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  Knowing she might never be allowed to return, she prudently added her mother’s silver-backed brushes, the locket containing the watercolor portraits of her parents, and every other personal item she couldn’t bear to part with. She could buy her own shoes in six months, so she wasn’t much concerned about material goods.

  She had already written a glowing reference from Miss Harriet Townsend about Miss Christie and sent it to the marquess. Now, she forged a letter from Cousin Deirdre for her stepfather’s perusal. She’d leave the letter with her note of explanation on her stepfather’s desk. Townsend could plot her marriage just as well without her and would probably be relieved at her absence.

  “You’ve installed a chaperone?”

  Lord Theophilus Ives, Ashford’s heir presumptive, made his location known by falling into the squeaky leather chair on the other side of Ash’s desk.

  Ash could hear the hubbub in the corridor and understood the source of his younger brother’s puzzlement. The house already exploded with people, and now, apparently, the new assistant and her chaperone had arrived.

  He bounced the useless pen in his hand. “Your wives are plotting. We’re to order our loutish brothers to stay at Aster’s for the duration while the women repair this tomb. I’d be happy if they could just rid the place of river stench and coal smoke. But they have brought in Miss McDowell and an assistant and Aunt Nessie as chaperone so they can fluffify the place.”

  “Fluffify?” Theo repeated in amusement. “Well, I suppose that will give Aster the opportunity to do the same at Iveston. Has she drawn the new assistant’s zodiac chart yet?”

  “I’m sure she’s discovered Miss Christie’s birth date, determined she’s some amazing combination of heavenly harmony and universal accomplishment, and Celeste has analyzed her voice and announced her to be the perfect specimen to do whatever in hell she’s doing.” Ashford said in sarcasm, refraining from mentioning his theory that Miss Christie was a liar. That little mystery he preferred to resolve on his own.

  Unconcerned by Ash’s opinion of Aster’s proclaimed astrological prophecies, Theo settled into his chair and produced documents to be signed, judging by the the paper rattling. Ash knew his heir would rather be staring at moons with his new high-powered telescope glass, but Theo had been the one who had told them they must unite against their common enemy. He was doing his part by handling the farm business as Ash no longer could.

  Theo was doing his best, even if he knew nothing of land. And they had yet to define the enemy who had caused their tenants to riot or who had hired men to cause Ash’s “accident.” Beyond learning that the earl of Lansdowne hated everything they represented and that he consorted with their Tory neighbors, they had no evidence of the earl’s involvement.

  However, there was strong oral evidence that their neighbors, Sir George Caldwell and Lord Henry Montfort, had hired the villains who’d aimed at Ash’s horse. But Lansdowne . . . had too many black marks against his name to be ignored.

  Since they’d recently halted the earl’s outright theft of Celeste’s inheritance, Lansdowne had every reason to despise them on a personal level as well.

  “Once we have the vote, you can go back to rural splendor,” Theo said absently. “In the meantime, I have a list from your steward asking your priorities.”

  Ash snorted at the polite title for the rough-speaking old soldier currently in charge of the fields he’d once rode. “That’s not Browne’s phrasing. How many men does he want to hire now and which fields is he threatening to abandon and how many epithets were employed?”

  Rather than indulge Ash’s desperate need for entertainment, Theo simply began reading the prepared list.

  Ash stifled a yawn and listened to the women running and up down the stairs. He wanted to see what they were up to. He couldn’t, not any more than he could see what Theo and the steward were doing to his land. He fretted over not knowing what the devil was happening in his own domain. He’d walked that land since he’d been a boy in nankeens. It killed him to be unable to discern matters that only he understood required attention.

  He gritted his teeth and returned to the moment. Aster had reported some faradiddle about hiring the lost companion as a lieutenant general. That had made as much sense—and maybe more—than anything else the females had done lately. Having women in the household was such a new experience that he hadn’t found a way to object to their annoyances. Yet. An unrepentant liar would ultimately have to be tossed out, but not until he understood her intentions.

