Chapter 3

Ada stepped from the bright sunlight into the cool dimness of the stable. A horse whinnied, and she looked toward the sound. It was too shadowy to see which animal had greeted her.

“What do you want?”

The loud barking question startled her, but Ada recovered quickly, smiling at the older man striding toward her. Tall and grizzled, with a wide-brimmed hat, he wore a deep frown.

“Are you Og?” she asked pleasantly, refusing to be deterred by his rudeness.

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m Miss Treadway—Lord Warfield’s guest. I’m a bookkeeper, and I’ve come to, ah, organize his ledgers.”

He put his hands on his hips, which made him seem wider. Did he do that to compensate for his thinness? Perhaps he felt as though he had to make himself look more substantial. “What in the devil are you doing here, then?”

She held a partially filled ledger, the one the former steward had used and which should contain information from the estate for the past year but didn’t. “I understand you’ve been collecting the rents, and I wanted to see your accounting.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Surely you have a ledger where you recorded who paid how much and when you collected it?”

“I wrote it down on a piece of parchment. What I could remember anyway.”

Ada resisted the urge to explain why this was a poor system because she still needed more information. “I don’t suppose you have these records?”

He shrugged. “I probably gave them to his lordship.” He rubbed his hand down his cheek. “Or they’re around here somewhere. Why does it matter?”

Clinging to her patience by a thread, Ada smiled benignly. “As I said, I’m organizing his ledgers. All receipts and records matter. If you find them, please bring them to the house. I would deeply appreciate it.” In the meantime, she’d move on to her next objective. “I’m also here to take an inventory of the stables.”

He twisted his mouth into a rather surly frown. “That’s my job.”

“I assumed so,” she responded sunnily in an effort to keep him from stamping away in irritation. “You can help me, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Don’t have time for that.”

“I understand.” She did not. “I’ll just see myself around.”

“The hell you will.” He practically growled, and she began to think there was a local dialect for exceedingly grumpy men.

She took the pencil from her pocket and opened the ledger, balancing it on her left hand against her chest. “I’d be happy to record your inventory. How many horses and what kind?”

He swore, and Ada scowled at him. “There’s no call to be offensive. You can either help me in this endeavor or allow me to continue on my errand without interruption. I assure you that his lordship understands the need for me to gather this information.”

His expression soured, which she would not have thought possible since it was already quite harassed. “You can have a quarter hour to poke your nose about, but I’ll be following you.”

Or you could just tell me what I want to know and save both of us the aggravation.Ada wondered what had happened to make Og so disagreeable. With his lordship, she knew it was the war. At least, she assumed it was. Perhaps she oughtn’t assume. It was only that she’d been told he was quite pleasant before going to war. Logically, she deduced that the war had changed him. And why wouldn’t it?

“Were you in the army, Og?”

He grunted. “No.”

She supposed it was possible that the viscount’s poor demeanor had worn off on Og. It had certainly cast a pallor over the entire household. While Mrs. Bundle and Timothy weren’t surly, they were overworked and seemingly unhappy, even disgruntled. That Ada had met only the two retainers was alarming—both because she ought to have at least seen more and because she was fairly certain that meant there weren’t any others.

“I’ll start over here,” she said to Og, moving into the shadows where she’d heard the horse.

Ada met him—or her—a beautiful brown animal with warm, intelligent eyes. She’d always found horses captivating, but she didn’t necessarily want to ride one. Feeding and stroking them, however, had been one of her favorite things to do as a child, on the rare occasion she’d been able to do so, for her family hadn’t owned any. Later, when she’d worked as a governess, she’d had the luxury of visiting with the family’s horses now and again.

“Is this horse for riding or pulling equipment?” Ada hoped Og would answer her, but prepared herself for another grunt or growl in lieu of words.

“Ride. Her and the one next to her.”

Smiling, Ada pet the horse, who nickered softly. “What’s her name?”

“Topaz.”

“Well, hello, Topaz,” she said. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?”

This provoked a grunt from Og. “You can’t ride her,” he said brusquely.

