CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Helen.”
Helen froze and frowned. From behind her, a man had just spoken her name, and he had a voice she would recognize anywhere, a voice she’d remember if she lived to be a hundred. But it couldn’t be…
England was a huge country, and she was hiding in her small corner of it. She wasn’t even sure he’d come to England. He’d claimed he was going to, but who could believe a single word that tumbled out of his delicious mouth?
She was in the kitchen, sitting on a stool and watching Cook roll out the dough for a pie. Both of them were hoping Becky would bring them some sugar.
Wearing an old dress, her clothes covered with dirt, she was definitely disheveled. Her hair was tied with a ribbon, a kerchief covering it to keep off some of the dust. She’d been cleaning all day, and her hands were rough and calloused. She’d even ripped a hole in her skirt when she caught it on a nail.
“Helen,” the man said again. “Turn around. Look at me.”
She wasn’t hallucinating. He was right there.
She’d been drinking a glass of water and was still clutching it as she stood and spun. There was an odd sort of slow motion to it, and on espying him, she was so stunned she dropped the glass, and it clunked to the floor. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the stool.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him.
“Hello,” Nine Lives said.
“How did you find me? And why were you searching?”
He grinned his devil’s grin, appearing more handsome and more dashing than she recalled in her obsessed fantasies.
“I wasn’t searching for you, you vain tart, but I found you anyway.”
She blinked several times, thinking he might vanish, but he didn’t.
“It’s really you,” she murmured.
“Yes, it’s really me.”
He was attired in the pirate’s clothes he’d always worn on Tenerife: tan trousers, knee-high black boots, a flowing white shirt. His hair was longer, and it curled over his shoulders. He still had that gold earring in his ear, and he hadn’t shaved, so he had stubble on his chin that made him seem even more dangerous than he actually was.
As usual, he was armed to the teeth. He had knives hanging from sheaths on his belt, a pistol on each hip, a sword in a sling over his back. She couldn’t imagine why he’d need so many weapons as he trotted through rural England, but she’d never witnessed a more glorious sight.
“Tell me the truth,” he said. “Did you miss me?”
She wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. “I might have missed you.”
He scoffed. “Might have? I demand to know how much. A little? A lot? You’d better admit you’ve been pining away every second.”
“Not every second.”
“But most of them?”
“Maybe.”
He started toward her, and a wild swirl of conflicting sentiment swept over her. Her destiny was approaching. Catastrophe was approaching. She was happier than she’d ever been. She was terrified of the havoc he’d wreak.
She should have stayed seated on the stool, but his magnetic self pulled her to her feet, and she braced, as if she was about to receive a hard blow. Seeing him was that much of a shock.
He kept coming until he was directly in front of her, until his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt. He laid his palms on her cheeks, cherishing her with his eyes.
Then he dipped in and kissed her, just the sweetest brush of his lips to hers. They both sighed with pleasure.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Here at Middlebury,” she said. “Here—all this time. Where have you been?”
“I was chasing after you without my even realizing I was.”
He drew her to him, and he kissed her as if he’d ridden across England so he could do exactly that. He seemed to consume her, to swallow her up, but he couldn’t hold her tightly enough. The baker’s table was behind her, and he lifted her and balanced her on the edge, then he tipped her back, his hand swishing pots and pans onto the floor so they landed with a loud clang.
Vaguely, she noted Cook scurrying out, no doubt scandalized by her raucous display, but she didn’t care. She felt as if she’d been drowning since they’d last been together, and he’d rushed in to rescue her. She felt as if she hadn’t been able to breathe while they were apart. With his sudden arrival, she was finally able to fill her lungs with air.
Their attraction burned hotter than ever, and there was no way to extinguish the fire they generated without even trying.
After she’d sailed from Tenerife, she’d told herself they had enjoyed a short fling and that was it. She didn’t need to languish with remorse. She simply needed to be glad they’d met, and then move on.
Yet she’d been bereft without him, and her affection was much more potent than she’d ever dared acknowledge. She could have wept with elation or perhaps with sadness over all the lost months when they’d been separated.
