A Lord Apart Read online

  “They have,” said Macklin. “And he’s a positive magnet for confidences.”

  The small part of Daniel’s mind not fixed on Penelope Pendleton found this dubious. “Miss Pendleton was very unhappy, naturally, to learn that agents or friends of her brother might be lurking and watching her.”

  “Ah, you told her that?”

  “Did you imagine I wouldn’t?” He would not have her suspected, Daniel thought.

  “I advised you to do so,” replied the earl. His glance was uncomfortably acute.

  Daniel acknowledged this with a nod. “Let us have Tom do it.” He had to do something. He didn’t want her agitated again; he didn’t want her threatened. “This is my land. I’m the magistrate, taxed with keeping the peace. I have every right to gather information.”

  “True.”

  “Well then?”

  “I wonder if government agents might have a duty to report to you.” Macklin shook his head. “This is Sidmouth’s covert corps, I suppose. They wouldn’t observe such niceties.”

  “The Home Secretary is not above the law.”

  “I agree. Sidmouth might counter that he is the law.”

  “Not on my land,” replied Daniel grimly.

  Eleven

  Penelope pushed the heels of her hands into a mass of bread dough on the kitchen table, leaning forward to increase the pressure. With practice, she’d learned to feel when the dough took on the springy texture that signaled it was ready to be set aside to rise. She folded, turned, and kneaded again.

  Lord Whitfield didn’t want to be answerable. Very well, she would take charge of things then. She’d certainly had plenty of experience answering. Penelope paused, startled. This was the first time she’d made a joke, if only silently, about her months of interrogation.

  “Oh, it’s all spoilt,” said Kitty, bent over a pan on the hearth.

  It was indeed, Penelope thought. Whitfield seemed to forget that she was already ruined, her status snatched away with her old life. She’d had no choice at all then. She swore she would now. She pounded the dough.

  “A lighter hand there, miss,” said Mrs. Hart, who stood beside Kitty overseeing the preparation of a blancmange. Penelope obeyed. But inside, her determination continued to build. The cook turned back to Kitty and said, “You just have to keep on stirring.”

  Penelope turned the dough and pushed it down. Matters with the alluring viscount were definitely stirring.

  “How do I make it go stiff?” said Kitty.

  Penelope snorted.

  Mrs. Hart glanced at her again. Penelope bent her head over her task. “The gelatin we put in will set when it cools,” the older woman answered.

  What might she stir up, Penelope wondered, if she took what she wanted?

  “Will it wiggle?” asked Kitty.

  A laugh escaped Penelope. Mrs. Hart looked, appeared to catch the scandalous tenor of her thoughts from her expression, and raised her eyebrows. “It’ll be firmer than a jelly,” replied the cook.

  “I like to make them wiggle,” said Kitty, stirring.

  Mrs. Hart coughed, or choked on laughter. Penelope wasn’t sure which. She rather hoped it was the latter.

  The dough was ready. She smoothed it into a ball and put it in a large bowl, covering it with a cloth before she set it aside to rise. She pumped water into a basin to wash her hands.

  “What comes next?” asked Kitty.

  That was up to her, Penelope thought. Whitfield would tie himself into knots behaving like a gentleman.

  “Pour it into the molds,” said Mrs. Hart. “Carefully now.”

  Could she give her life a new shape? She had her own money, her own home. If she threw the old rules out the window with her girlhood, what were the new ones?

  “Oops!” Kitty said. “That wasn’t my fault.”

  Whatever Penelope did, she had to make it clear she wasn’t Whitfield’s responsibility. She didn’t want to be any such thing. A confidante, a delight perhaps, but not a burden.

  “What if it goes wrong?” Kitty asked.

  There were always consequences, Penelope thought, no matter what one did. Even when one did nothing at all, as she had been doing when Philip’s recklessness had brought the world crashing down on her. She simply had to accept them.

  “It’ll be fine,” said Mrs. Hart. “Put the molds over here where it’s cooler.”

