And a Pigeon in a Pear Tree Page 2

  “Benjamin, not Ben or Benny?”

  His mouth turned up at one corner. “No. I dislike it when people shorten my name.”

  “So do I. Can you imagine being called Hetty or Hen or even worse, Henny?”

  “That would indeed be a crime.” He actually managed a smile. “I suggest we make a pact and agree never to call each other Henny or Benny, or answer to anyone who does.”

  “Agreed.” She chuckled as she handed him the candle. His language was that of the upper classes. Was he a returned soldier down on his luck, or perhaps the fourth son of an impoverished peer who had received the best education but no money to support himself? She’d met plenty of both on her travels abroad with the army.

  “Goodnight, Benjamin.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Henrietta.”

  Henrietta offered him one last smile and left the room, making her way by instinct along the darkened corridor to her own small bedchamber. She paused to light a new candle from the fire. Benjamin had seemed rather confused…. Should she check that his master had been admitted through the front door? It wasn’t really her job to do anything in the castle, seeing as the Banfield family didn’t employ her, but she didn’t want Benjamin to get into trouble.

  She opened her door and heard voices echoing way down below in the stairway. It sounded as if Mr. Drake was indeed awake and tending to the needs of the new arrival, which meant she was free to go to bed. She hoped poor Benjamin wouldn’t have to get up again to attend to his employer. He’d looked rather cold and weary and had been nothing but polite to her.

  She shut the door and made sure the latch was in place. She was already looking forward to seeing Benjamin not Ben again on the morrow. She’d enjoyed his quiet smile and dry sense of humor and sensed a kindred spirit—if spirit was the right word to use in a haunted castle. She banked up the small fire and closed the patchwork curtains.

  Depending on the state of the roads after Christmas, she might be in London by the first week of January. Sitting down on the bed, she took out the letter and puzzled over it again. The notion that her father had written a will was surprising enough. That it warranted an expensive letter from a solicitor insisting she meet him in person was passing strange.

  Her stepmother had died a year previously, so she supposed there was no one left to deal with her father’s last requests. He’d broken off contact with his family after marrying her mother. He had enjoyed gambling and other pursuits he couldn’t really afford on his officer’s salary. She could only pray that her grandmother wasn’t correct, and she wasn’t about to inherit a pile of debt…

  Could a woman be forced to pay back debts of honor?

  Henrietta bit her lip. Immediately after she’d arrived in England, she’d written back to the solicitor, given him her temporary address at the castle, and asked if the meeting was really necessary. She’d received an offer from a fellow officer’s daughter to become her children’s governess, so Henrietta wasn’t worried about starving. She would have a home in Hertfordshire with a family she liked and respected and would be earning a generous wage. With that resolved, she braided her hair and climbed into bed, shivering at the coldness of the sheets as she slid between them.

  In the meantime, she would attempt to stay out of her grandmother’s way and enjoy both the weddings and the yuletide celebrations without anyone noticing she was present.

  Except the ghosts, of course.

  Chapter 2

  Benjamin finally awoke when the narrow beam of sunlight emanating from the small window in his bedchamber landed squarely on his face. He opened his eyes, winced, and closed them again. It was remarkably quiet up here in the heights of the castle, and he wondered what the time was. The room was so small that he only had to put out a hand to reach his coat hanging over the back of the chair close to the small fire.

  He found his pocket watch, and blearily regarded the dial only to discover he’d forgotten to wind it the previous night. Benjamin groaned. He normally wound his watch before he went to sleep and put it under his pillow. Last night he’d been so exhausted that, after washing off as much of the mud as he could manage with one jug of cold water and an inadequate basin, he’d gone straight to sleep.

  The bed was more comfortable than the one he’d endured at the last inn, and the linens, although old, were freshly starched and smelled of the sea. He placed his watch on the chest next to his bed alongside his other belongings and allowed his thoughts to slide back to the events of the previous night.

