Page 5 of The Recluse and the Runaway

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, whilst her heart beat with foolishness. He didn’t want her to leave, not because she owed him more work, but because he liked her?

Perhaps he did; some people liked her, those who weren’t her stepmother and stepsisters and the horrid servants at home, and Stepmother’s poisonous friends.

It warmed her heart that he liked her; she even wished, in a dreamy way, that he could have taken her as his mistress. He was that appealing to her—although she would never take such a step of her own volition. She wouldn’t choose to be a fallen woman, but if she had no alternative… She sighed at the thought of nights spent in Sir Rupert’s arms.

She quashed such foolish daydreams. He wanted her to cook and bake—that was all, and in any event, she had to leave soon. What if Stepmother went to the Justice of the Peace, and he set up a hue and cry? She had to go as quickly as she could to the only refuge she could think of, the one her father would have wished her to seek, had he known what her life would become after his death. Stepmother would never think to seek her there.

She ladled gruel into a bowl, whilst inventing a reason for her impending departure. “I’m on my way to my grandmother,” she said at last.

“For Christmas?” Millie cried, face falling. “Then you won’t stay to help us?”

“I’ll stay as long as I dare,” she said, and wished she hadn’t. Dare was definitely the wrong word. “She’s not expecting me on Christmas Day,” she added, which was the truth, “but soon after,” which wasn’t. Unless Grandmama was in Heaven, waiting for her to arrive there if she were caught and punished according to the law, despite having done nothing wrong.

“Where does your grandmother live?” That was Mrs. Overton. She was a kind-hearted woman, but somewhat reserved—not quite as accepting as the maids—which was only to be expected. Nell knew she was fortunate to have been given food and shelter; most people would have spurned her.

Nevertheless, she should have expected questions. She should have thought of that last night, but she’d fallen immediately into a deep, exhausted sleep.

“London,” she blurted. Which was another lie, although not completely. Grandmother was buried there. But when Nell left, she would go in the opposite direction—towards Oxford instead.

~ ~ ~

Once again, Rupert made a futile attempt to work on his plans. Most of Wonderly Manor was intact but needed refurbishing. However, years ago a massive oak had fallen on the west corner, resulting in extensive water damage. His uncle, from whom he’d inherited the baronetcy and estate, had never bothered with repairs, merely closing the affected rooms and going on his merry, irresponsible way.

After a few minutes going over lists of materials, Rupert gave up. Nell was leaving in only a few days! What the devil was he to do?

She was his. She had to be, always and forever. However, one couldn’t court a maiden in only two or three days. Not only that, he knew nothing about her. By all ordinary standards, this—this infatuation was folly.

And yet at the same time, he felt certain that he knew everything about her that mattered. Or maybe he knew for certain that what he felt for her was all that mattered. Did that make any sense? Probably not, but he didn’t care.

Millie sidled into the study, waving a dust cloth as cover for her true intentions. After sweeping the rag leisurely across a few bookshelves, she got directly to business.

“A lady, ain’t she? Miss Nell, that is.”

Evidently, Millie thought so—else why refer to her as ‘Miss’ instead of just plain Nell? “She may well be,” he said.

“She talks like a lady.” Millie brandished the rag to emphasize her point.

“So she does.”

“She’s ever so pretty, too.”

This was true—but he’d never been greatly moved by prettiness. No, she was more than that; she shone with life. An angel from heaven, a sweet and tender being, a darling beyond compare.

And he was a muddled fool. “Indeed.”

“Prettier than other ladies I can think of,” Millie said. The female staff assumed that his repairs to the house meant he would soon take a wife, and from time to time they brought to his attention, without the least subtlety, some young lady or another who dwelt or visited nearby.

“Me and Peg,” she said, “we don’t want her to go.”

Peg’s voice floated from the passageway. “More than that, sir. We wants her to bide here forever.”

Last night’s dog, which in the light of day proved to be a fluffy little creature with big feathery ears and a plume of a tail, trotted into the room and gazed soulfully at him.

Bloody hell. Millie might have reason to dust his study—she was a maid of all work—but Peg belonged in the kitchen except in emergencies. Drat the wenches! Even the dog, who was supposed to be in the stables, made its opinion clear.

“Surely that’s up to her,” Rupert said. “And what about Cook? Nell, quite rightly, doesn’t wish to take her place.”

“Mayhap she could take another position here, sir,” Millie said with a sly little smile. “Something more proper for a lady.”