He deepened the kiss, and he grabbed her thighs, pushing up her skirt so he could wrap her legs around his waist. His loins were pressed to hers, and he was flexing himself against her in a manner that was arousing and very, very wicked.
She should have remembered herself, should have sat up and ordered him to behave. But while her mind was suggesting she prevent what was occurring, her body had an entirely different opinion.
She was ecstatic and relieved.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said.
“I can’t believe you’re here either. What are the odds?”
“I can’t imagine. I was traveling by, and I ran into your sister out on the road.”
“So you weren’t looking for me? You truly found me by accident?”
“It was absolutely an accident, but it has to be the best one I’ve ever suffered.”
He captured her lips again, the torrid embrace desperate and fraught with emotion, as if he was afraid—should he loosen his grip—she might float off into the sky.
She couldn’t predict what might have happened, but almost from a great distance, a woman cleared her throat. Then her sister said, “Helen.”
Helen ignored her, and more vehemently, Becky called, “Helen!”
Nine Lives had been as overwhelmed as Helen, and it took him a moment to grasp that they’d been interrupted. They were salaciously arrayed on the baker’s table. Her thighs were spread, and he was perched between them and leaned over her.
They halted their erotic gyrations and glared over to where Becky was standing in the doorway. She appeared frantic, and she was waving at Helen to straighten herself. Nine Lives eased away and pulled Helen to a sitting position.
She’d just managed to shove him away and smooth down her dress when someone marched down the hall, but Helen couldn’t see who it was.
“Apparently, it’s a day for surprise visitors.” Becky oozed forced cheer. “Guess who’s here!”
“Who?” Helen asked.
Becky stepped aside, and their father, Simon Barnes, strolled into the kitchen.
At age forty-five, he was dapper as ever, thin and handsome, still possessed of all his dark hair. He had Helen’s same green eyes, but his were more soulful. When a female stared into them, she thought he was dejected and forlorn, a man who could be saved from himself by the right woman.
He was wearing an expensive black suit and his white cleric’s collar, and Helen had no idea what the rules were for him. Was he allowed to strut about like a vicar? She didn’t think he could perform marriages or other religious rites. Not in England anyway, but she hadn’t been apprised of all the restrictions that were imposed.
“Father!” Helen gasped. “As I live and breathe! Where did you come from?”
Nine Lives’s gaze whipped from her, to Simon, to her again. He snorted with disgust. “This is your father?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like me to beat the hell out of him for you?”
“No one is beating anyone,” she sternly said.
Her head was spinning—from their passionate kisses, but also from Nine Lives, then her father sauntering in in such short order.
She was completely flummoxed, and she wanted to spend hours talking to both men, but at the same time, she didn’t want to talk to either of them. They were the type of overbearing males who liked to explain themselves and who expected a female to listen to their excuses.
“What is your name, sir?” her father cordially inquired of Nine Lives. He gave a courteous bow. “I am Simon Barnes, the lucky father to have sired these two beautiful daughters.”
Nine Lives decided to be surly. He retorted with, “And I am not in the mood to chat with you. Not about your daughters or any other topic.”
“Don’t be rude,” Helen scolded.
“I can’t help it. He deserves a good pummeling, and don’t you dare pretend he doesn’t.” Nine Lives squeezed her hand, not concerned if Becky or her father observed the affectionate gesture. “I’ll check in with you in a bit. I only just arrived, and I have a thousand tasks to accomplish.”
“What tasks?” She scowled, but he was already walking out the door. She called, “Wait a minute! What are you planning? I’m in charge here.”
He snickered. “Are you? That’s not what I hear.”
“I am in charge—as much as anybody. You should seek my permission before you bluster about and bark commands.”
“We’ll discuss it this evening,” he said. “I’ll join you for supper. Robert and his sons will dine with us too, so be sure the cook knows about the extra guests. I take it there is still a cook?”
“Yes, there’s a cook.”
Then he was gone.
She was anxious to yank him back, to ask him where he was headed and what he intended. He was awfully comfortable, as if he’d made himself at home. Was he staying on? For how long? To do what?
She hadn’t forgotten how, on Tenerife, he’d claimed to be Hayden Henley. Was he pursuing that ridiculous scheme? Would Helen be swept into the middle of it? Of course she would, so it would utterly ruin the safe haven she’d found for herself—and for Becky. Just from contemplating the drama he might stir, she felt sick to her stomach.
