As an Earl Desires (7 page)

“When we return to my residence this
afternoon, I was hoping you might read to me,” she said.

“I was hoping you might read to
me
—from your new French book.”

“That is for my own private
enjoyment.”

“A pity. I so enjoy the flow of French
words.”

She perked up at that. “Do you read French
fluently then?”

“I've had lessons.”

“I'll gladly lend you the book when
I've finished reading it.”

He shook his head. “No need. I've no
interest in reading animal husbandry—French or
otherwise.”

Her mouth opened slightly, and she seemed
completely at a loss for words. Then she said, “But you would
have me read it to you.”

He stopped walking, forcing her to do the
same. “You don't read French, Camilla. Why
pretend that you do?”

“You don't know what you're
talking about.”

She started to walk off in a huff. He grabbed her
hand, to stop her escape. She turned and glared at him.

“Don't run from me, dammit,” he
growled. “Do you think that I can't see that you keep
secrets? That you refuse to let me see who you truly are? Weary of
holding a parasol? No. You gave a lad a chance to earn a sovereign
and have a bit of pride doing it. Why do you continually hide this
part of you away as though it is of no consequence, when it is the
better part of you?”

“It's a part of me that can't
survive in this world, Archie.” She tugged her arm free.
“I shall share a secret with you.” She took a deep
breath. “I don't read French. But I liked the way the
book looked, and so I bought it. Because it pleasured me to do so.
And that's the reason I gave the lad a
sovereign—because it
pleasured me
to do so.”

“I believe the world would be a kinder place
if everyone took pleasure in a similar manner. The lad seemed a bit
young to be making his way around London.”

“Only in years. I could tell that in many
ways he is older than you and I.”

“Because he was dirty?”

“Because of what I saw in his eyes. Children
on the street do not stay children for long.”

“I would not have thought a countess would be
aware of the sufferings of the impoverished.”

“I wasn't always a countess,
Archie.”

He'd known that, of course, but something in
the way she said it alerted him to the possibility that for once
she might be willing to reveal a bit of her past. “What were
you before, Camilla?”

“Companion to the old Sachse's wife.
She took me in when I was but fourteen. I had spent a good many
years in the children's home, because no one looked at me and
wanted me. I was very much like that ugly duckling in the story you
read to me recently.” She slid her gaze over to him and
smiled triumphantly. “I believe I have become a very lovely
swan.”

“Indeed you have. But at what
cost?”

“At a cost I was willing to pay.”

Her voice was not tinged with regret or sorrow, but
simply acceptance. She'd made something of herself, a
companion turned countess. He thought she was a woman with the
ability and determination to become whatever she wanted.

C
amilla was finishing her morning toilette
when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. Frannie hastened to open
it, while Camilla gave a final perusal to her reflection in the
looking glass. She liked the way the dark and light shades of
grayish blue in her dress accented each other and her coloring. The
color of fabric was so important. Honestly, she'd seen the
loveliest of gowns ruin the loveliest of ladies' faces
because they'd chosen the color based on what they liked
rather than on what complemented them.

Frannie returned to her side. “Lillian says
your packages have arrived.”

“Splendid.”

She hurried to the parlor, where her servants
were bringing in the last of the parcels and
setting them on the floor beside the settee before leaving. Lillian
stood nearby with her paper, preparing to make sure that everything
they'd ordered had arrived.

“Where would you like to begin, my
lady?” Lillian asked.

“Here.” Camilla pointed toward a large
box.

Lillian took a pair of scissors to the string
holding the box closed and removed the lid.

Whenever the expected boxes arrived, Camilla always
felt as though she was experiencing Christmas morning, Christmas
mornings that she'd never had as a child. Although she knew
what she'd find inside, she still experienced a thrill of
anticipation as she reached into the box and pulled out the first
dress. Just as Lord Sachse had commented at dinner the other night,
it was rather plain.

“What do you think, Lillian?” she asked
as she held it up.

“It's ever so plain, my
lady.”

“So it is. I have no use for it. I suppose
there is nothing to be done except to give these clothes to the
poor.”

“I don't know why you continue to use
this seamstress,” Lillian said, her smile broad.

It was a game they played every month when
Camilla's special orders arrived, pretending that what
they'd received wasn't exactly as they'd or
dered. It was a pretense they'd begun when her
husband was alive. They'd had to be much more clever then and
much more careful.

“Where are the cloaks?” Camilla
asked.

“I believe they'll be in this
box,” Lillian said, opening a box and removing a heavy cloak.
“Oh, it's very nice.”

Camilla ran her hands over it. “Yes, it is.
It'll keep someone extremely warm. We probably should have
ordered more. Where are the dolls?”

