Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Liam wasn’t usually one to eavesdrop—but he also wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had only stopped at Two Roads Inn that morning to water his horses and enjoy whatever luncheon was on offer, having pulled up beside a decrepit-looking stagecoach, and he had subsequently warned the gaggle of travelers by the doors to stay well away from the new phaeton he’d received from the Duke of Wellington.

It was only another five-mile drive to Corbridge. As far as Liam was concerned, the longer he could delay his return home, the better. If that made him a coward, then so be it. Hartfield Manor, of which he was the new master, wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

The woman he had disturbed—a woman who was now looking at him like he had accosted her—tilted her head to the side to take the measure of him. Liam was still sporting his regimentals, looking every part the captain he’d once been. She probably thought that he’d come to apprehend her, which begged the question: what had she done that would warrant an arrest? He was likely thinking too much into it, given a moment of surprised silence as she gawked at him, and he gawked back. It had been a long time since he had been faced with an English Rose quite like her.

“Forgive me,” he said, removing his tricorne and holding it to his chest. “You were asking about employment, and I couldn’t help but overhear. If you were sincere in your request, I believe I have a post that needs filling.” He tried to smile reassuringly, looking at the innkeeper for help. “Unless I was mistaken.”

“No, that’s precisely what we were saying,” the innkeeper replied before the woman had the chance. She reeled back in surprise as Liam stepped into the light, setting down her spectacles, awe-struck. “Good sir, you would not happen to be the Viscount of Corbridge, would you? I have to assume, from your outfit…We do not get many war heroes in these parts.”

This is what he got for not stopping by a tailor’s the moment he docked in Sunderland. He supposed it was good practice. One way or another, Liam would need to start getting used to the disbelieving or awed stares of the commonfolk now that he was home again. The life of a lord had never suited him; it was part of the reason he had taken up with the Royal Navy at the earliest opportunity. The other reason...Well, there was no point dwelling on those bad memories now.

The innkeeper’s near reverent tone set his teeth on edge, and the dark-haired woman had gone white in the face beside him, not exactly helping either.

“I see news of my return proceeds me. More’s the pity,” Liam said under his breath. “Yes, I am…The Viscount of Corbridge, that is.” He almost choked on the title, still not comfortable wielding it as his own name. “If you know that, then you must also have heard about the restoration of Hartfield Manor—my home—not five miles from here,” he added to the benefit of the prospective maid, turning toward her. “I’ll be looking to complement the existing staff soon. Why delay if you are looking for work?”

“Why delay, indeed…” the woman repeated, averting her eyes to the floor in thought. A strand of dark hair fell in front of her eyes. She tucked it back, revealing a set of pretty, embroidered traveling gloves. To have been able to afford an accessory of that quality, she must have worked in a grand house before—or have been a master thief. “Are you recently returned to England?” She added, “My lord,” as an afterthought.

“I’ve been four years out of the country, departed the moment I came of age. I was on commission in France for a time, before following the shadow of Bonaparte all over the Continent.” He clicked his tongue against his palate, stopping his mind from wandering. The story hardly needed to be told. His face bore the evidence of his time abroad. He had aged ten years in four. “So yes, I am recently returned. My family’s ancestral seat is in Corbridge. Circumstances being what they are...” More wandering thoughts. “I suspect my most recent commission will have been my last.”

The woman nodded, looking down at her shilling, still in the innkeeper’s hand. “So, what is it that you would require of me? I can read and write but will accept any position within reason. Perhaps you require a lady’s maid...for your wife...?”

Her bright green eyes looked up at him in curiosity. She continued to surprise him with her bold questions. How did a spirited young woman like her end up begging for work at an inn in the middle of nowhere? Liam shook the thought away, trying not to stare. The mention of his ‘wife’ teased a laugh from him.

“No, no.” He shook his head, covering his smile with the back of his hand. “That shan’t be possible, for I have no wife, and scarcely do I intend to take one. We will find some other place for you at Hartfield Manor when we arrive. No doubt, you will be positioned in the scullery or in the kitchens.” He furrowed his brow and cast a glance at the empty dining hall behind him. “Share luncheon with me, and we can discuss things further.”

He reached into his pocket and extracted his coin purse before she could refuse the offer, handing the innkeeper a generous half-sovereign for the groom’s work with his horses and their meals. The maid’s eyes widened as the coin glinted in the space between them. Perhaps she was not used to luxury after all, like her gloves had led him to believe.

By the time they settled down to eat in the dining hall, it was almost noon. There was a commotion coming from downstairs, in the kitchens, where the innkeeper had gone to inform the cook of the viscount’s arrival. He heard shouting and the sound of pans being cast around. If Liam had known what an upset a simple cold luncheon was going to cause, he would have fasted until they reached Corbridge. At least it reminded him of home. Not Hartfield Manor, but his previous encampment.

There had never been a quiet moment in their cantonment in France, not between the fighting, the planning, the sea, and the constant ribbing between his comrades.

He turned back to Connie, having asked her name when they entered the room. She had eyes like a cat, always watching and on edge. Liam couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, with her fair, rosy skin and long black hair. Her lips, while thin, were pursed in a way that made her always look like she was thinking hard about something.

“Tell me, then. Are you from the area?” Liam said, leaning his elbows on the table as they waited for their meal. “Not by birth, certainly. Your parents must have been from further south for you to speak in the way you do.”