  “Tell Browne he can hire ten men for the harvest, and I want the lower field harvested first.” Ash stood up, found his stick, and limped for the door. “Palmer, Whyte, and Birchcroft will be here this afternoon with a report on how much support they think the Whigs have. Have Erran here so he can tell us whose arms we can twist to put the reformists in the majority.”

  Ash assumed his brother’s silence indicated he was grimacing in distaste. Theo despised politics precisely because of what “arm-twisting” entailed—trading favors instead of making decisions based on what was best for all. But Theo was an idealistic scientist with his head in the Milky Way.

  Ash knew how small minds worked and relished the diabolical challenge of turning mankind’s ignorance and greed into his favor.

  Following the sound of women’s voices, he swung his stick across the corridor, attempting to avoid paint and painters and any other obstacles in his way. Mostly, people had learned to dodge when they saw him coming. Someday, maybe he’d grow so small-minded that he’d enjoy that too.

  First, he needed to accept that his eyesight would never return. The silhouette he’d seen in the park had disappeared, perhaps a figment of his own demented hopes brought on by his ability to see occasional flickers of light.

  The doctor had told him that the ability to see light meant his eyes were unimpaired, but some internal pressure caused his sight to narrow to dots of light, akin to looking down Theo’s telescope the wrong way. So far, no physician they’d consulted had enough experience to offer any hope of correction.

  At least his limp justified carrying the despised walking stick. Gripping the knob harder, he stopped outside the parlor. He could hear Theo following behind him. His antisocial brother’s coat brushed against the wall as he took his favorite position lurking rather than walk into the women’s gabfest.

  “What does the new assistant look like?” Ash demanded, listening to her smoky contralto weave into the conversation. Except for a timid hesitancy, she spoke as if she had the same status as the powerful Malcolm ladies who’d hired her. Companions often had aristocratic backgrounds, even if they were poor.

  Theo hesitated. “Tall,” he said with caution.

  “I can tell that,” Ash retorted. “You may as well say not small. How old is she?”

  “Hard to say. Around Aster’s age, perhaps? Not a giggly adolescent. Not a stout matron. Just a pleasant young woman.”

  Young. Excellent. So he hadn’t looked a complete blockhead being led through the park. Impatiently, he demanded a fuller picture. “Hair? Features?”

  As if Theo ever noticed such things while his new bride was around. Ash hated knowing nothing of a member of his household.

  “She wears one of those dreadful caps with lappets that women use to hide their hair when it’s not all curled and puffed. I’d say she’s blond and blue-eyed, good English stock.” Theo sounded proud of his descriptive abilities.

  Ash might as well ask the twins what they thought—the result would be as useless. Asking if her figure was as lavish as he suspected would reveal entirely too much of his depraved—or deprived—state of mind. “Find out more about Townsend and his household. Erran read me Miss Christie’s letter of reference, but one young woman recommending another young woman is meaningless.”

  “You have reason to doubt her when Aster doesn’t?” Theo asked in a voice that probably meant he was lifting his eyebrows in surprise.

  “I believe in cold hard facts, not Mal
colm magic. Townsend is one of Lansdowne’s flunkies. He could have sent her here to spy on us for all we know.”

  Since the vile earl had set rioters loose and done his best to rob his own family in his efforts to maintain control of the current administration, Theo grunted in agreement. “I’ll let Jacques deal with that. Might as well find some use for his prowling around backstreets.”

  Their bastard half-brother had a penchant for drama and a way with words that Theo didn’t possess. Ash nodded approvingly. The whole family working together instead of going their own ways might actually be helpful, once they had the knack of it. “Good thought. Go ahead and take Aster back to Iveston to safely hatch the next generation.”

  The generation that Ash wasn’t likely to produce hung unspoken like a large polka-dotted rhinoceros between them.

  “We might have girls. That’s the Malcolm legend,” Theo warned.

