Nash's Niche (Behind Closed Doors) (4 page)

Chapter Three

Nash Gretton, third son of Gerard, Lord Brigstock, leaned on the five bar gate and kicked a tussock of grass. In the field beyond, the latest litter of puppies played and chased imaginary foes. He glowered at his companion who chuckled, not one whit fazed at the scowl given to him. Nash knew Randall couldn't help teasing him. He did it every opportunity they met. This time he had once more taunted Nash about the idea that Nash was supposed to enter the church. Nash rolled his eyes.

"Lud
, Randall, can you really see me as a cleric? Really? I'm more likely to encourage blasphemy than dissuade it. Though shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife? Not possible. Everyone in the neighborhood covets Judith Welland. Her arse is almost perfection, and her smile? Well sufficient to say, I have only seen one other that affects me more." His cock hardened as he remembered the one person he had searched for in vain. "'Tis a pity she and Welland are devoted."
If she were not, perhaps I may be able to stop wondering who my lady was and where she is.

Randall, his elder but not that much more responsible brother glanced at his him and grunted.
"For those of you who love thus, then she is indeed a fine specimen." He ignored Nash's expostulation and continued, "I agree that I cannot imagine you as a cleric. I thought Perry had rid that maggot from his brain. The spinsters of your parish would be forever baking cakes, and the husbands of those wed would be forever suspicious. I know not what Peregrine or father thought when they decided thus."

"Peregrine only," Nash said. "Papa was more concerned with his search for his lost youth, to plot my future. No
, it's Perry and his blasted all that's proper. I swear that man is an anachronism, born to give the family a bad name."

Randall snorted. "For being proper?"

Nash rolled his eyes. "For being prosy before thirty. If I listened to him, it is almost a decree that the third son of a Brigstock goes into the church. However I do believe I have started a new trend. I hereby announce that the third son does what in hades he prefers. Not only that, I will even add the proviso as long as he does not bring the name Gretton or the house of Brigstock into disrepute. For I may not wish to be conventional, but nor do I wish to buck convention to a greater degree than necessary. I will do my best to heed all that is proper." He grinned and slapped Randall on the shoulder. "Unless it precludes coveting Judith Welland, of course. A man has to have some pleasures."

"Covet away, that lady will come to no harm by your attentions." They began to walk back toward the house. "What would you do if she responded to your attentions?"

"She would not. Her ladyship is one who takes it as her due and ignores any possible depth or degree of devotion. Oh, I don't show attention to her other than what's proper. If my affections were truly engaged, I wouldn't show it. It's so much better to covet in silence. You know, so there is no possible misunderstanding. I dally with those who understand the art. Watch it, Brid." The liver and white hound swerved away from Nash's feet. Nash laughed and flung his arm around Randall's shoulder. "If I don't tread on one of these reprobates each day, there is something wrong." The half dozen hound puppies followed them, tripping each other up and growling at anything they could remotely perceive as a threat.

"Anyway, you haven't said why I have the pleasure of your company," Nash said, as they kenneled the dogs and left the kennel man to begin the feeds. The noise of the happy yelps of the puppies followed them as they wa
lked toward the house. "You don’t make your way here very often, more's the pity. What's afoot?" He peered at his brother from under long lashes, which he had been told on more than one occasion, a lady would die for. It seemed a pretty poor reason to expire but then Nash agreed that although he may know his way around a female form, the idiotic nuances of the majority of their minds was beyond him.

"Peregrine." Randall's tone was grim. "I have heard from him that he might, just might
, send you visitors. An American called Tilman, and our beloved brother Harold may well be visiting you anon." He sounded as it was akin to a trip to the dentist.

"Harold?
Heavens above. The last time he came here he blew up the barn, and the chef fell in love with him. My life was hell. Flat soufflés and overcooked beef until Andre pulled himself together. Harold of course was oblivious. I don't think I could cope with that again. We just have Andre back on an even keel. Why pray did Perry send you as messenger? Is he worried about my reactions? Or that I may conveniently be away?"

Randall laughed. "He didn't. I thought you needed to be warned. I am on my way to…to meet a companion, and I thought to detour."

Not for the first time Nash thought how close Randall kept his life to himself. He admired him for it. He knew that Randall's life would never be plain sailing and his heart wept for his brother. He squeezed his shoulder. "And I am glad. Now let's go and eat and also try that very fine brandy you brought with you. I wish to hear all your gossip." They had reached the side entrance to Nash's more than comfortable manor. He opened the door and stood back to let Randall precede him. "How is Cecy?"

"Fine."

Nash grabbed Randall's arm and held him back. "Just fine? Banished to the wilds of Devon with you, and she is merely fine? What are you denying?"

Randall shrugged and didn’t meet Nash's eyes. "It is not my story to tell. I believe she will pay you a visit shortly. But truly, she is fine. I have to ask you to be content with that."

