Chapter Four

"I t's too much. I couldn't possibly accept such a generous settlement," Louisa protested. The amount of funds that Mr. Hatton had named was more than she could even imagine. The number was positively astronomical.

"Miss Jones, Mr. Blackwell is aware that you are sacrificing a great deal to enter into this... arrangement with him. Trust me when I say that he has considered the settlement he offered very carefully and has reached a more than reasonable figure," Mr. Hatton offered in a placating tone. "Take the offer, Miss Jones. Accept it. You may renegotiate the terms with Mr. Blackwell at the time you part—if you still feel that you need to do so."

Need to part or renegotiate? Hatton's meaning was not clear, and she had the impression that it was intentional. Surely the thin, bespectacled little man was not attempting to play matchmaker! But if he was, if he had some vision of there being a happily ever after for them, he was at least an ally. And she needed one.

"There is one thing, Mr. Hatton... the servants."

"Yes, Miss Jones."

"This is an unusual marriage, and regardless of any attempts to keep our private business just that, they will know. And they will gossip. Among themselves or with people outside this house. Those sorts of rumors could be quite damning."

He frowned. "Indeed. You are quite right. I've heard veiled statements already."

"I need to have authority over the household staff. Complete authority so long as I live here."

Mr. Hatton nodded. "I had not considered that your position here would be complicated by your former status as a... a...."

"Servant? Yes, while I held an elevated position within the households where I worked, I was still an employee. But those positions are never easy, Mr. Hatton, as you know. You cannot sit with the servants around their dinner table, but you are not always welcome in the family dining room. We are very much trapped between worlds. They will not accept me easily."

Hatton nodded. "Indeed, we are, Miss Jones, and you are quite right. His lordship may not be aware of the difficult position you will be in while residing here, but upon reflection, I can certainly understand it. It might be a situation best handled not by Mr. Blackwell at all but by Miss Mary. You have yet to meet her, but I think it is high time."

In truth, she'd all but forgotten about the doddy aunt. The very reason she had agreed to come to Rosehaven, and the woman had slipped her mind entirely. Louisa flushed. "Certainly, Mr. Hatton."

"No fear, Miss Jones. Show her no fear. She is a bit like an animal. If she senses that she has the upper hand, she will use it."

With that warning echoing in her mind, Mr. Hatton rose and rang the bell pull. Within seconds, a maid entered the room. "Miss Jones wishes an audience with Miss Mary."

The maid's only immediate response was to blink rapidly in shock. Then she composed herself. "I will see when the mistress is available."

"You mistake my meaning, girl," Mr. Hatton stated flatly. "Miss Jones will see Miss Mary. Your task is to inform Miss Mary that she should attend us in the drawing room."

When the maid was gone, Louisa immediately scolded the man. "Mr. Hatton! I cannot believe you would be so high-handed." Of course, he had arranged her presence there through nothing less than subterfuge and manipulation. Was it truly a surprise? "She will be predisposed to dislike me now."

"My dear girl, she dislikes everyone," he warned. "Trust me when I say that it is best to seize the higher ground and to do so immediately. Strategy is vital."

It was perhaps ten minutes, but no more, when the drawing room door opened once more and an elderly woman entered draped in a gown that was at least three decades out of date. Despite that, it was flattering to her still-slim figure. Her hair might have been blonde in her youth, but it had now turned a perfect snowy white, perhaps aided by powder. She moved with the effortless grace of one much younger. Like a dancer.

Immediately, Louisa thought of the wraith-like figure she'd seen the night before. Was it possible that she had found the very corporeal source of that ghostly vision?

"It is quite impertinent to issue a summons when you are a guest in this house, Miss Jones," the woman intoned disapprovingly.

She was a bit like Mrs. Wheaton, Louisa realized. The woman had wrapped herself in authority to shield herself from the slings and arrows of others. Mr. Hatton's words made much more sense to her in that light. "It was also quite impertinent to have a guest under roof for more than a day without bothering to greet them."

"No quibbling about whether or not you are a guest?" Miss Mary asked. "You came here thinking to be employed and find yourself prepared to take up the role of chatelaine."