Lillian turned to another box. “In here, I
think.”

She handed Camilla a doll made of cloth, with an
embroidered face and yarn for her hair, something a little girl
could hold tight at night and feel safe with.

“The skates for the boys are at the bottom of
the box,” Lillian said, as she dug through the dolls and
brought out a length of thick leather with wheels at either end.
“They simply strap these around their shoes.”

“On second thought, it wasn't a very
practical purchase was it?”

“The boys can sell them, I suppose, if they
don't want them.”

But a child should receive something of value to
keep. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know so little
about boys. As a child, all I wanted was a doll to snuggle with
when I went to sleep.”

“Perhaps you could ask Lord Sachse. He might
know what a boy would prefer to have to play
with.”

“That's a splendid idea. He'll no
doubt recommend books, but still I'll ask.” Reaching
out, she clutched Lillian's arm. “I forgot to tell you.
Lord Sachse is going to begin paying me a sum of a hundred pounds
each month.”

Lillian furrowed her brow. “An
allowance?”

“No, no, a salary. A very nice salary to help
him find a wife.”

“So you're to become a
matchmaker?”

“In a way, I suppose, yes.” She'd
never actually looked at it that way, but with all her connections,
she could find a match—not only for Lord Sachse, but for any
man. It was rather reassuring to realize that if she didn't
become a duchess, she could always have a way to earn money. Though
only as a last resort, if she were desperate. For a woman in her
station, working would be rather degrading. She needed to let
Archie know that he mustn't let on to anyone that he was
paying her. It needed to remain their little secret. She knew
Lillian wouldn't tell anyone, and Lillian was perhaps the
closest thing she had to a friend.

“Here's what I was thinking,” she
continued. “We could use part of the money to hire ladies to
make these clothes rather than the seamstress I'm presently
using. I thought it would serve two purposes. Provide employment
for those who don't
have it, and provide
clothing for those who don't have the means to purchase
them.”

“Where would you have them work? In the
basement?”

“No, no. I don't want them to feel as
though I'm ashamed of them. Still I can't have them
traipsing up to the front door either, can I? But I thought they
could use the servants' entrance, then come to the parlor.
Light is good in here.” She remembered the many nights as a
child when she'd stood shivering beneath the streetlights her
mother had used to cast light on the sacks she was sewing so she
wouldn't have to use costly candles in their home. Slop work
it was called.

It was there the men would sometimes approach her.
“Would you be interested in sowing a few wild oats rather
than a bit of cloth?” they'd ask, then cackle like
idiots at what they perceived to be a witty proposal.

“Lady Sachse?”

She snapped out of her horrid reverie to find
Lillian's eyes wide-open. “Are you all right, my lady?
You're pinching my arm.”

Immediately, she released her hold on her
secretary. “I'm sorry. I was thinking of the
possibilities. We'll discuss them all later. For now, have
the servants put these items in a carriage and deliver them to the
Salvation Army.” Camilla supported Catherine and William
Booth's recent efforts to
provide shelter
and aid to London's poor and socially outcast.

“Will you at least let us tell them who the
items are from this time?”

She shook her head. “No. No one need
know.”

She turned to leave and released a tiny shriek at
the sight of the unexpected man standing in the doorway.
“Lord Sachse!”

“Countess.”

“How long have you been standing
there?”

A devastatingly handsome smile slowly spread across
his face. “Long enough.”

 

She was livid. Arch was entranced. He'd known
she was harboring secrets, but why was she fearful of her
generosity being discovered? Because others might see her as
tenderhearted and take advantage of her goodness? Was it as
she'd said during their walk from the art museum—that a
generous woman would be unable to survive?

She held her tongue until Lillian left to retrieve
the required servants, but the whole while he could see Camilla
seething, see the tiny tremors going through her.

“How dare you!” she spit, once they
were alone. “How dare you spy upon me!”

“I did not mean to spy.”

“Did you not? Then why did you not announce
your arrival?”

“I'd planned to. I told your butler
that I would see to it, but then I decided that I shouldn't
interrupt.” He hadn't
wanted
to interrupt.

“You had no right.”

“No right? No right to learn that my
suspicions were founded? You lied to me about the
purchases—without shame or remorse.”

“Oh, there was remorse.”

He was glad to hear it, but not to see her suddenly
appearing downtrodden and defeated. She'd not taken pleasure
in lying to him. He took a measure of satisfaction from that, but
still it bothered him that she had yet to trust him completely.
He'd done nothing to earn her distrust except be related to
the man she'd married. He supposed she was of the opinion
that the apple didn't fall far from the tree, but his branch
of the tree was quite a distance from the one her husband had
fallen from.

