A Lady's Honor Read online

Emma’s house was not the loving place it had once been, and perhaps being estranged from her own family did not make Phoebe the perfect choice to correct things. Still, she was determined to create a safe place for little Elizabeth even if that meant removing the child. As she entered the first guest room, she prayed that would not be necessary. Emma would not want Markus to be left all alone. She shook off the dismal notion.

  Chapter 2

  No. 18

  An Everton lady will see to the welfare of any child before anything else.

  —The Everton Companion

  Rules of Conduct

  Certain his heart was breaking all over again, Markus knew he should keep holding Elizabeth, but he couldn’t bear it. He turned her toward the desk.

  She slapped her chubby little hands on the sturdy oak.

  “Your momma bought me this desk as a wedding gift.”

  A moment passed, and then she turned and looked up at him before examining the desk again.

  The knot in his chest tightened. His gut twisted. The day his sweet Emma had the monstrous piece delivered flooded back to him. She’d been so proud of the gift and cried when she realized it was too big for the room. Markus had assured her that he loved it and it was the perfect size. She had known he lied, but it didn’t matter. He’d cherished the eyesore from the first day. Now it only served as a reminder of all he’d lost. Each week his secretary stacked papers on it, and on his rare visits Markus ignored the mess.

  Phoebe Hallsmith was right, damn her. Emma would be ashamed of him.

  Elizabeth patted his cheek and her green eyes glistened.

  “I know. It is far too big, but she loved me and it was a gift.” Her tiny fingers, soft in his hand, ripped his soul out. It was too much.

  A knock at the door startled them both.

  Mrs. Donnelly peeked in. “I thought the little miss might need to take a nap, my lord?”

  Watching Elizabeth rub her face, he nodded. “I suppose we have had a trying morning.”

  Elizabeth toddled across the room, only looking back once, took Mrs. Donnelly’s hand, and left.

  It would be normal to feel loss, but Markus flooded with relief as the pain in his chest eased. Opening his drawer to drown his feelings with brandy only reminded him of the mess he’d made. He took out a piece of foolscap. He didn’t need help and would write to Miles Hallsmith telling him to keep his sister at home where she belonged. That girl should be married and running her own house by now. Slamming the drawer closed, he rose.

  First to find another bottle. Sure he had some in the cellar, he left his study, determined to complete his mission.

  * * * *

  Afternoon sun poured into his study and glared off the desk. The last Markus remembered he’d cursed Phoebe Hallsmith after downing half a bottle of brandy. Most of the day was lost to that bottle, but at least he’d not thought of his poor Emma in that time.

  The house must have been on fire to cause the commotion clanging down the halls. Markus held the side of his head to keep his skull from splitting. The grandfather clock on the west wall read two o’clock. He must have drunk more than he thought to sleep so long.

  Elizabeth’s high-pitched shriek forced him upright and sent the room spinning. He sighed and pulled the cord for Watson.

  The butler entered with a ridiculous grin spread across his normally dour face. “You called, my lord?”

  “What on earth has gotten into you, Watson?”

  Straightening, Watson wiped all expression from his face. “Nothing, my lord. It is only that Miss Hallsmith and Lady Chervil are in the foyer and it has been rather lively. The carriage with their luggage has arrived. They each have a maid, of course, and Everton’s sent a footman and driver, who are assisting the transition. It is almost like old times. Of course, the footman and carriage will leave when the ladies are properly settled.”

  “Why would she bring her own footman?”

  “I assume for protection on the roads, my lord. However, since you fired all of ours, it’s a lucky circumstance.”

  Head aching, stomach churning, he had no patience for more of Phoebe Hallsmith’s antics. “I did not ask your opinion, Watson.”

  “Did you need something, my lord?”

  Markus grabbed a stack of papers from the desk and threw them at Watson. They rained down all over the room but none hit the butler, who watched without remark or expression. “I need silence.”

  Watson raised an eyebrow. “Miss Hallsmith wishes an immediate meeting with you, my lord.”