  “Between you and Erran, we’re bound to have a boy sooner or later. I have the twins, and that’s enough for me, even if they can’t inherit.”

  “That’ll teach you to marry women before you tup them,” Theo said crudely.

  Just finding women to tup was his current problem, so Ash didn’t lend that nonsense the dignity of a reply. He had not yet reached the degenerate level of bedding servants or sending them out to pimp for him.

  He might make an exception for a spy.

  4

  Harriet nestled a tabby kitten in her lap and petted its tiny head, delighting in the purr. “Such a little beauty!”

  The older lady the others called Aunt Nessie nodded her mob-capped head. “Yes, a duty. Raising kittens takes as much responsibility as children, but they each have their own rewards.”

  Startled, Harriet opened her mouth to correct the grandmotherly lady, but Miss McDowell shook her head so hard, her ribbons whipped in the wind. She pointed at her ears, and Harriet gathered Nessie was hard of hearing.

  So she just beamed and played with the kitten. “I’ve never had a pet.”

  “Clever hat?” Nessie asked, glancing up from her knitting. “The things ladies are wearing today are an utter disgrace. I trust none of you indulge in those sailboats adorned with fruit baskets.”

  Miss McDowell nearly choked on laughter, and Harriet was left tongue-tied.

  “Now that Nessie is settled in, we should repair to our own chambers. The painters will be here first thing in the morning, and they won’t use the right colors unless we watch them every minute.” Miss McDowell hugged her aunt and gestured Harriet to the door.

  Miss McDowell had insisted that she be called Moira since she was one of the younger of half a dozen siblings. The familiarity seemed odd to Harriet, but then, she had no close relations with whom her name could be confused. The few long-ago times she’d met her cousins, they had been distant and formal. She let the other women take the lead until she knew how to fit in.

  Reluctantly, she returned the kitten to Nessie and followed Moira down the upper corridor of the family rooms. The workmen hadn’t been up here yet. The walls were papered in dark rose bouquets, and any lighter colors had dimmed with age and smoke. The carpet was beyond repair. Candle sconces and a few oil lamps were still used for lighting, although she had noticed a gas light at the front door.

  “I thought it would be quieter for us to use the back rooms overlooking the garden,” Moira explained, opening the door to chambers across from each other. “These rooms might have once been part of the master suite, but the whole house has been altered at some time or another. Since Ashford won’t be using this floor, I see no reason to change it—although I suppose we should move the sewing mechanism.”

  “This is perfect,” Harriet said, admiring the tidy chamber, which included an odd machine attached to a table. “This is a machine that sews?”

  “Lord Erran tinkers. Celeste has basted some of the drapery hems on it, but I cannot begin to tell you how it works.”

  A household with telescopes and machines that sewed! Harriet was beyond fascinated. “It might be interesting to learn. Let’s leave it here.”

  She studied the remainder of her new home. Her only bag had already been carried up and left beside the bed. The narrow, old-fashioned tester had no curtains, and the room was a little drafty, but the walls were a plain apple green and the bedcover was done in dainty bouquets of flowers. Cautiously opening her mental door, she sensed fond maternal spirits in here, nothing too intrusive. “It even has a writing desk so I can work on your accounts!”

  “First, you will have to teach me to write down expenses and give you receipts,” Moira said dryly. “The accounting for the formal parlor is already completely out of hand, but we can start anew on the ante-room once the parlor is done. Ashford’s chambers have already been finished, so we’ll have to make decisions about the dining chamber next.”

  “How long do you think it will take?” Harriet asked, trying to hide her desperate need to know.

  Moira shrugged. “Depends on how many people interfere. Don’t worry. Aster always has need of help somewhere. Prove yourself useful, and you’ll have a position for life—if you can tolerate chaos.”

  Harriet’s sedate life had never included chaos. It sounded rather exciting. It had never occurred to her that she had the power to seek her own entertainment!

