Page 3 of A Housekeeper for the Earl of Drinkwater
“He asked me to marry him,” she said, swallowing rising bile. “Can you imagine?”
Evelyn shuddered, glancing over her shoulder, as though expecting the solicitor to reappear.
“I understand that your family trusted him,” she said. “But I do not. I never have.”
Serena nodded, thinking of his strange smile and burning black eyes.
“Nor do I,” she said.
***
She did not dine that evening. She could not think of food, and she simply wanted the day to end. After a glass of wine, she bade Evelyn good night and retired to her bedchambers. She did not bother undressing for bed. She just collapsed onto her bed, instantly sobbing into her pillow.
She was not surprised when sleep would not come, and the tears would not cease. She still struggled to believe she could truly be in such a bad position, even after seeing the little bit of proof the solicitor had shown her. She and her mother had adored one another, and there had never been anything they could not discuss or share with one another.
And yet, when it came to something so important, the baroness had failed to warn her daughter. Serena was upset, not only because of her current circumstances, but also because, if her mother had told her what was happening sooner, Serena might have been able to help her better manage things. How could the baroness have lacked the courage to tell her the truth about the financial situation?
But more than failing to tell her the truth, she had outright lied to Serena. Not long before she’d died, the baroness had told Serena outright that she would never have to worry about a thing after her death.
She had assured her that the finances were secure and would be so for the rest of Serena’s life. Learning that her mother had lied to her was almost as devastating as the death of the baroness itself.
Whatever had made the baroness lie to her, Serena’s plight remained the same. She still had no clue how she would manage to survive without her family’s fortune.
She would no longer even have a home. She could not even afford to attend the Season to find a husband to pull her out of poverty, so that option was lost to her, as well.
She thought back to Mr. Tate’s proposal, shivering through her sobs. The proposal did promise to solve all her problems, as he was a prominent businessman, and surely, he had plenty of wealth to his name. But there was something about him she just did not trust. Even his smile made her flesh creep, and her stomach knotted when she looked into his black eyes. Being tied to him for the rest of her life was simply out of the question. What, then, was she to do?
Chapter Two
Edward Taylor bounced along the road on horseback, weary and disheartened, and disillusioned by war. The low, rolling green hills of the countryside were beautiful and familiar to him, and he’d known each of the small farms, and their tenants, by name, since his childhood.
The fields were a luscious green, and the flowers dotting the roadside were bright and lovely. The breeze carried their sweet fragrances to his nose, and he felt a small comfort in the familiarity.
And yet, he could not help feeling like a failure. He was a captain in the Hussars, and he had been in the front lines of the fight in France against Bonaparte. He had been proud to serve, and he had planned to remain enlisted for more years yet.
However, he had suffered a serious leg injury when he was shot in the thigh by an enemy rifle, and it had been nothing short of a miracle that he could walk after his recovery. Despite his tall frame and strong build, he would have a terrible limp for the rest of his life. Thus, the Hussars had discharged him from his service.
He had not had the heart to write to his parents to tell them. On the journey home, he’d thought he could mentally prepare himself to give them the news when he got home. But all the trip had done was to give him too much time to dwell in his shame.
He had no idea how he could face his father and mother with the news that he would no longer be serving in the military. And yet, as he approached Chimneys, the family home, all those thoughts fell away, and his heart dropped into his stomach. He pulled his horse to a stop at the entrance to the driveway, his mouth falling open in shock.
The gate separating his family’s country estate from the road was rusted and broken, hanging off its hinges on one side. What he could see of the driveway before it disappeared over the hill leading up to the mansion was overgrown with weeds, nearly invisible beneath the long grass. It was clear it had not been traversed in ages; from the looks of it, not since he had left for battle two years before.
A sense of foreboding began to creep into his bones as he travelled up the overgrown path. The park and surrounding fields of the estate looked much like the driveway, only littered with dead flowers and sickly shrubs, as well. Piles of stone which he knew had used to be statues lay crumbled on the ground, and the fountain in the centre of the grounds was broken into pieces.
But it was the manor itself that finally made Edward realise that something was terribly wrong. Its once white wooden walls were stained with black dirt and green mold.
The wisteria vines, usually kept in check by the gardeners, had taken over large areas of the exterior walls, climbing all the way up to the roof of the five-story mansion. The wooden lattices supporting them were decayed, and he saw that two of the windows upstairs were broken. Edward picked up his pace, spurring his horse into a fast trot toward the stables.
Despite the condition of his family home, he was still caught off guard by how rundown and empty the stables were. Half the roof was sagging, and only one of the stalls still had its door attached. Behind it was an old, frail looking mare that appeared to have not eaten properly in days. And, in front of her, sweeping the floor with a rotten broom, was an ancient stable-hand.
It took Edward a long moment to recognize the old man as Robert Ebbs, the family’sdevoted stable-hand. His face had been taken over by a scraggly gray beard, much as the estate had been overtaken by grass and weeds. Edward could not discern what color the man’s clothes were because they were covered with stains and dirt. Though his breath did not smell of alcohol, his eyes were red and glassy.
Edward stared in shock. If he had been filled with apprehension before, it had just turned into outright panic.
“Robert,” he breathed, struggling to find his voice. “Robert, what has happened?”
The stable hand looked around as though searching for the source of the voice. Edward stood right in front of him, debating on whether he should reach out to the man. He decided against it, lest he’d become blind and truly did not see him.