As much as he wished to protest, Nash knew there was no point. If Randall didn't want to be drawn on a subject, he could not be coerced, bribed, or bullied into doing so. "Oh, let's go and have a game of billiards before dinner. I'll see if I can still trounce you."

"Side bet?" Randall asked as they wandered along the gloomy corridor to the room to where Nash ha
d installed his billiard table. "I am in need of some innocent excitement." The look he gave Nash was a mixture of rueful acceptance and mischief. Nash thought it best not to comment.

"Guinea points?" He opened the billiard room door. "Will that do?" Without waiting for an answer, Nash wa
lked across to a side table. Truth to tell it mattered not who won; the unspoken deal between he and Randall was that all winnings went to the poor of whichever parish they were in. "Rack 'em up and I'll organize the brandy. Or maybe not." He waved an almost empty bottle. "I'll need to find another bottle. I won't be long." There was no point in ringing for a servant when he knew fine well it was the hour they sat down to their main meal of the day. Many a time, he nipped into the kitchen and begged for their beef and ale pie or roasted fowl for his meal and nothing fancy. The chef, during the throes of his one-sided love affair with Harold, had treated Nash's suggestions, with distain; he was out to impress.  Once Harold had spurned the chef's advances, all of a sudden even the homely fare of the kitchen had become inedible. The bouts of indigestion Nash experienced were enough to make him curse Harold, even as Nash accepted Harold probably hadn't even realized what the chef was hinting. The chef was very Gallic in his approach, and Harold oh so unworldly English. Or so Nash had thought. With hindsight he wasn't so sure. The twinkle he saw occasionally in Harold's eye belied that. Nash was now of the opinion Harold played everyone to the tune of his choice.

The easiest bottle of brandy to snag would be the one on the desk in the empty bedchamber next to his. Although he had a study for work regarding the Hunt, downstairs, Nash chose to use the snug room that abutted his sleeping quarters as a private retreat. Although it had a bed in it, it was never used for sleeping. He just hadn't thought it worth asking for it to be removed and it was useful for throwing things on. He grinned as he remembered the scandalized expression of his housekeeper after the maid ha
d complained she couldn't see the bedcover for riding crops, books and dog collars. It was then he decreed the room out of bounds unless he expressly asked for it to be cleaned. It had taken Nash the best part of a week to discover where everything had been put.

He took the stairs two at a time, whistling as he went. It was good to see Randall again, albeit briefly. Randall and he seemed to buck the trend with regular bouts of what Peregrine would call insensibility, but Nash called relief. Nash knew he would never conform. If only he knew which direction he wanted his life to take, it would help. He blocked the thoughts that came to him every night in his dreams
, of sparkling blue eyes glittering behind a mask, and a soft body pliant under him. Of soft mewls and sighs, and the way they both came together in one perfect explosion of passion. Over and over.

He took the last stair with a bound and turned the corner of the landing, only to stop dead in his tracks. The door to his study was very slightly ajar. It hadn't been when he'd gone down stairs earlier, he was certain of that. In fact Nash knew fine well the door had been locked, because if he didn't lock it, the fit was so poor, it would slip open like it was now. He frowned. Ha
d a servant entered, even though he'd expressly forbidden it? If so, there would be a vacant position in the household before long. Nash was not an onerous employer, but his word was law.

With a grimace he realized he was wearing boots, and therefore not able to creep up to the door and find out what was going on. However years of evading tutors, and irate parents had taught him stealth, and he'd bet no intruder would hear him as he walked the last few yards to stand outside the room and listen.

There was no noise from inside the chamber. Nash waited for several long minutes before he pushed the door open further with his toe until he was able to see a fair area inside. As far as he could discern, nothing had been disturbed. Even so, he entered with care.

The brandy was still on his desk, next to a pile of papers and a glove. The mess on the bed was as
shambolic, or as he said, as organized chaos as before. So why did he have that particular tingle up his spine? Not the 'I'm about to indulge in sex and be sated' tingle, but the 'oh now I know something is amiss' one.

He scanned the room through narrowed eyes. It seemed as it should, but Nash wasn't satisfied. There was a faint smell of lavender, that he didn't think came from his smallclothes or the curtains.

He looked round once more. Half under the bed was a red scarf. Nash stared, and began to bend to reach it, and then stopped. Why bother? He decided the effort of bending to lift it was too great. It could stay.

With a chuckle at his laziness, Nash checked the other door into the room—the one from his bedchamber—was still locked. It was. With a grim shrug, he left the brandy where it stood. If there were an intruder, perhaps if he became bosky it would work in Nash's favor when he returned. Meanwhile Nash decided he'd get the bottle from the dining room instead. Mind made up, he left the room. Once outside he locked the door and instead of pocketing the key left it well turned. If someone inside had a skeleton key, they'd not be able to use it. He'd deal with the problem later
. At that moment he'd rather sample some brandy, beat Randall at Billiards, and enjoy a good meal before he had to attack supposed intruders.

