Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance) Page 2

  “Oh my… it’s beautiful…” Marian whispered.

  Evan guided the carriage along the circular drive and stopped it in front of the main entrance.

  “Harcourt! Johnson!” he called out, and two footmen in fine outfits rushed out of the front hall.

  “Sir?”

  “We have a medical emergency – help me with this man, take him into the front parlor. The doctor is on his way.”

  Evan helped them lift Mr. Stone down from the carriage, then the two footmen carried him – one by the arms, the other by the feet – into the great hall. A maid appeared at the door, looking on in wonder.

  “Elisa, go fetch washcloths and a pitcher of water, cold as you can get it, and take it to Harcourt and Johnson in the parlor.”

  The woman frantically rushed off into the depths of the house.

  Evan turned back around to Marian in time to see her stepping down from the carriage.

  “M’lady, please, allow me!” he called, and rushed over to her side.

  She put a hand on his firm, muscular arm to steady herself. From that alone she felt a thrill of delight shoot through her body – but when he placed one hand on the small of her back to guide her down, her insides melted and her heart skipped a beat.

  “Please forgive our lack of courtesies. I would rather have given you a more pleasant welcome.”

  “Saving my life was pleasant enough, I assure you, Mr….?”

  “Blake. Evan Blake.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, and looked once again at the giant house. “Is this Blakewood Manor, then?”

  “Indeed it is. Were you traveling here specifically when misfortune struck your driver?”

  “Oh – he’s not my driver, sir. I mean, he was driving the carriage, yes, but I merely paid for his services to take me here.”

  “But he was… bringing you here?”

  “Yes. You see, my aunt and uncle work for you. Mr. and Mrs. Chapman. They assured my mother and father in a letter that… there was a vacancy, and that… I might join your household staff.”

  As she said the words, she could see the color drain slowly from his face. Just as quickly, she felt all her happiness of the last few minutes slip away, as though she were waking from a beautiful dream.

  He took me for a lady. Now I am only a common scullery wench, she thought bitterly.

  To his credit, the gentlemen was as polite as before – but there was a new formality and distance in his tone, and all the life seemed to have been bled from his words. “Well, we shall be happy to have you, Miss Willows.”

  His expression stung her, but still she forced a smile as she curtsied.

  “Then, sir, I am twice in your debt.”

  3

  A servant girl!

  Evan stood in the doorway and watched Dr. Harrick attend to the poor village driver, who lay sprawled on a couch in the parlor. It gave him cover while he tried to quiet his turbulent emotions.

  A servant girl! And in my own household!

  He could not have been more shocked if she had said she was a Barbary pirate just arrived from Tripoli.

  A servant girl!

  Though obviously intelligent, she was not exactly refined – he should have seen that right away. Not that he gave a damn for ‘refined.’ In fact, it had partly been the impertinence of her behavior that had charmed him, not just the carefree wildness of her beauty.

  But a servant girl!

  He had thought she was… ah, he didn’t know what he had thought. The very first sight of her had blotted all logic from his brain. Between her smile and the poor driver’s condition, he hadn’t given any attention to where she had come from or who she was.

  Damn it all!

  He had, in his time, dallied with several girls of common background.

  But never from his own household. Never someone who had worked for his family. He had made a rule of that from the time he first began to romance women.

  Back in school, he knew classmates who had dallied with servant girls in their households. Evan viewed their stories with disgust – an abuse of power and position, the privileged preying on the weak. He only hoped and prayed that the situations had been more seductive than forced, and that the women had welcomed the advances. Of course, according to his classmates – especially the ugliest, most noxious ones – the women all had welcomed the advances.

  What else could they do but acquiesce? They might leave their employers, but only if they could find other work… and by that time, they would have had to surrender multiple times.

  If they resisted, they would find themselves fired for some petty mistake. If they complained to the house steward, they would be told to stop spreading wicked rumors. If they went to the lord of the house – which would be absolutely unthinkable for most women – they would most probably be thrown out in the street for ‘slandering’ the lord’s son. Then they would find themselves without shelter, without money, without references to gain a new job, left to starve or beg or prostitute themselves to survive.

  No woman in a subordinate position could ever say ‘no’ without fear for her livelihood. And for that reason he vowed never to ask.

  Unfortunately, that made this woman – this mesmerizing, enticing creature – off-limits to him. It would be immoral for him to even consider approaching her.

  And since she was a servant, he could not woo her the way he would a nobleman’s daughter. There was no chance of marriage, so any courtship would not only be ridiculous, but cruel as well.

  Damn it all to hell!

  Dr. Harrick looked up from examining the patient. “Well, he seems to have suffered a mild bout of heat stroke.”

  The doctor’s words roused Evan from his self-pity. “Is that all?”

  “‘Is that all’?” Doctor Harrick repeated in amusement. He was a portly old gentlemen with a bald pate, and well known for his good humor. “I should think Stone here thought it serious enough.”

  “Well, yes, of course. I only feared it was his heart.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “How did it happen? It was warm, but not exactly a blazing hot day.”