"You are correct. I am not a guest, at all. I am betrothed to your nephew and will become mistress of Rosehaven tomorrow," Louisa replied. "But I would not have enmity between us. I understand that it is your position. This house has been your domain—"

"For too bloody long," the woman snapped. "It's about time someone else saw to the running of this place. It's exhausting, Miss Jones. I will be happy to turn those reins over to you."

Her tone would have shocked some gently bred young lady. But Louisa had grown up in the rookeries, after all, where fishwives shouted and prostitutes called out their wares with equal profanity and enthusiasm. "In that case, I should think you would have been eager to welcome me here."

Miss Mary's chin lifted, and she eyed Louisa with something that might have been approval. "Leave us, Hatton. I can't abide your hovering. I promise not to gobble the girl up. After all, she'll be easing my burdens significantly."

When they were alone, Louisa braced herself for what was to come. It could be anything. The woman was impossible to predict. But Miss Mary did not begin castigating her for her impertinence. Instead, she walked over to Louisa and simply picked up her hand. She turned it palm side up and began to examine it with great interest.

"You've had an interesting life, Miss Jones," Miss Mary observed, delicately tracing lines on Louisa's palm. "This is your life line. For most people, it will fork once. Yours has forked twice. Based on where these forks present along the line, that represents a significant change—once when you were a child and once as an adult. Then it remains strong and steady. What do you think that means?"

"I could not begin to guess, ma'am," Louisa answered. "I've never given much credence to palm reading or any other sort of divination. Being an observant person with a basic understanding of human nature allows those who would call themselves soothsayers to feed people what they want to hear."

Miss Mary's head lifted, her chin jutting forward in challenge. "And for those of us who do not care what they want to hear?"

"I meant no offense. But I prefer to put my faith in more rational things," Louisa insisted.

Miss Mary dropped her hand. "You will humor me, Miss Jones. Come to the table here, by the window."

Louisa rose, following Miss Mary to the spot she had indicated. From a pocket concealed within the folds of her skirt, the older women withdrew a deck of cards. Tarot. Louisa had seen them before, used by a fortune teller at a fair. She put no faith in such things, but if humoring Miss Mary would ease her way at Rosehaven, she'd tolerate it.

"Choose three cards," Miss Mary instructed.

Louisa did as she was bid. Miss Mary spread those cards in a line and then turned over seven more cards, forming a cross with them. For the longest moment, she simply stared at the cards, studying them one by one, then drawing back to take in the full array.

"There is darkness ahead of you," Miss Mary said, her voice laced with warning. "But not without hope. You have the strength to overcome it... but do you have the will?"

It was nonsense. Vague statements that could be interpreted in dozens of ways depending upon what she wanted to believe. Louisa tapped her finger on one of those cards. "What does this card mean?"

Miss Mary smiled much like the cat who'd gotten the cream. "That would be the lovers, Miss Jones."

If she'd needed proof that Miss Mary's reading was nonsense, that did it. Mr. Blackwell wanted nothing to do with her, at least not for very long.

"Do you know why Mr. Blackwell wishes to marry me?"

Miss Mary shrugged. "I know why he refused you at first. You are too pretty, Miss Jones, for a man like my nephew to resist."

"A man like your nephew?"

"One who struggles with his inner nature, one who fights to find balance between passion and reason. You tempt him, and that is what he seeks to avoid at all costs. But time is running out, and now he has to play the hand that fate—and Mr. Hatton—have dealt him."

"You are mistaken, madame!"

Miss Mary tapped one long, elegant finger against the card in question. The Lovers. "Not I, Miss Jones. I merely relay what the cards tell me. But even when fate sends us down one path, we must choose whether to stay on it or change course. You will find your own way. And perhaps he will too. I will see you at dinner, Miss Jones. And felicitations on your pending nuptials."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Good afternoon, Miss Jones—Louisa. I shall call you Louisa. Too much of this Miss Jones and Miss Mary and ma'am business. I will be Aunt Mary to you," the woman declared. "After tomorrow, of course."

And with that, she breezed from the drawing room, leaving Louisa shaken. Like one might be in the wake of a powerful storm.