Chapter 3

Chapter Three

C an my luck get any blooming worse?

Xenia wanted to shake her fist at the sky.

It was him . The bastard who'd left her soaked and standing by the side of the road. There was no mistaking his devilish good looks or irksomely virile figure, which today was outfitted in a Prussian-blue frock coat, embroidered cream waistcoat, and pair of tan trousers. What made him truly distinctive, however, was his cold and brooding expression. He'd regarded her in just this fashion when he'd taken off in his warm and cozy carriage while she'd walked miles in the pouring rain.

"Are you two, er, acquainted?"

Seeing the Earl of Manderly's confusion, she composed herself. Yesterday, the earl had approached her when she had been inquiring about work at the Leaning House, a tea shop in Chuddums. Initially, she'd been wary of the attractive stranger…especially since he bore a passing resemblance to the princely patron of her imagination. His golden-brown hair and air of command had sent a quiver through her belly.

After speaking with the earl, however, she knew that he hadn't been in her confessional. He was too proper and straitlaced to have a mind as dirty as her prince's. Indeed, his offer turned out to be entirely respectable: his brother, Lord Ethan Harrington, was looking for a housekeeper and would offer generous wages for the right candidate. He'd invited her to come for an interview today. She'd been thrilled at the opportunity…at something good just falling into her lap.

I ought to have known better was becoming a refrain.

Seeing the earl and his brother together, Xenia saw more differences than similarities. While both had been blessed with good looks and virile physiques, the earl had an outgoing and agreeable personality. Lord Ethan, on the other hand, was grumpy and withdrawn. In all fairness, she couldn't blame herself for not realizing that the nice earl's brother was the bastard who'd left her in the rain. Who'd treated her like a nobody he couldn't be bothered with.

Resentment smoldered beneath her breastbone. She told herself there was no point in making an enemy of Lord High-and-Mighty when she had enough of those already. What she needed was a job and a place to stay. Since she'd taken the precaution of disguising herself as Jane Wood, respectable widow, she might as well act the part. She suppressed the sultry rasp of her voice, speaking in tones that were as dull and prim as her pseudonym.

"I met his lordship briefly," she said. "No introductions were made."

"In that case. This is Jane Wood, a candidate for the housekeeper position." The Earl of Manderly spoke to his brother, who still hadn't uttered a word. "Mrs. Wood, this is my brother, Lord Ethan Harrington."

To her surprise, Lord Ethan bowed. Apparently, His Uppityness had manners after all. Grudgingly, she dipped her knees in return.

"I see you survived the rain," Lord Ethan said.

No thanks to you.

Her retribution, however, would have to be achieved on the sly.

"I take constitutionals in any weather, my lord," she said blandly. "Exercise is not only good for one's health but improves moral character. Never accept a ride when you can get there on your own two feet , I always say."

"How profound," he muttered.

"Self-reliance is so important, don't you agree? On the list of virtues, I believe it falls only slightly under moderation as a precept. There is nothing so damaging as excess. One must always strive toward temperance and respectability…"

As Lord Ethan's eyes glazed over, wings of victory beat in her chest .

"I applaud your good character, Mrs. Wood." Lord Manderly came to his brother's rescue. "After that delightful recitation, we hardly need further recommendation. But you do have references, I assume?"

As many as I could forge in one night.

"Of course, my lord," she said diffidently.

Opening her battered satchel, she took out three envelopes. When she attempted to pass them to the earl, Lord Ethan intervened, snatching the letters.

Rude bastard.

She noticed that he wore gloves, the fine black leather tailored snugly to his long fingers. Were indoor gloves a new fashion amongst bluebloods? God knew they could afford to indulge any whimsy and hated getting their hands dirty. Lord Ethan opened the first letter, and she held her breath as he scanned it. When she was a girl, Mama had forced her to learn a trade that would be useful to the gang, and she'd chosen forgery as the lesser of evils.

" Mrs. Wood can accomplish any task set before her ," Lord Ethan read aloud. " She is discreet, adaptable, and self-driven. In short, she is no trouble at all. Had my own circumstances not necessitated the reduction of my household, I would have kept her on, for she is worth her weight in gold. You will not regret hiring this exemplary woman who is the epitome of moral virtue. "

He paused, studying her.

Had she poured it on too thick with the praise? She hadn't lied about her talents. She was good at keeping secrets, adjusting to any situation, and following her own instincts. Although the part about virtue might be a teensy stretch…

His lordship finished scanning the letters and tossed them on his desk. "These are remarkable references," he said.