  “If I know old Harold here – and I’ve known him for well on forty years now – he spent a good portion of last evening in the company of a bottle of rye. And I would bet you a pound sterling that he had a nip this morning, as well. Dehydration leads quickly to this sort of thing.”

  “Should we keep him here until he recovers?”

  “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I can take him back with me and return him to the loving bosom of his family. Or not-so-loving, knowing Mrs. Stone’s jealousy concerning her husband’s mistress,” Dr. Harrick said with a wink.

  “He’ll be fine?”

  “With a few days rest, he’ll be right as rain.”

  “What about his carriage and horse?”

  “If one of your men can drive his trap, and another can take your carriage into town to escort him back, then all’s well that end’s well.”

  “Of course. Thank you, doctor. Could you wait here for a few moments?”

  Evan walked through the main hall and into the rear study, where Whittaker the butler was sitting at a tiny desk. Before him stood Mr. and Mrs. Chapman, the Valet and the Housekeeper… and Marian.

  He had hoped that his memory of her was over-dramatized by the circumstances, that she was actually just a handsome girl whom he had thought more attractive in the heat of the moment.

  Unfortunately for Evan, she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

  The single window in the room shone sunshine upon her like a spotlight. The rays lit up her bronze and golden hair, and made her eyes glow like emeralds.

  When she saw him, she smiled warmly – and it made him catch his breath.

  It was a few seconds later when he came back to reality and realized he was staring at her. Whittaker was asking him something.

  “Yes, Mr. Blake? Sir? Sir, are you all right?”

  Evan snapped out of hi
s reverie and looked down at the butler. “Yes…yes, I’m fine.” He turned back to Marian and announced, “Mr. Stone had a mild case of heat stroke, but he’ll recover quickly, according to Dr. Harrick.”

  The girl let out a sigh and smiled even more winningly. “I am so glad to hear it.”

  “Yes…”

  He had to force himself to break away from her gaze. Like a drowning man grasping at straws, he turned to Mr. and Mrs. Chapman.

  They were a couple in their mid-thirties – he a tall, thin man with a nervous face, she a plump little matron with a disapproving mouth. Every time he looked at them, Evan could not help recalling the nursery rhyme about Jack Sprat and his wife.

  “I have had the pleasure of meeting your niece.”

  “My sister’s daughter, m’lord,” the short woman said, “and I can never thank you enough for what you did – Marian says you were ever so brave the way you saved her – ”

  “Yes, well, it was my pleasure,” Evan assured her. He did not trust himself to look at Marian again, so he kept his eyes trained on Mrs. Chapman.

  “She always was a troublesome child growing up, it’s just like her to be causing mischief on her very first day – ”

  “Auntie!” Marian whispered, her cheeks blushing red.

  “It was no trouble at all,” Evan said. His eyes had strayed to Marian’s face, and now he could not turn them away…

  “And it was ever so kind of your father, God bless ‘im, to give our poor Marian here a chance – if only she’ll behave and not make your good father regret it, but don’t you worry, I won’t let her be play at the devil’s business for a moment she’s here – ”

  Marian’s cheeks had turned a fiery crimson. Evan found himself wanting to cup them in his hands, to tilt her head up to his –

  “Yes, well, I’m sure everything will work out fine,” Evan said, tearing his eyes away once more.

  “You can be sure she’ll be a hard worker if I have a thing or two to say about it – ”

  “I’m sure, but if you’ll excuse me, I really have to get back to the doctor,” Evan said, then turned to the butler. “Whittaker, I don’t have any money on my person – please give me three shillings out of the house account.”

  The butler was a dour man in his fifties with bushy grey sideburns who looked after Lord Blake’s pennies as assiduously as a mother badger guards her cubs. “Sir, is that much really necessary?”

  “I have to pay the driver, too.”

  “Oh – I forgot, I was to pay him when we got here,” Marian said, embarrassed.

  Evan gave her a frown mixed with a smile, like Don’t even worry yourself.

  However, Whittaker was doing enough worrying for everyone involved. “I would think a couple of pence would suffice, sir.”

  “He’s suffered heatstroke.”

  “That’s hardly your fault, sir – ”

  “Just do as I say, Whittaker.”

  The butler sighed heavily and pulled out three coins from a wooden box on the desk. “Your father will not be happy.”

  “Have my father speak to me about it. If you wish, you may tell him I threatened you at gunpoint.”

  Marian giggled. Realizing her error, she quickly put a hand to her mouth.

  All the servants glared at her – but Evan was utterly charmed. He had to leave, now, before he drowned again in those emerald green eyes…

  “Miss Marian,” Evan said, and slowly backed out of the room. He did it so that he could look at her as long as possible… and then he finally, regretfully, turned heel and went back to the parlor.

  He gave the doctor two shillings.

  “Much obliged,” Dr. Harrick said as he pocketed his fee.

  “I would rather you come willingly when we call, rather than grudgingly.” Evan tucked the third coin in the carriage driver’s jacket pocket. “Do tell him it’s there when he wakes up, won’t you?”

