She spent another rather restless night, and was pitched even deeper into gloom when she studied her reflection in the mirror the next morning. Somehow she felt that she would have a better chance to make her case without those awful dark smudges beneath her eyes.
But there was nothing she could do about them. She would simply have to appeal to the Earl’s sense of fair play and hope that the General had not managed to turn him against her aunt at some time during the preceding evening.
If her own behaviour had not already done so.
She managed to find her way back down to Mr Cadwallader’s office without a hitch. As she summoned up all her courage to knock on the door, she reflected that at least her experiences here were good preparation for her new role in life. She was having plenty of practice at taking backstairs, and haunting servants’ quarters!
‘Come in,’ she heard the Earl say from behind the closed door.
She stepped into the room, turning and shutting the door behind her swiftly before anyone saw her. For some reason she did not want anyone to know she had arranged this interview. Not that there was any risk from the rest of the house guests, none of whom were early risers.
But one of the servants might have seen her, and…Oh, bother it all! She spun round, lifted her chin, and faced the Earl, who was sitting behind his desk, idly twirling a pen between his long, supple fingers. What did it matter who saw her come here? She had every right to speak to the man…
Besides, he had been the one to send for her, had he not? Or would have if she had not spoken to his secretary first.
Lord Bridgemere made a motion with his pen towards the chair which was placed in front of his desk, which she interpreted as a signal to sit on it. On rather shaky legs she walked to it, and sank onto it gratefully, placing the candle she had used to light her way down on the floor by her feet.
He could see she was nervous. As well she might be, sneaking down here to meet him unchaperoned. She had taken care to make sure nobody had seen her, though, so at least she was not intending to attempt to compromise him. Still, he was going to take great care that she did not suspect he found her attractive, lest it occur to her to try her luck with him. She would not be the first young female to inveigle her way into one of his house parties with the intention of tempting him to abandon his single state. Though usually it was Lady Thrapston who brought them.
A horrible suspicion struck him then. Might Lady Thrapston have dragged the older Miss Forrest into her matchmaking schemes? Was this lovely young woman the bait by which he was to be hooked? He must observe the interaction between the two ladies closely over the next few days, to see whether they were engaged in some form of conspiracy. His sister might have finally realised that he would strenuously resist any female introduced to him by her, no matter how fetching he found her, and switched to a more subtle approach.
Helen was glad she had draped her thickest shawl round her shoulders before setting out from the little tower room, having checked this time that there was no soot on it. She had known the corridors would strike chill at this time of day, and the fire in this room had barely got going. Nobody had been in to light the candles, either. There was just her own nightstick upon the floor, and one very similar on the desk between them. It made the setting somehow very intimate. To think of them sitting alone down here, before anyone else was stirring, just barely able to make out anything in the rest of the room…
She shifted self-consciously in her chair, drawing the shawl more tightly round her shoulders.
Lord Bridgemere made no comment, merely lifted one eyebrow as he regarded her rather tatty shawl in that supercilious way that had so incensed her when she had thought he was a footman.
Mutinously she lifted her chin, and ran her eyes over his own attire. He obviously intended going out riding. There was a whip and a pair of gloves lying on the table. But his jacket was of rough material, and the woollen scarf he had knotted loosely at his throat made him look more like a groom than the lord of the manor!
Their silent duel might have gone on indefinitely had not an odd, plaintive noise emanating from the direction of the fireplace drawn her attention. It appeared to be coming from a heap of mildewed sacking that somebody had carelessly tossed onto the hearthrug.
‘Oh,’ she said, instantly forgetting her own grievances as a wave of concern washed through her. ‘Has somebody left an injured animal in here?’
Before the Earl could make any reply, something like a huge paw emerged and began energetically scratching at another portion of the tangled mass. A great shaggy head filled with immense teeth rose up, yawned, and then the whole settled back down into an amorphous muddy-coloured mass.
‘It’s a dog!’ she said, then blushed at the absurdity of stating the obvious. Of course it was a dog. Not a heap of sacking. Why on earth would an earl have piles of mildewed sacks about the place?
‘Yes,’ he said icily. ‘Do you wish me to have him removed? Does he offend you?’
‘What?’ She frowned. ‘No, of course he does not offend me. He just took me by surprise, that is all.’
His mouth twisted into the same expression of distaste he had turned on the woman who had presided at the foot of his dinner table the night before.
‘You think it beneath my dignity to own an animal of such uncertain pedigree? Is that it?’
It was a complaint he was always hearing from Lady Thrapston. Why could he not live up to his consequence? Why would he not go to town and ride around Hyde Park in a smart equipage? So that she could bask in his reflected glory, naturally. As though she did not occupy an elevated enough sphere in her own right!
And if he must have a dog, why could it not be an animal of prime pedigree, a gundog, the kind every other man would have.
As if he cared about appearances these days.
Helen was determined to hold her temper in check, in spite of his provoking manner. She managed to return a placating smile to his frown, and say, ‘No, not at all.’
The smile and the soft answer did not placate him. Their only effect was to make his scowl deeper.
‘I preferred you when you thought I was one of my servants,’ he muttered.
At least when she’d thought he was a footman he’d had the truth from her. Now she knew he was the Earl of Bridgemere she was putting on a false face. Smiling when what she really wanted to do was take him down a peg or two.
His comment wiped the smile from her face. She barely managed to prevent herself from informing him that she did not like him in either persona! As a servant she had thought him impertinent, as well as resenting the improper thoughts his proximity had sent frolicking through her mind. As an earl…Well, she had already decided he was a cold, hard, unpleasant sort of man before she had even met him.
Now she had met him she could add eccentric and unprincipled to the list of faults she was tallying up against him. Stringing her along like that, when one word would have put her straight!
However, it would not do to tell him what she really thought. Forcing herself to adopt what she hoped was a suitably humble tone, she said instead, ‘For which I do most sincerely apologise. It was just that you dress so…’ She waved her hand at his attire, which was so ordinary that she defied anyone who did not know to guess that this man held the rank of Earl.
But her speech made no impact on the depth of his scowl.
‘And then again, the way you just picked up my aunt and carried her upstairs, as though…’
‘You expected me to stand back