  Should she wait until she was calmer to decide? Only, Penelope didn’t know when that would be. Whenever she thought of Whitfield, she felt she might go up in flames.

  Filled with the energy of her inner debate, Penelope left the kitchen. There was a pile of mending. She’d planned to wash the windows upstairs. She couldn’t expect Kitty to do all the cleaning. Foyle had left her some bills for fodder and harness to look over, as well as suggestions for a stiff letter to the owner of the goats. He wanted to threaten the man with the law, which would mean appearing before the local magistrate—who was Lord Whitfield. Even had she wanted to antagonize her neighbor, which she didn’t, that wasn’t a scene Penelope cared to enact.

  A knock on the front door broke into her musings. “I’ll go,” Penelope called before Kitty could emerge, and went to open it.

  A tall, lanky workman stood on the stoop. He pulled off his cap at the sight of her. “I’ve come to see Miss Pendleton,” he said.

  “I am Miss Pendleton.”

  “Miss,” he said with a respectful nod. “My name’s Henry Carson. His lordship said I should speak to you.”

  “Lord Whitfield?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Penelope took in the man’s straw-colored hair, powerful shoulders, and craftsman’s hands. One of them held a roll of paper with familiar markings. “About the bathing chamber?” she said.

  “Yes, miss,” he said again. “He said you’d be overseeing the building of it.”

  He looked dubious, but Penelope didn’t mind that. It was a typical attitude when laborers discovered that a young lady was in charge of their work. In her experience supervising projects on her father’s estate, eight out of ten could be won over by treating them with respect, demonstrating comprehensive knowledge of the task at hand, and paying them fairly and promptly. The other two had to be told that their services were not required, which sometimes changed their tune.

  “Come in.” She ushered Henry Carson into the dining room rather than the parlor so that they could spread out the plans on the large table. She weighted down the corners with books and indicated that he should sit opposite her. “I don’t suppose you’ve constructed anything like this before? Almost no one has. It’s a new design.”

  This frank admission seemed to reassure him. “No, miss. I’ve built cottages and barns, done a good deal of repairs at Frithgerd.”

  “Stonework as well as carpentry?”

  He nodded.

  “What about pipes? Like putting hand pumps in scullery sinks?”

  “Not so much. But I know a fellow who does.”

  “I think we’ll need him. You understand what we mean to do?” She tapped the plan with one finger.

  “Get water from the stream up to a tank in Frithgerd’s attic,” he replied with a skeptical frown. “And then down again, through a firebox, and into a tub.” He ran one finger over the requisite part of the plans as he spoke.

  “Precisely.” Penelope was glad to see that he could read and understand architectural drawings. Indeed, she was impressed at his quickness.

  “And that works, do you think, miss?”

  It was vital not to claim more knowledge than she had. She’d learned that early on. “The designer promises that it will.”

  “Architects,” said Henry Carson. He did not spit, but Penelope got the impression that in other circumstances he might have.

  “Have you noticed anything that you’re certain won’t
work? In your opinion.”

  He looked both thoughtful and gratified to be consulted. “Not as I can spot, miss. But as you say, this is a new sort of construction. And you never do know with these grand schemes until the roof falls on you, do you?”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “They had a fancy London architect in to put a ballroom on Paine Hall,” he added. “That’s a matter of five miles from here, miss. He was dead certain he knew how to frame a dome in the center. Only he didn’t. We ended with a pile of rubble and Ron Carroll with a broken leg.”

  “Oh dear.”

  His nod this time was portentous. Bending over the plan, he added, “This’ll take a deal of pipe. I should start in on that. I know a cooper can make a big water tank, but the mill wheel—”

  “Perhaps there’s a mill nearby where we can consult?”

  “Aye.” Carson looked relieved. “Reckon the miller might know about pumps as well. Or who to ask anyway.”

  “Good idea.”

  He sat back. The uneasiness had reappeared in his expression. “I do think I should speak to his lordship before I go ordering a load of work.”