“I wouldn’t want to. I don’t know how. But I can still visit and perhaps give her an apple. Would you like that, Topaz?”

“Never mind that nonsense. You aren’t coming back into my stables. Hurry with your business now.”

Ada tossed him a frown over her shoulder, then whispered to Topaz that she would definitely be back. After making notes about the horses in the ledger, she asked, “Who rides Topaz? I understand his lordship does not ride.”

“Me.”

Unable to contain her curiosity, she surrendered to it. “Why does he not ride? I find that so unusual for a viscount. I would think he would have ridden in the army.”

Another growl. “Mind yourself.”

Sighing, Ada knew it had been too much to hope for answers to her questions. She continued through the stable, recording the animals and equipment. The building was in decent repair and clean enough—for a stable.

“Is it just you here?” she asked finally, hoping he would at least answer that.

“There’s a lad who helps in the afternoons after he finishes his chores at home.”

“Where does he live?”

“On the estate.”

She barely lifted her lips into a fatigued smile. “How…vague.” She made notes in the ledger, then snapped it closed and stashed the pencil in her pocket.

Og crossed his arms over his chest. “Anything else, or will you get out of here now?”

“One last thing, though I’m not sure why I’m asking,” she added in a frustrated mutter. “I need to tour the estate and hoped you would take me around in the cart.”

“I don’t have time for that.”

“Of course you don’t. What if his lordship insisted?”

This earned her a scoff that was almost a derisive laugh. “He wouldn’t.”

No, he probably wouldn’t. Still, she’d ask him to. “Thank you so much for your time and…assistance, Og. Have a nice day!”

Squinting as she strode out into the bright morning, she gritted her teeth in frustration. But only for a moment. There was no benefit in succumbing to anger or allowing Og to ruin her day or her mood.

She went into the house and decided it was time to find the kitchen so she could see how many people worked there. Then she’d definitely learn how many retainers were employed in the household. These were crucial details in her investigation.

Making her way to the breakfast room, she went through the servants’ door and down the backstairs. Instead of noise and bustle, as one might expect from a kitchen in a house of this size, Ada was greeted with silence.

She passed a few doors before reaching the kitchen, a large, open room with a long table in the center. Standing on the other side near the middle was a squat woman with a cap mostly covering her blonde hair—and Mrs. Bundle, who leaned her hip against the table.

“Good morning,” Ada said, appearing to startle them as Mrs. Bundle jerked and stood straight. The cook—for Ada presumed the other woman was the cook since she’d been slicing carrots—dropped her knife.

“Good heavens, you silly chit, I nearly cut my finger off,” the cook said.

“You didn’t either,” Mrs. Bundle admonished. She gave Ada an apologetic smile. “You surprised us, Miss Treadway. Is there something you need?”

“Many things, actually. I just came from the stable. Why is Og so very disagreeable?”

The cook waved her hand. “He’s always been that way. He’s been here nearly as long as I have, and in all that time—near forty years—I’ve never once seen him smile.”

Perhaps it was he who’d influenced the viscount to be surly.

Forty years! The cook and Og would have such wonderful information to share, not that Ada expected Og would do so. She only hoped the cook would be more amenable.

“What a long history you have here,” Ada said, moving to the table to stand opposite them. “I imagine you’ve seen a great many things.”

“That I have,” she said with a twinkle in her blue eyes. She picked up the knife and began slicing carrots again.

“This is Mrs. Debley,” Mrs. Bundle said. “You’ve probably deduced that she is the cook.”

“And a wonderful one at that,” Ada remarked with a smile. “Your bread is especially delicious. As are your biscuits. And last night’s meat pie was divine. Everything I’ve eaten since arriving has been sublime.”

Mrs. Debley paused in her work, her face flushing slightly as she smiled. “I thank you. It’s pleasing to cook for someone who appreciates it.” She rushed to add, “Not that his lordship doesn’t. His appetite just isn’t the same since he came back from war, the poor thing.”

Proof that he was changed, at least when it came to food. “I understand the viscount was rather different before—more cheerful, perhaps.”