  Henrietta…

  When she’d opened the door to him in all her golden glory, he’d almost swallowed his tongue. He remembered the long, lush sweep of her hair over her shoulders, the whiteness of her nightgown, the delicate pink on her cheeks, and the laughter in her eyes that begged a response. She’d almost glowed with warmth and welcome, like some kind of pagan goddess from the Greek plays he’d been forced to study at school. For one glorious, terrifying second he’d considered stepping across the threshold and gathering her close, burying his face in the sweet softness where her neck met her shoulder and then kissing her.

  Benjamin’s cock jumped, and he slid a hand beneath the covers in instinctive protest.

  “Steady on, old chap,” he muttered. “We only just met the woman.”

  His cock didn’t seem to care about that minor detail, so Benjamin attempted to be the responsible one, and gather the facts. All he knew was that Henrietta was related to the housekeeper of Castle Keyvnor. Her accent held no hint of Cornwall. In fact she sounded remarkably like one of his sisters, which begged the question of what she’d been doing in the kitchen in the first place.

  Had she returned to the castle as a guest for the wedding and simply wandered down to find refreshment in the familiar kitchen? Benjamin frowned. But she’d told him she was sleeping in the servants’ quarters, so she was probably not a guest. Was she a lady’s companion or a governess? That seemed far more likely.

  It occurred to him that he needed to get up and make himself known to his hosts. He hoped that his valet, and the rest of his wardrobe, had arrived at the castle. He wasn’t a dandy, but he did like his dress to be precise, and he was extremely reluctant to put on any of the garments he had carefully hung to dry the night before.

  Just as he sat up, the door of his chamber flew open, and Henrietta stepped into the room. She wore a plain brown gown with no flounces and a modest neckline. Her glorious blonde hair was braided in a coronet on her head. When her startled gaze met his, her hand flew to her bosom.

  “Oh, my goodness. I do beg your pardon, Benjamin. I thought you would be long gone!” She pointed at his clothes. “Earlier this morning it occurred to me that your clothing might need to be brushed down or properly dried out.”

  Benjamin stayed put in the bed, pulling the sheet up to his chin as if he were a frightened maiden aunt.

  Henrietta poked his coat and tutted. “Everything is still damp.” With a decisive gesture, she swept all his clothing off the chair and gathered it in her arms. “Stay there. I’ll bring you something clean to wear.”

  “But—”

  Even before he’d formed his protest, Henrietta had gone. Would the damned woman ever let him finish a sentence? He contemplated his options, realized he had none unless he was willing to parade around in a sheet, and waited rather impatiently for her return.

  To her credit, she was back within a quarter of an hour carrying a stack of folded garments and a jug full of steaming-hot water.

  “Mr. Drake, our steward, is of a similar build and height to you. He’s so high and mighty that he’ll never notice that a mere valet is wearing his third-best set of clothes. Even if he does notice something amiss, he’ll simply assume you have excellent taste.

  “You stole these clothes?” Benjamin asked slowly.

  “Of course not! I merely borrowed them from the laundry.” Henrietta smiled encouragingly at him. “As soon as yours are fit to be worn again, I’ll simply put Mr. Drake’s back in the washing pile. N
o one will notice.”

  She put the pile on the end of the bed, but still lingered.

  “I’m surprised that you aren’t already up.”

  “How could I be when we both agree that my clothes weren’t presentable?” Benjamin said. “Did you picture me improvising my bedsheets into a toga?”

  “I did rather contradict myself, didn’t I?” Her smile was a delight. She studied him seriously. “Although you do have the physique for a toga.”

  “Do you think so?” He instinctively squared his shoulders. “I doubt anyone would have been pleased to see me dressed like that.”

  “My grandmother would banish you from her kitchens. Cook and the maids would have the vapors, or think you were one of the castle ghosts and ignore you completely.”

  “Until I walked into a door or kicked over a pail.” Benjamin was enjoying himself immensely. Being invisible and unknown certainly had its advantages—rather like one of the castle ghosts. He reached for the clothes. “Thank you for bringing these.”

