Page 9 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)
“ A pologies, my lord. As much as I have loved working for your household, it is time for me to move on. I will, of course, work until the end of the month and make thorough notes for the person taking over my position. You will not have to worry about anything,” Honoria muttered to herself, rehearsing what she was going to say to Lord Caldwell concerning her resignation.
Yes, that sounded sensible enough, she thought as she walked up the stairs toward his bedchamber. She’d prefer to speak to him in his study, but of course, the one time she needed to talk to him was the only time he wasn’t working.
In fact, she couldn’t even venture to guess what he was doing as inexplicable loud noises were coming out of his bedchamber.
Following the noise, she made her way into his room, and even farther, inside his bathing quarters, her curiosity growing with each step.
Honoria paused outside the tiled room, uncertain whether the grunts and clanking from within meant it was not the best thing to interrupt whatever was going on inside.
She peeked her head in to see Caldwell crouched beneath a large iron frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, shirt slightly rumpled from his efforts, sweat glistening on his forehead. He looked absurdly handsome in that disheveled way—his hair tousled, brow furrowed, completely absorbed in his work. Two footmen hovered nearby, holding a bucket and… were those chains?
Caldwell looked up sharply at her and smiled. How odd.
“Hart!” he called, straightening sharply. “Come see.”
She stepped carefully into the tiled bathing room, her gaze flicking up and down, taking in the strange contraption before her. Buckets, pulleys, and metal rods connected a tin bath over their heads to a basin rooted to the floor. Whatever it was, it bore more resemblance to the well than anything belonging in the bathing room.
“What is this?” she asked.
Caldwell’s mouth tugged into a crooked grin. “A shower bath. A proper one—not the usual sort where you stand there like a fool and have an entire bucket dumped on your head in one go. Wasteful, inelegant, and hardly efficient. You can let go, lads,” he addressed the footmen. “See? It hovers all on its own. Now to fix the pulleys properly, and the shower bath will be done!”
Honoria wasn’t looking at the shower bath anymore. She was drawn to the exuberant earl who had rarely spoken this many words to her in one day, much less in under a minute. “How does it work exactly?”
“See this lever?” The earl pointed to a metal rod. “You pull on this, and the bucket of water empties into the tin container over here.” He gestured upward to what looked like a modified tin bath suspended from the frame, with a thin spout protruding from the bottom. “The water flows through this nozzle in a steady stream. When that’s done, you pull again and the next bucket is poured. Twice the water but spread over time. Enough to lather and rinse without turning the floor into a lake. But do not pull on it now. The lever is too sensitive. It needs tightening up a bit. And the chain carrying the bucket keeps twisting. One pull might just pour water out onto my head.”
Honoria looked down. “And where does the water go?”
“See that pipe coming from the basin? It goes all the way to the south wall and empties into the gutter system.” He sounded pleased with his own ingenuity.
Honoria folded her arms, suppressing a smile. This was not the man who spent their daily meetings grunting over his ledgers or giving orders with curt nods. This man—smudged, flushed, eyes alight—seemed utterly unaware of how animated he’d become.
“Rather ingenious,” she said. She imagined it would cut a bit of time on her part if she could use this instead of a bath late at night. She could even warm her own water, just before finishing her work. But of course, this invention was not meant for her.
“I am hoping this will help with Robbie’s evasiveness when it comes to bathing,” he said, confirming her suspicions. And she’d thought he wasn’t listening to her reports. She should have known better. “Although this particular one is mine. Just to test if it works well. Later, I shall install another one for the children.” He turned back to the pipe and adjusted a bracket. “Hopefully, Robbie will find it more to his taste than a bath. Of course, Elise might come to enjoy it as well—provided she doesn’t find it too unladylike.”
“That will depend on how well it will rinse her hair,” Honoria noted with a smile.
Caldwell huffed out a laugh. “True enough.”
The footman nearest him began to lower a second bucket into place on the pulley system. Caldwell moved quickly to help, adjusting the chain. “See, the chain twists over here, turning the bucket. This should be an easy fix, though.” He turned again toward Honoria, his initial excitement giving way to the question in his eyes. “Did you want something?”
Honoria cleared her throat. “Yes. But I can come back later, when you are not occupied.”
“I can listen and work,” he said, turning back to the pulley mechanism.
“Yes, I am certain you can. But the matter is rather delicate.”
“Oh.” He paused and addressed the footmen. “That will be all, lads. I will call on you if you’re needed further.”
Honoria waited for the footmen to exit as the earl resumed his work. Well, that’s as much attention as she would get from him.
She swallowed hard. “I… I’ve come to speak with you,” she began, her voice thin and unsteady. “About something important.”
Caldwell glanced over his shoulder, distracted. “Did something happen at the modiste? Was my aunt overly forceful? I hope Elise is not too upset—”
“No.” She gave a short, nervous laugh. “No, nothing like that. It’s about me. I’ve decided that I should—well, I feel it’s time I—”
He straightened fully now, eyebrows raised, attention suddenly sharp. “Yes, Hart?”
Honoria took a breath. “I’m giving my notice, my lord.”