His delivery made her question whether the compliment was, in fact, a compliment.

She raised her chin. "I take pride in my work, my lord."

"A commendable quality." The earl cut in, giving his brother a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Just what you were looking for in a housekeeper, weren't you, old boy?"

Lord Ethan ignored him, keeping his gaze pinned on her. "How old are you?"

"Seven and twenty," she replied.

Minus four years, but who's counting?

Since she was interviewing for the most senior female position amongst the household staff, she'd decided to age herself. Using face paint, she'd added subtle lines and shadows to her face. She'd also concealed her freckles and made her complexion pallid, like that of a woman who spent her life laboring indoors.

"Is there a Mr. Wood?" he pressed.

"Deceased, I'm afraid." She took out a handkerchief, lifting her spectacles to dab at her eyes. "We were only married a year, but my husband was a good man. He died saving children from a burning schoolhouse."

"I am sorry for your loss, ma'am," Manderly said sincerely.

Lord Ethan, however, stared at her broodingly.

Had she done it a bit brown?

"Come," he said brusquely.

He curled a finger at her…as if she were a pet . Before she could reply, he turned and prowled toward the door.

She remained where she was. "Where are we going?"

He pivoted. One dark eyebrow winged, accentuating his intense violet-blue gaze. "I assume you wish to see your new place of employ?"

Her heart thudded with a mix of surprise, irritation, and excitement.

She kept her composure. "Perhaps we should first discuss the terms of employment."

"Seventy-five pounds per annum, plus room and board. A yearly bonus if your work meets my standards. An evening off a week and half a day on Sunday."

The impatience of his reply did not negate the generosity of the offer. He was giving her the answer to her problems: a room and excellent wages to boot. Of course, her tenure would be temporary, but he didn't have to know that. This would tide her over until she could resume her work at the Nunnery. She could tolerate anything for a few weeks, even Lord High-and-Mighty.

"Coming, Mrs. Wood?" he asked.

Apparently, it was a rhetorical question, since he'd already headed out the door. She glanced at the Earl of Manderly and saw something flicker across his face. Sorrow, perhaps?

He inclined his head, his smile wry. "Good luck."

She curtsied, and huffing out a breath, hurried to catch up to her new employer.

Xenia had not been in that many manors. Well, except for the years spent in her mama's gang. Given the nature of those visits, she hadn't lingered to examine the surroundings. She forced herself to pay attention to Lord Ethan's issuance of demands as he led her to the entrance hall. Looking around her, she came to the obvious conclusion: this place was a dump. She didn't mind; having lived in dumps all her life, she knew how to make the best of things. Truth be told, she felt a kinship to the house. While circumstances beyond its control had brought it low, it remained standing.

She was reminded of the rumors she'd heard in Chuddums. For her, the possibility of a resident ghost added to the manor's charm. She'd always adored stories with a supernatural element.

"Have you seen the ghost, my lord?"

She directed the question at Lord Ethan's broad back.

"I have not." He didn't bother to turn, his footsteps clipping ahead. "Do you know why?"

"No."

"Because there is no bloody such thing as ghosts."

Not for those lacking in imagination, clearly.

"The rumors are nonsense." He twisted his head to scowl at her. "I hope you are not a silly and superstitious sort of female, Mrs. Wood."

She flashed to the salt she'd thrown over her shoulder this morning. The crack she'd avoided on the pavement. The spider in the cupboard that she'd painstakingly rescued in a cup and set outside, singing, Be free, little friend. Be free!

"Not at all, sir," she said.

His reply was a grunt.

No matter. She could ferret out information about the phantom on her own. Mrs. Pettigrew, the proprietress of the Leaning House tea shop, had seemed like a fount of information about Chuddums and its local lore. Inspiration percolated through Xenia.

Perhaps I could incorporate ghosts into my storytelling. Imagine what I could do with phantoms at an orgy…

They arrived at the entrance hall, which might have been grand at some point. The double staircase curved upward to the second floor, but several steps on the left side had rotted away, leaving gaps like rotted teeth. The floor was covered with grime, and the chandelier that hung from the high ceiling looked ancient, baptizing passersby with sprinkles of dust.

"I expect you will tidy things up," his lordship said.

His gesture encompassed…everything?