“War will damage anyone, I imagine,” Mrs. Debley noted sadly.

Ada didn’t disagree, but couldn’t help but think of Lucien who had fought alongside Warfield yet managed to be one of the kindest, most charming, and altogether pleasant people she’d ever met. As much as she wanted to know about Warfield and why he was so angry—and whether it was to do with that nasty scarring on his face—she had to focus on the matter at hand, which was the estate.

“It’s so quiet down here, Mrs. Debley. Where are your assistants, your scullery maids?”

The cook exchanged a look with Mrs. Bundle and gave her head a slight but brisk shake. “I’ve a girl who comes in the afternoons to help me prepare food. I don’t need much with only his lordship to cook for.”

“But you also cook for the retainers. Surely that is a good amount of work.”

“Not at all. We eat the same as his lordship, so I’m only preparing one meal.”

That was certainly odd. But efficient in a household of this size, Ada supposed.

“There are very few of us,” Mrs. Bundle said, sounding weary as she often did. “But I suspect you know that. I also suspect you want to know exactly how many there are.”

“I need to know for my report.” Ada offered a gentle smile. “I have the impression you are all overworked and would benefit from assistance. It seems several retainers have left over the past few years, and it doesn’t appear as though they’ve been replaced.”

“We’re doing all right,” Mrs. Debley said, her brow furrowing. She went back to her task, her hand moving quickly and accurately as she cut small disks of carrot and moved on to the next one. “Don’t you go bothering his lordship. He’s doing the best he can.”

Mrs. Bundle cast a glance toward the cook. “We could use more help, especially you.”

“Bah. I’m fine.” Mrs. Debley looked up from her slicing and fixed Ada with a direct stare. “Don’t make trouble where it isn’t needed.”

“I have no wish to do that,” Ada assured her gently. “I seek the truth so that I may communicate it to Lord Lucien. As his lordship’s closest friend, he only wants to support Lord Warfield.”

“He can do that by minding his own business,” Mrs. Debley said pertly. She finished cutting the last carrot, then moved away from the table to fetch a pot.

Mrs. Bundle met Ada’s gaze and inclined her head toward the doorway. Ada left the table and went into the corridor. The housekeeper met her there and gestured for them to walk back toward the stairs.

“Mrs. Debley is incredibly fond—and protective—of his lordship,” Mrs. Bundle said quietly.

“So I gathered. That seems appropriate since she’s known him his entire life.” Ada couldn’t find fault with people who were loyal, not when her own family had turned their backs on her. It made her wonder if the viscount realized the support and love he had.

“To satisfy your curiosity about the retainers—in the kitchen, there is just Mrs. Debley and Molly Tallent, the girl who comes in the afternoons. There is also Og in the stable, and my son is the sole footman.”

“Og mentioned there’s a boy who comes to help there too.”

“That’s Molly’s brother, Archie. They live fairly close. Mrs. Tallent is a widow—her husband died last year, but she’s meeting the obligations of the lease.”

“His lordship is allowing her to stay?” Or was he even aware that Mr. Tallent had died?

“You must think he’s horrible—and he can be—but underneath his bluster, there’s a kind and caring gentleman. At least there was once,” she added softly. “He wouldn’t turn anyone out.”

Perhaps not, but he also wouldn’t invite anyone in, as evidenced by his refusal to give his half sister a job when she’d come asking. Granted, Prudence hadn’t told him they were related, but it shouldn’t have mattered. She was more than qualified to do any number of things, and it was clear he needed help and had for some time.

But Ada wouldn’t get into any of that with Mrs. Bundle. If she wanted to find some grace in her employer, Ada wouldn’t try to persuade her otherwise. Even if the truth was that he had none.

“I’m glad to hear of your confidence in his lordship,” Ada said. “He is not being very helpful to me in my endeavors. I would like to tour the estate, but he refuses to take me. He suggested Og would do so, but Og has just informed me that he doesn’t have time. I suppose I can just walk about and talk with people.”