However, the itch between his shoulder blades couldn't be ignored. Someone had been into the room, and he was certain it wasn't to clean the windows.

Chapter Four

Felicity scarce dared to breathe as she lay face down under the bed and watched a pair of highly polished boots walk around it. She'd chosen this room in a hurry, when she heard footsteps on the stair treads, and had thought it best to hide. To her surprise the door was locked, but the set of keys she'd been entrusted with was invaluable, and she unlocked it in a trice. Once inside she felt sure the room was unused as a bedchamber. Indeed, she'd hazard a guess that the sole use was for storing things that weren't going to be needed.

How wrong could a person be? As the footsteps got
louder, Felicity had glanced around for somewhere to hide. The only place that might remotely conceal her was under the bed. Indeed, the only part of the coverlet not to be covered in clothes and papers was the drape from the bed to near the floor. She flattened herself on the carpet and squirmed under the velvet material, setting it back in place as fast as she could. It wasn't a moment too soon. She had hardly checked her clothing was hidden before the door opened.

It was gloomy with the only daylight from the inch or so left between the floor and the coverlet.
However, that should work in her favor, because, unless the person who entered the room got down on the floor and looked, she shouldn't be discovered. To her horror, Felicity noticed her scarf had snagged on the bottom of the coverlet and was half under and half outside the bed. She squeezed her eyes closed, and prayed. Not that either gesture would help her predicament if she were discovered.

The dust she disturbed made her nose twitch. Heaven help her if she sneezed. She couldn't give herself away; she needed this breathing space until she decided what best to do. Felicity pinched her nose, and waited. At last she hea
rd the click of the latch, and then to her horror, the rasp of a key being turned and the lock engaged. Did it mean she was locked in the room, and someone was standing next to the door, waiting to see if she would emerge? That all along they knew she was there? Felicity held her breath and listened. She could hear nothing. Then she realized she'd been waiting for the noise of the key being removed. She hadn't heard it.

As her legs began to cramp at the unnatural position she was in, Felicity decided she had no option but to move. She couldn't sense anyone nearby, and usually her sense stood her well. However, she mused
, as she decided she had to change position if she didn't want to be atrophied, her sense of what was right and good had let her down severely of late.

She wriggled out of the gloom, and sneezed as once more the dust rose. 
Whoever is the maid in here needs to be taught the basic premise of housekeeping. This is not what one expects to be found in a chamber of a gentleman's house however small.
  Not for the first time since her impromptu visit a week earlier, she wondered about the gentleman who might live here. Did he have a wife she could appeal to? Would they even listen, or say she was over reacting? Perhaps she was, but she needed time to think without pressure or coercion.

Felicity stood, hands on hips and surveyed her surroundings properly. Before her mad scramble to hide, all she had noticed was the mess. Now she had time to look closely. Her first impression was correct
: the room was a mess. But she realized it was generally an organized one. The chaos was, she suspected, deliberate, even though she had no idea why. She guessed whoever created it could put a hand to what they needed within the blink of an eye.

She walked to the door and squinted into the lock. She'd been correct in her surmise. They key was still lodged there and she wouldn't be able to use her key to escape. She set the problem aside to be thought about later. Maggie would come and find her eventually—perhaps.

The bottle of brandy she'd espied earlier was still on the desk. Although she would have preferred a dish of tea, or even a glass of Madeira, Felicity decided brandy would do. She'd have to wait in the room until Maggie realized she was missing from the servant's room she'd occupied these last days. All had worked well whilst His Lordship was away visiting another hunt in the next shire. He'd returned two days before and Felicity's wandering had been sharply curtailed. However, her room in the attic was stifling, and she'd needed air. As she looked carefully out of her tiny window she'd seen the rear view of two men disappear toward the paddock, and taken the chance to stretch her legs.

Their return had taken everyone by surprise and Felicity had hurried up the stairs to be almost caught before she could gain the safely of her room.

She'd left for fresh air and freedom in such a hurry, sustenance had been her last thought. Her stomach growled, and Felicity bit her lip as she walked toward the desk. Then she stopped dead and stared at the floor.

In her rush to check on the state of the lock, she'd forgotten all about it, but there beside the bed was her silk scarf, its deep red color glowing in the dim light. With a prayer of thanks it hadn't been spotted she picked it up and wound it around her neck, before she firmly knotted it. She wouldn't dare lose it again. Next time she might not be so lucky.

