Chapter Nineteen

‘Ah, Mrs Hardwicke.’

Mr Brown’s sharp voice startled her as she stepped out of her office some hours later. Rebecca nearly jumped out of her skin, but composed herself in a second, and smiled.

‘If I may have a word?’

‘Yes, of course. Good morning, Mr Brown,’ Rebecca sighed.

The butler looked like he was on a serious mission, and she would have preferred to deal with whatever it was after breakfast—but, given his expression, that was not an option.

What terrible news awaits me now...?

‘Should we adjourn to my office?’

‘No need, Mrs Hardwicke. No need,’ he said, surveying her in his usual unnerving manner. ‘I have just come from His Lordship. It seems we are to have guests. The Marquess of Clairborne, an old school friend.’

‘Oh, how delightful!’ Rebecca exclaimed, with what she thought was convincing enthusiasm, considering her exhaustion. ‘How many, and when do we expect them?’

‘The Marquess and another gentleman are to arrive overmorrow, according to the note which came this morning. I am sure His Lordship will wish to discuss arrangements with you, but I thought it best we make some preparations without delay.’

‘Yes, an excellent idea, Mr Brown. We have so little time.’

‘Particularly regarding service at mealtimes.’

‘Yes, it would be best to not be seen wanting.’ Rebecca smiled again, and Mr Brown cocked his head, as if he’d been expecting a different reaction to the news altogether. ‘I will speak to His Lordship about trying to hire more staff in the village, but I doubt any will come. I think, if you and Gregory serve, Lizzie and I can bring everything up from the kitchens. That shouldn’t be too unseemly...’

‘Indeed, Mrs Hardwicke. Shall we discuss this further over breakfast? With the rest of the staff?’

‘Yes, I would be grateful for their thoughts—and some coffee.’

With a nod, Mr Brown turned, and led the way to the servants’ hall. Rebecca sensed he was still very much aware of her, still gauging her reactions. She understood then that he knew something had passed between her and Liam. How, or how much, mattered little.

The Marquess, an old school friend...

The old butler had, in his effortlessly subtle yet obvious manner, emphasised that information so that the significance of the visit was clear.

They’ve come to welcome him back.

The Marquess would be the first of many who belonged to Liam’s old life, to his future. People who belonged to the same society Liam did, no matter how hard either of them tried to forget. Liam was not Liam. He was the Earl of Thornhallow. As such, he would take his place among them, do what was expected.

Whatever had been between them both, was over. The time had indeed come for the world to be righted. And Mr Brown had sought to prepare her, to help her avoid any surprise or discomfiture when Liam told her the news.

She was immensely grateful, despite the wave of shame that washed over her at the realisation that he knew—or suspected, at the very least—the nature of her relationship with their lord. Though there had been no judgement in his manner, only a strange sort of concern. He had sought to, discreetly and kindly, prepare her for the inevitable future, remind her of her place, and the reality that came with it. He’d granted her time, to ensure she was nothing less than professional when facing the others. When facing Liam.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, passing him as he held the door for her.

A nod, and it was as though nothing had passed between them. They both took their places at the table, and as Mrs Murray served them breakfast, discussed the news and arrangements to be made with the rest of the staff.

Rebecca was like an automaton, going through the motions as she had countless times before when advised of guests’ imminent arrivals, concealing her emotions beneath a mask of professional collectedness. Later, she would take a moment to reconcile herself with the notion that whatever she and Liam had shared, whatever they’d become, was now officially at an end.

Chin up, you daft moppet. You will be a model of grace and dignity if it’s the last thing you do.

It was her own folly that had brought her to this, her own choices which now cut through her like knives. No one would see how much it hurt. Not now, not ever. She had crossed so many boundaries, allowed herself to behave in a fashion so improper already... That was quite enough. No one would know. No one would see.

Least of all Liam.

Once the staff had finished their breakfast, and all their preparations had been set in motion, Rebecca retired to her office. She allowed herself a moment of wallowing, allowed herself to feel the pain which took her breath away, and threatened to stop her heart.

When the bell she’d been expecting rang out shrill and sobering, she wiped away the escaped tears, smoothed her hair and skirts, and made for the study.

Liam stood as he had countless times before at the windows in his study, hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of a lord surveying his domain. Yet again he stared unseeing at the white, glittering landscape before him. Yet again his thoughts were affixed somewhere else. On the door behind him. On who he waited for.

Rebecca.

Absent-mindedly, he fiddled with the cuff of his jacket, desperately attempting to find the right combination of words. Still, he was no further than he’d been when he’d learned of his friend’s imminent arrival. When he’d realised he would have to tell Rebecca.

He wished he could regret all that had passed between them. Wished he could hate, curse himself—and her—for having succumbed to temptation. But he could not. The only person he could find it within himself to curse was Henry Spencer, Marquess of Clairborne. For he was the one breaching the world he and Rebecca had created. The home they had created. Spencer, and the world beyond these walls, were destroying this beautiful place they had made. This haven.

Deep down, Liam had known this day would come—but not so soon.

And not like this.

He hadn’t had enough time with her. Though something inside him whispered that he would never have enough time with her. Not in a thousand lifetimes.

Damn you, Spencer.

As much as he looked forward to seeing the best, and perhaps only, friend he’d had before leaving England, this visit was so much more than a simple reunion. It was the beginning of his reintroduction into the society he’d forsaken. The first steps into life as an earl. A life he wanted not one whit.

