She tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. Minding the books was one of the countless small ways in which she attempted to earn her keep. But the hour of reckoning drew near. Given that all her acts were performed anonymously, what worth did she have in the eyes of others? A woman who was rarely glimpsed could scarcely expect her efforts to be acknowledged. She sighed.
A life of seclusion had done well for her these past years, giving her the time she needed to make peace with her grief and find solace in solitude.
In fact, she quite preferred to be alone. Sheenjoyedbeing Lord Banfield’s unsung woman of numbers, a secretary so secret even the earl himself had no clue. Shelikedbeing mistaken for one of the many castle ghosts when she helped cook or clean or ironed a bit of laundry. And when the day was done, she loved quiet evenings curled up with a book by the light of the library fireplace.
After all this time, she finally felt like she had a home again. Like there was somewhere she belonged.
She paused outside her chamber door and decided to turn instead toward the earl’s sick quarters. Lord Banfield might not remember his great-niece still resided on the castle grounds, but Rebecca often stood in the shadowed corridor with her back to the wall, praying for his swift recovery.
As she neared her usual haunt, the earl’s door flung open and a horror-stricken chambermaid staggered out with her hands clapped over her pallid face.
“Mary, what is it?” Rebecca asked, although a pit was already forming in her stomach. She feared the worst. Nonetheless, Rebecca reached a calming hand toward the maid. “Are you all right?”
“Milord is…dead,” Mary gasped. “I hope his spirit is not trapped here with the others.”
The disconsolate maid ran off down the hall before Rebecca could react.
Not that there was any comfort she was in a position to offer. The castle servants all had contracts. Steady wages. Letters of recommendation.
Rebecca had nothing.
Two men strode out of the sickroom. She recognized them at once. The pale, gaunt man on the right was Mr. Timothy Hunt, the earl’s solicitor, who had spent several days by the earl’s sickbed, helping him refine his last will and testament.
The dark-haired, middle-aged man on the left was Mr. Allan Hambly, the heir apparent. No, not the heir… the new Earl of Banfield. As of this moment, Allan Hambly was now lord of the castle—and the new master of Rebecca’s fate.
Both men stopped short when they saw her.
“Who is this?” the new Lord Banfield asked.
The solicitor’s brow furrowed, as if he had almost recognized Rebecca’s face, but couldn’t quite place her.
Very well. She straightened her spine. This was bound to happen sooner or later. Might as well get on with it.
“I am Miss Rebecca Bond,” she said quietly. “The late earl was my great-uncle.”
A befuddled pause stretched along the dark corridor.
“You don’t mean…Agnes’sdaughter?” Lord Banfield asked in surprise.
She nodded shyly. He remembered! Rather, he’d remembered her mother. “I am your niece.”
“But what the devil are you doinghere?” the new earl demanded in obvious bafflement. “Banfield’s only just passed. We haven’t even addressed the announcements, let alone sent for family.”
“I—I live here,” Rebecca admitted. The pit had returned to her stomach.
She wouldnotbe hurt that her mother’s brother had completely forgotten her after the death of her parents. Heirs were busy being important. She did not want his attention.
She merely wished to be left alone in the castle.
“Livehere?” Lord Banfield spluttered. “You can’tlivehere. I am already responsible for five daughters and a wife, which are more than enough females for any man to contend with. I cannot possibly take on another.”
“You don’t need to ‘take me on,’” Rebecca explained earnestly. This was the opening she’d needed! “I am long used to tidying after myself, and I shan’t trouble you in the slightest. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Won’t even—” He burst into laughter. “Why, that’s no life for a lady, and everyone knows it. What you need is a husband, girl. The sooner, the better. Mr. Hunt will read the bequests on the first of November, after which my daughters will expect me to direct my full attention to their dowries and trousseaus. You must be wed by then. It’s the only fair solution.”
Rebecca’s mouth fell open in horror. Wed within a month? The onlyfairsolution? It wasn’t any sort of solution at all! Not only was there no one she’d care to wed—well…not anymore—there were certainly no gentlemen interested in marrying a bookish orphan without a penny to her name.
“The will,” she gasped. There had to be another way. “Perhaps you needn’t worry about my wellbeing at all. Lord Banfield—”