  Why couldn’t everyone leave him in peace? “A cup of coffee and some toast would be nice, Watson.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Watson stepped out of the room and closed the door.

  Shouting and the clunking of trunks resounded through the walls. Elizabeth’s laughter mingled with the cacophony. He jotted a quick note to Miles about his brutish sister and getting her taken away. Standing, he resolved to tell her to leave. This was still his house, and his mother had no right to send that woman to upset things. The foyer loomed chaotic. Two men in unfamiliar gray livery carried bags and trunks up the steps at the constant order of a plump, gray-haired woman in a floral day dress and white cap. Standing on the third step brought her to the shoulders of the footmen before they started the climb.

  Phoebe waved her straw bonnet about and scolded him from across the marble floor. “This lack of staff on your part is very inconvenient, my lord. I cannot keep Everton’s footman or driver. We have brought our ladies’ maids, but more than that was impossible beyond the initial move.”

  “This is my house, Miss Hallsmith. You were not invited and might consider that when criticizing.” There, he had set her straight. He was in charge here and no one would usurp his authority.

  “You did not invite us?” The woman on the steps trudged down and crossed to him.

  He’d have been exaggerating if he said she was five feet tall. “No, I did not.”

  “Phoebe, what is the meaning of this?” A wiry gray hair escaped her loose bun, and she flicked it off her cheek several times, all without success. She propped her fists on her hips and a deep frown creased her etched face.

  Phoebe scurried over. “The Countess of Castlereagh entered into the contract to assist here at Rosefield.”

  She looked from Phoebe to him. “You said he needed help. I assumed that meant he wanted our help. This is very out of the ordinary. I much prefer to be welcomed on my assignments.”

  Waving the comment off, Phoebe sighed. “I only said that, as a close friend of his lordship’s wife, it was my responsibility to help. His mother indicated he was at the end of his wits and would fall into an even graver situation if no one helped. No one implied that he was in favor of the prospect.”

  Elbows jutting out at her sides, Lady Chervil squinted at Phoebe while shaking her head. “Once again, you have manipulated the facts, Phoebe.”

  “No more than you would have, if you found yourself in such a position.” Phoebe’s smile was at once wicked and sweet.

  Markus’s heart skipped a beat or two, followed by a flood of guilt. He fisted his hands and pushed aside the stupidity.

  A childish giggle tumbled from Honoria. “So true, so true. Well you had better do the honors, sweet girl.”

  All the silliness fled Phoebe’s expression as she folded her hands in front of her. As demure in appearance as any debutante, she nodded once. “My lord, may I introduce Lady Honoria Chervil. She is a dowager who gives her time to the Everton Domestic Society in instances where it would be inappropriate for one of the ladies to go alone. Honoria, Markus Flammel, Viscount of Devonrose.”

  Honoria dipped into a pretty curtsy, leaving Markus no choice but to bow. “I apologize that you have come all this way at such great inconvenience, but as I told Miss Hallsmith, I need no help here at Rosefield.”

  Her fists ret
urned to her hips and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why have you no servants?”

  Becca, Katy, Mrs. Donnelly, and Watson all stared at him. He pointed to them. “I have servants.”

  Rolling her eyes, Phoebe said, “Four. You have four servants for this entire estate.”

  He tried to think beyond the fog of past inebriation, but only hazy moments filtered through. Some of the staff had been at Rosefield since before he had inherited the estate. He wouldn’t have let them go. “That cannot be right.”

  Watson said, “I guess it is five if you include Duck.”

  A new bout of annoyance flashed through him but his aching head took precedence. He’d kill for a cup of coffee. Trying to rub the pain away, he remembered the argument he had with the overbearing stable-master. “Becca, go and get me a cup of coffee.”

  She appeared as harried as he felt. Her dark brown hair stuck out in wild curls around her face. Wide-eyed, she scurried off toward the kitchens.

