The Determined Lord Hadleigh Page 9

  ‘I suppose I am familiar with all their tricks...’

  ‘Indeed you are, alongside all of the pressure and concerns Lady Jessamine will have to endure. You and she have a great deal in common.’

  Her scepticism had given way to thoughtfulness, which in turn meant he had argued his corner well and convinced her that this was about more than her. Or at least that is what he had told himself when he had concocted this complicated and uncomfortable justification for offering her a job. He had almost convinced himself the undeniable benefits also justified him having to face the house again.

  ‘I only have a few months to construct a conclusive case. With time of the essence and the house barely habitable, we need someone trustworthy who can start straight away. Instinctively, I thought of you because I know you are actively seeking such a position, but by no means do you need to feel you have to take it. It is a temporary offer of employment. But as I said, in view of the gravitas of this case, and the unusual circumstances and particular duties such an important position will entail, you will be compensated generously. We suggest an amount of ten guineas per month and a further hundred guineas at the end of the tenure as a bonus for your sacrifice and eternal silence.’

  A staggering amount no matter which way she looked at it. Enough, he hoped, to lure her into accepting without questioning the tiny lie he had just told her.

  ‘One hundred guineas!’ Hadleigh saw her eyes widen and her lips part in shock. His gaze was apparently magnetically drawn to those lips until he caught himself staring.

  ‘And obviously, you will leave here with glowing and unquestionable references from myself, the Attorney General and Lord Fennimore, which will ensure a lifetime of similar employment should you need it and firmly establishing Mrs Henley as the crème de la crème of housekeepers.’ Now he was in danger of over-egging it. ‘You will manage a small staff which we will recruit the bulk of, however, because of the delicate and secretive nature of the conversations which will inevitably have to take place—only you will be privy to some of the rooms in which those sensitive discussions will occur. The fewer people who overhear, the less chance there is of those conversations being repeated outside the house. We cannot risk anything leaking to the defence or, heaven forbid, the press, before the trial. Therefore, recruiting from scratch is, as I am sure you can see, problematic.’

  ‘But you want me to be the housekeeper? A convicted traitor’s wife?’ She sounded incredulous.

  ‘He was the traitor, my lady. Not you. To my mind, you have proven to be an asset to the Crown before and we have been impressed with the way you composed yourself both during and after your own ordeal in the courtroom. You are discreet and honourable. Leatham and Clarissa have always vouched for your good character.’ Thank goodness he had had the good sense to discuss things with them in front of Lord Fennimore at the wedding party.

  Both were all for it if it meant keeping their friend close and safe from the sort of vultures who preyed on single young mothers left all alone in the world, or the key defence witness who also happened to be married to one of their closest friends. ‘What better choice than a person who already knows of the government’s covert machinations? Or the ridiculous lengths the press will go to in order to get their story? You might seem an unconventional choice in the first instance, but your recent experiences actually lend themselves perfectly to such a sensitive task.’ He almost had her. He could practically see the cogs spinning in her mind as she digested everything he said. His instincts warned him not to give her too much time to ruminate or himself any more time to act upon his unwanted and inappropriate impulses. He had come here to rescue her, not stare at her lips with longing, although he had no earthly idea why he was suddenly so consumed with the latter, other than something about her called to the man as well as his conscience. Something that transcended his noble quest and had absolutely nothing to do with pity or guilt or righting wrongs.

  ‘Everything to do with the running of the inside of the house will be down to you. Unhindered. There will be only essential staff. I see no need for a butler as he would interfere with your decisions. Neither I, nor Lord Fennimore, will have the time or the inclination to attempt to interfere either. The grounds and security will be overseen by the King’s Elite as you would expect. You will liaise with them on how the security is organised within the house or how to deal effectively with any potential breaches...not that we envisage any. The location of Flint and Jessamine will be of the utmost secrecy, known only to a select few who need to know. That is Flint’s express stipulation.’

  ‘Only Lord Flint and Lady Jessamine would live there?’

  ‘As I have said, my work necessitates me staying here. But I will make regular trips to meet with Jessamine, although I have no plans to stay overnight.’ The mere thought made his gut clench. Nothing short of an earth-shattering catastrophe would ever have him sleeping under that godforsaken roof again. ‘So you will barely have to suffer my presence. Which, alas, I fear you might have suffered quite enough of already this evening.’

  He unfolded himself from the chair and grabbed his coat, making his intention to leave crystal clear, despite not having yet received her answer. Years of courtroom experience taught him that sometimes it was best to assume rather than ask. Seeking forgiveness was always easier than asking permission. And, it went without saying, he really didn’t want to have to properly clarify anything, knowing that the whole truth and nothing but the truth would likely result in a firm no. There was a sharp and clever brain behind those beautiful blue eyes and he had learned to his cost how blunt and cutting those enticing lips could become when given just cause. ‘If you could begin some time next week, that would be marvellous. I’d like the house to be ready for Flint and Jessamine to move in by the first week of November.’