Connie’s neck bobbed. Her smile was flat as she reached for her tea and took a sip. “My family is from London, yes, but I moved to Tyne and Wear a few months ago for work. There was an...opportunity for me...in Newcastle. One which has since fallen through.” Her brow creased in anger, leaving him to wonder what had happened. She sighed deeply and set down her cup. “I really am grateful for your offer, Lord Corbridge. Before you came along, I was in rather dire straits. This all seems too good to be true.”

“I wouldn’t count your blessings too soon. The housekeeper at Hartfield Manor takes no prisoners. Mrs. Turner, her name is.” He smiled at the memory of Eliza. She had always coddled him, often treating him like she was his own son. How old must she have been now? Sixty-two? Sixty-three? “Her husband Sam works as the groundskeeper. You’ll meet them both soon enough.” His smile dropped. “Assuming they’re both still alive and working there. It’s been a few years now since I’ve received news of them.”

Liam glanced out of the window, which cast out onto the road. He blinked against the sunlight, relishing its gentle warmth against his skin. The stagecoach from before was taking off down the thoroughfare, piled with passengers. Just like Liam, the groom was watching them go, having stopped to take a rest on the inn’s front steps, drinking hungrily from a canteen and wiping his mouth dry.

Deep down, he supposed that a part of him had missed England. Oh, the ton could all burn in hell as far as he was concerned. But the hardy countryfolk like Eliza and Sam, the budding coastal towns, the heather and rowan trees, the frothing sea, the pallor of it all, even the inclement weather...

England was his home, no matter how much he had tried to convince himself otherwise. Liam dreaded the thought of facing Hartfield Manor again, but it was the only place in the world he belonged now. He was tied to Corbridge through his blood. Like his father before him, he had to live and die there.

His breath hitched as the innkeeper approached from behind him, carrying two plates of cold cuts, bread and cheese, and a trencher of pickles and preserves. She refreshed Connie’s tea and Liam’s water, before disappearing back down the kitchen stairs.

“Does the household know of your return, my lord?” Connie asked from opposite him, spooning some plum jam onto a slice of bread. She arched a brow as she spread the jam around, having removed her gloves to reveal a delicate set of hands beneath. Long, slim fingers, and short, clean nails. “You said that it has been four years since you departed England...?”

“That’s right. I was fighting under Wellington until just recently. I was at Waterloo with the rest of them.” He shook his head, pushing away his doleful thoughts and tucking into his own lunch. “Until a year ago, my father took his seat at Hartfield Manor. He would send me the odd letter now and then, but with the amount of time I spent at sea, I was not always an easy man to locate. It was only a week ago that I finally crossed the Channel on my way home. A month before that, I sent word ahead to my cousin, asking him to warn the house of my return—he’s managed things in my absence. There was no point giving them an exact date of arrival.” He paused and smiled at her. “You’re something of a wanderer yourself. You will know as well as I do how unpredictable the traveling sport can be.”

She guffawed as though he didn’t know the half of it. He liked that expression on her. Confident, almost brattish. “I was forced to sit on the roof of a stagecoach between Leeds and Harrogate, which was a harrowing enough experience before it started to rain.” She rolled her eyes and took a bite of her lunch. “So yes, I’d consider myself a decently seasoned traveler now.”

He laughed. “To add to the long list of your other qualities, I’m sure.”

Liam looked up with a start, having not intended to sound so flirtatious. A gentleman, even a weathered soldier like him, had no place trying to banter with a maid. The corner of Connie’s mouth curled with a smile. Her expression alleviated some of his guilt, but not all of it.

He would not make that mistake again. He had invited her to Hartfield with the sole intention of giving her a job. It didn’t matter how pretty she was. He was far from the sort of gentleman who took advantage of others when they were at their worst. The mere idea sickened him.

“What I meant to say,” he continued, clearing his throat, “is that I have not often encountered women of your station who can claim to read and write. I must ask—how did you become lettered?”

She swallowed her bite hard and leaned back, wiping her mouth on the provided linen napkin. “Well...” She waved a hand in the air. “I used to work for a baron’s family down in London. I became the baroness’ lady’s maid once my own mother passed two years ago, taking over her post.” She frowned, biting her lower lip. “My father recently died as well. The opportunity in Newcastle was supposed to be a chance for me to start over. Suffice to say that it was not.”

From the tone of her voice, he could tell that Connie’s pain was still fresh, even though her face betrayed none of her grief. Whatever had happened in her past had hardened her. Liam paused out of respect, waiting for her to say more if she wanted to. When she didn’t, he offered her a consolatory nod.

“You have my condolences, Miss Knowles,” he said. “My own father passed not long ago as well. We can try to prepare ourselves for grief, but it is an incomprehensible, pitiless experience.”

Connie looked at him with wide eyes, like she was surprised by his attempts and sympathizing with her. Maybe he had overstepped another line. Or maybe she wasn’t used to others being kind to her. His heart twisted with the thought.

“It is,” she agreed. “Completely pitiless.” Her voice was gentle and full of thought. Suddenly, she sucked in a breath and returned to her lunch, evidently trying to change the topic. “But yes, the reading and the writing...I...Well, I suppose I learned from a governess at the house. She was a wonderful woman, using her spare time downstairs to teach the maids how to read. My favorites were always the thrilling tales of highwaymen, even though she desperately tried to force the classics on me. Erm...On us . I simply couldn’t take to Hamlet the way I could to Dick Turpin.” She laughed softly, covering her smile with her teacup. “I looked out for highwaymen the whole way to Newcastle.”

“And were you looking for these vagabonds out of fear or excitement?” Liam asked, tilting his head to the side in amusement.

“I shall let you decide that for yourself, my lord.” Connie shrugged, teasing him. “After all, a woman must keep some secrets to herself, even from her new master...”