Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman (4 page)

Clutching her valise tightly in her hands, she took off towards Westbrooke Hall, anxious to get off the dew-soaked grass that was causing a chill in her feet. She couldn’t lie to herself as she stood on the porch of the house. Waiting for the butler to answer her knocking, she felt incredibly awkward and out of place showing up at a stranger’s house unannounced. She once more adjusted her robes, thankful that they were long enough to cover her bare feet. She would have to be careful when she walked to not reveal the improper absences of shoes and raise anybody's suspicion. Thinking of her predicament, she cursed herself for not being able to say no to the highwayman. She didn’t know the first thing about caring for the sick, besides the limited experience she had caring for her parents. Having witnessed both of her parents take their final breathes, she desperately hoped with everything in her that she wouldn't have to sit by and watch the poor man die.

She shuddered at the thought, just as the door was opened, grateful for the interruption that caused her to stop thinking about the painful memories she held deep in her heart. “Hello, may I help you?” The butler’s slow drawl poured over her like melting butter on a warm biscuit.

Elenore hesitated briefly before answering. “Yes, I was sent to care for Lord Brattondale.” She held her breath waiting for a response, hoping that he wouldn’t question her further or doubt her presence.

Holding the door wide open he said, “Do come in. I’ll inform the master that you have arrived.”

Elenore watched as he retreated down the hall, before taking a moment to take in her surroundings. Westbrooke Hall was spacious and tastefully decorated, although a little more sparse than the opulent surroundings of the Duke of Kerrington's townhouse, where she had previously been staying. She stuck her nose in the open door to her left and wasn’t at all surprised to find the drawing room. The walls were covered in a cream-colored paper featuring hand-painted flowers of multiple different colors and varieties. In front of the fireplace sat a dainty, burgundy settee with matching tufted wing-chairs sitting across from it. There were gold-framed paintings of various landscapes hanging on the walls and a large Louis XV-style, gilded mirror hanging above the fireplace.

Before Elenore could finish taking stock of the room, she heard a voice coming up behind her and quickly turned to see that the butler had returned. “I’ve been instructed to introduce you to Lord Brattondale. He isn’t feeling particularly well this morning and has requested you come visit him in his bedchamber.”

Elenore tried to will her cheeks not to heat at the thought of visiting a man in his room but wasn’t sure how successful she was. Instead she simply nodded and followed the butler up the stairs and to the west wing of the house, taking cautious steps, trying to be gentle on her feet. She waited patiently while the butler rapped on the door and waited to be granted entrance. He indicated for her to go in first, to which she reluctantly obliged.

Walking into the earl’s room, the first thing she noticed was how dim and gloomy it was. Despite it being the middle of the day, the room was almost completely dark. She hesitantly made for the bed, trying to get close enough to see the earl, but she heard him long before she ever saw him.

“You may go Clarence. I’ll ring the bell if I need further assistance.”

Clarence nodded his head and left, leaving Elenore gaping at the dark form in the bed. Her skin crawled at the knowledge that she was in a room alone with a man, a man she had never met, no less. She wanted desperately to turn around and run, but something kept her rooted in place.

“Come closer,” the earl commanded in a raspy voice. “I’d like to get a better look at you.”

Elenore obeyed, just as eager to get a good look at him. As she drew nearer to the bed she was able to start making out the earl’s features. He was a portly man with little to no hair on top of his bulbous head, though his eyebrows were thick and bushy. It seemed to Elenore that all of the man’s hair had gravitated to the two patches above his eyes. She stopped at the foot of the bed and waited.

“Come closer,” the earl quietly commanded.

Elenore tiptoed to the head of the bed, not wanting to make any noise in the quiet room, though she wasn’t sure why. The earl was fully aware of her presence.

They both sat silently observing each other, before the earl finally spoke. “I suppose you’ll do. What is your name?”

“Sister Genevieve, my lord.”

“I’m Lord Brattondale. Now, enough of the small talk. I’d like you to feed me my morning meal.”

“Is a tray being brought up or should I go fetch one?”

“You’ll have to go get it from the kitchen, and make it quick.”

Elenore nodded before turning and leaving the room. Walking down the long hall towards the staircase, all she could think about was how much she did not want to be servant to Lord Brattondale. She wondered if it was too late to slip out of the house unannounced and disappear. As she reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, she found Clarence standing next to the door, as if he was anticipating another visitor. Both of his hands were clasped behind his back and at the sight of Elenore his facial expression didn’t change one iota.