  * * *

  Penny’s definition of barely habitable and Lord Hadleigh’s were poles apart. An hour after arriving at Chafford Grange, and despite the icy chill created by the cold walls and the myriad eerie cobwebs, she could see it was a grand and sumptuous house. It wouldn’t take much to bring it back to life. The gardens were immaculate and had obviously always been tended, while the house had been lovingly put to bed. Before it had been closed all those years ago, the former servants had taken great pains to protect it. Heavy dust sheets covered every stick of furniture and were wrapped carefully around the curtains draping each window. She had lifted a few on her solitary tour of the house and been pleasantly surprised by what lay underneath.

  Comfortable brocade sofas, glossy marquetry end tables, ormolu clocks, Sèvres vases, enormous Venetian mirrors, a huge and imposing mahogany dining table which would not look out of place in a royal palace—it was a veritable treasure trove of exquisite taste and ultimate luxury. Oddly incongruous with the professional government servant who spoke with such assured and convincing eloquence in the Old Bailey or the perplexing man who had swept her parlour clean before making her the perfect cup of tea.

  Because it was calling to her, she used her foot to roll open a large rug in what she assumed might be a sunny morning room, as its floor-to-ceiling arched windows overlooked the garden and undulating parkland beyond. It was stunning. The bold turquoise base was woven with a wide band of gold interspersed with subtle colourful flowers. Similar yet larger flowers swirled with golden leaves in the centre of the carpet. It was a beautiful piece that oozed class, one that would make a statement in this otherwise sedate and plain room. Although in this case, plain did not mean stark. The walls had been kept white, but covered in the most subtly patterned silk damask to bring texture and warmth, a luxurious touch so subtle it served to showcase the magnificent Persian. The only other splashes of colour came from the curtains. Turquoise again, the exact same shade as the carpet, held back with chunky golden-rope tie-backs. Understated, yet in being so made far more of a statement than anything fussy and patterned.

  Class was a commodity no amo
unt of money could buy. Something Penny knew only too well, having learned it at her mother’s knee. She had never understood Penhurst’s taste at all. He had been of the school that the more gilded and ostentatious the item, the more he coveted it.

  All flash and no class.

  A statement her mother would often utter in disdain when a merchant attempted to sell their emporium crass and showy furniture, but which summed up her former husband perfectly. He had no class. Ironic, really, when he had always lamented at marrying so far beneath him. Had she been allowed to decorate her former home, it would have resembled something like this rather than the tawdry monstrosity her husband had created.

  Her mother would have approved of this carpet. Her eye for such things had been impeccable, one of the main reasons she and Penny’s father had made such a success of their business. He had dealt with the financial side while her mother had hand-picked the stock. A match made in heaven in more ways than one.

  Unable to help herself, Penny knelt and ran the flat of her hand over the thick pile. As she had suspected it was densely woven from the finest gauge of the softest wool mixed with just enough silk to give the fibres a lustre.

  Class.

  And clearly very expensive. The very best quality Persia was capable of creating. Superior craftsmanship, elegant, timeless... Words she would have used to describe it had it been on sale at Ridley’s. Clearly once a shopkeeper’s daughter, always a shopkeeper’s daughter.

  That thought made her smile. It was the sort of high-quality rug her father had imported for his well-heeled clientele many moons ago, back when their emporium and catalogue had been thriving before he sold it and retired on the proceeds.

  She missed those days, the hours spent with her beloved parents in their fancy Bond Street shop learning the trade, or years before that in their larger emporium in Cheapside or the original draper’s shop in Clerkenwell. But like all the most precious things, she had not appreciated them properly until they were gone. As her father’s fortunes had rapidly increased, so too had their standing in the community. They might well have come from the wrong end of trade, but with an impressive dowry like the one her parents had accumulated for her, Penny had been destined for a life within the aristocracy they had once served. That was her mother’s dream and she had allowed herself to become swept away in it. Once upon a time, she had foolishly thought life would only get better and had spent far too much time dreaming about her future than living in the now.

  More regrets.

  Another classic example of what she would change if she could turn back time. Yet there was no point in harking back to those halcyon days of her girlhood or lamenting them at the same time. That route only led to dissatisfaction when she found herself quietly satisfied with the way things were turning out in the here and now. Ten guineas a month for at least the next three months and one hundred more thereafter! Good heavens, that felt like a fortune. Enough money certainly for her to lease somewhere decent in the home counties. A nice little cottage with a garden for Freddie to play in... If only she could clear her mind of the reasons it had come about and her nagging doubts as to the validity of it all.

  But she had a contract, therefore it did all seem to be exactly as he had outlined. The meticulous and thorough document had arrived the morning after Lord Hadleigh’s impromptu visit alongside six guineas and a note from Mr Cohen, her old landlord, acknowledging he had refunded a portion of the year’s rent money. The very legal language in the contract stated her exact duties and stipulated the government’s precise terms. In a nutshell, it was Penny’s job to see to the smooth running of the house while ensuring the strict privacy of its important inhabitants—Lord Flint and his wife Lady Jessamine alongside whichever high-ranking government or King’s Elite official might also be involved in the Gislingham trial.