  “Quite generous of you.”

  “Well, if he’s out of work for a few days, he’ll need a few extra pennies. For another bottle of his mistress.”

  “Mrs. Stone will love you for that.”

  “Let’s let that be a gentlemen’s secret then, shall we?”

  “Ha! At these rates, old Stone will come calling with heat stroke every week.”

  “On second thought, tell him you don’t know where the money came from. Harcourt, Johnson – another job for you!”

  As he watched them all ride off – the doctor’s trap first, followed by Harcourt in Stone’s carriage, and lastly a carriage from Blakewood – Evan thought about the day’s events and shook his head.

  A servant girl.

  Damn it all to hell.

  4

  Marian looked around the cramped room and sighed. It was smaller than what she was used to in her parents’ house… but it would do.

  Best to be positive in the matter, since she really had no choice.

  She sat her two valises on the bed. They were her father’s, so they were sturdy rather than feminine. That was fine by her. She only cared about what was inside.

  She unpacked the most important contents first. First was an edition of Les Liaisons dangereuses, a going-away present from Mr. Powell.

  Her father had worked twenty years as a clerk for a small importing business. Mr. Powell was the owner, a life-long bachelor who had adopted Marian as the granddaughter he had never had. He was a dear, dear old man.

  Papa was a practical fellow, dull and lacking ambition. Mama was of the opinion that a woman’s greatest calling was to be a good wife, housekeeper, cook, and mother. Which was fine for those who wanted it – but Mama frowned greatly on a woman stretching her mind or talents beyond that. Unless the woman in question was a gentlewoman… in which case painting and the pianoforte were acceptable, housekeeping and cooking were not.

  They were both loving parents, but they had never shown any interest in Marian’s schooling. They had not even taught her to read.

  Mr. Powell was the one who had recognized that she was bright at an early age. He was the one who had paid for a tutor to instruct her in reading, arithmetic, and French. And he was the one who had encouraged her love for books. He lived half a mile away, and had allowed her access to his private library. She had greedily devoured everything in his collection.

  Mr. Powell was a voracious reader, and had everything from translations of ancient Greek plays to the most modern novels and collections of poetry.

  Among other things.

  During her afternoons at his home, she had found some quite… eye-opening volumes on his shelves. Stories which her mother would never have approved of.

  Marian supposed her mother had a point. If she had never read some of the things on Mr. Powell’s shelves, she might never have gotten in trouble with Tom…

  …but then, she would never have met Mr. Blake.

  At any rate, those were the stories that captured her fancy – the shocking, the scandalous, the illicit.

  Those were the stories that she read over and over again.

  Those were the stories she had in mind when she first began to write.

  She pulled out several thick bundles of papers, tied together with red ribbon. She had been writing since she was fifteen. Her earliest efforts made her cringe now, but she kept them as a record of where she had been and how far she had come. She still admired their ferocity, their will to make her voice heard.

  Next she pulled out a box filled with 500 sheets of paper – another gift from Mr. Powell. Then her small collection of quills, a knife for sharpening the points, pieces of blotting paper, and a couple of bottles of India ink.

  Ignoring her clothes, she arranged her writing supplies on a small desk in the corner. There was a lamp and several matches on the nightstand, but the light from the single window in her room was more than adequate. She figured she had at least an hour’s worth of daylight left before she would have to light the lamp.

  Marian uncapped the ink, dipped in a quill, and then pause
d for a moment to remember the shiver of pleasure when Mr. Blake touched the small of her back that afternoon, the melting warmth throughout her body when she looked into his eyes…

  She did not dwell on the chill in her heart when he found out she was a servant, the moment she suddenly saw his whole expression change.

  That would not suit the story she had in mind.

  She pictured his eyes, staring into hers from just inches away…

  She imagined his lips, firm and sensual, leaning in to press against hers…

  She could feel his large, sculpted hands plucking at her clothes, caressing the bare flesh of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts… could imagine her own hands running along the length of his thigh, where she would feel his manhood, stiff and long and thick under the cloth of his trousers…

  When the ache in her loins became almost too much to bear, she turned her attention to the paper and began to write.

  5

  Dinner was a sorry affair. But then, whenever Evan’s father was in attendance, any event was a sorry affair.

  Lord Blake was a thin man with stooped shoulders and a perpetual frown. He was balding on top with a fringe of grey hair sprouting from the sides of his head.

  He always looked as though he were suffering from dyspepsia, or extreme constipation, or some other unpleasant – but non-fatal – medical condition. Though he was not exactly the picture of health, he had the wiry toughness of a gnarled old tree in a swamp marsh. If bitterness could keep a man alive, then Phineas Blake would live to be five hundred and three years old.

  He snarled and barked at the servants throughout the meal. Whereas other men seasoned their food with salt, Evan’s father preferred his underlings’ unhappiness.

  Only Whittaker, the butler, was unperturbed. He had become so accustomed to the abuse that he answered the old man’s rants and ravings like he was commenting on the weather.