“What?” His fingers tightened over the lever, his eyes wild.
“I’ll—”
There was a loud splash.
Apparently, the lever was too sensitive, as his surprised gesture had caused it to move, upending the bucket and sending the water cascading over his head and shoulders. Luckily, the bucket was not full.
He sputtered, blinking through the dripping mess, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his shirt clinging to his chest.
They both stared.
Honoria’s mouth fell open in horror, and then—despite herself—a tiny laugh escaped. She clapped a hand over her lips, but it was too late. Another chuckle escaped, her shoulders shaking.
He looked utterly ridiculous, wide-eyed and dripping like a drenched cat, although his shoulders snugly hugged by his wet shirt, made her mouth dry.
“I’ll get a towel,” Honoria said quickly, nearly tripping over the door frame as she rushed into the adjoining dressing chamber.
When she returned, breathless and flushed, he was still standing in the middle of the bathing room, water pooling at his feet. She offered the towel, avoiding his eyes, lest she burst into laughter again.
He took it with a muttered “Thank you,” and wiped his face, then rubbed it briskly over his damp hair and down his neck.
When he lowered the towel and looked at her, the intensity of his gaze bored through her.
“You can’t leave,” he said simply.
Honoria blinked. “I can’t?” She couldn’t remember a single time in the past three years when he’d looked into her eyes for such a long moment.
“No. Absolutely not.” He stepped toward her. “Is it the wage? Because I can raise it, just say the word.”
“It’s not about money,” she said softly, craning her neck back to hold his gaze.
“Is it the workload, then? I’ll hire more help. How many people do you need?”
She stared at him, stunned by his reaction. His hair wet and tousled, his eyes burning with intensity, the water rendering his shirt at his shoulders semi-transparent, he looked… almost feverish. Wild .
“Then what is it?” he asked. “Why the sudden urge to leave?”
“I… um…” She was the first to break eye contact. Somehow, she hadn’t thought he’d fight her on this. She’d expected quiet indifference, perhaps a nod, a polite thank you for her service. Not this… frantic urgency. Not him , standing there with water drying on his skin, looking at her like she was about to set fire to something precious.
“I have a family member,” she lied, her voice too high as she took a step back, “to look after. M-my grandmother, yes. She’s gotten quite ill.”
“Then bring her here,” he insisted. Honoria looked away, but his hand shot out and caught her sleeve, the heat of his fingers scorching her through her dress. “You can still look after her here. I will pay for the best doctors and nurses to check on her—”
“She’s very old,” Honoria rushed, pulse skittering in her throat. “Too old to move. And she’s… in France.”
There was a pause. He didn’t let go, but looked away, brows pulling tight in thought. “What kind of ailment does she have?”
Unable to come up with a lie, Honoria grimaced. “I don’t know.”
A heartbeat passed between them. His fingers still held her sleeve, and she could feel the tremor in his grip.
He stepped closer—close enough that the heat from his skin cut through the chill in the tiled room, close enough that she felt the breath he exhaled when he spoke.
“Well, if she gets better,” he said, his voice rougher now, “ when she gets better… you will return. Yes?”
Honoria couldn’t speak. Her throat had closed, sealed tight by what felt like a boulder with jagged edges.
“Elise has her season next year,” he continued, the words tumbling out now. “She’ll need your help. Robbie—he listens to you in ways he won’t listen to anyone else. And Rosie…” His voice broke, and Honoria squeezed her eyes shut. What was going on?
She was already on the verge of tears whenever she thought of leaving the children behind. She couldn’t even imagine not seeing them and Lord Caldwell every day. But now, hearing that crack in his voice, seeing the desperation in his eyes, she wondered how she had not crumpled on the floor at his feet.
“Please,” she interrupted in a whisper. “It is difficult enough for me as it is.”
Her words worked like magic—as if breaking the spell and finally making him realize what he’d been doing. He abruptly let go of her sleeve, then swallowed and stepped away, confusion clouding his eyes. “I realize that. I apologize for my actions there—I…” He paused, a frown darkening his features. “Have you told the children yet?”
Honoria didn’t know how he composed himself so quickly; she was unable to do the same. So she just shook her head.
“Do you want me to tell them?”
That made Honoria meet his gaze again. “Please, no. Let me do it in my own time.”
They stood for one long moment, in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Then he finally looked around the room and wiped at his forearms with the towel Honoria had brought him. “I need to clean myself up, excuse me.”
He walked away, leaving Honoria cold and alone in the tiled room.
What had just happened?
* * *
What the devil just happened? Caldwell wondered as he closed the door behind him, locking himself in his dressing room. He peeled his wet shirt off his shoulders and pulled it over his head. What was that overwhelming reaction to his housekeeper’s words?
It was his inability to process change, surely. He loved order and routine. It was similar to a time when the children had just arrived at his house, ruining his perfectly ordered life. Yes, that was it. It was not because he was going to lose Hart in a month. It was his carefully constructed routine that was tumbling down, thus the severe reaction.
He fell into his armchair, feeling completely exhausted. Then what was that persistent ache in the region of his heart?