Flametouched Page 13

  “It’s just the servants and I here today, Mr. Harper,” she said. He refused to meet her eye, always finding somewhere else to look. “Please don’t hesitate to ask Mr. Garvis or any of the servants should you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Lady Hightower,” he said before taking a seat at the table. “I shall begin immediately.”

  She nodded and left, pleased that this first encounter had passed without trial. He was uncomfortable, to be sure, but she felt more at ease. This little ordeal would pass smoothly, he would leave, and she would never again have to bother with troublesome ledgers or Davon Carver.

  And so she thought until her mother, Dalia, Countess of Brighton, and her sister, Elaine, arrived unannounced an hour later. No sooner had Dalia discovered that Mr. David Harper, Underclerk to the Queen, was there than she wished to go sit in the drawing room at once, despite Arianne’s attempts to steer her elsewhere.

  For the next hour, Arianne fought to keep her composure. Her mother had little care for the feelings of those of a lower station than herself, and she persisted in throwing their visitor dissatisfied looks and cutting comments at every opportunity.

  The Countess of Brighton was a severe, proud woman, and Arianne remembered fearing her disdainful looks and haughty criticism when she still lived at home. Dalia had aged greatly in the last few years, her blonde hair turning silver and the cracks around the frown lines of her mouth deepening. The cutting comments were still the same, however, though perhaps rendered more sour by a long fermentation in a lifetime of ill will.

  As for Baron Carver, he sat at the table piled high with the stacks of ledgers, seemingly unperturbed by Dalia’s comments. Arianne kept waiting for him to snap in a fit of rage, but as yet he seemed the most controlled person in the room.

  “He’s so brown!” Dalia lamented. “He doesn’t fit the room at all! It’s as if some woodsman leaned a big woolly log in the chair and simply left.”

  Elaine, Arianne’s youngest sister of sixteen years, giggled at the comment. Arianne shot her a disapproving look, wondering what their guest must think of them all. All of Arianne’s plans to show Davon Carver the genteel and civilized nature of Bellshire nobility were crumbling with every rude remark from the Countess’s mouth.

  The Queen had said that Davon had shunned the society of the Bellshire court, and surely the Countess of Brighton was helping him feel that he had been justified in that decision. Arianne’s quick look to the desk revealed Baron Carver’s amused half grin as he flipped a page and continued his calculations.

  Her mother was correct on one point. The drawing room was done in white and gold and glass, and Baron Carver’s dark complexion and dull, earth-colored clothing were a bit out of place. But to Arianne’s mind he appeared more as woolly bear in field of snow rather than a forgotten tree trunk in a manor house.

  “Really, Mother,” Arianne admonished loudly so Baron Carver could hear. “Try to be courteous to my house guests, will you?” She fanned herself briskly, feeling a bit warm with the exertion of keeping herself controlled.

  Dalia simply harrumphed and turned her attention back to her tea. Elaine rose and wandered by the windows, gazing dreamily outside before stealing behind Baron Carver. She kept a safe distance but squinted in an attempt to get a look at what he was doing. Arianne bit her lip. Would this intrusion be the final provocation that sent Baron Carver into an apoplectic fit?

  The fair haired Elaine had grown up with a vain, self-centered mother and a distant, acerbic father. Unlike her older siblings, Elaine’s nature was much more impressionable and compliant, and Arianne feared her younger sister would develop the unfortunate aloof disdain her parents had tried to cultivate in all their children.

  Baron Carver, apparently realizing he was under watch, smiled and turned toward Elaine. “Do you have a question, Miss?”

  Elaine, surprised by the sudden attention, blushed, but Baron Carver’s warm face worked its soothing effect upon her. Arianne watched with interest, noticing Dalia frowning at the pair. How could Davon be so accommodating and serene after so much nettling from her mother?

  “I don’t mean to intrude…” Elaine said, stepping a little closer.

  “I believe I’m the intruder here, Miss. What is it that you would like to know?”

  Elaine, put at ease by his inviting manner, walked up to the desk and scanned the open ledger for a moment. “This looks like a shopping list,” she commented at last.

