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Chapter Five
If Chastity thought the clothes she’d borrowed from her lady’s maid were uncomfortable, the uniform at the earl’s house was even worse. The cap didn’t fit her properly and she’d pinned it in with at least a dozen pins that tugged at her sculp, giving her a faint, pulsing headache. The fabric lay heavily and despite the stone building offering respite for the balmy day, her skin felt clammy beneath the two layers. She longed for thin muslin gowns.
At least it created an additional reason to find out what had happened to Mr. Harper, she supposed, though the most urgent reason remained poor Eleanor. Hardly anyone had called upon them recently and though neither Eleanor or Demeter missed house calls, it only set them all on edge and reminded Eleanor of the vicious rumors circulating. Rumors that were getting worse too. If this continued, she might be inclined to agree with Lord Kendall, that indeed Society was a pox.
She forced her attention to Mrs. Cooke. The housekeeper’s sympathetic attitude had faded when Chastity returned to the house. She imagined the housekeeper did not appreciate Lord Kendall insisting on her employment and she tried not to think what the housekeeper might imagine was the reason behind the insistence. She intended to prove herself to the housekeeper, no less to keep suspicion at bay. Lord Kendall made it clear she would be gone should someone suspect there was something untoward about her position here. With any luck, her shadowing of Lucy these past two days would help her in her role.
“You will be expected to be up well before his lordship. He rises by six.”
“So early?” Chastity blurted and then regretted it when Mrs. Cooke set her with a raised brow and a stern look.
“Indeed. He keeps country hours, even in London.”
She suppressed a shudder. The last time she had seen six in the morning was at a ball near the end of the Season when she danced the entire night and returned home with the start of the new day. To say she did not enjoy mornings was an understatement. Of course, she anticipated having to work long hours but it had been a lot easier to imagine when it had simply been in theory. Why could the man not be one of these lazy rakes who lounged in bed until the afternoon?
“This is his lordship’s study.” Mrs. Cooke gestured to a closed door ahead. “His lordship spends much of his day in there when he is in London. You shall be expected to keep it clean.”
“Of course.”
She eyed the closed door. Was he in there now? He would be reading ledgers or looking at accounts and likely scowling at them, much as he did her. Not even the best return on his investments could make him smile, she wagered. What a shame she had to work with such a sourpuss.
The sooner she found out what really happened, the sooner she never had to set eyes on the man again. She’d managed to avoid him for her ten years in Society, she reckoned she could do it again.
“His lordship shall likely return to the country soon. He rarely spends more than a few days in town.”
Mrs. Cook led her down the hallway past a large collection of paintings. Most were landscapes, the sort that did not even draw one’s eye. Much of the house appeared like that. The furnishings were expensive once upon a time but were out of fashion. The house reminded her of some of the country escapes of the gentlemen of London who preferred to devote their coin to keeping their London homes fashionable. It seemed Lord Kendall felt differently.
“Has his lordship said when he shall return?” she asked.
He certainly had not informed her he would be leaving and had been quite firm about wanting to know her every move. Well, he would know some but not others. For example, she would not be admitting that she had been investigating mysteries for many years with her mother and her sisters. She could imagine the smirk now.
“Not yet but it shall be any day soon.” Mrs. Cooke opened the door to a parlor room.
Sheets were slung over the furniture and the shutters remained closed. Chastity spied hints of elegant wooden legs and even a piano. She was going to miss her own piano.
“Does his lordship not like London?”
Mrs. Cooke shut the door abruptly. “You need not worry about that room,” she said tersely. “In fact, I am not certain there is enough work for you at all.” The housekeeper folded her arms and eyed Chastity. “I am not certain what you said to His Lordship but I will not see him taken advantage of. He is a good man.”
She wanted to laugh aloud. She did not doubt Mrs. Cooke thought him to be the best of men, but thus far he had ruined a perfectly good slipper, refused to apologize, and mocked her idea of disguising herself as a servant.
Though, she had to admit, he had at least agreed begrudgingly to her plan. And he seemed concerned over the death of his servant. So perhaps there might be a tiny ounce of goodness in him, but no doubt buried deep, deep, deep down.
“I did not say anything, Mrs. Cooke.” She affected an innocent expression. “But I am grateful for the work and I shall work hard,” she vowed.
On both the investigation and her new role as a maid. But Mrs. Cooke did not need to know that, especially as it seemed any softness the housekeeper had toward her was gone now she had been forced to hire Chastity. She would have to be cautious—it would not do for the housekeeper to suspect something between them. If the woman watched her closely, she would have no chance at finding out what was happening in Mr. Harper’s life.
With any luck, the earl would return to wherever it was he had come from before long and she could continue her investigation unhindered by his dark presence.
Mrs. Cooke straightened her shoulders when the door to the study opened. Chastity twisted and found herself holding her breath as the earl emerged. She’d already noticed the beginnings of stubble upon his chin the other day but now it had turned into a thick shadow, covering his chin and jawline. It made him appear all the more dark and brooding, especially when combined with the lack of a neckcloth and slightly open shirt, revealing a ‘v’ of lightly tanned flesh.
Chastity swallowed.
He approached and she cast her gaze down. She wanted to meet his gaze, to remind him he could not intimidate her as he no doubt did with everyone else, but she feared giving herself away if she looked at him. She did not wish the housekeeper to see any familiarity between them.
Not that there really was any. Goodness, they hardly knew each other. Two disagreements and one hastily hatched plan hardly counted as an acquaintance let alone anything else. But Mrs. Cooke might think otherwise, and that made her cheeks heat.
Purely for the reason she did not want the housekeeper to think her a harlot of some kind, of course.
