The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

“One cannot believe in God without acknowledging the Devil.” Wilmslow raised his hands. “I was simply going to suggest that your staff keep a diary of their whereabouts. Perhaps one of them ventured to the manor and contracted the illness there. Regardless of what you believe, many think the place is cursed.”

“Then perhaps we are in need of a few extra prayers.” Christian gestured to the hall in a bid to hurry the men along. “And yet they do not appear to have helped these last two years.”

“Have faith, my lord.” Wilmslow rose from the chair. “One must never lose hope. The Lord shall reveal his plan in due course.”

The reverend’s tone held the same pompous air often used by the righteous to cement their status as preaching windbags.

“Ah, Mrs Hibbet,” Christian said as they met the housekeeper in the hall. “Will you show Dr Taylor and Reverend Wilmslow to the servants’ quarters. I’ll be working in my study should there be anything you wish to discuss.”

Dr Taylor turned to him and bowed. “We’ll not trouble you when we leave, my lord. I’ll give Mrs Hibbet the tonic for the new maid.”

Christian inclined his head. “Then I shall say good day to you, gentlemen.”

He returned to the study, closed the door and examined the ledger. The monthly expenditure for his house in Berkeley Square failed to distract his thoughts from his impending visit to Morton Manor. Since Cassandra’s death, he’d avoided the place. Even so, the memory of all that occurred there was not as easy to ignore.

The clock on the mantel chimed once, and he contemplated whether there was time to eat before Rose knocked to say she’d completed the morning chores.

His thoughts wandered.

How would they get to the manor? Would they walk together in silence? Or would she tell him about the family tragedy that left her alone to fend for herself?

Dipping the nib of his pen into the ink pot, he recorded the bills for the last month into the leather-bound book.

Would they ride there together? Would she sit between his thighs with the wind whipping her hair?

The knock on the door pulled him from his fanciful musings.

Mrs Hibbet entered. “Just to let you know that Dr Taylor and Reverend Wilmslow have left. Both Jenny and Ann should be able to resume their duties in a day or two, and David can return to the stables tomorrow.”

“Let them rest until the end of the week.” He wondered if the problem with the continual reinfection stemmed from the servants rushing back to work. “But explain that they must remain confined to their room until we’re certain the illness has passed.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet hovered at his desk, her lips pursed for there was obviously more she wanted to say. “And I … I thought you should know that the children like Rose.”

That was a contradiction. Alice liked most people. Jacob despised everyone.

“Rose has asked if she can tend to them,” Mrs Hibbet continued, “take them for their afternoon walk and sit with them when they do their sums.”

Christian contemplated the request.

“We know nothing about her. By her own admission, she ventured here by mistake.”

All the old fears and doubts resurfaced. Trust was not something he gave freely. After his experience with Mr Watson, the previous warden of the manor, it was not something he gave at all.

“People say I’m a good judge of character.” Mrs Hibbet straightened her shoulders. “And all I see when I look at Rose is a woman with a good heart who wants to please the children.”

“The children cannot afford any more disruption in their lives.”

God damn, he was a hypocrite. He was the one who’d hired one governess after another in the hope one of them would help ease their misery. Oh, he’d made a bloody mess of everything.

“Does that mean you won’t be hiring a replacement for Mrs Booth?”

“No.” The word slipped from his mouth. “You’re right. The children need to spend time with those they know and trust. Rose is a stranger.”

He wasn’t just thinking of the children. For some obscure reason, he didn’t want to frighten Rose away, and Jacob enjoyed testing those paid to care for them.

“Perhaps when we know her a little better,” he added noting the disappointment etched on Mrs Hibbet’s face. “I’m to escort Rose to Morton Manor. It’s only right we inform the housekeeper there of the change in her situation.”

As master of the house, he did not need to explain or justify his actions. But as expected, Mrs Hibbet’s mouth dropped open.