From Governess to Society Bride. Helen Dickson
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interested in setting someone on who will see it only as a short-term post, Mrs Brody, someone who will up and leave when she no longer has the need to stay.’
Eve felt hesitant, slightly uncertain, as well she might, in the face of such cold regard. ‘Yes—I suppose it would be temporary, but this might be the case with whomever you employ. I can assure you that I would not leave until you had found someone else. Of course, I realise you will need time to consider my proposition.’
He spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes hard. ‘I have. It took precisely one second. The answer is no.’
Their eyes locked.
‘I see. Won’t you at least consider it?’
‘There is no question of it.’ Biting down visibly on his impatience, he brought himself to his full height. ‘I have no place in my house for a woman of volatile temperament and who has no regard for her employer or his children that she would leave without a thought of how it might hurt their tender feelings. That said, the interview is concluded and I think it would be better for us both if you left.’
Eve clenched her hands tightly. When she had come here, her objective had seemed close within her reach, but now was as remote as ever. ‘Really, Lord Stainton, my proposition cannot be as dreadful as all that. I would not intentionally do anything to hurt your children. I am offering to look after them, to give you the perfect answer to your dilemma, and you are reacting as though I have suggested I commit murder.’
‘As I might, if you remain here a moment longer. So, before you insult me further, Mrs Brody, with any more of your outrageous proposals, I would be grateful if you would leave my house.’ He saw the banked fires leaping dangerously into flames in her eyes, and he deliberately threw verbal oil at her. ‘I am sure after your time in America you are ignorant of such things as etiquette, but the English place great importance on such matters. Take my advice and learn the rules before you go knocking on any more doors and offering your services. You may get more than you bargained for.’
His volatile anger was tangible, frightening and completely incomprehensible to Eve, who had never met anyone like him. Shocked into stricken paralysis, she stared at him as the insult hit home. Then her temper exploded and she silenced him with the only means available—she slapped him so hard his head jerked sideways, then she took an automatic step back from the ice-cold fury in his eyes.
‘How dare you insult me when I came here with nothing but good intentions? I will not tolerate it. Contrary to what you might or might not think of me, sir, I am not a savage. Perhaps my fellow Americans are to you. If so, then that might explain how we managed to beat you in the war we fought for our independence.’
Lucas’s jaw tightened and his eyes were glacial. ‘Try anything like that again and I will personally throw you out on to the street while your hand is in the air,’ he said, icily and evenly. ‘I am a survivor, Mrs Brody, and I have an ugly temper when roused. Don’t test me any further.’
His tone was implacable and left no room for argument. ‘Very well. I’ll go. I’m sorry to have inflicted myself on you.’ Still fuming, taking a card from her reticule she held it out to him. When he made no move to take it, she slapped it down on the desk, refusing to give up on him or his children just yet. ‘However, when you’ve had time to come to your senses, to calm down and think more rationally, you may see things differently. This is where I am staying—should you change your mind.’
With nothing more than a quick nod, with her head held high and a swish of her skirts she took her leave. As she left the house she understood that his decision was irrevocable.
‘Well, what did he say?’ Beth asked, having waited impatiently for Eve to get back from Upper Brook Street. ‘Did he agree to your application, or did he think you were mad?’
‘I’m sure he did think I was mad, Beth. He refused. Absolutely.’ In frustration Eve strode past Beth into the drawing room. ‘He accused me of being an ignorant American, saying that my proposition was quite outrageous—and a great deal more that I won’t offend your sensibilities by repeating. The man’s an overpowering, conceited beast.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I slapped his face.’
Beth stared at her in shocked disbelief. ‘You slapped Lord Stainton?’
‘He deserved it.’
Beth watched Eve pace distractedly across the room. ‘And no doubt he was furious and asked you to leave.’
‘Nothing so genteel, Beth. He didn’t ask, he ordered me out.’
Perturbed, Beth sighed. Histrionics weren’t in Eve’s character and in all their lives she had never seen her friend so put out. After a time she ventured, ‘So—that’s it, then. You won’t be working for Lord Stainton.’
‘It doesn’t look like it. I doubt he’d even consider taking on a woman who had the temerity to slap his face.’
* * *
For the next two days Lucas immersed himself in the usual duties and matters of business, firmly believing that it was the only way he could put Mrs Brody’s visit from his mind, which had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. When Henry Channing arrived, he was grateful for the distraction as he tore his gaze from the letter that had just been delivered.
‘Dear Lord! You call this a house, Lucas?’ Henry remarked, glancing around the almost empty salon. ‘This place looks like a mausoleum—all walls, pillars, statues and space.’
‘What do you expect? I’ve sent most of the furniture and artefacts to be auctioned off.’
Never able to stand still for long, Henry helped himself to a brandy and began to wander about the room. ‘There were some rather fine pieces, as I recall. I may even buy some myself.’
‘Feel free. There are plenty to choose from at Sotheby’s. What brings you here today, Henry? A social call?’
‘Of course. You know how I like your company, dear boy. Although,’ he said, his face losing its jocular expression and becoming serious, ‘I did hear some news at my club in St James’s earlier that might be of interest to you—not good news, I hasten to add.’ When Lucas gave him his full attention, he said, ‘Those two shipping yards on the Thames have gone under, Lucas. I’m sorry.’
Genuine concern for his friend clouded Henry’s eyes. They had known each other since their Cambridge days. Henry had always admired Lucas. He was so controlled, so disciplined and determined, forthright and dynamic, driven in everything he put his mind to. As a businessman he was resourceful. He invested his money wisely, buying stock in new inventions and anything he thought promising with confident expectation of future gains. They usually paid off, again and again.
Unfortunately his brother Stephen had not been so clever. Lucas had told him he could not be expected to subsidise him indefinitely, but, unable to curtail his brother’s extravagance, he bailed him out every time, selling stock until his own affairs had reached the point of crisis. He went from a man of substance to being branded a bad risk, and when some of his own investments went under, losses he could normally have withstood, he accrued tremendous personal loss.
And now the news that two of the shipping yards he had invested in—practically the last thing he had to hold on to—had closed, was the final straw.
‘Good grief, Lucas. You look as if I’ve just handed you a death sentence.’
‘Perhaps you have.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Henry realised that this was the worst possible time for Lucas. Suddenly alarm sprang into his eyes. ‘I say, you’re not—I mean, you won’t—’
‘What? Shoot myself?’ A cynical smile curved Lucas’s lips. ‘Nothing so easy. I have my daughters to consider. Their mother may have deserted them, but I will not.’ Looking down at the letter in his hand, he became thoughtful.
‘What is it about that