  “Because he will be paying the bills,” said Penelope with a smile.

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Perfectly understandable. Why don’t we go and see him now?”

  “Now?”

  The thought made Penelope happy, remembering the fire in Whitfield’s gaze when she’d left him the last time. She so looked forward to igniting it again. “Why not?” She rolled up the plans and handed them to her companion.

  “Perhaps I should make an appointment, miss.”

  “I’m sure Lord Whitfield would like to hear about the progress we’ve made.” She gave him no time to protest but went to tell Foyle to ready the gig. Kitty was elbow deep in flour with Mrs. Hart, so Penelope drove the short distance to Frithgerd escorted by Henry Carson.

  They found the viscount in the front hall, just back from the stables. He wore riding dress and looked ruddy with exercise, a figure who could take on anything. “I didn’t know you meant to come today,” he said to Penelope. His obvious appreciation at seeing her warmed her to her toes.

  “We came to tell you about our construction plans. Mr. Carson and I have been discussing what needs to be done in order to put in the bath.”

  Daniel nodded to Henry Carson, who had often worked at Frithgerd, but he was diverted by the animation on Miss Pendleton’s face. She positively glowed with excitement. Over pipes and pumps? Or could he hope that seeing him had some part in it? Either way, he wanted to impress her. “Drains,” he said. “People are always nagging me about drains. They seem sadly prone to stopping up or smelling. We must make certain any new drains installed work properly.”

  “A good point.” Miss Pendleton jotted a few words on her ubiquitous notepad and looked at Carson to make sure he took the suggestion on board. “Have you chosen the room where the bath will be installed?”

  The necessity had slipped Daniel’s mind. “I was waiting for your opinion.”

  “Next to the kitchens,” she declared.

  “Because the fires are always lit there, and they will warm the water.” He remembered that.

  Carson looked at Miss Pendleton and then back at Daniel. His expression was bemused. Possibly, most likely, he’d never met a young lady like her, Daniel thought. And he’d probably never encounter another. She was enchantingly unique.

  “But we don’t want to interfere with the cooking,” she replied. “That wouldn’t do.”

  They trailed after her as she headed toward the back premises, rather like staff officers supporting their commander on an inspection, Daniel thought. A startled housemaid stood against the corridor wall as they passed, arms full of clean linens. In the kitchen, the cook and her helpers stopped work and turned to bob curtsies and stare. Macklin’s lad Tom rose from a chair in the corner, in the act of biting into a buttered scone. “Good day, Mrs. Jensen,” said Daniel to the cook. “We’ve come to examine the rooms hereabouts. I’ve decided to put in a bathing chamber at Frithgerd, and it needs to be near the kitchen fires.”

  The cook looked confused. “Bathing, my lord?”

  “A tub,” he said. “With pipes for hot water.”

  The cook looked at the hot-water reservoir on her closed stove and frowned.

  “How?” asked Tom. The scone had been devoured in three huge bites. The lad’s homely face was bright with curiosity.

  Before Daniel could reply, his housekeeper arrived in a rush. Word of their incursion was obviously spreading through the house. “I wasn’t told that you needed anything, my lord,” Mrs. Phipps said. Reproach tinged her tone.

  Daniel repeated his announcement.

  “Bathing chamber.” His housekeeper repeated the words as if they were in a foreign language.

  “It’s a new invention,” said Miss Pendleton. “The very latest thing.” Gesturing with the roll of plans, she gathered the attention of everyone in the room. “Water will be pumped up to a tank in the attics,” she continued. “Mr. Carson will fit pipes to bring it down to a smaller tank next to the fire, where it will be heated, and then brought into the chamber. After that, it will be a matter of simply turning a spigot and running a hot bath.” She made a twisting gesture with one hand. All eyes followed it. “And no one will have to carry countless cans of heated water upstairs to fill a tub again.”

  “Champion,” said Tom.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Mrs. Phipps.

  Miss Pendleton turned to the housekeeper. “I daresay some visitors won’t wish to come down to bathe and will still prefer the old way.”