Mrs. Bundle’s brow furrowed. “You can’t walk the estate every day. That would take you far longer than the fortnight you are here.”

“Well, I don’t ride, and I can’t drive either, so I’m afraid I don’t have any other options.”

Mrs. Bundle nodded. “Archie Tallent could drive you. I’ll speak with him and make sure Og doesn’t get in the way. When would you like to go?”

Ada felt a surge of excitement and gratitude. “Tomorrow would be excellent. Thank you, Mrs. Bundle.”

“I believe we want the same thing, Miss Treadway,” the housekeeper said with a smile. “His lordship just needs a push to get back to where he needs to be.”

“And you need help,” Ada said pointedly. “I mean to make sure you get it.”

“I suspect if anyone can do that, it’s you.” She winked at Ada. “I’ll inform you when tomorrow’s arrangements are complete.”

“Thank you, truly.” Ada practically skipped off to the library.

She stopped short just over the threshold when she saw the viscount standing next to her worktable, a book in his hand. “How unexpected to find you here,” she said loudly so he wouldn’t be surprised by her arrival.

He pivoted toward her, a scowl etched into his features along with the scars. She realized the disfigurement made him look permanently fierce. Did that intensify his expressions so that he appeared more irritable or angry than he actually was?

People likely reacted poorly upon seeing him. Surely that contributed to his overall surliness. She imagined that would be frustrating or wearisome. Or even depressing.

“I see you’ve been reading this drivel instead of working on my ledgers,” he said sternly. “If you can’t do what you were sent here to do, I’ll send you back to London.”

Ada opened her mouth to deliver a well-deserved setdown, but she realized he was provoking her and still hoping there was a way to get rid of her.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Miss Treadway set one of the estate ledgers on the table. “As you can see, I was just working on your ledgers.” She inclined her head toward the book in his grasp. “Do you expect me to work during every moment I’m awake? I read that book last night to relax. I happen to enjoy love stories. What do you do to relax?” She stared at him expectantly and crossed her arms over her chest.

She wore a simple day gown of dark blue that covered her up to her neck. But the way she held her arms drew his gaze to her breasts, which were larger than he might have expected of a woman of her diminutive size.

He jerked his attention to her face. “This isn’t about me. This is about you squandering your time.”

She rolled her eyes and unfolded her arms, dropping them to her sides, where her hands curled into fists. Good, he’d irritated her.

“I’m not squandering anything. I wake early, and I work after dinner. You will not berate me for relaxing before bed, nor will you criticize what I read. Romance is not drivel. Everyone should be so fortunate as to experience love and find a happy relationship. Why denigrate that?”

“Everyone should be so fortunate as to keep a relationship like that.” He swore under his breath, hating himself for saying that out loud. He tossed the novel onto the table. “Just make sure you’re doing what you came here to do.”

She took a deep breath, and her hands flexed at her sides. “If you read my updates—I left another in your study last night—you would know that I am working hard. I’d be happy to apprise you of my progress.”

Hell, he’d walked right into that. He didn’t want to engage her on this, but the truth was that he did want to know where she’d been with one of the ledgers. “Where were you?”

“At the stables. I spoke with Og. He makes you look like a veritable romance novel hero.”

The side of Max’s mouth ticked up before he could stop it. He did, however, manage not to fully grin. Damn, that was the second time she’d provoked that response from him.

She took a step toward him, her gaze fixing on his mouth. “Why did you keep from smiling? You never let yourself smile. Why?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re intrusive?”

“Many times. Because I am.” She cocked her head slightly. “Why won’t you smile?”

“Intrusive, impertinent, and uselessly persistent.” He glowered at her, recovering his ill humor. “Mind your own business.”

“You are utterly infuriating. I’ve never met anyone so committed to their own misery. You need to relax—perhaps read a romantic novel.” Her expression lit, and now she smiled, and the answering flip of his stomach made him want to growl. Hopefully with irritation. “You should join me tonight. Read something for pleasure. You may find yourself smiling.”

“Not a chance.”