What about her father prancing in as if all was fine? He’d been specifically banished by Desdemona, so Helen couldn’t persuade herself that his presence was all right. He was even more of a danger to her than Nine Lives in her being able to remain in her sanctuary.
Simon watched Nine Lives stomp out. “He seemed pleasant. Well, not really.”
He laughed jovially, and she gaped at him.
What now? What next?
The prior decade, he’d brought her nothing but trouble and scandal. It followed him like a cloud. Yet she’d finally landed in a quiet place where she’d assumed she could pass the coming years with no surprises or difficulties. She wished a hole would open in the floor so she could drop into it and sneak away.
“Where have you been, Simon?” she demanded.
When she was vexed with him, she used his Christian name—in the same irate tone her mother had used it. It was her method of informing him she was very angry.
“It’s a long story, my darling girl. May I have a hug first?”
“Yes, you may, but then, you’d better start at the beginning.”
“And I’m parched from my travels. Have you any ale in this decrepit mansion?”
“We have ale,” Helen sullenly said.
He gave her a tight hug, and she hugged him back. She was glad to see him, glad to learn he was hale and unharmed, but she couldn’t imagine what calamities might be approaching.
As he drew away, Becky was lurking behind him. She was bristling with alarm, but with resignation too.
They were his daughters. There was no escaping that fact.
* * * *
Hayden stood in the driveway in front of the manor. He kicked at a pile of leaves that no one had bothered to rake away. Feeling livid and heartsick, he stared out at the empty fields. Around the corner, he could see the park, the once-manicured gardens overgrown, the flowers gone to seed.
The view down the lane toward the main road was probably the most depressing. It was lined with fruit trees that had provided a pretty canopy, but now, the trees were untended and mostly dead. No fruit would be harvested that autumn, that was for sure.
The entire property was in a grave state of deterioration. His cousin, Jasper, had let it fall to pieces and hadn’t cared about what had been lost. How could it be repaired? How much money would it cost?
He’d rapidly strolled through the house, searching for Helen, which had furnished him with the opportunity to verify that just a few servants were employed. He hadn’t recognized a single one. Becky had mentioned that the old retainers had left, that Jasper never paid their wages and they’d all gradually quit.
He hadn’t believed her, but on witnessing the shocking scene, he had to admit that he was a dreamer and a fool.
In his grueling decade away, when he’d been enslaved and indentured and forced to labor in the most trying of conditions, he’d soothed himself with visions of Middlebury and how it had looked the last time he’d visited.
It had been the Christmas before the duel. He’d been finished with his studies by then and spreading his wings as a gentleman in town. He’d started to gamble and revel with dissolute companions and doxies.
Almost against his will, he’d heeded his mother’s request that he spend the holiday with his family. His sisters had all come from school, and he’d enjoyed a perfect week with all of them.
When he’d been suffering so terribly on foreign shores, he’d close his eyes and recall Middlebury as it had been during that peaceful sojourn. But while he’d been fantasizing and reminiscing, naught had remained the same.
It seemed as if he’d staggered into an alien land where everything was vaguely similar, but in a rundown, ramshackle way. He was so disoriented he felt dizzy and ill. He was home, but wasn’t home. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to think?
After that lovely Christmas, he hadn’t seen his sisters again. He’d been at death’s door from the duel, and his parents had whisked him out of the country without informing them of what had happened, without giving them a chance to say goodbye.
Where were they? Why hadn’t they intervened in Jasper’s neglect? Why hadn’t they insisted he shape up and act as his station demanded?
The absurd notion flitted by, and he shook his head. His sisters had still been girls when he’d set all their tragedies in motion. Once Jasper had inherited, they would have had no role in how the estate was managed.
To add insult to injury, Helen was in residence, and she was cousin to Jasper’s wife, Desdemona. He was astonished to have stumbled on her, grateful to have stumbled on her, but he didn’t want her at Middlebury! Then again, he didn’t want her to ever leave.
Her father, the notorious Vicar Barnes, was present too—a further complication he hadn’t sought and didn’t need.