And likely Spencer’s mother, the Dowager Marchioness, had also precipitated her son’s escapade, determined as she was to see Liam joined to her daughter. Had he not been so disgusted by her obvious husband-hunting, he might have admired her for it. He’d been in the country for a little over three months, had avoided any social gathering or locale which might indicate he was in want of a wife, and yet here she was, sending her son as a harbinger of the future he wanted nothing to do with.

Had Spencer given him any more than two days’ warning, he would have found a way to deny him. He would have made it clear this was the very last thing he wanted. But with not only Spencer, but another gentleman arriving overmorrow, he would be forced to welcome them.

He could only pray it would be a short visit, only hope they would be off on their merry way before Spencer could even think to do his mother’s bidding, and set the stage for Liam’s reintroduction to his sister as well as society. Even if he had been in search of a wife, he would certainly not have looked to the chits society bred for that purpose. He would want someone to match him. A partner. Someone with whom he could share everything, be everything he was.

Someone like Rebecca.

No. That way lay only anguish, disappointment, destruction for them both. Stories like theirs did not have happy endings. No matter how much he may wish it were possible.

If I were free... When I am free—Focus, man! She’ll be here soon. What am I to say?

They were expecting guests. A friend of his. She would know what that meant, and...hate him. But she would hate him just as much if he presumed too much, and tried to explain. Tried to tell her that he wanted none of it, wanted only what they’d had, if only for a little longer. That he wanted more.

His plan...

She will hate you for that, too.

And presuming to say any of that would break their unspoken pact, the fragile balance. Presuming that she did not know her place—nor his—would be an insult. He knew her well enough now to understand that.

It did not stop the fact that he wanted to yell and scream his displeasure. To promise her that he wanted no part of this. To beg her to believe that he would never cause her pain—if indeed the news could hurt her as much as it had him. He liked to think it would, that what they had, meant as much to her as it did him.

And then he would tell her that all he wanted was time with her. It always came back to that.

‘Come in,’ he said, his heart sinking at the sound of the knock.

He heard her confident steps approaching, then stop by his desk, and he found he could not face her.

‘We are expecting guests, Mrs Hardwicke.’

Rebecca. My—

‘Yes, my lord. Mr Brown has already seen fit to advise me,’ she said simply.

Liam turned, not bothering to hide his surprise.

‘Two gentlemen arriving overmorrow.’

Liam nodded slowly, stunned by her coolness. He had expected any reaction but this—wanted any reaction but this.

‘Excellent,’ she continued. ‘We’ve already begun preparations. I thought to give the gentlemen the Blue and Yellow Rooms in the West Wing. Mr Brown will be going to the village to see if he can convince some extra hands to come, though I suspect we will have to make do as we are. He will also be putting in Mrs Murray’s orders, so if you could advise how long the guests will be staying?’

‘I...I don’t know. I hope to see to it that it isn’t long,’ Liam managed, after realising a question had been asked of him, his mind still reeling.

‘We shall plan for a week, then, and proceed from there,’ Rebecca said. ‘The Marquess is presumably coming with a valet, so I do not believe we will be stretched too thinly. It isn’t ideal, and I apologise, for I know it will look quite unseemly for us to be so few. Nonetheless, I hope this suits, my lord. Do advise if I’ve missed anything, or if there are any further arrangements to be made.’

‘Nothing shakes you, does it, Rebecca?’ Liam asked bitterly after a moment. He thought he saw her wince slightly, but a moment later she was as collected as before.

‘How imperturbable you are.’

‘Do you know what makes an excellent servant, my lord?’ she asked.

‘No. Do enlighten me.’

‘An excellent servant anticipates their master’s needs. Knows what to do, how to fulfil their desires even before they themselves are aware of them. I am an excellent servant, my lord.’

‘Be that as it may. You don’t have to...’ Liam groaned, his frustration growing. ‘None of this bothers you? You feel nothing?’ he demanded finally, unable to rein in his own emotions any longer. ‘Nothing at all?’

‘Cast me as cold, and unfeeling, my lord, if that is your wish,’ she bit back. ‘But know that I am neither. What I am is acutely aware of my duty. To this house, to you and most importantly to myself.’

‘And nothing will prevent you from doing it?’

‘No, my lord. Now, if there is nothing else?’

‘You have everything in hand, it seems, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he said, turning back to the window, unable to bear the sight of her any longer, lest he give way to the urge to rush over and shake her from her damned composure. ‘I shall not detain you from your duty.’

He listened to her retreating footsteps, heard them pause momentarily before the door was opened and shut again.

Liam knew he should be jubilant. Any other man would leap for joy at the realisation he would face no anger, no tears, no pleas. Any other man would laugh with relief at the prospect he would face no consequences from the unholy relationship. That he was free. But Liam felt only hurt. He was not free. He would never be free of her. Though she was apparently of him.

Things between them had always been more than simple. More than master and servant. He had returned to Thornhallow to break the hold the house had upon him, and instead he’d entangled himself in a far more perilous way.

I suppose I should thank you, Thomas...

Liam suspected the old butler had had more than just preparedness in mind when he’d warned Rebecca of their guests. That little act of underhandedness saved him from delivering the news himself. Saved him from making an utter and complete fool of himself, debasing himself beyond reparation in the face of his housekeeper. The damned old butler had subtly found a way to set everything back to its proper place.

I should be grateful, but I regret that you denied me a glimpse past her otherwise impenetrable armour...

A ride. That was what he needed to clear his mind. Fresh air—that would do the trick. The snow was nothing he and Orpheus couldn’t handle.

Abandoning any hope of work for the day, Liam strode out of the study, grabbed his coat, scarf and hat before Gregory even realised he was there, and marched out to the stables.

Damn you, Spencer. Damn you, Rebecca. And damn this house.