“What would the harm be?” She looked at him so guilelessly, as if she were completely unaware of the demon inside him. But of course she was, as she had to be.

The harm would be to her. He was not someone she should spend time with.

“You’re considering it,” she said wrongly. “That’s all I can hope for, I suppose.”

He didn’t wish to pursue that line of conversation a moment longer, so he glanced toward the ledger she’d set on the table. “What did you do in the stable?”

“Besides find Og annoying? I pet one of your horses. She was lovely. I recorded the animals and vehicles as well as other items. Though, I’m not at all sure what most of it is. I am woefully uneducated when it comes to anything to do with a stable.”

“You’ve always lived in London, I take it.”

“No, I’m from Devon actually.”

He should have realized her accent wasn’t London. “You lived in a city there, then.”

She nodded. “Plymouth. My father was a fisherman. I can sail a boat, but I can’t ride a horse.”

“That’s not a very useful skill for a bookkeeper,” he said.

“It is not, but while I can sail a boat, I don’t. The sea took my father, and I am now unable to get into or onto water.”

The mention of her loss reminded him that he was supposed to keep himself apart, to ensure his darkest nature stayed buried. He shouldn’t be making idle chatter with her.

“Then you are precisely where you should be,” he said. “Just avoid the small lake near the southeast corner of the estate.”

“I will do that,” she replied. “Now let me tell you what I didn’t do at the stable—obtain a copy of Og’s records for rent collection. He says he wrote it on a parchment and that you might have it here. I don’t suppose you do?” she asked hopefully.

“No, and before you ask me to look for it, Og never gave it to me.” That he could remember. It was more likely Og mentioned it, and Max hadn’t bothered to even look at it, let alone bring it here.

She pursed her lips in disappointment. Before she could respond further, he turned and stalked from the library, intent on taking a walk to clear Miss Treadway from his mind. On his way out, he encountered Mrs. Bundle.

She hesitated, and he could tell she wanted to say something, so he paused too. “I’m arranging for Archie to drive Miss Treadway around the estate tomorrow since neither you nor Og can be bothered.”

He knew Mrs. Bundle wanted him to change his mind about that. “I don’t see why it’s necessary. Her presence here is a nuisance.”

“It’s also nearly half-over. She arrived five days ago.” Mrs. Bundle’s expression softened, and he tensed for the coming assault on his sentiment—as if he had any left. “She’s only trying to help. What harm could there be?”

Had she and Miss Treadway planned this? Their words were too similar. “She put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“Not at all.” Mrs. Bundle frowned at him. “You are too quick to believe the worst in people. Not that the two of us working together to help you and the estate would be the worst, only that you think it is.”

He decided to repeat his own words. “Mind your own business.”

Her shoulder twitched, and her expression turned to frustration, her eyes sparking. “I work on this estate for you, so this is my business as far as I can tell. Furthermore, if no one meddled in your business, nothing would get done because you don’t mind your business.”

A pang of guilt smacked him in the chest. Exhaling, as if doing so would rid him of the emotion, he asked, “What would you have me do?”

She took a moment to respond, and he realized he’d surprised her. “To start, you should listen to Miss Treadway. And you should be the one to take her around the estate.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I won’t do either of those things.” He actually was sorry to disappoint her, but neither could he bring himself to change his manner. Perhaps he could satisfy her, at least in a small way. “I am, however, considering hiring a new steward.”

Surprise arrested her gaze with perhaps a dash of relief. “That would be a good start.” She sounded as if she didn’t quite believe it. “I only want the best for you, my lord. That’s why I haven’t left yet,” she added softly.

“I don’t ever want you to think you must stay.” He wasn’t actually hoping she might leave, as he’d done with the steward. Which, in hindsight, might have been foolish. He hadn’t thought he needed the man, but perhaps he did.

She shook her head. “Someone has to take care of you. I’d best get on.” She continued on her way.

Max watched her go, thinking no one should have to take care of him. Indeed, he should have died in Spain. He’d certainly done his best to try to achieve that end. That he hadn’t was a miracle.

No, it was a curse.