He was completely overwhelmed.
On the trip to England, he and Robert had endlessly debated how to announce his return. Robert had urged Hayden to bluster in in a very public manner, but Hayden had felt sorry for Jasper and what he was about to lose. He’d decided to quietly appear, to investigate the situation and discover how matters stood.
But on observing the extent of Jasper’s neglect, Hayden wasn’t about to skulk in the shadows. He’d arrived. He was back with a vengeance. He would seize what was his, and Jasper had better watch out.
As he was fretting and stewing, Tom hurried up. He, Will, and Robert had proceeded on to the stables to tend the horses and find a spot to bunk down while they devised a plan of action. Hayden had left them to it, being eager to speak to Helen and not able to delay a single second.
“Father sent me to fetch you,” Tom explained. “He said you should come quick. He has to show you something.”
“Will it irk me more than I already have been?”
“Most likely.”
Hayden marched off, Tom tagging behind. He approached the stable doors as Robert exited, his fury evident.
“What’s wrong?” Hayden murmured.
Robert nodded to the building. “Go inside and take a peek at what passes for servants on this despicable property.”
“Guard my back,” he said as he went in.
“I always do, but I don’t believe you’ll require any assistance with this pathetic lot.”
It was the middle of the afternoon, and there were eight men sitting in a circle, playing cards and drinking brandy from a crystal decanter that must have been pilfered from the manor. They were wagering, betting silverware and candlesticks that had to have also been pilfered from the manor. Had they stolen every item that wasn’t nailed down?
There were a few horses out in the pasture, but their stalls hadn’t been mucked out in ages. The smell was rank, the whole place disgusting.
“Hello, mate,” one of them said, and the others grunted various greetings.
“I’m not your mate,” Hayden replied. “Stand up when you address me.”
The man glared at him, then scoffed. “I don’t think I will.”
Hayden kicked him very hard. “Get up.”
“Who are you? The bloody King of England.”
“Near enough,” Hayden retorted.
Still, the idiot didn’t rise, and Hayden reached down, grabbed him by his shirt, and dragged him up.
There were frowns and grumblings from the others, then outright gasps as Hayden tossed the man away as if he weighed no more than a feather.
“I am Hayden Henley,” he told them.
They simply gaped as if the name meant nothing to them, and it probably didn’t. They weren’t from Middlebury. Their ancestors hadn’t served the Henley family for centuries.
“Well, if you’re determined to be a prick, Hayden Henley,” one said, “you can just sod off.”
Another added, “You’ve interfered with a perfectly good card game.”
A third complained, “You have some nerve, butting in and being an ass.”
“All of you are fired,” Hayden declared.
He was met with shocked utterances: “What!” and “You can’t do that!” and “You have no authority here!”
There were more frowns and anxious shifting.
“You have five minutes to get off my property,” Hayden decreed.
The oaf he’d tossed away had the audacity to crawl to his feet and strut over.
“Mr. Henley, you should—”
Hayden whipped around so they were nose to nose. “It’s Lord Middlebury to you.”
“What are you? Demented? Everyone knows Jasper Henley is Lord Middlebury.”
Hayden pulled out a pistol, and he set it on the man’s forehead. The dunce tried to lurch away, but Hayden clasped him by the neck and held on tight.
“Five minutes.” He kept his focus on where his pistol was aimed. “Robert, do you have your timepiece on you?”
“Yes.”
“Time them. At the end, if they are still on the premises, I will turn them over to the magistrate and have them prosecuted for theft and trespassing.”
“What are you up to, Henley?” one of them whined.
“It’s Lord Middlebury!” Hayden bellowed so loudly they all blanched. “Five minutes, Robert. Starting now.”
More protests erupted: “But…but…where are we to go?” and “We work here!” and “You can’t kick us out!”
“Five minutes,” Hayden repeated.
They glanced at each other, then one of them mumbled, “Bugger this! He’s a bloody lunatic.”
He slid away, then another followed and another and another. The place quickly emptied as they rushed up to the loft where they slept at night. He could hear them dashing about, snatching up belongings, stuffing them into bags. Then they were tromping down, running out of the building and down the lane.
