Blakewood Page 3

  He took the ribbon that Ritchie had tugged from my hair and straightened. “Miss Mason, I believe this is yours?”

  Heat filled my cheeks. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. He’d finished his studies and because it was so cool outside, I didn’t think it would hurt for him to exert a bit of energy.”

  “Run along, Ritchie.” The master instructed, and Ritchie hurried back toward the door.

  “I told you that you wouldn’t catch me.” The boy beamed at me as he passed.

  “He’s becoming quite fond of you.”

  I faced the master as I tried to smooth back my hair. “As I am of him, sir.” When he held the ribbon out for me, I moved forward and gratefully took it. He turned his back and walked to his desk, allowing me a few moments to quickly tie back the hair that had come loose so that I was more presentable.

  “Beatrice has reported his behavior changed. While he still possesses my brother’s mischievous spirit, he’s also doing as he’s told. She reports that many of the household staff have noticed it of him.” He neared the hearth, and I watched him retrieve a pipe from the mantle. As he puffed it to life, he glanced back at me then waved for me to join him.

  “He is a good child.” I studied his profile as he puffed at the piece. His jaw was strong and held up the tell-tale shadows beneath his eyes.

  “He reports to me in the evenings what he has learned. I’m happy with the progress.”

  That filled me with satisfaction. I’d hoped he and Mrs. Loman would be pleased with the work we’d done. Ritchie learned quickly.

  “He is very bright…so bright it is a challenge for me to keep his interest. He becomes bored when I do not engage him with new knowledge.” I smiled when he looked back at me. “Mrs. Loman told me that you wished him prepared so that he can go to school in two years' time. I shall endeavor to make certain he is.”

  “I’m confident you will.” He stared at the fire in the hearth. “I’ve learned that you met with Mister Highcrest last night.”

  The muscles of my stomach tightened. “I came upon him, sir, by accident.” I certainly did not want him to think I’d taken to meeting with the man.

  “Weren’t you told to keep to your room at night?”

  I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Yet this is twice now that you’ve been discovered roaming about.”

  I looked down at my hands. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well?” He waited until I looked up at him. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  I could not tell him without revealing Mildred’s secret. “I’m unaccustomed to being kept confined. My employers in the past cared not where I went during my free hours or what I did. It seems quite unnecessary when, as you say, I am performing the duties I’m paid for.”

  “The rules of this household are not there to confine you, Miss Mason.” He faced me fully. “They are there to protect you.”

  “From what, sir? There is nothing to fear of the dark.”

  For a moment, he only stared at me, and I mentally kicked myself. I shouldn’t have argued. It would have been better to agree with him and vow to mind the rules. But then his expression softened.

  “Take the afternoons then, between meals, to explore as you like but, please, keep to the manor at night. It is your safety I am concerned about.”

  “Safety from what, sir?” I pressed, and his gaze met mine directly.

  “Highcrest is not a gentleman of high morals. It is those like him I mean to shield my staff from—from those that prey upon the weak.”

  His words struck the very core of me, and I could not stop myself. “I am not weak, sir.”

  He blinked. “And prideful as well, I see, but naïve in your youth, and I do not mean it as an insult, but as a compliment to your character.” He puffed at his pipe, speaking around the stem, “There is no such compliment to be made of Highcrest.”

  An urge to defend the man overtook me. “He is different, sir, isn’t he? But I think he is so because he longs for something more. Perhaps between his travels he feels bound or caged here. He’s quite like something wild and, for one accustomed to great adventure, he may behave more oddly because of a nature to rebel against his imprisonment to one place.” I looked away when his gaze met mine. “Of course, you know him better than I, sir, but I cannot imagine you would remain in business with him if he were all bad, just as you would not employ me if you thought me so naïve that I had no mind to think for myself.”

  “You are a clever young woman. Beatrice warned me not to judge you otherwise.” He continued to scrutinize me for several moments. “Run along, Miss Mason. Use the daylight hours to roam around so that you might not feel tempted to wander around in the night.”

  I made my escape, relieved he had not dismissed me on the spot. I found myself drawn back to the library, however, after Ritchie had been put to bed. It was a haunting melody that called me back to the room. Peeking inside, I found Leander Overton at the piano, his long fingers moving over the keys with precision and skill. He sat spine-straight as he played, but the sound that drifted from beneath his fingers was fluid and moved like the sun lowering on the horizon.

  “Is there something you need, Miss Mason?” He called without looking back at me, and I wondered how he’d been aware I was even there. The music ended abruptly, and he swiveled on the bench to stare at me.