  “It is, after a fashion,” Baron Carver explained. “But this is a list made after the shopping is done that shows what was bought here, and what it cost there. You total it all up, and then here you can see how much a nice dinner of fish, ham, briar squash, bread, and wine cost the family. Quite simple, really.”

  “Looks boring to me,” Elaine said.

  “It is dreadfully tedious, dear,” Dalia commented haughtily. “Why don’t you come away and leave Mr. Harper to his dull work.”

  “It is important, Elaine,” Arianne pitched in.

  “Why?” Elaine asked, remaining by Baron Carver’s side. “Why should Mr. Harper care how much you spent on fish?”

  While Arianne searched for a reply, Baron Carver jumped in. “Well, Miss, I was about your age when I had to start doing figures like this, and I learned a very important lesson: money not watched is money wasted. You see, it’s like a boy given a little purse of money to go to town to buy a pair of shoes. Along the way he sees a candy shop. He really likes candy, so he spends two shillings on a fistful of peppermint sticks. Then he sees some boys playing dice and he loses three shillings gambling. Then, being hungry, he stops and spends a shilling for a meal.”

  “So he has spent six shillings,” Elaine reported confidently.

  “Very good, Miss,” Baron Carver praised her. “Now, do you remember why he was in town?”

  “Of course! To buy shoes.”

  “Good,” Baron Carver continued. “Does he have enough money left to buy the shoes?”

  Elaine’s eyes rolled up in thought. “I don’t know. You never said how much he had in his purse.”

  “Correct. And I didn’t say how much the shoes cost, either. And that’s the point. If you don’t know how much you have, and you don’t know what you need, you’ll never know how much you can spend, and one winter you’ll wind up without a good pair of shoes.”

  “But you’ll have peppermint sticks!”

  Baron Carver chuckled, a good-natured sound. “Yes, indeed. That you would have.”

  Elaine turned and leaned against the edge of the desk. “But Mother says we’re rich. Surely all that scratching about is more important for you poorer folk.”

  “Elaine!” Arianne exclaimed, afraid Baron Carver would take offense. But he simply smiled again.

  “Not so, young Miss,” he said. “When you have very little money, you get to know every farthing on a first name basis. It’s the well-to-do folk that can get a little careless at times. They have so much money they think it will never run out, but believe me, it does. The world has invented a lot of ways to try to pry money out of rich people such as you.”

  Dalia leaned forward, eyes stony. “Such as pay for petty underclerks to pointlessly audit ledgers kept by honorable and competent men. Come away, Elaine, this instant. Let’s leave Mr. Harper to his work. The sooner he’s done, the sooner we’ll be rid of him.”

  Arianne winced. She would have to vacate the room and take her mother with her; Baron Carver’s seemingly limitless tolerance for rude behavior had to have an end somewhere, and if any woman could find it, the Countess of Brighton could. He’d probably rather do his work with one leg in a bear trap than with the Countess in the room.

  Elaine pushed herself away from the desk with a sigh, smoothing her light yellow dress. “I wish I had a peppermint stick.”

  “Then you are in luck, Miss,” Baron Carver said brightly, reaching into his coat pocket and producing the desired candy. Elaine squealed indecorously with delight and took the proffered sweet. Sh
e pecked Baron Carver on the cheek, eliciting a shocked gasp from her mother. More interesting to Arianne, however, was the change on Baron Carver’s face. The young girl’s kiss softened his expression and elicited a wistful smile. He quickly cleared his throat and jumped back into his examination of the ledger.

  Arianne had a hard time not staring at him, realizing something for the first time: Baron Carver was, even if by choice, utterly alone. When she and the Queen had reviewed his history together, they had only considered that he had left behind an estate and a hateful wife when he had changed into David Harper. Until now, Arianne hadn’t thought that he had also left behind any relations and any friends he might have had. The Queen had alluded to how society in general had shunned him after his parents’ shocking deaths, and how without guidance or guardian he had lived many years by himself as he fought to recover his good name and his fortune.