  Any breach in the strict secrecy clause on her part would result in making the agreement null and void, with instant dismissal without payment or references. Not that she ever would talk to the press or confide the details to anyone outside the clearly defined inner circle. The only two friends she had left in the world were part of that circle and beyond that Penny was determined to remain entirely Mrs Henley. A young widow who had lost her husband at sea and who had never been tainted by a speck of scandal in her entire life—although she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with that version of her because it felt like an ill-fitting suit. But she would make it fit in time and then there would be no stopping her.

  No, indeed. This temporary stint as a housekeeper meant she could and would strike a line through the last three miserable years and truly start afresh. Why else invoke such a strict clause unless the deal was entirely genuine?

  Something she really had to thank Lord Hadleigh for. Whatever his initial motives, he had given her the chance to earn her own living and do so without having to leave Freddie. For that alone, she would make more of an effort with the man. Perhaps she was even starting to like him a little? Or at least the version of him who made tea and wasn’t too proud to hold a broom. The inscrutable, emotionless lawyer was a separate entity entirely. She doubted she would ever warm to that Hadleigh at all.

  One hundred and thirty guineas! And all for relatively light organisational duties she could do in her sleep and all with a household budget so vast she could spend with impunity every day for a year and barely make a dent in it. Not that she would, nor would she let such a budget allow her to overspend when she could haggle for cheaper prices. Once a shopkeeper’s daughter and all that. Organising and management had been her forte, not that Penhurst had allowed her to do much of it. But her parents had. Accounting, negotiating prices for services, arranging staff and planning events. All the things which had made their business run like clockwork all those years were akin, in many ways, to the skills necessary to run a great house.

  However, Penhurst had never allowed her to run his house and was very secretive about his household accounts, chose staff not for their ability to do the job but to spy on his wife or keep any outsiders from poking their noses into his business. The only leeway he had allowed her to be mistress of the house was in the planning of the frequent parties.

  Penhurst had loved a house party and, as his fortunes mysteriously improved, loved hosting regular soirées to show off his wealth. Penny had organised the entire events, especially fun entertainments for the ladies, knowing that those unfortunate women would need something to take their minds off the debauchery which her horrid husband would inevitably lead them into from almost the first moment they arrived at Penhurst Hall. That was, after all, the main reason those men came...

  ‘The staff are arriving, Mrs Henley.’ The King’s Elite agent who had brought her to Chafford Grange seemed to appear out of nowhere, giving her a start. Something she supposed she needed to quickly get used to in this house of government secrets and government spies.

  ‘Thank you. Have them gather in my sitting room and I will be there shortly.’ Part of Penny’s contract had stated she had her own contained apartment within this grand house. It had been the first suite of rooms she had elected to see and was still amazed by their sheer size and situation. A cosy first-floor sitting room-cum-study leading to a staggeringly large bedchamber for her and a smaller bedchamber for Freddie. It was nearly twice the size of her rented lodgings in Cheapside, lighter, brighter and certainly more cheerful, although she would need to replace the fine-quality rug in the main room with something more robust for her son. And throws for the lovely furniture, too. If he spilled something on any of those fine pieces she would never forgive herself and did not want to live on permanent tenterhooks that he might.

  For now, her darling boy was staying with Clarissa and Seb in Mayfair, no doubt having a whale of a time being spoiled rotten as the pair of them practised being parents. Not that they had confessed that detail to her still, but to Penny it was obvious and she was delighted for them. Perhaps now that she w
as earning her own money doing something they approved of they might cease attempting to mollycoddle her and entrust her with their secret. It would be so nice to have Clarissa as just her friend again, rather than her self-appointed nursemaid. These past months had been trying on their friendship.

  But all that was behind her now. This was exactly the kind of fresh new start she had wanted. A few months here and then the world was her oyster! How marvellous that was. Her best friends were bringing Freddie to join her in five days, which meant she had four days to get this beautiful house shipshape and shining like a new pin. A stocked kitchen, decent spirits in the cellar, fresh linens, a thorough spring clean and airing, roaring fires in every fireplace to take the chill out of the walls. They would need a veritable forest of chopped wood, candles, flowers... As she ticked off each thing on her extensive mental list of things to do, she couldn’t help but notice that for the first time in for ever she was walking with an excited, almost giddy spring in her step. Almost like the old Penny.

  Chapter Eight

  There was no getting away from it, Hadleigh felt nauseous. The queasiness had started before he turned his horse on to the drive and had increased with every yard he had travelled. Now, still sat in the saddle and staring at the house, his head was spinning, his chest so tight it made breathing an effort and the last remnants of the breakfast he had choked down was roiling in his stomach. He was intentionally opening that securely sealed box.

  What had he been thinking? What had started as a means to help a woman who refused to be helped had spiralled out of control to become his worst nightmare. Aside from being a handy hideaway for the main prosecution witness, Lord Fennimore and his team were determined to use it as their base. Which in turn meant Hadleigh had to spend much more time here than he had originally bargained for and was certainly unprepared for—if his body’s tumultuous reaction was any gauge. The temptation to turn his horse around and gallop away was overwhelming. Typical, really, when he had always preferred to run from the demons of his past like a worthless coward rather than face them.