  “If I am not being too bold for asking—why is the house of a marquess in such disorder?” She bounced just a little on the mattress, testing the bed’s strength. It seemed solid enough.

  “They’re Ives,” Moira said, opening the muslin draperies to look out. “They haven’t had a woman to take care of them for twenty-five years. Aster says they were raised like wolves. Men simply do not grasp domestication on their own, so Aster, and now Celeste, have a long uphill battle ahead of them.”

  “And hence the need for a general? To order the troops? How many Ives are there?” Harriet thought she began to understand, and wondered if she had what it took to command men. Servants, yes, but a marquess? She didn’t think so.

  “Depends on which ones you’re counting. Ashford, Lord Theo, and Lord Erran are the legitimate branch. After that . . . I’ve seen at least three full-grown half-brothers, an uncle, and the twins born on the wrong side of the blanket. I’ve been told there are more. Aster is currently playing the part of general over three different houses. From what I’ve seen, she really does need a lieutenant to carry out her orders.” Moira grinned. “Dream on that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  A lieutenant—over half a dozen grown men and more. Harriet almost giggled at the thought. I can’t even talk to my stepfather, she thought. How will I command a half dozen strangers?

  These are good men, just strong-willed, a spirit said reassuringly inside her head.

  Oddly, the voice was louder and more distinct than her mother’s had been back home. Most of the time, the voices were muddled and unclear, and she simply closed her head to the headache they created.

  But if the voices said good things . . . she might try listening. She needed all the encouragement she could find in this frightening new world she meant to carve for herself. After spending a lifetime thinking she must have a man to look after her, she needed to adjust to the notion that she might be able to take care of herself.

  Looking around the narrow room that was only a fraction of the size of her rural chamber, Harriet dropped back against the bed and inhaled the sweet air of freedom. She need only hide for six months, until her twenty-fifth birthday. She couldn’t believe her luck in stumbling across this haven.

  Her own narrow, stultifying life had suddenly opened wide—exciting and terrifying at the same time.

  “Where the sorry dunghill are the hog-grubbers taking the furniture?” Ashford roared, having just walked into an armchair at nose level. The workmen carrying it scurried toward the vague rectangular light of the open front door, out of his way.

  The lily fragrance arrived, on his left, from the ante room.

  “To be upholstered, my lord. Lady
Aster’s kittens shredded the new slipcovers in the salon. May I help you with anything?”

  She sounded more nervous than she had in the park. Good. It was nice to know he still wielded some authority here. “I cannot entertain thirty gentlemen in a wardrobe!” He pounded his stick on the floor to show his frustration since he had nothing at hand to fling. “Where the devil will I put them if there are no chairs? Aster said she had this house in hand.”

  “She does, my lord,” the lady said. “She has rented some sofas, and we’re moving in chairs from elsewhere in the house. All will be ready before your guests arrive.”

  It was maddening not to know what she looked like. He amused himself by touching his cane to the top of her head to better judge her height. When she surprisingly didn’t run screaming, he ran it down the length of her arms—no billowing sleeves there—to the ample curve of her hip and gown stiff with petticoats. She stood still instead of smacking him away, as he deserved.

  “I am large and unprepossessing, my lord,” she said in that rich low voice which tingled his spine. “If it matters, I am wearing a blue muslin which I am told flatters my eyes. But I am wearing it because I’ve already splattered it with ink, and I expect to splatter more while working on Moira’s rather haphazard accounts.”

  Ash almost smiled. “You read my mind like one of Aster’s witchy Malcolm family. I trust you’re not related or she would have crowed the news.”

  “I am aware of no relation to Lady Aster,” she said stiffly. “Although I should be proud of it, if I were. You do comprehend how tirelessly she works for your family?”

  “And we’re a thankless lot, granted. Carrying the weight of the world distracts from domestic issues,” he said with the arrogance of his station.

  “Which should be left to the ladies, understood,” she said noncommittally.