marquess of Ramsgate cleared his throat to talk.

"Shall we move to the drawing room, gentlemen? Lady Glenfield, I trust we have not been too tiresome today?" He smiled at her.

She smiled back, genuinely liking the older man. He was always so considerate.

"Not at all, Lord Ramsgate," she told him at once. "Should I ever wish to invest money, I have here a roomful of experts to help me."

The men all laughed, clearly flattered. She glanced over at Lord Glenfield and blushed at the warmth in his gaze. She looked away, flustered.

He is so strange. Half the time, I think he has no regard for me at all, and the other half of the time, he watches me with that strange look that I cannot understand.

She swallowed hard. She needed to do something about it. She had to find out how he really felt and what these stories about him meant.

The men went to the drawing-room, and she retired to her bedchamber to rest. She must have fallen asleep, because she woke, blinking, at the sound of the church bells chiming the hour. It was dinnertime already.

"I need to speak with his lordship," she told herself firmly.

She stood, feeling nervous, and went to the drawing room. It was empty, but the butler was there tidying the room.

"Lord Glenfield is busy?" she asked the butler, who shook his head.

"He's in his chamber, my lady," he replied. "Just up the hallway."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Of course, my lady. No bother." The butler smiled at her, seeming surprised by her thanking him.

She exited the room and went into the hallway, heart thudding. She had thought it would be difficult to locate, but when she went in the direction the butler had nodded in, she found three doors, two of which were open. One led into an antechamber, one into what looked like a study. The next, she guessed, was Lord Glenfield's chamber.

She drew a breath and knocked at the door.

"Come in," a voice came through the wood. Eleanor drew another breath and opened the door.

"Oh!" She let out a gasp. Lord Glenfield was there, wearing nothing but his trousers. His chest was bare and gleaming, his back muscled and his shoulders broad. He turned around and his eyes widened as he saw her there.

"My lady," he greeted her lightly. "You are an unexpected surprise."

"I...um...well..." She stammered, cheeks flaming. She looked away, fighting the urge to stare.

"Am I so shocking?" he asked, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. She looked away with her entire body flushed with heat.

He sighed and she frowned, wondering why he sounded a little peeved.

"My lord," she began. "Sorry. Sebastian." She reddened. Speaking like that in his private chamber was so strange, so embarrassing. Deliciously embarrassing but embarrassing all the same. "I must, well...I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh." His eyes were flinty, and she swallowed again. "Ask me."

"I, well..." she breathed deeply, frowning at the sudden, abrupt change in his tone. She had no idea how to ask, but she saw his mouth move into a wry smile.

"You cannot be so prim as to be shocked by a man without a shirt on," he teased.

"I, well..." Her skin burned with embarrassment. He was the only man she'd ever seen without a shirt, and somehow that felt silly, now that he'd teased her like that.

He is always teasing me. I wonder if he has any respect for me, she thought crossly.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said firmly. "Your aunt mentioned something, some dark, bad thing. Something to do with you, with your family." She held his stare.

"What thing?" he asked softly. His voice was low, but nonetheless the anger was plain in his tone.

"She said that you are cursed," she challenged.

She tensed as his face changed, from disinterest to rage.

"What?" he exploded. He stared at her in shock. "What on Earth? How dare you come in here and bring such silly tales to me?"

"It's not," she began, but his words were so harsh, and he was looking at her with such anger that she turned around and fled.

"Wait," he called, as she ran up the hallway.

She didn't turn around. She ran up the hallway to her bedroom, panting as if a monster was after her, and she slammed the door and sat down on the bed, tears pouring down her cheeks as she wondered what had angered him so and how she could escape this confusing, dark place in which she was incarcerated.