  “Forgive me. I thought to borrow a book for the evening. Please do not stop on my account.” But to my disappointment, he rose from the bench.

  “Of course. You may choose whatever book you like.”

  I walked to one section of the bookcase to thumb through the titles. Most were of no interest to me, but told much of the master and his tastes. Political and medical journals, books of science and philosophy; it was obvious that Leander Overton was well educated. When I turned, I glanced behind me and found him leaning against his desk, watching me.

  “Have you any suggestions?”

  He plucked a small book from the stack on his desk. “Are you familiar with Shakespeare’s sonnets?”

  “I am not, only of his plays,” I admitted.

  He opened the book then handed it to me before moving back to the piano. As his fingers found their way to the instrument once more, it was softly as he began to recite from the page opened to me.

  “How oft when thou, my music, music play’st,

  Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds

  With thy sweet fingers when though gently sway’st

  The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

  Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,

  To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

  Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap.

  At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand.”

  His fingers stilled as he continued, his deep, yet soft voice giving up the last lines of the sonnet.

  “To be so tickled they would change their state

  And situation with those dancing chips,

  O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,

  Making dead wood more blest than living lips,

  Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

  Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.”

  “That is beautiful,” I whispered.

  “More so when you understand that it is one of the sonnets he wrote for a woman with whom he was having an affair.” He turned on the bench to face me. “Have you ever entertained an affair, Miss Mason?”

  The question was blunt, to the point, and embarrassing. “No, sir.” He nodded as if he’d already known the answer. “Have you?”

  That gaze darted up to my face, and a small curl found the corner of his lips. “I suppose I have had my share.” His honesty surprised me.

  “Did you love any of them as Shakespeare loved his mistress?” I pressed. “Or is that why you are not yet wed?” I found it odd that there was no lady of Blakewood. With most large households, there was a responsibility for the eldest to marry quickly.

&nb
sp; “You have a curious nature.” He stood and walked back toward the desk. “I am not wed because I’ve not yet proposed to anyone.”

  “You are laughing at me. I was warned often as a child to keep my questions to myself. I do not honestly mean to pry.”

  “Ask your questions. I prefer someone willing to seek the truth rather than engage in assumptions and the spreading of false rumors.” He sat behind the desk, swiveled his chair, and faced me as if readying for an inquisition.

  “Who are the women that occupy this manor?” I asked after taking some time to consider what question I wanted answered. For a moment, he just stared at me without saying anything. Then a soft chuckle rumbled up from his chest.

  “I underestimated you again and hope you are not offended if I choose not to answer.” He stood from the chair, moving to lean against the desk again, crossing his arms. “Ask another.”

  “You may ask me freely of my personal life, but I may not ask you of yours? I already know that they are employed by you and that they live here in the house. I also know they are allowed to attend parties held here at Blakewood. And I saw with my own eyes that Mister Highcrest visits the room of at least one of them. Certainly the rest cannot be so secret.”

  “I will tell you if you tell me what you thought of the sonnet,” he bartered.

  I found it strange that the master of such a household would care what a governess thought, that he would speak so easily as if we were equals, but appreciated the conversation nonetheless. “He sounds jealous of even the piano having her attention, but content to share her with her passion. I have never felt jealousy nor so deep a love.”

  “But you know passion,” he argued. “This woman surely knew her lover’s jealousy, but she would not give up her passion for music. He must accept her and her passions if he would remain with her.”

  “Such acceptance seems quite the one-sided relationship.” I shook my head. “He sacrifices for her by accepting her passion. She sacrifices nothing. It is my understanding that if one loves another, he or she, would sacrifice anything to keep love’s embrace.”

  “Your understanding,” he repeated.

  “I try to avoid relationships that resemble that of love. As you say, love is complicated. I prefer a simple life of service and security.”

  His face broke with a wide smile. “Some say love cannot be avoided.”

  “And some say that one can love anyone just as a child shall become attached to any stray that wanders onto the step.” I smiled.

  “That is not a very romantic point of view.”

  “No, it’s a sensible one, however, that has kept me always with employment.” I shrugged. “I’ve had some take interest in me and have entertained their attentions from time to time, but in the end, there was no emotion strong enough to make me waver from my sensibilities. I suppose you will accuse me of naivety again?”

  He pushed off from the desk and stepped closer. As he moved nearer, I had an odd sense of feeling smaller. It was as if he could, by will, fill the entire space of a room. His gaze swept over my face as he stopped in front of me.