She was no authority on cleaning. Truth be told, she wasn't tidy by nature. She'd never given much credence to the adage concerning cleanliness and Godliness. She believed that neatness was a symptom of an uninspired mind, and while she had many failings, she never lacked for imagination. There were always more interesting things to do than tidy up, but she figured she could learn on the job. Just because she'd never kept a house didn't mean she couldn't do it. Although, given the manor's size and state of neglect, she would need help.

"How many servants do you have on staff?" she inquired.

"At present, Brunswick, the butler and Mr. Valentine, the valet manage the house. Spencer, the groom, oversees the stables."

Two servants in the house? Her eyes rounded. And not a single maid or footman?

"There is a mop fair in Chuddums next week, where you'll be able to hire as many maids as you wish," he added brusquely. "In the interim, do your best to make things presentable."

She nodded, relieved that help was on the way. Moreover, one could say that disguising things to make them look respectable was her specialty. The fact that this place was a mess might even work to her advantage. Who would notice smudges on the banister when half the banister was missing? Or a few footprints on the carpet when the entire surface was caked with mud? Maybe she wouldn't have to do much cleaning after all…

"Why are you smiling that way?"

Startled, she returned her gaze to Lord Ethan, who was giving her a surly look.

"No reason, my lord," she said hastily. "May I see the rest of the house?"

The tour continued. The manor was shaped like a rectangle, with the drawing room and morning room to the right of the entrance hall and the dining room and library to the left. At least she guessed the latter was a library due to the empty, cobweb-covered shelves spanning the length of the room. At present, the space was stuffed with furniture and trunks.

"I brought a few things from London," Lord Ethan said. "Brunswick will unpack and organize the books when he has time; in the meanwhile, clean around the trunks the best you can."

"Not a problem, my lord."

He either failed to notice her sarcasm or chose to ignore it. The tour continued to the row of rooms at the back of the manor, which included his lordship's study, a billiards room, and a music room, all with views of an overgrown garden. Upstairs, Lord Ethan showed her the six bedchambers and master suite. Crumbling plaster, scratched wood, and moth-eaten upholstery appeared to be the decorating motif.

Finally, he led her to the servants' wing. It occupied a separate building and was haphazardly attached to the main living area by an extension of the corridor that led to the study and music room. The kitchen was spacious and dirty, equipped with a large and rickety worktable, and the servants' hall and stillroom were likewise in need of cleaning. Below the kitchen were quarters for male servants. Above, in the sloped attic, were a series of small garret rooms for the maids and a larger suite designated for the housekeeper.

The latter was well, if shabbily, furnished with what looked like a prior owner's castoffs. Xenia discreetly pressed on the mattress, finding it surprisingly well stuffed. A faded chintz armchair sat by the small hearth, inviting one to curl up in it, and there was a small dressing table with a cracked looking glass. By some miracle, there was also an escritoire. One of the legs was wobbly, but she could fix it. She'd always wanted a writing desk and imagined herself outlining Sirena's tales upon it…

"Do you cook?" Lord Ethan asked.

"Yes," she said quickly.

He didn't ask if she cooked well , and there was no way she was losing the position now that he'd dangled this lovely room in front of her. At the Nunnery, she'd shared a tiny chamber with five prostitutes, and privacy had been a rare commodity. She couldn't explain it, but from the moment she'd entered this chamber, it had felt like…home.

Or, at least, a good stopping place.

Besides, how hard could cooking be? If she could work at a seedy London bookshop specializing in pornographic goods and perform as an erotic storyteller at various brothels, surely she could throw together a meal.

"Then you will be in charge of the kitchen until I hire a cook at the mop fair," he declared.

Although his expression remained brooding, she sensed he was pleased with the turn of events. Strangely, the feeling was mutual.

"Can you start tomorrow?" he asked.

With fluttering excitement, she nodded.

"Brunswick will show you the ropes and answer your questions." He removed a ring of keys from his frock coat. "You will need these. You have the run of the house, with one exception."

He pinched the last key on the ring. Smaller than the others, it had a patina of rust.

"This opens the room at the end of the corridor. Do not use it."

"Why not?" she asked instantly.

"Because you won't like what is inside. The door must remain locked. Surely you can follow a simple request?"

His grouchy countenance warned her not to argue. She nodded because she wanted the job. The keys clanged as he dropped them into her palm.

"Good day, Mrs. Wood." With a stiff nod, he departed.

She resisted sticking her tongue out at him. Instead, she whirled around and giddily took in her new sanctuary. Her new home…for now.