  Elizabeth peeked out from behind Mrs. Donnelly’s skirts. Fear etched in her tiny features, the laughter he’d heard from his study a distant memory. Tears dampened her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped her nose on the voluminous skirts before retreating behind their safety.

  Somehow, he had become his father.

  The entire household feared him. Worse than that, his own daughter shied from him, afraid he might fly off at her. Maybe the meddlesome girl was right. He hated that notion. Brushing aside what he didn’t know, he focused on what he did. “I know I fired Duck. Why is he still here?”

  “He refused to leave the animals with no one to tend them.” Watson raised an eyebrow, but said no more.

  “At least someone around here as some sense,” Phoebe said.

  “Are you saying that codger has been on my property, tending my livestock, without pay?” It wasn’t possible. Why would anyone do such a thing?

  Watson nodded. “For the past six months, my lord.”

  His valet would know the answers and dispel all this nonsense. “Where is Blakely? He will set this all right.”

  “I believe he is now valet to Mr. Tolsbury in Shropshire, my lord.”

  Hopeful, he asked, “He quit me?”

  Eyebrow still raised, Watson said, “If memory serves, you told him he was a nefarious cheat and a black-hearted thief before you physically tossed him from the house.”

  A hazy memory of the scene prodded into Markus’s mind. He rubbed his temple and clenched his shaking hand. A drink would steady that shake. The bottle he’d found in the cellar still had a few swallows left. All he had to do was step back into his study and shut the door, and he could make all of this go away. Closing his eyes did not change anything. Not his aching head, not the chaos that took over his home, and not the fact that Emma was dead. Continuing to drink himself sick wouldn’t change the last, either. “Ladies, please join me in the study.” He backed away and let Honoria and Phoebe precede him inside.

  They stood amongst the scattered documents on the rug and waited for him to round his desk.

  “Please forgive the mess. Be seated. I suppose I have put my estate in danger and should be thankful you have come.” The words stung like hot lead in his gut.

  Honoria sashayed into a chair by the window. She smiled and hummed as she stared into the garden.

  Smoothing her pale green skirts, Phoebe sat in the chair across his desk. A warm smile tugged at her full lips. “I do not want or need your gratitude, my lord. I only want to do my job, my friend’s home to be restored to a respectable state, and to be assured her child is cared for in the best way.”

  What could he say? He had failed and now he needed help to pick up the pieces of the mess he’d made. Sitting, he rubbed the back of his head. “What do you need from me?”

  Clearing her throat, she fidgeted. “I hate to be blunt, my lord.”

  Honoria chuckled.

  He wasn’t immune to the irony either. “Please, do your worst, Miss Hallsmith.”

  “Your finances, my lord. Do they permit the hire of a proper household staff?”

  The papers peppering the floor stood as a looming reminder of the loss of at least a year’s revenue. Still, his failing wasn’t permanent. “I shall make good the salaries of a proper staff.”

  She clapped. “I will begin the hiring process tomorrow.”

  Had her skin glowed like that when she was Emma’s friend who visited from time to time? Tiny freckles dotted her cheeks and nose, warming her face. He’d never regarded her as pretty before, but she had grown into her looks and a lovely woman sat before him. “Is that all?”

  “No. Two more things.”

  His stomach churned with hunger. “Only two?” Leaning back, he closed his eyes.

  “You will spend time with Elizabeth every day.”

  It sounded like such a small task, but the idea shot pain to his heart. Little Elizabeth brought the night of Emma’s death back as if it were yesterday. Bringing her into the world had killed his beautiful wife. Emma would not approve of his behavior and she would have gladly offered her life for Elizabeth’s. “If the child wishes to see me, I will not object.”

  She sighed. “Not exactly gushing with adoration, but it is a start.”

  “And the other?”

  She stood, forcing him to rise. “No more drinking, my lord. You will have to deal with your life.”

  The nerve of the woman. No one had the right to speak to him in such a way in his own home. He pounded the desk.

  From the doorway, Becca shrieked and upended the tray. Coffee and toast crashed to the floor in a mess of porcelain and the lovely smelling brew.