  “I should say so,” she muttered.

  “People will be traipsing naked through my kitchen?” asked the cook. She frowned at Daniel as if he was proposing to shed his clothes here and now.

  He met Miss Pendleton’s eyes, ready to laugh, and encountered a look that turned his thoughts in quite a different direction. Might she come and make use of his new bathing room? Surely she would wish to test her creation when it was finished. And what if she wanted company in that steamy luxury? The unprecedented, outrageous idea made his breath catch.

  She looked away. “Not naked,” she answered, her voice a bit high. “In their dressing gowns perhaps. But we’ll make certain they don’t disturb you here by choosing the right location. What is on the other side of the chimney?”

  That was the ticket, Daniel thought. Keep pressing forward before objections could pile up.

  “A set of storerooms, miss,” answered Mrs. Jensen.

  “We should look at those. This way, is it?” Before anyone could protest, she was through a brick archway and gone. Daniel went after her, with Henry Carson, the housekeeper, the cook, and Tom on his heels. The narrow corridor on the other side was immediately overcrowded.

  A row of four small chambers backed up to the great chimney. “We use these for storing things that need to be warm and dry,” said the cook. “Flour and such.”

  Miss Pendleton paced to the small window at the far end and looked into the fourth storeroom. “This would do,” she declared. “We could close off the corridor here.” She drew an imaginary line on the floor with one foot. “And open up a new entrance here.” She patted the rough plaster of the wall opposite the rooms. “I wonder what’s on the other side.”

  Daniel visualized the geography of his home. “That would be the blue parlor, I believe. Where we put the trunks.” This wasn’t the worst news, as the room wasn’t much used. But he hadn’t realized they’d be ripping through walls.

  “That’d let us run the pipes down the outside of the house from the attic,” said Henry Carson. He looked relieved. As well he might, Daniel thought, if he’d been wondering how to fit pipes through thick walls and ceilings.

  “Much easier,” agreed Miss Pendleton. She stepped i
nto the storeroom. Daniel followed. “Oh good, there’s a window here,” she said, waving at the small opening. She put a hand to the far wall. “It’s warm.”

  Daniel mirrored her pose. The bricks were indeed warm from the kitchen fires. He looked down at the storm—in the guise of a lovely young lady—that he’d unleashed on his peaceful dwelling. Her answering gaze was eager, arrested, and then intensely arousing.

  “So.” Miss Pendleton cleared her throat. “The water heated here and the tub sitting below.”

  He could almost see her stepping out of veils of steam, like Aphrodite emerging from the foam. He would always long to see her so. Wasn’t there some myth like that? With the goddess Diana, he remembered. But that story hadn’t ended well. The young man who caught sight of Diana bathing had been transformed into a deer and torn to pieces by his own hunting dogs. Not the thing at all.

  “Quite revolutionary,” he said, and was stirred by the brilliance of her answering smile. Who would have imagined such a heady mixture of beauty and ingenuity and sheer competence? Not he, until he met her. Daniel became aware of a bouquet of interested faces gazing at them from the doorway. “Where does one buy a bathtub, I wonder?”

  “The Prince Regent’s staff will know,” she replied.

  The spark of mischief in her blue eyes, and the murmurs of awe from the corridor, told Daniel she knew exactly what she was doing.

  “Shall we go and survey the attic?” she asked. “Find the best site for the water tank?”

  “I could do that, miss,” said Henry Carson. “No need for you to bother.”

  “I like to have a firsthand view of everything,” she replied.

  “Of course you do,” said Daniel.

  This earned him a sharp glance, but he hadn’t intended any sarcasm. “Very wise to make sure of every detail,” he added. He fell in beside her, thinking this was far more amusing than bending over fusty documents.

  They shed the servants as they went back through the kitchen, but Tom asked to come along and “see how it all works.” And so they found a second lantern for him to carry, and the four of them walked upstairs together and into Frithgerd’s extensive attics.