Page 35 of Mistress of Misfortune

She stared at him. “I thought a woman had to be first married in order to be so blessed.”

He shook his head. “Children are made by men and women in bed, as we are, and they do not have to be married to be together in that manner.”

She pressed her palms over her eyes. “You must think me a complete simpleton.”

Thorne drew her hands down. “Most young ladies are not informed on such matters until their wedding is imminent. When my own mother was told the night before her ceremony, she claimed she nearly called it off.”

“I would not,” Meredith told him. “If we were to be married…not that I would expect…oh, I am such a turnip-head.”

“You are wondrously sweet.” He smiled a little, until she pulled him on top of her. “Meredith.”

“I have not changed my mind.” She parted her legs to make room for him between them. “I am in love with you, sir. Would you be so kind as to show me all I should know?”

“Very well.” Thorne covered her left breast with his big hand and felt her catch her breath. “We must start by removing the last of our clothing.”

* * *

The scentof flowers woke Lucetta, who opened her eyes to see a bouquet of wildflowers sitting on the table beside her bed. The colors of the last of the autumn blooms glowed in the late afternoon sunlight. That they had been left for her while she had been sleeping did not disturb her as much as whom she believed placed them there.

Somehow Harshad Naveya always knew what she needed to hear. Now, apparently, he sensed what she needed to see. Soon he would be reading her every thought, and she could not bear that.

Lucetta rose and tidied herself before going downstairs. She found the reception room empty, so it seemed that Meredith had gone home. She had only herself to blame for that, but it could not be helped. Now her cousin would be trapped in that aging manor with a mother insisting on her marrying that dunce of a nephew. It seemed utterly ridiculous.

She walked out onto the back terrace, and made her way down the steps to walk along the old garden beds. She knew she should return and check on the preparations for dinner, but the cook likely had that well in hand. She kept walking as she realized that as part of the staff she would be expected to eat in the kitchen with the rest of the servants. She would not mind that; she liked the men.

Lucetta walked until she reached a meadow that had not yet browned, tucked in the midst of an elm grove. She looked around her with some confusion and realized she could no longer see Dredthorne Hall. She had not meant to wander so far from the house. Tired of walking, she sank down onto the grass.

“Miss Branwen?”

She glanced up as Harshad Naveya's graceful form approached. Some of his black curls had escaped his queue, and gleamed like spun onyx on his shoulders. “Mr. Naveya.”

Instead of offering her a hand up he knelt down in the grass before her. His dark gaze shifted to the flowers she held and then returned to her face. “You have been crying.”

Had she? Lucetta touched her cheeks, astonished to find them wet.

“I lost my handkerchief.” She bowed her head. “Thank you for the flowers, Mr. Naveya. They are lovely, but I do not deserve such attention.”

“I thought they would make you smile.” He held out a folded square of colorful cloth. When she did not take it, he added, “It is not soiled, Miss Branwen.”

“I do not doubt that. You are the cleanest man of my acquaintance.” She took it as if it were made of silk, and used it to blot the wetness from her cheeks. “May I call you by your given name while we are alone?”

“You already have before now, Lucetta,” he chided.

“Harshad, you have been very kind to me, and I thank you for it.” Speaking firmly came naturally to her, so she should have no trouble with the rest. “It is unseemly for you and I to be friends. I am the housekeeper, and you are the steward. We must refrain from any future expressions of affection. It is not proper.”

He looked all over her face. “What did your brother say to you to make you troubled and angry?”

Lucetta abruptly got to her feet and stalked away from him.

A hand encircled her wrist and pulled her around to face Harshad. “It was Lord Carlton again. What has this man done now?”

She saw the burning in his eyes, the same that blazed in her heart, and she placed her pale hands on his dark face. “Oh, my dear friend. You mistake my anger. It is for myself. Lord Carlton can do nothing more to anyone. He is dead.”

Lucetta turned to walk back to the hall, but her feet would not obey her. Harshad came to stand beside her, saying nothing at all. Then the words just seemed to spill from her lips.

“It seems that Lady Carlton wrote from Canada to everyone she knew—family, friends, and neighbors—and she informed them of what her husband had done to their son. She also revealed how I helped her escape with the children. The letters arrived just as Lord Carlton returned to London. Everyone knew.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “As soon as he learned he had been exposed, his lordship went home and hung himself.”

Harshad made a soft sound. “You are free now, Lucetta.”