Her mouth was parched, and she swallowed. If she couldn't eat she would have to drink. She was sure there would be a glass or goblet somewhere but she couldn't see one.
No matter, I will drink from the bottle.
Felicity sniggered as she pulled the cork and put the bottle to her mouth. If her papa could see her now, perhaps he wouldn't think her suitable for his plans. She took a hefty slug and sputtered as the fiery drink hit her taste buds. If this was brandy, the liquid her papa purported to be that spirit was an imposter. After the first shock receded, she realized she liked the taste and took a further mouthful.

Felicity held the bottle by the neck and wandered around the room
. As she looked at the paintings on the walls—hunting and fishing scenes—and the books on the shelves—mainly atlases and what looked like breeding lines of hounds—Felicity wondered once more who lived there. Even after all this time, she still didn't know the name of 'His Lordship'. All the servants called him that or the master. Sometimes she wondered if his name was being withheld on purpose.

If only she'd listened to her cousin when she'd rambled on about the local population.
But Judith had been so earnest that Felicity had switched off her brain, and waited until Judith had finished talking. Every conversation seemed to finish with…

"So all will be well,
since there is nothing to upset your papa or your intended."

Felicity had remonstrated in vain with her. "Judith, I'm intended for no one.
Oh Papa may think so, but I assure you I've not been asked, and as far as I'm concerned, I have no understanding with anyone. If, if I say, a certain gentleman is interested in me, I want to be more than expediency. I want him to at least have a little regard for me as a person, want to take me as a lover, not a commodity." Her blunt words had shocked her cousin, who had blanched, blushed and changed the subject. It seemed since her marriage Judith had become matronly and complacent.  To say nothing of accepting the mundane. Her cousin's husband, Lord Welland, apart from his pomposity, was, Felicity supposed, all that was kind. But to her mind, he was boring. Content to sit in his study and manage his estates, all without an iota of personality. However if Judith were happy, who was Felicity to condemn that state just because she knew it wouldn't suit her? Hence her presence somewhere other than her cousin's house.

Felicity hiccupped and giggled. The level of brandy in the bottle had dropped dramatically, and she realized something pressing. She needed the chamber pot, and had no idea where one would be. There was no bedside cupboard similar to the one she had in her own bedchamber. That had been all the more reason for assuming this room unused. A cursory check told her there was no facility to be found in the room, and that indeed however she jiggled the lock, the key wouldn't budge. The exit to the hallway was impassible. However the other entrance she had noticed was not. With more haste than secrecy, she lifted the latch and pushed that door open.

It led to a bedchamber, which was obviously used for its intended design. The large canopied bed was covered in a deep blue silk spread that was not obscured in papers and clothes. The dresser top was neat and tidy, with only a set of brushes on it, and the surfaces of the dresser and the tallboy were free from dust, and gleaming with polish. Another doorway on the far wall was ajar, and through it she saw the end of a bath. Perhaps the chamber pot was in there?

It was, and she used it with relief. After washing her hands and face, Felicity wandered back into the bedroom. What on earth was she going to do? It was one thing running, another to not have a well thought out plan. But all she had known was she couldn't stay and await her fate. She was sure the gentleman in question was all he should be, but she wanted more than that in a husband. Why her papa, after thirty years devoted to her mama should want less for his daughter
, she couldn't imagine. But to be told she was to accept the eminent lord's suit, without any feelings other than that of disinterest went against the grain, and she couldn't do it. Indeed the only time she had met the man and he had told her he was going to speak to her papa, she'd asked him "why?"

He'd looked at her blankly, and told her he thought they would suit. Also he needed a wife
; the government preferred it so.

The government perhaps, however Felicity didn't. She'd smiled and told him that it was not worth his time or effort, as she didn't think they would suit. Lord Corby, had patted her hand,
like I was his pet spaniel
, and told her she was wrong. He was a man, and not to worry, they would suit. Men knew these things. Felicity could only gawp as he then bowed and left her.

The following day
, after appealing to her papa's better nature, something she now accepted he didn't have, Felicity left to visit her cousin—only to be told Lord Corby would be calling on her. To know that Judith and her husband agreed with her father had been the last straw.

So she fled. To end up in the bedchamber of someone she didn't know, in a house she wasn't sure where it was, and having left her cousin a very lame excuse for her departure—in a note no less, not even in person.

The brandy was having an effect on her. Nevertheless she tipped the bottle and drank the last inch or so. The room swayed and settled.

Am I drunk? I can see two beds, therefore surely 'twill be in order for me to rest for a while on one of them? Until I decide what to do and where to do it.
Felicity hitched up her skirts and climbed onto the high bed. Her knees sank into a soft feather mattress and she sniggered. If she rolled over she'd be surrounded by it. Could a bed smother one?

Did she care? Felicity yawned and looked at the bottle still in her hand. It was empty. Her tummy rumbled and she giggled and rubbed it. There was little chance of filling it for a while
, not when she was so tired. She'd just close her eyes for a few minutes, sort out a plan and leave. All she needed was time to regroup.