Hayden lowered his pistol and stepped away from the miscreant he’d been holding.
“What’s your pleasure?” Hayden asked him. “Will you leave too? Or shall I shoot you where you stand for stealing from my family?”
“I didn’t steal nothin’!” the cretin sullenly groused.
“It will be your word against mine, and I doubt—if I murder you—that anyone will notice. Who would question me over the likes of you?”
“You can’t just…just…murder a fellow.”
“Yes, I can. I’ve done it all over the world, so I can certainly do it in my own yard.”
The prick wanted to argue, wanted to object, and perhaps even to fight over the eviction, but he assessed Hayden’s superior size and wrath, his myriad of weapons, and Robert hovering at Hayden’s back.
He slinked away, then raced up the stairs to collect his things. Hayden stoically waited, and it was coming up on five minutes when the man flitted down and left.
Once he crept out, Robert snorted with amusement. “Welcome home, Lord Middlebury.”
“Sweet Jesu!” Hayden muttered. “What a disaster.”
“In all your dreams while you were away, could you ever have imagined it quite like this?”
“No.”
“What fire shall we tamp out next?”
“We have to rid ourselves of all those who’ve been skimming and thieving. I won’t have them here another second.”
“Shall we go into the house and chase away all the slovenly housemaids who’ve been harassing Miss Barnes?”
“I’m happy to do that,” Hayden agreed. “I want a clean slate.”
Robert called to his boys and put them to work shoveling out the stalls. Then he and Hayden proceeded to the manor.
“Will Miss Barnes be upset if you throw everyone out?” Robert asked.
“It doesn’t matter. None of these people can stay.”
“You can’t have a mansion with no servants. She’ll need some help.”
“I’ll send a request to the village. I’ll find some of our prior retainers and lure them back.”
“You might have to pay the wages they’re owed in order to convince them.”
“I have the funds, and it will be money well spent.” Then Hayden inquired, “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“The indomitable Vicar Barnes has arrived from parts unknown. He strolled into the kitchen, bold as brass, when I was talking to Helen.”
“I’ll be damned. Where’s he been all this time?”
“I can’t guess. He seemed like a wily character, and I didn’t have the patience to chat with him about it.”
Robert laughed. “Let me get this straight. You thought you’d ride in for a poignant homecoming. Instead, your cousin, Jasper, is a worthless sluggard who’s destroyed all you held dear. Your estate is ruined. Your servants are sloths and criminals. Your sisters have fled, and you have no idea where they are. Helen Barnes is in residence—with her sister and her father—even though she’s the one woman you swore you didn’t care about and never planned to see again. Have I forgotten anything?”
“I’m sure you must have left something out.”
“I say it again, Lord Middlebury. Welcome home. Are you glad to be here?”
“Not yet.”
Hayden bounded up the grand stairs, eager for a few more heads to roll.
* * * *
Helen peeked up and down the hall to be certain she was unobserved, then she snuck into Jasper’s bedchamber and shut the door. It was as good a hiding place as any.
The manor was huge, with dozens of bedchambers and literally hundreds of parlors in various sizes that were used for various purposes. In many ways, it was like a castle, the sort of abode where a king would have felt comfortable.
Well, he’d have felt comfortable if there had been a cadre of servants to keep it all running smoothly.
She’d fed her father and had dawdled a bit, pretending she was delighted to see him, but she wasn’t ready to be regaled with his tales as to why he’d urged them to sail to Tenerife, why he’d vanished, and where he’d been since then.
She’d traveled to Middlebury with the best of intentions. She’d tried to exert some authority over the servants, had tried to muddle through without any help. Suddenly, she was drowning in dilemmas.
She didn’t want any part of whatever scheme Nine Lives was hatching. Nor could she bear to be sucked back into her father’s life. She’d had enough!
During his painful escapades when she’d been a dutiful and obedient daughter, she’d often wondered if Simon wasn’t a tad deranged. His behavior in the Canary Islands proved that he probably was.
What if she hadn’t met Nine Lives on Tenerife? What if he hadn’t rescued her? What then? She couldn’t imagine what might have happened to her and her sister.