  “You are most welcome.” Henrietta turned toward the door. “Come down to the kitchens when you are dressed and break your fast. There is always lots left over from feeding the family and guests upstairs.”

  As if in agreement with Henrietta’s suggestion, Benjamin’s stomach gave a loud gurgle.

  “Thank you.”

  She left, closing the door behind her and leaving the faint scent of violets mingling with the lye from the laundry. Benjamin examined the clothing. It was, as he had expected, not that of a peer’s son, but of an upper servant. He really should have tried harder to explain who he was, so what had stopped him?

  He slowly unfolded the shirt. He’d been enjoying the freedom of just talking without having to think about what he said or how it reflected on his family. Henrietta treated him as an ordinary man rather than the title he’d inherited at birth and been known as since he was sent away to school. He was Saxelby. That was both his destiny and his designation until he succeeded to his father’s earldom, and then he’d simply be Widcome

  Never Benjamin. Never just himself.

  At this point, he had no choice but to get dressed in the steward’s clothes. He might as well go down to the kitchen, enjoy a decent breakfast, and then attempt to unravel the complications he had inadvertently set in motion. Benjamin sighed. Would Henrietta ever speak to him with the same freedom again? He sincerely doubted it, but his attraction to her was based on a fantasy, and that wasn’t how he lived his life. Maybe it was for the best to nip his ridiculous dreams in the bud.

  #

  Henrietta sipped her tea in companionable silence with Mary, the kitchen maid whom she’d first met as a babe in her mother’s arms. It was relatively quiet in the huge kitchen. Cook had disappeared upstairs to consult with the lady of the house about the dinner menus, and the rest of the servants were either cleaning the castle, setting fires, or serving at the breakfast table.

  “There’s something wrong in the castle,” Mary repeated firmly. “The ghosts are agitated.”

  “Do you think it is because we have so many visitors?” Henrietta asked. “The ghosts always used to resent newcomers.”

  “It’s more than that.” Mary shivered. “I can’t quite explain it, but I can feel it in my bones.”

  Henrietta patted Mary’s hand. “Is there anyone you can talk to about this?”

  “I already have. The witches, the healers, and the gypsies all say the same thing. They tell me to be strong and that this too will pass.”

  “That’s remarkably vague and hardly helpful,” Henrietta pointed out. “Which is typical. What is the good of a prophecy if no one can understand what it’s trying to say?”

  Someone cleared his throat, and she looked up to see Benjamin coming through the kitchen door. He looked remarkably fine in his borrowed clothes, his auburn hair now tamed and his boots gleaming.

  “Come and sit down.” She gestured at the food lining the center of the table. “There is a nice piece of ham, coddled eggs, toast…”

  “Thank you.”

  Even as she spoke, he was removing the silver covers and helping himself to the platters’ contents with an assurance that yet again reminded her that he was an anomaly. She had some news to share with him, but was more than willing to wait until he was stuffed full of food and more malleable. The strategy had always worked with her father.

  Mary rose to refill the huge kettles that ensured the castle always had hot water for the guests and for the kitchen cooking needs. Henrietta helped her, and then sat at the table, squeezing one last drop of tea out of the pot before turning to observe Benjamin.

  He had a very finely drawn face with delicate features and high cheekbones, but there was nothing weak about him. He carried with him that innate self-confidence all the gentry did, which made Henrietta even more curious as to how he’d ended up as somebody’s servant.

  Eventually, he heaved a sigh and sat back, patting his stomach. “That was excellent.”

  “I’ll tell Cook.” Henrietta refilled the teapot with boiling water and set it back on the table to brew.

  “Why didn’t you use new leaves?” Benjamin asked.

  “Because they are expensive.” Henrietta stared at him. “And why waste them?”

  He shrugged and pushed his cup over to her.

  “You’d better wait a moment unless you want your tea to taste like dishwater,” Henrietta warned him.

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  He seemed supremely unconcerned about his duties as a valet.