  Add to this marrying a woman who wouldn’t spare a glance for him and Arianne began to understand why Elaine’s simple act of gratitude could engender such a profound reaction in the man. Odder still, Arianne considered, was that despite his poor circumstances, he did not seem to pity himself or even act in any way to invite it. While himself a stranger to companionship and affection, he had taken time to answer a young girl’s questions without irritation or impatience despite being the target of abuse the entire morning.

  Could this be the same fiery man who had killed her husband? Was all this humble pleasantness just a part of his disguise? There seemed nothing wild or mad about him at all. No one in the room besides her knew the torturous journey the man sitting in her drawing room had taken. For him to have passed through so much bitterness and to still be so kind made no sense. Surely his warmth had to be some kind of an act, a facade like his beard and glasses to throw people off the scent of who he really was.

  “Are you quite all right, Arianne?” her mother asked.

  Arianne snapped out of her reverie. “Quite all right, I assure you. It must be near lunch. Missa?”

  “Yes, My Lady?”

  “Could you tell Garvis that we’ll take lunch in the dining room presently?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should you like to join us, Mr. Harper?” she asked, hoping he would despite the company. She wanted to get the measure of him.

  “You are very gracious, Lady Hightower,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “but I think I will take my food outside and explore your fine gardens and grounds for a while—if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, please!” Dalia grumbled. “Let us alone for a while.”

  Arianne turned to her mother. “Do not insult Mr. Harper again, Lady Brighton! I will not have the hospitality of my house put into question by my own mother. Missa, please inform the kitchen staff to bring Mr. Harper’s lunch to the gardens.”

  Missa curtsied and left quickly, fleeing the tension thick in the room.

  It took Dalia until they arrived at the dining room before her tongue returned. Arianne steeled herself; if Baron Carver could bear her mother with equanimity, then she would try to imitate him. Fortunately, Dalia’s conversation turned toward lace and furniture, both tried and true topics meant to steer the conversation away from anything that might cause an argument.

  Elaine sat by Arianne’s side, the two of them facing the windows. While they ate a meal of cold ham, bread, and vegetables, Arianne caught sight of Baron Carver and concealed a smile; thinking himself alone and unobserved, his stoop and slight limp had disappeared as he soaked in the early afternoon sun among the blooming violet lilacs. His spectacles had conveniently disappeared, as well.

  “May I be excused, Arianne? Please?” Elaine asked after she had finished.

  “Of course, my dear.”

  To Arianne’s surprise, Elaine appeared outside the windows a short time later, and she approached Baron Carver timidly. He sat on a low wall with his back to them working at something Arianne couldn’t see. He glanced up at her sister’s approach, and in moments the two were talking back and forth. Arianne was thankful Dalia’s back was to them or she would likely have forced Elaine to return inside rather than sully herself in conversation with a commoner.

  “And so,” Dalia said, wiping her mouth with a napkin, “as I was saying, the styles of lace coming out of the south are too plain. It’s as if all their best artisans have died and a troop of amateur hacks have taken over the whole business. Some of the lace I’ve seen is little better than what you might find on a milkmaid’s dress!”

  “Mhmm,” Arianne mumbled to feign attention. Baron Carver was entertaining Elaine with some sort of a wild story by the way he was gesticulating. He pantomimed holding a gun at one point, and Elaine, who stood with her profile to the window, alternated between wide grins and expressions of surprise. Baron Carver had something in his hand that Arianne couldn’t quite make out, and at one point in the story he used it as a prop, inching it slowly toward Elaine’s face.

  “And I was just telling Lady Mullford,” Dalia spouted on, “that I would refuse to buy anything from the southern warehouses until they had quite rectified the situation. Such a lack of taste might do for those wild southern nobles, but we in the north demand more in the way of elegance and craft.”

  “Mhmm.” Whatever Baron Carver had been holding, he had given to Elaine, who had lavished a quick hug upon him before sitting with him on the wall in a most unladylike display. Baron Carver’s large frame dwarfed her thin, short one. His lunch arrived shortly after, and he appeared to launch into more stories while he ate. The sun shone down pleasantly on the green grass and the creeping vines and flowers, and Arianne envied them both a great deal as Dalia continued to punish her with more conversation about clothing.

