Page 90 of Desperate Proposals
“At my last visit, his lordship had expounded at length upon the merits of stilt-walking.” Absolute rubbish, but Evelyn had mentioned the baron had fancied stilts for a time. It was as good an excuse as any.
“Stilts! Yes, I recall that period,” the housekeeper replied warily, her body visibly stiffening at the memory.
Marcus surreptitiously glanced about the kitchen. It was large, stone-built, and dark. Only a few maids were about, chopping vegetables or sweeping up. He marked several doors, all of which were closed. Two wide, arched hallways stood at opposite ends of the room.
“Well,” he said, turning a wide smile upon the housekeeper, “his lordship generously offered me his, er, stilts, should I choose to pursue the pastime. Wright, he said, would be able to assist me.”
“Oh—of course.” The housekeeper glanced away for a moment. When she met Marcus’s eyes again, she was the picture of professionalism. “Would you prefer to wait within?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Marcus said, waving her off. “I’ll pull up a chair down here.” He reached for a worn wooden stool that stood flush against the wall.
The housekeeper stared at him as if he were an unnatural creature, then nodded.
“Janie?” she said sharply. “Come with me, if you will.”
One of the maids straightened up and set her broom aside, and they both departed briskly through the archway on the right. Marcus looked to the identical archway on the left. The servants’ quarters must be within.
The remaining maid’s chopping slowed, finally coming to a stop. She looked up.
Marcus grinned at her.
Unmoved, the girl said nothing, and returned to her work. Not very promising, but perhaps he could speak with her if his search turned up nothing. After sitting in silence for a minute or so, he cleared his throat. The girl looked up again, this time with a slight annoyance.
When Marcus did not speak, she raised her eyebrows.
“Sir?” Her voice sounded younger than she looked, but perhaps even more irritated.
“I’m sorry, but I find myself a bit parched… if it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”
Uncertainty lit upon the girl’s brow, but she paused her chopping and wiped her hands on her apron before heading for a massive sideboard where an assortment of earthenware mugs hung from hooks.
“Er…” Marcus swallowed, hating himself for inconveniencing her, but determined to clear her from the room. “But I think I might prefer something a bit stronger, if possible.”
The girl stared at him for a moment, then nodded wordlessly. She left quickly, no doubt desperate to hand him off to someone else better equipped to deal with problematic gentlemen and, more importantly, someone possessing a key to the manor’s liquor.
Marcus waited several moments to make sure no one else appeared. Excellent. He hadn’t expected to empty the room so handily. He stood up and crossed the kitchen, opening the first door. Dry goods lined the shelves within. He shut the door and went to the next one. Linens. The third was locked; a butler’s pantry, no doubt. Marcus gave the handle a good shake, in case someone—or two someones—were ensconced within. The final door was also locked, and he gave it the same treatment. Nothing.
He paused to think, his eyes scanning the now empty kitchen until they fell once more upon the arched entryway. It was dark, betraying nothing about what lay beyond. The next step, naturally, would be to search the servants’ quarters, but he felt uneasy snooping about.
Marcus blew out a sigh, wishing he’d asked Evelyn to tour the lowermost parts of the manor all those weeks ago. Of course, there was no reason for it to have seemed important at the time.
Evelyn. She’d all but sacrificed herself for the sake of her niece and sister-in-law. He’d once inadvertently accused her of being heartless; how far from the truth that was. Marcus squared his shoulders and set forth through the dimly lit archway.
He had only ventured a few steps when the sound of a door opening rang out. Someone had entered the kitchen from outside. Quietly, he moved further into the darkness, shielding himself from view. He waited, his mind sketching out possible plans of action as he listened to footsteps moving slowly about.
Finally, a familiar voice called out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Hello? Robert? Sarah?” Then,with a bit more trepidation, “Wright?”
It was Evelyn.
Marcus’s heart tightened. Despite the circumstances, he smiled. He emerged from the shadows and returned to the kitchen, with no attempt to disguise his presence.
Evelyn turned about at the sound of his approach, her dirt-smudged cloak spinning in a wide arc behind her.
“Oh,” she breathed. “You’re here. I didn’t think you’d be—”