“What did you think I would do? Force you to
return the items if I discovered they weren't for
you?”

“The old Sachse would have. He was a good
deal like that character in the story you read to me a couple of
weeks ago. Scrooge. The entire time you were reading it to me, I
wondered if perhaps Dickens had met the old Sachse and was truly
writing about him.”

“He may well have been, but you'll not
turn me away from the subject at hand. I don't understand why
you insist on keeping your good works a secret?” Not only
from him, but apparently from everyone else as well, based upon
what he'd overheard.

“Because it's a private part of me, a
bit that I own. The last remaining remnant of who I thought I would
be.” She sighed. “Makes me sound as though I belong in
a mental asylum…as though I am a looking glass that has been
shattered, and various shards reveal different sides to the same
thing.”

He thought her description was probably more exact
than she realized. And he wondered if once shattered, a looking
glass could ever again be as it was before or would it forever
carry the marks that revealed it had once been handled without
care.

He'd championed her before Spellman,
he'd kissed her, he'd struck a bargain with her that
would provide her with a modest income, but he'd failed truly
to reach her, to earn her unfettered trust. He eased farther into
the room, reached into the box of children's items, and
pulled out a skate.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Searching for the woman in the
tower
. Smiling, he turned to her. “Have you ever gone
rinking?”

She looked positively horrified. “Of course
not.”

He considered her attire. Her dress accentuated her
narrow waist and slender hips. He wondered if her smallness was at
all responsible for her being unable to give his predecessor an
heir.

“Go change into something that doesn't
fit quite as snugly.”

“Are you mad?”

He laughed. “Probably.” He took a step
toward her, she took a step back. He strove not to take offense.
He'd caught glimpses of a woman who intrigued him, like
looking through a kaleidoscope, where each turn revealed another
facet to the piece. He wanted to know every aspect to her.
“When was the last time you laughed?”

“I frequently laugh.”

“With joy?”

She furrowed her brow. “Is there any other
kind of laughter?”

“Cruel laughter. Sarcastic, harsh. The
saddest of all is when people laugh to hold back their
tears.”

“Why must you always qualify
things?”

“So you can't remember the last time
you laughed with pure joy.” He stated it as fact, not inquiry
as he was beginning to learn that she found a way to redirect
questions when she didn't particularly like the impression of
her that the answer would provide.

“Of course I remember.”

“Share the moment with me.”

She held his gaze as though daring him to accept
the moment she was going to reveal. “I laughed when I
discovered the old Sachse was dead.”

He imagined that she expected him to exhibit shock
at her revelation. Or perhaps pity. The words were delivered in her
usual icy manner. And he wondered if she'd mourned her own
passing of innocence with laughter. He smiled because he knew it
would unsettle her. “Just as I suspected. It's been
years since you've laughed with joy. So come on. Change your
clothes so we can head to the park.”

“Archie, we're too old to
skate.”

“Nonsense, it'll be great
fun.”

“Shopping is fun.”

“We'll do a bit of that afterward if
you like, but for now hurry along.”

“Arch—”

“Go along now.”

She gave him one final glare before flouncing out
of the room as though she wasn't at all happy with his
demands, but he suspected before the morning was finished,
he'd have her glad that she'd joined him.

Lillian returned with several footmen in her wake.
She directed the servants to carry the packages to the waiting
carriage, then gave the set of skates he held in his hands a
pointed look as
though she expected them to leap
back into the box from which they'd come.

“I'm keeping these for the time
being,” Arch said.

“Yes, my lord.”

She was leaving with the footmen when Arch called
to her, “Lillian, can you spare a moment?”

She hesitated before returning to the room.
“Yes, my lord?”

“How often does she do this?”

She gave an exasperated look that seemed to want to
say that she had no idea what he was referring to, then perhaps
thinking better of it because when it came right down to it, he was
the one who paid her salary each month, she offered, “A good
servant doesn't gossip about her mistress or reveal her
mistress's business.”

“A commendable trait, which I admire.
I'm not seeking gossip, but answers. I'm trying to
understand why she felt that she needed to keep these good works
from me.”

Lillian licked her lips, swallowed.

“You'll find a bonus with your salary
at the end of the month,” he said.

“No payment would force me to betray
her.”

Betrayal? Good God. What all
had happened in this household before it had come into his
hands
?

“Lillian, it's a simple question. All
I'm asking is how often.”

“Every month. She thinks that if she spreads
the purchases out over the year, they won't be
noticed.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Please don't
tell her that I told you, and please don't punish her for
it.”