Speaking in his sluggish drawl he asked, “Is everything well with the master?”

So much for leaving undetected. “Yes,” Elenore said, “but he is ready to eat and has sent me to retrieve his meal. Would you kindly direct me to the kitchen?”

“Very well. Follow me.”

Elenore followed Clarence to the kitchen where a middle-aged lady had a tray all set out and prepared. She quickly thanked the cook before balancing the tray in both hands and returning once more to the earl’s bedchamber, though the going was slow with her sore feet.

Just as she entered the room, she heard the earl say, “I’m glad you’re back. Sister Genevieve, I’d like you to meet my son.”

Elenore was startled by the unexpected presence of another man. She scurried over to the bed and set the tray down on the table adjacent to it, before turning to the earl’s son. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him—he was younger than she had expected him to be and much more handsome, considering he was the earl’s offspring. He was tall and lean with rich brown eyes, golden hair, and a ready smile that almost seemed to taunt her.

“Pleased to meet you, my lord.” Elenore said as she dropped into a deep curtsey.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Extending one hand towards her he said, “I’m the Viscount Bridgerton but most people just call me Lord Bridgerton or my lord, or if they’re really comfortable, they might even dare call me just plain Devon.”

“I’m just plain Sister Genevieve,” Elenore said in response, as he bowed over her hand. She felt a slight tingle, as his skin came in contact with hers causing her to quickly withdraw her hand, as if she had been shocked.

Devon watched the nun with amusement. He wasn’t sure by her reaction if she realized that he was the very man who had brought her there or not. After dropping her off in front of Westbrooke Hall, he had quickly ridden to one of the abandoned cottages on the estate where he tethered Calvin to a tree and quickly changed from his Black Lightening attire into a set of fresh clothes he kept there for that very purpose. Once he had freshened, using a small basin of water he kept at the cottage, he returned to the house to pay a visit to his father.

He decided to question her further to see if she had any inkling who he was. “I heard you arrived here shortly. I trust that you had a pleasant journey. Is your driver still here? Perhaps he could use some refreshment before his return trip.”

“Oh no, my— “she paused searching for the right word, “—escort has already gone, but thank you.”

Devon let out a silent sigh of relief. It appeared she had no idea that he and her escort were one and the same.

Lord Brattondale was growing impatient and hungry, while he waited for Sister Genevieve and his son to make polite conversation. He cleared his throat loudly and whined, “I’m famished. If somebody doesn’t feed me immediately, I think I will be sick.”

Lord Bridgerton's face held amusement at his father’s childish behavior, while Elenore scurried over to the tray of food and placed it on the bed next to him within reaching distance.

“What are you doing? You don’t expect me to feed myself do you?” he barked, clearly perturbed.

Elenore looked at Lord Bridgerton in alarm. Lord Brattondale couldn’t seriously expect her to feed him, could he? The earl's son just smiled and nodded his encouragement, as Lord Brattondale huffed impatiently.

Elenore closed her eyes and took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you too weak, my lord, to feed yourself?”

“Yes,” he barked.

“Very well,” Elenore said in resignation, “Then I suppose I’ll have to help.”

She picked up a silver spoon from the tray with one hand and grasped the bowl of runny porridge with her other, dunking the spoon into the sludge before extending it towards Lord Brattondale’s lips. She held the spoon barely an inch from his mouth, but apparently the effort he would need to exert to take a bite was too much for him. He sat there silently staring at the spoon, clearly waiting for her to bring it closer. Elenore was baffled. She’d never had occasion to see a grown gentleman behave so childishly. Her first reaction was to throw the spoon back into the bowl, then slam the bowl down on the tray, before turning to leave, but she somehow managed to draw on a supply of patience she didn’t know she possessed and instead inched the spoon closer so he could slurp the porridge without having to move a muscle.

Elenore fed Lord Brattondale spoonful after painful spoonful of the unappetizing concoction, her irritation growing with every spoonful he slurped. It was with great relief that she fed him the last bite of porridge in the bowl before setting it back down on the tray forcefully.

“Now help me with my tea,” Lord Brattondale insisted.