She wouldn’t loaf at Middlebury while catastrophe festered. She wouldn’t let Nine Lives or her father pester her. What if Nine Lives was really Hayden Henley as he’d claimed? What if a miracle had occurred and he was back from the dead?
He’d been very clear on Tenerife that he would marry very high. Would she tarry at his ancestral home, trudging around as his housekeeper and greeting his new bride when he carried her in the door?
No! She simply couldn’t do it.
She went over to Jasper’s desk and sat down, having to first tidy his mess. He never paid his bills and the drawers were stuffed with demand notices from creditors. Many of them had fallen out onto the floor and were scattered haphazardly.
She picked them up and was arranging them when one of them caught her eye. It wasn’t a bill, but a wedding invitation. A female relative, Abigail Henley, was marrying a man named Alexander Wallace. Helen wasn’t positive, but she thought Abigail was one of the prior earl’s daughters, so she would be Hayden Henley’s sister.
Jasper and Desdemona had been invited to the wedding. There was a letter enclosed too, where Abigail Henley pleaded with Jasper to walk her down the aisle.
She tossed them aside, then she pulled out a clean sheet of paper, dipped a quill in the ink jar, and wrote a letter to her childhood friend, Evangeline Etherton. They’d gone to school together back in the day when Helen’s father had been gainfully employed and had had the money for her to be educated. They’d always kept in touch.
The walls of the world Helen had built for herself at Middlebury were about to start crumbling, and she was determined to escape and not be buried in the rubble.
Evangeline had wed an aristocrat and was Lady Run. Her husband was rich, and he’d bought the school they’d attended and had given it to her as a gift. She was the owner and—the previous year—when Helen’s situation had been very dire, Evangeline had offered her a teaching position.
By now, the post would have been filled, but she wrote to inquire anyway. She advised Evangeline that she was still in trouble and still searching for a job.
She finished the humiliating missive, then she pulled out a second sheet and penned a very stern letter to Jasper, apprising him that there was a man on the premises who’d moved in and was claiming to be Hayden Henley. She insisted he come to Middlebury with all due speed to see for himself.
She had no idea where to send it, but she’d begin with his town house in London. Supposedly, it was shuttered, but perhaps he’d opened it again. She made three copies of the letter and figured she’d send them to his gambling clubs too. Hopefully, he’d receive one of them before too much time had passed.
She could have ignored the whole debacle, but she knew—without a doubt—that however the disaster played out, she’d be blamed in some fashion.
She sealed the envelopes, then she hid them in her skirt and headed into the hall. As she approached the stairs, her sister was shouting for her, and she marched to the landing and peered to the lower floor where Becky was hovering and bellowing.
“Honestly, Becky,” she scolded, “what’s wrong? You’re hollering like a lunatic.”
“You won’t believe what happened.”
Helen sighed. “Yes, I will. What is it?”
“Nine Lives fired all the men out in the stables.”
“He what?”
“He fired them and chased them off the property. He drew a pistol and gave them five minutes to grab their belongings.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, and guess what else?”
“What?” She braced, almost as if a blow was imminent.
“He fired all the maids too. Except for Cook. He asked me if she was any good, and I told him she was, so he let her stay.”
“He fired the maids?”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“He doesn’t have any authority to fire people!”
“He’s announced he’s Hayden Henley. He’s bragging about it out loud.”
“He is mad as a hatter.”
“Yes, probably, but we can’t stop him from committing any insane act, and it’s chaos in the kitchen. The maids can’t decide if they should obey him and leave or what. At least he didn’t pull his pistol on any of the women. Can you come down and help me?”
Helen bristled. Could the day possibly get any worse? “Yes, I’ll be right there. And if you bump into Nine Lives—”
“He swears he’s Lord Middlebury.”
“I’m not calling him Middlebury. If you see him before I arrive, tell him to desist with his nonsense until I can speak with him.”
“Who could make him? Not me, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll handle it,” Helen muttered, even as she wondered how she ever would.
The letters to Jasper were crinkling in her pocket, reminding her to mail them immediately. It was a Henley calamity, and she wasn’t even a Henley. They could deal with their own problems. Jasper could clean up his own mess.
She was simply the housekeeper and an unpaid one at that.