Chapter 3

Eileen cast a glance behind her, heart beating hard in her chest. The innkeeper was standing at the door with a woman she presumed was the cook. Both of their gazes were locked on Lord Corbridge and the groom as they prepared the viscount’s phaeton and its team for the last leg of their journey.

Wind swept down the road, kicking up dirt and leaves on its journey east. The inn’s sign, which she had missed earlier, creaked back and forth on its hinges, swaying like the pendulum of a clock, taunting her in so doing.

How strange this all is, Eileen thought, holding her handkerchief over her mouth and nose to protect herself from the rising dust. It scratched at the back of her throat anyway. One moment, I didn’t know where my next meal was coming from. Now, I’m being whisked away to a viscount’s lair, deep in the countryside of Northumberland.

She checked herself with the thought, shaking her head. This wasn’t the start of some sort of fairytale. Or worse, one of those romantic serials that her old friends in London had always been hiding from their governesses. Lord Corbridge thought that she was a maid and was just treating her as such, driving her to his home where they likely would never speak again, unless it concerned the washing of his clothes or the changing of his bed.

It said a lot about the man’s character that he had been willing to sit down for a meal with a woman of her pretended rank. None of the gentlemen she had brushed shoulders with in her old life would have thought twice about treating a servant with silly little things like respect and empathy.

Guilty feelings writhed inside her as the viscount shot Eileen a smile over his shoulder, clapping one of his horses on the back as he spoke to the groom. To an almost worrying degree, lying had come naturally to her over the course of their luncheon, where she had twisted the truth of her past into a halfway believable story.

Constance Knowles, a run-of-the-mill charwoman from London, come to Newcastle for work after the death of her parents.

Liars were expressly condemned in the Good Book, but what other choice did she have? Her father had disgraced her family with his debts and sudden death. While the Viscount of Corbridge certainly seemed like a good man, having taken a genuine interest in her—in Connie—despite their differences in rank, appearances could be deceiving.

One whiff of a scandal, and he would likely send Eileen packing. And what a scandal it would be if the ton discovered he was harboring not just an unmarried young woman in his home, but a pariah at that.

“You take care of yourself now,” came Bridget’s voice behind her, making her jump out of her skin. She handed Eileen her trunk, heaving it off the ground. Her spectacles hung from a chain around her neck, glinting in the sun. Likely the only nice thing she owned. “Aye, Lord Corbridge may have been long out of England, but he comes from good, kind stock. Do whatever you must to remain in his good graces. There are much worse places than Hartfield Manor you could have ended up.”

“You don’t know how right you are,” Eileen said, taking her heavy trunk in hand. Her mind flashed with images of London workhouses. She pushed down her fear and smiled in thanks. “Perhaps I could walk up here in a few weeks and let you know how I’m getting on. I’m certain I’ll have much to—”

She cut herself off, turning quickly around. Lord Corbridge had come up behind her silently and taken the trunk from her hands. For a second, his fingers brushed against hers where they met under the handle of the trunk. His scent wreathed around her, warm and earthy, almost medicinal. There was more of that dangerous benevolence in his eyes, looking at her in apology for having scared her.

“Shall I take this to...?” he started to ask, his question drifting off with a concerned look.

A shiver ran down Eileen’s spine. “Oh...Yes, certainly. Thank you.” She released her iron grip on the handle, stepping back. “I’ll conclude my goodbyes quickly.”

He nodded and returned to the groom. Eileen chewed on her lower lip, admiring his retreating form. Did he have to be handsome as well as kind? And in those bloody regimentals, too? It was like some cruel joke.

With dark brown hair and an athletic frame, with stormy grey eyes, and full lips that made her forget herself, Liam Hartfield, the Viscount of Corbridge, had all the makings of a London heartthrob. If they had met during the Season, Eileen had no doubt that she would have done everything in her power to attract his attention.

She was attracting rather too much of it at present, staring at him with her mouth hanging open, noticing that he had turned back to look at her. Her face burned with embarrassment, and she turned away, avoiding Bridget’s eye. Her handkerchief was held tight in the hand he had touched.

“I suppose that means we’re heading off,” Eileen said, desperately trying to distract herself. “But yes, I’ll walk down when I can get a chance.” She tried to remember the schedules of their own servants back at Langsend house, then corrected herself. “ If I can get a chance.”

“And I’ll be looking forward to that call,” the innkeeper replied. She looked over Eileen’s head at the viscount, dropping into a curtsey. “Take care of yourself, my lord, and drive safely!”

Lord Corbridge was nice enough not to torment Eileen twice, waiting for her on the phaeton’s perch as the groom lifted her into the carriage. It was a gorgeous vehicle, even to Eileen’s inexperienced eye, with a dove gray body and golden accents. A crest had been painted on the side. The Hartfield family coat of arms, she guessed: a black horse rearing up on a purple shield.

Eileen sat down gingerly, finding her balance on the narrow perch. The quilted leather seat was just large enough for the two of them, with about five inches to spare between their thighs. Eileen pulled down her straw bonnet, casting shade over her face.

Their proximity was the least of her troubles. She found the edge of the phaeton and gripped onto it for dear life. Her father had called vehicles like these ‘death traps’, and Lord Corbridge’s confidence could only do so much for her nerves.

“Are you ready to depart, Miss Knowles?” he asked from beside her. He was smiling, looking excitedly at the road. “Once we reach Corbridge, we’ll have to take a track road down to Hartfield Manor, so hold on tightly.”

“I can’t believe you drove all the way from Sunderland on this contraption!” she exclaimed, widening her eyes in horror at her slip-up. “What I mean to say...is that it doesn’t appear suitable for long journeys, my lord,” she added, as though that would make him forget her impoliteness.

At that, Lord Corbridge merely laughed. The sound of it made Eileen’s heart soar. “It will do for now.” He tilted his head to the side. “But if you’d rather walk and take a chance with those highwaymen you like so much...”

Eileen struggled to conceal a smile and shook her head.

“I thought as much,” Lord Corbridge replied. With a triumphant grin, he set his sights on the horizon, his expression unreadable. “To Hartfield Manor it is.”