Elenore was fully aware of Lord Bridgerton’s eyes watching her every move, his rapt attention only causing her more unease. She lifted the porcelain teacup from the saucer and carefully assisted Lord Brattondale in drinking the now cold tea. When he had finished, she pulled the cup back from his mouth and watched in disgust as a rivulet of tea mixed with saliva dripped down his chin.

“Wipe my face at once.” The command came instantly, and Elenore wondered how it was that Lord Brattondale could have enough strength to bark commands at her effortlessly when he apparently had no strength to do something as menial as feeding himself.

Clutching the linen napkin tightly in her hand, Elenore attempted to take out some of her frustration on the innocent piece of fabric before she was tempted to take it out on the earl. Leaning forward she wiped his face as quickly as possible, then turned and threw the offending napkin down on the tray with the dishes.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?” Elenore asked between gritted teeth.

“If you wouldn’t mind adjusting my pillows, I think I will rest for a bit.”

Elenore went and fluffed the two down pillows vigorously, before placing them under Lord Brattondale’s head.

“Very well. That is all.”

Relieved, Elenore scooped the tray up and nodded towards Lord Bridgerton, as she began making her exit. She wasn't sure where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get out of the aggravating man's presence.

“Devon, show Sister Genevieve to the lavender room would you?” Lord Brattondale spoke from behind her.

“Of course, Father,” he replied as he rose and followed behind Elenore, who had just walked into the hall.

As soon as the earl’s door was closed, Lord Bridgerton reached over and took the tray out of Elenore’s hands and set it on the floor up against the wall, out of the way of anyone who might chance down the hall. “I’m heading to the kitchen after I show you to your room. I’ll save you the trip and take it with me.”

“Thank you,” Elenore said sincerely, anticipating some time alone so she could rest and rethink her current dilemma. The last thing she wanted to do was to be stuck there nursing an oversized baby back to health. A month may very well prove to be more than her patience could handle.

Lord Bridgerton turned and began walking down the hall, leaving Elenore following behind him. His legs were longer than hers, so she practically had to run to keep up with him. She was relieved when he stopped in front of a large wooden door, extending one hand to push it open.

Elenore walked into the room and looked around. It was decorated in every shade of purple imaginable. The paper on the walls was white with hand painted lilacs in shades of lavender and plum dotting the walls. The Sheraton field bed in the center of the room featured a curved canopy draped in lavender silk. The bed looked too inviting for Elenore to ignore. She marched right over and threw herself onto the soft mattress, exhaling as she sunk into its welcoming embrace.

Devon watched Sister Genevieve with curiosity—he wondered if anyone had ever told her that her emotions were so easily displayed on her face. He could tell just by watching her exactly what she was thinking. He had found it humorous to watch, as she spoon fed his father, the look of disgust and irritation marring her features. Her little upturned nose seemed to turn up even further, as she struggled internally to feed him every last drop of the porridge followed by the tea. The look of sheer repulsion that crossed her expressive eyes when his father had ordered her to wipe his face had been priceless. If it wouldn’t have been so unseemly, he would have laughed.

Now, watching her throw herself so gracelessly onto the center of the bed, Devon couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s so funny, milord?” she asked, not even bothering to look at him.

Devon folded his arms across his chest and leaned up against the door frame casually, “You. Has anyone ever told you how animated your face is?”

Elenore rolled over onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “In all honesty, not for a long time. Usually I’m too busy being reprimanded for being improper or being told how plain of features I am.”

He took a moment to observe her, noting that he didn’t consider her plain in the least—her brown eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief, the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose gave her a perpetual youthful look, and she had nice, pink lips that she gnawed on frequently. He wished for a moment that he could see her without her veil, to see what her hair looked like. What color it was? His curiosity suddenly piqued.

Realizing that she was looking at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised, he suddenly felt foolish for staring so long without a response. Clearing his throat and looking around the room nervously he straightened and said, “I hope that you find this room to your liking. Have you any bags that need to be sent up?”

Elenore straightened on the bed. She’d forgotten completely about her one and only bag, “I just have my valise which I must have left downstairs.”

He was already partway out of the room, when she heard him say, “I’ll have it sent up. Good day.”

Devon quickly retreated down the hall and towards the stairs, suddenly irritated for no explained reason at the young nun who had managed to waste too much of his time.