  “Though I must say,” Dalia continued, “that I did receive the most delightful fabric from Wickershams just the week before I traveled here. Very tight weave, very soft, and the way it falls is just delicious. I had thought to bring you some so you might have a dress sewn for yourself. It’s a nice red and would, I think, go a long way toward attracting a certain Earl’s attention.”

  “Mhmm.”

  “Arianne, dear?”

  “Yes, mother?”

  Dalia shot her a questioning look. “Did you hear what I just said?”

  Arianne focused her attention back on her mother. “About the lace?”

  “No!” Dalia exclaimed. “About the red cloth and the dress to attract a certain Earl’s attention.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. I am a bit distracted this afternoon. I think the certain Earl is already attracted to my money and my estate, so I doubt I need any further device there.”

  “Has he proposed yet?” her mother asked with arched eyebrows. “Are you keeping it a secret?”

  Arianne wiped her mouth and stood. She wasn’t hungry anymore. “He has not, really. Now if you’ll—”

  “I do believe he’s been to see your father this month.”

  Arianne sighed. The marriage made perfect sense in terms of alliances and family connections, but so had her last one. She wasn’t the ignorant girl she was before, and she wasn’t willing to simply go along with her family’s wishes just to satisfy them. Three years as an independent woman taught her to use her judgment to better her own situation as she saw fit, and she wasn’t yet sure how or if the Earl fit into her plans. “Well, that is interesting news, Mum. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on a few things before Mr. Harper returns to work.”

  Arianne had intended on finding Elaine outside, but before Missa could bring her shawl, Elaine met her in the entryway.

  “Look at this, Arianne!” she said excitedly, holding up a figurine the length of an ear of corn. Arianne took it. It was an exquisitely carved likeness of a sabercat, crouched as if to pounce. “He carved it himself! Isn’t it wonderful? He’s seen dire wolves and sabercats and longhorned bison and all kinds of things!”

  Arianne grinned at her sister; Baron Carver couldn’t have given his gift to a more grateful recipient.

  “Is th
at my Elaine?” Dalia’s voice said from somewhere near the dining room.

  Elaine’s face fell. “Can you hide this, Arianne?” she whispered. “Mother would never approve.”

  Arianne grabbed Elaine’s shawl and wrapped the sabercat in it. “I’ll bring it to your room later,” she said with a wink. “And wipe off the back of your dress. It looks like you’ve been sitting in the dirt.”

  The door opened again, and Baron Carver stepped in, removing his hat but reaffixing his useless glasses. He bowed.

  “I’d best keep at the ledgers,” he said, Elaine beaming at him as he walked by. He nearly collided with Dalia as she turned a corner into the entryway, but after a quick bow he escaped her sour look and disappeared in to the house.

  “Shall we return to the drawing room and keep an eye on the underclerk?” Dalia said. “It’s best not to leave low folk alone in a room. You never know what might be missing when you return.”

  Arianne regarded her mother for a moment. She really could be an intolerable beast. “No, mother, I’ve got something else in mind.”

  Chapter 16

  For the rest of the day Arianne thought it best to take her mother and sister into town and leave Baron Carver to concentrate on his work without distraction. They passed the afternoon visiting friends, and at her mother’s insistence, stopped by the dressmaker so she could order a gown for her daughter that would push the Earl’s affections off the fence and into her fertile field.

  Arianne hadn’t worn anything remotely coquettish since her younger days, but Dalia’s instructions were dreadfully utilitarian: “We must cinch the waist and plump the bosom, my dear woman! The dark blue will contrast nicely with her milky skin, and the collar must be wide and onto the shoulder to emphasize her slender neck. Be sure the hem is long enough to cover what it should, but let the ankle be spied when she mounts a carriage or ascends a stair. She’s not getting any younger, and there is a very eligible young man…well you know. The sooner the better. The sooner the better.”