  “Are you not worried that Lord Michael Beck might need your assistance this morning?” Henrietta asked cautiously.

  He blinked at her. “My assistance?”

  “Isn’t he your employer? I regret to say that there was no room for him. He ended up sleeping on the floor of Lord Blackwater’s room.”

  “Did he, by Jove?” Benjamin grinned. “Then I’ll wager I had a better night’s sleep than he did.”

  Henrietta studied him carefully. “Are you always so…cavalier when you speak about your employer?”

  His smile instantly died. “Not at all. He isn’t my employer.”

  “But you know him.”

  “Only by reputation.” He hesitated. “The thing is, I was expecting the Saxelby carriage.”

  “Oh! Mr. Drake said that one hadn’t yet arrived. There has been some flooding on the roads out of Bocka Morrow, so it is possible that your employer and his carriage are stuck at a nearby inn. I do hope your employer arrives in time for the weddings. It would be terrible to come all this way and then miss them.”

  “Indeed.” Benjamin sighed. “Then I will have no change of clothes until the carriage and its occupants arrive.”

  “But at least you are free of your master for a few days.”

  He looked at her strangely. “That is true.”

  “No one will know if you spend your time exploring the castle or simply put your feet up and get in everyone’s way.”

  “I’m not sure I know how to do either of those things anymore,” Benjamin said slowly. “My life has been so regimented.”

  “Were you in the military?” Henrietta asked.

  “No, I wasn’t allowed to sign up.” He glanced at her. “Does that diminish me in your eyes?”

  “Why should it? Having seen war at close quarters I cannot say I find it as heroic and inspiring as those who have never fought seem to do.”

  “You have members of the military in your family?”

  “My father was a soldier. I followed the drum for most of my childhood, and…my husband also served.”

  “You are married?”

  “Widowed.” She forced a bright smile. “We were barely married for a year before he was killed in some stupid, unnecessary skirmish.”

  He reached across and took her hand, his grip surprisingly gentle. “I…am sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, but my marriage was a long time ago when I was barely eighteen, and an extremely foolis
h decision to make in more ways than one.”

  She was babbling now and eager to end the conversation, which had strayed into territory she normally avoided. Why was she sharing confidences with a man she barely knew, a man who didn’t quite fit into her gray world and probably never could?

  “Henrietta?” Mrs. Bray came into the kitchen.

  She pulled her hand away and stood up, aware that her cheeks were warm and her heart was pounding. Benjamin stood as well.

  “Mrs. Bray, may I introduce you to Benjamin?” Henrietta rushed to make the introductions. “He is the valet of the still-missing, but probably-delayed-at-an-inn, Lord Saxelby.”

  “Ma’am.” Benjamin bowed. “I do apologize for my presence here, but—”

  Mrs. Bray cut across him. “Never mind that now, you can make yourself useful. Accompany Henrietta to the culvery and see how many pigeons we have. Cook wants to know if she has enough for the pies or if we need to order more.”

  “But—”

  Benjamin looked as if he wanted to argue, which was never a good idea with her grandmother who had been known to clip a cocky footman around the ear. Henrietta poked him in the ribs, and he went quiet.

  “We’ll go and check that right now, Mrs. Bray,” Henrietta said brightly. “Is there anything else we can do for you while we’re out?”

  “You can pick some greenery, especially holly if you can find any.” Mrs. Bray sniffed. “They want to bring as much yuletide spirit into the castle as possible. Of course none of them have to deal with picking up all the dead leaves or the influx of insects such an intrusion will cause.”

  “It will make the castle smell lovely, though,” Henrietta said. “I’ll take my basket and see what I can find.”

  #

  Benjamin insisted on carrying Henrietta’s large wicker basket as they left the kitchen and entered the walled courtyard. A confusion of noise made Benjamin look behind him, only to discover an all too familiar face emerging from the stables. He quickly turned back, hoping his cousin Michael hadn’t spotted him across the crowded space. No one called him by name, so Benjamin forced himself to relax and kept walking, his gaze lowered.