  He was doomed to do without coffee and it was his own fault. “Dammit! Who do you think you are?”

  Becca began picking up the mess.

  “Becca, please leave that for now,” Phoebe said. “Lady Chervil, can you give me a moment with his lordship?”

  Becca ran from the room.

  Standing, Honoria narrowed her gaze on Markus. “My wrath can be quite daunting, my lord.”

  “Of this I am certain, Madam.”

  With a nod, she left and closed the door behind her.

  “You have put your home and family in jeopardy with your wasteful drinking, Markus. Emma loved you and that is the only reason I am willing to help you. If it was not for her faith in you, I would have let someone else come here to sort you out. They likely would have taken one look at the scene this morning and taken Elizabeth from this house. Then what? Do you want your mother raising your daughter? I suppose we could write to your sister and see if she will take her. Is that what you want?”

  Dory would take the child and she and Thomas Wheel would raise her as their own. His chest contracted until he couldn’t breathe. “I do not wish to send Elizabeth away. Emma would not like it.”

  “Good.” She drew a deep breath. “I do not care if you waste away or drink yourself to death, but Emma would and so would Elizabeth. It disgusts me what you have done to yourself, but I will help you under the condition that you stop drinking and make efforts to put your life back together. Everton’s has very strict rules and I have broken several of them with my directness, but I think it important that you and I have an understanding. No more drink.”

  Everything inside him tightened and seared with unspeakable pain. He sat in the chair next to her. “You ask the impossible. You cannot know what I suffered, what I still suffer.”

  “No. I cannot.” She shook her head and met his gaze. “You have lost more than I can imagine, but it is not an excuse to ruin yourself.”

  “I cannot just get over her and move on. Emma was my life.” He’d taken drink enough to fill the Thames, but loss still gouged at his soul. His heart had contracted to a stone and the damned world kept spinning. The sun kept rising. Night loomed long and painful. People went about their days as if nothing w
as wrong. But something was wrong. Everything was wrong, and still life went on.

  Placing her soft fingers over his, she said, “No one is asking you to. That would be absurd.”

  He looked into the most expressive golden eyes surrounded by long russet lashes. His heart stopped and he had to force breath back into his lungs. “Then what are you asking?”

  “That you learn to go on without her. To live and raise your daughter to remember her mother as the good and kind woman she was. Nothing will ever be the same. I do not think it is supposed to be the same. I cannot compare my grandmother’s death to losing a spouse, but still, there is a hole where she once was. Yet, we must go on and be happy, or would you prefer to leave your daughter with neither mother nor father to raise her?”

  Tears he’d not shed since the funeral rolled down his cheeks and he was at a loss for how to stop them. A long pull on the bottle in his desk would chase away his pain for a few hours. “I do not know if I can do what you ask.”

  “I know, but if you only take one moment at a time, Markus, I know you can do it. For Elizabeth’s sake, you have to do it.”

  Tugging his hands away from hers, he breathed until his emotions were in check. Fingers fisted, he yearned for the contents of that bottle and the oblivion it would bring him.

  The door creaked open and Elizabeth poked her cherubic face through the crack. Eyes like lonely lakes, she stared across the room, looking for something in him he could not find himself. Her chubby fingers clutched the doorjamb. So much worry in such a little person and all because he was weak. Her mother was gone and her father a monster who showed up only to tear the house down. It was impossible to recognize himself in the shell he’d become.

  “Come in, Elizabeth. Everything is all right.” His voice was rougher and less assured than he’d ever heard it before.

  On sturdy legs, she toddled along the edge of the rug taking the long way around the disheveled room to his desk. At his knee, she stared up, blinking.

  Markus lifted her to his lap and Elizabeth settled against his chest. Her thumb popped into her mouth and her eyes closed. The scent of porridge and clean linen softened his heart as he brushed curls from her rosy cheeks. “Hire the help we need, Miss Hallsmith,” he whispered.