Read Online A Mistress for Stansted Hall by Fenella J Miller - Free Book Online
Authors: Fenella J Miller
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he had removed himself from temptation. He breathed deeply, he could still smell the faint lemon scent of her soap. Laughing he held up his own arm and sniffed, the unpleasant stench made him gag. This made her kindness even more remarkable. It was time he had a bath, pulled himself together. He had emerged from the black tunnel his life had become, suddenly had something to live for.
What was it that old fool Foster had said to him? That his blood had ruined her gown. That was something he could do for her without engendering unpleasant gossip. He stretched out, his bare feet poked out. He would return to his bedchamber today, he had had installed a newfangled bath chamber. Today he would make full use of it.
He would wait until it was light enough to see without a candle and then go up to the large box-room on the nursery floor. When he had returned from India he had brought with him many trunks of beautiful material, silks and muslins, cottons and cashmere. Amy had ignored these treasures, her wardrobe had come from the most expensive mantua maker in London. He had all but way often those tedious trips to Town, being obliged to rent a cripplingly expensive townhouse for the season and then dance attendance on his beloved while she dragged him to one tedious event after another.
It was he that had been overjoyed when she had become pregnant; for her it meant the end of her freedom, the loss of her figure. She had moved into the east wing after James had been born telling him in no uncertain terms that she had no wish for another child. He frowned at the memory. How could he have forgotten that they were all but estranged when the fire had killed her and his precious son?
The intolerable grief, now he was being honest with himself, was for the loss of his baby. He could scarcely remember his wife's face now. James, a beautiful child still in leading strings, was forever etched in his memory. He slammed his fist into the bedpost wincing at the pain. So that was why he was attracted to Jack…he had the same floppy brown hair and big blue eyes that his own son had possessed.
Perhaps it was guilt that gave him the nightmares, not because he had loved Amy too much but not loved her enough. If they had been living as man and wife neither of them would have died. Too late to repine. Today was to be the start of a new life; his excessive drinking would end, he would take control. He was quite sure his factor was robbing him blind and it was high time the man got his comeuppance and his tenants their just dues.
He flopped back on the bed, he would remain where he was until Dr Andrews visited later this morning. It was something niggling at the back of his mind, something he had observed in his perambulations last night. Good grief! Not only was the kitchen spotless, the corridor and the rooms he was using had also been taken in hand. This was not the work of one woman and a doddery old man. Mrs Reed had taken it upon herself to appoint new members of staff. Yesterday he would have been in a black rage at her impudence, today he was glad she did not have to do the heavy work herself.
He dozed peacefully until he was roused by a smart rap on the door. Pushing himself sleepily on to his elbows he bid whoever it was come in. A smart young man in clean white shirt, smartly tied neck cloth and buff breeches marched in carrying a laden tray.
‘Good morning, sir, I have your breakfast here. I shall put it on the side table whilst I help you to sit up.’
Rupert was upright in seconds. ‘Who the devil are you?’
‘I am William Everett, at your service, Mr Bucknall. Mrs Reed has appointed me your valet. I am experienced in that position and have already taken your wardrobe in hand.’
The tray was on his lap before Rupert could protest further that he had no wish for a manservant. He scowled. The young man ignored him and continued to talk as if he was addressing an elderly invalid.
‘Cook has prepared you sweet morning rolls,
What was it that old fool Foster had said to him? That his blood had ruined her gown. That was something he could do for her without engendering unpleasant gossip. He stretched out, his bare feet poked out. He would return to his bedchamber today, he had had installed a newfangled bath chamber. Today he would make full use of it.
He would wait until it was light enough to see without a candle and then go up to the large box-room on the nursery floor. When he had returned from India he had brought with him many trunks of beautiful material, silks and muslins, cottons and cashmere. Amy had ignored these treasures, her wardrobe had come from the most expensive mantua maker in London. He had all but way often those tedious trips to Town, being obliged to rent a cripplingly expensive townhouse for the season and then dance attendance on his beloved while she dragged him to one tedious event after another.
It was he that had been overjoyed when she had become pregnant; for her it meant the end of her freedom, the loss of her figure. She had moved into the east wing after James had been born telling him in no uncertain terms that she had no wish for another child. He frowned at the memory. How could he have forgotten that they were all but estranged when the fire had killed her and his precious son?
The intolerable grief, now he was being honest with himself, was for the loss of his baby. He could scarcely remember his wife's face now. James, a beautiful child still in leading strings, was forever etched in his memory. He slammed his fist into the bedpost wincing at the pain. So that was why he was attracted to Jack…he had the same floppy brown hair and big blue eyes that his own son had possessed.
Perhaps it was guilt that gave him the nightmares, not because he had loved Amy too much but not loved her enough. If they had been living as man and wife neither of them would have died. Too late to repine. Today was to be the start of a new life; his excessive drinking would end, he would take control. He was quite sure his factor was robbing him blind and it was high time the man got his comeuppance and his tenants their just dues.
He flopped back on the bed, he would remain where he was until Dr Andrews visited later this morning. It was something niggling at the back of his mind, something he had observed in his perambulations last night. Good grief! Not only was the kitchen spotless, the corridor and the rooms he was using had also been taken in hand. This was not the work of one woman and a doddery old man. Mrs Reed had taken it upon herself to appoint new members of staff. Yesterday he would have been in a black rage at her impudence, today he was glad she did not have to do the heavy work herself.
He dozed peacefully until he was roused by a smart rap on the door. Pushing himself sleepily on to his elbows he bid whoever it was come in. A smart young man in clean white shirt, smartly tied neck cloth and buff breeches marched in carrying a laden tray.
‘Good morning, sir, I have your breakfast here. I shall put it on the side table whilst I help you to sit up.’
Rupert was upright in seconds. ‘Who the devil are you?’
‘I am William Everett, at your service, Mr Bucknall. Mrs Reed has appointed me your valet. I am experienced in that position and have already taken your wardrobe in hand.’
The tray was on his lap before Rupert could protest further that he had no wish for a manservant. He scowled. The young man ignored him and continued to talk as if he was addressing an elderly invalid.
‘Cook has prepared you sweet morning rolls,
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