  “I have a feeling you shall do miserably in avoiding love,” he said softly. “Your eyes tell no lies, and you speak your mind without reserve. Were you born to different circumstances with wealth, you might prove a very dangerous woman.”

  “I was born to different circumstances, but when my father died, so did my opportunities. I think it has made me of stronger mind than weaker. While he warned I was willful and my curiosity clouded my judgment, I believe that by being without him these years I have learned to take pride in my work and to be independent. Had my fortune been different, I might have wed and weakened.”

  He gazed at me so intently that I laughed nervously. “My eyes tell no lies, but yours reveal nothing. Now, I have told you what I think of the sonnet. Will you tell me now of the women in the west wing?”

  His laugh came suddenly, filling the room in warm waves. My breath caught as I stared at the way it softened his features and carved faint lines around his mouth and in the corners of his eyes.

  “I’d hoped to divert you from that topic, but I see now that you are as relentless as you are curious.”

  I watched him move to pour himself a glass of dark liquor. He glanced back at me and held up a glass, but I shook my head and declined. The only time I’d drank wine I woke up with a throbbing head the next morning.

  “What have you heard that they are?”

  “Intimate companions,” I answered as he turned. He lifted the glass and watched me over the rim as he drank several swallows. “They are paid to be available to you and Mister Highcrest.”

  “That is true.”

  I blinked. I had expected him to deny what Mildred had said. And while I imagined Mister Highcrest would entertain such women, I felt slight disappointment that Leander Overton would as well, though it seemed silly to feel such. I barely knew him as an employer much less as a man. I supposed a man had needs. He’d admitted to having mistresses. Employing women for the same reasons could not be judged any harsher.

  It could have as easily been he that I came upon that first night, I realized. Heat speared through me as I tried to imagine him naked in the dark corridor. What kind of man would he be with a woman? Mister Highcrest had kissed me the night before as if accustomed to taking what he wanted, but I could not imagine Leander Overton being of the same nature.

  “That is the very reason I didn’t want to tell you. Your eyes reveal too much of what you think.” He took another drink from his glass. “Take your book and retire. I’ve kept you too long.”

  But I didn’t want to leave. “Mildred said you kept odd hours.”

  “Mildred Simpers needs a little more of her father’s discipline and less of her mother’s gossiping tongue,” he murmured. “I suspected she was the source of your questions.”

  “Then it isn’t true?”

  “It’s true enough.” He set his glass aside. “Now, there are things I must do. Will you excuse me?” He didn’t wait for me to answer, but strode from the room, closing the door soundly behind him. He was a strange man. Handsome and mysterious, but when he laughed, it was as if someone lit a bright candle inside of him. Oh, God. I realized it that very moment. I was attracted to Leander Overton. It hit me the stomach with nervous energy, and I nearly fled from the room and upstairs to my own.

  Chapter Five

  Of the staff, I interacted with very few. The driver, George Delaney, was friendly to me, Mrs. Loman, of course, Mildred, and the cook, Mister Flynn. I’d met no other members of the Overton family outside of the master, Ritchie, and Mister Highcrest. While it was a large household, it felt very secluded so I cherished the moments I had to engage with others. The rest of the time, I was alone.

  On Saturday, Mrs. Loman kept Ritchie with her so I found I’d an entire day to myself. Despite the chill in the air, I set out to explore the grounds. I spent most of the day reading the book I borrowed from the library and then later in the afternoon, counting the many fountains on the property.

  It truly was a beautiful place and already I felt a bond to the estate. Everything there seemed unique and somewhat mysterious. Even the sunsets seemed special. As I watched the one on the horizon of trees, I sat on the concrete base of one of the fountains and thought about Mister Highcrest.

  I’d not encountered him in all three days since I’d seen him disappear in the dark after he’d kissed me. It would be a lie to say I was not intrigued by him. While I’d confided to Mildred that I did find Overton attractive, I had not revealed the intimate moment spent with Mister Highcrest.

  During the past week, I’d been warned by nearly everyone to keep clear of him. There seemed to be unified dislike for the man though no one ever had given good reason as to why.

  So deep in my thoughts, I failed to notice that the sunset had ended and now darkness had descended upon the grounds. By the time I did realize and stood, I found, as if summoned by my very thoughts, Mister H
ighcrest standing but a few feet away watching me.

  “Forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”

  “Obviously,” he drawled in that sort of liquid way he spoke. “If we continue to meet like this, others may think we are having an affair.”