Page 42 of The Maid of Fairbourne Hall

The clash of steel striking steel echoed against the garden wall as the two men fenced in the long arcade, hemmed in by its columns.

Hudson retreated, struggling to parry as Nathaniel advanced, driving him back and back, closer to the arcade’s end with every lunge.

Finally the practice tip hit its mark, and Hudson touched his chest in acknowledgment.

“Touché,” he panted.

Nathaniel stepped back, still bouncing gently on his feet to stay loose.

“Good heavens, sir!” Hudson wiped a sleeve across his brow. “What has got in to you this morning? You’re on fire!”

“Determination,” Nathaniel gritted, breathing hard.

“To kill me? What have I done since yesterday to so vex you?”

Nathaniel’s only answer was to raise his blade once more, and the bout resumed.

He advanced, striking again and again. His wrist and fingers began to ache, his thigh muscles to burn from the low stance and grueling pace.

Sweat poured down his face and back, shirtsleeves clinging to damp skin.

He scored another hit, and the men paused to catch their breaths.

Nathaniel shook the sweaty hair back from his brow. Between pants, he said, “Tell me again why you hired the new housemaid?”

Hudson grimaced in surprise. “I told you, sir. To repay her kindness.”

“You said you recognized her.”

“Yes, from London, the night of the fire. When we lost our way.”

“But had you seen her before that?”

“No, sir. Where should I have seen her before?”

Hudson would not have seen her. He was being illogical again. Miss Macy would have been quite a young girl the last time Hudson was in England.

“Never mind.”

“Do you recognize her, sir? From somewhere else, that is?”

“No,” he said. “She reminds me of someone, that’s all.” But God help me if I’m wrong.

Nathaniel muddled his way through morning prayers, trying not to stare at her.

He would not ogle her in front of the other servants.

Not embarrass her or himself. Yet how could he see her more closely?

He supposed he could corner her behind closed doors in one of the bedchambers when she was making beds and doing whatever else maids did to tidy the place, but that might stir rumors.

Rumors which would make it difficult for her to stay, once he assured himself he was mistaken.

Besides, he did not like the thought of sneaking up on her while she worked.

He had done so inadvertently once or twice before and had frightened her half to death.

But what reason could he give Mrs. Budgeon to summon the girl to the library for a private interview?

When the staff was dismissed, he turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Budgeon. I would like a word with the new housemaid, when it’s convenient.”

Mrs. Budgeon looked stricken. “What has she done now? I know I was her biggest critic in the beginning—girl had not a whit of experience. But she has improved. I’m sorry if you are disappointed, sir.”

“Not at all. Nothing of the kind. Mr. Hudson has made me aware of a great kindness she paid us before she came here. It is why Hudson engaged her in the first place. But I have never thanked her myself and wish to do so.”

Mrs. Budgeon hesitated. “I would be happy to pass along any message, sir, if you would rather.”

“Thank you, but I would prefer to do so myself.”

“Very good, sir.” She formed an unconvincing smile and backed away, no doubt believing something unsavory afoot. Well, it could not be helped. He could not tell her why he really wanted to see the new housemaid.

———

Two hours later, he stood in the library, watching the young woman carefully as she entered. She clasped her hands before her and kept her head bowed, not meeting his gaze. Her face, what he could see of it beneath the dark fringe, was quite pale.

She did not speak, and for a moment neither did he. How should he go about this?

She bit her lip, twisting her hands. “You asked to see me, sir?”

Her voice trembled—was it her voice? It was difficult to say with that unfamiliar accent.

“You are not in any trouble, Nora. Do not be uneasy.”

She darted a look up at him. His heart constricted at that flash of her face. Lord, please give me clarity of mind.

“Come closer, please. I mean you no harm.”

Her throat convulsed as she swallowed, but she obeyed, taking three steps forward.

His voice was a low rumble in his ears. “Look at me.”

She hesitated, then slowly lifted her chin.

His throat went dry.

He was either insane, or there stood Margaret Macy—or some long-lost twin—with black hair instead of blond.

Had she dyed it, or was it a wig? She had darkened her brows as well.

His heart began to beat hard—fast and irregular.

He clenched the hand behind his back and forced his expression to remain impassive.

Why was she here? What on earth was she doing?

He thought back to Sterling Benton’s visit.

Something was wrong there. He had sensed it, even as he tried not to allow her disappearance to concern him.

A part of him was relieved at this confirmation that she was alive and well.

Another part of him was suspicious of her motives for coming to Fairbourne Hall.

Perhaps it had been some ploy to ensnare Lewis into marriage.

She wouldn’t be the first girl to try. But, he argued with himself, Lewis had returned to London and she remained.

How had he not recognized her before? He remembered what Sterling Benton had said about women being more discerning than men.

He also recalled several times in the past when he had commented on how alike two people were in appearance and Helen had scoffed at him.

“Their hair is similar, and perhaps their stature, but otherwise they look nothing alike.” Or, “How can you confuse Lydia Thompson with Kitty Hawkins? Yes, they are both ginger-haired girls, but beyond that they are completely different. One is freckled, the other pale. One has blue eyes, the other green. And one is clever and the other insipid!” Yet both he and Lewis continued to confuse the two.

He wondered if Helen had recognized Miss Macy. He was certain Lewis had not or he would have blurted it out like a great joke long ago. But he was not sure what Helen mightdo.

What should he do? Expose her deceit and demand an explanation? Notify her stepfather? Toss her out on the street? Take her in his arms?

He fisted both hands as the wave of contradictory desires swept over him, but he stood stock-still, barely even blinking.

What a strange twist of fate this was. That she should be here, under his roof, under his power.

With Lewis back in London, he was her master for all intents and purposes, at least as far as her employment and housing were concerned.

He rather liked the notion of holding some power over her for once.

What a relief after the awful power she had held over him these last few years, whether she knew it or not.

He knew Margaret had an impulsive nature, as Benton and even Helen had allowed.

But would she really enter service—would any gentleman’s daughter—unless she was truly desperate?

And she was actually doing the work, according to Mrs. Budgeon.

If it had been some foolish schoolgirl prank to put herself in Lewis’s path, that lark would have long since ended with disillusionment and weariness after a few days of drudgery. She must have another reason.

He decided he needed to find out what was really going on. He would not hand her over to Sterling Benton—a man he had never liked at all events.

Margaret’s face had gone from pale to blushing red while he stood there staring at her.

With a supreme effort, he schooled his features and moderated his tone of voice. “You need not worry, Nora. I have only asked you here to thank you. Mr. Hudson told me of your brave help the night we were nearly set upon by thieves in London. He has already thanked you, I know. But I had not.”

Behind her spectacles, her round eyes blinked. She swallowed and nodded, murmuring, “Yer welcome, sir.”

Had she spent time belowstairs with servants in her youth? Where else would she have cultivated that accent?

He said, “Very good. That will be all.”

Clearly relieved, she bobbed a curtsy.

For now , he added to himself, watching her go.