Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(53)

Tasia woke later than she had intended. The sun was halfway up the sky, the sounds of breakfast rising from the servants' hall. To her relief, Stokehurst had left in the night while she slept. She could not bear to face him now. He and Emma were out on their morning ride. By the time they returned, she would be gone. After dressing and completing her morning ablutions in a hurry, she sat down to write a letter.

MY DEAR EMMA,

Forgive me for leaving without telling you goodbye in person. I wish I could stay longer, to see what a wonderful young woman you will become. I am so very proud of you. Perhaps someday you will understand why it was better for everyone that I left when I did. I give you my love, and hope you will remember me fondly.

ADIEU—

MISS BILLINGS

Carefully Tasia folded the square of parchment and sealed it with a few drops of wax. She blew out the flame, set down the stick of wax, and left the note in her room with Emma's name on it. It was the best way for all of them. She was relieved that her departure would be free of confrontations and awkward goodbyes. But there was a strange uneasiness lodged in her heart. Why had Stokehurst chosen to disappear without a word? Why was he letting her go like this? She had thought he might make one last effort to convince her to stay. He wouldn't give up something he wanted without a battle, and if he had spoken the truth about wanting her…

But perhaps he didn't want her anymore. Maybe one night had been enough for him. Maybe now his curiosity was satisfied.

The thought depressed Tasia. Her chest ached. Of course he had no further use for her. She had been adequate amusement for a few hours in the darkness. Now he would go back to Lady Harcourt, a woman with enough sensuality and experience to match his own.

Tasia wanted to weep, but instead she lifted her chin resolutely and carried her bags downstairs. There was a pleasantly acrid tea smell in the air. The carpets in the corridors were being cleaned. First the pile was scattered with dry tea leaves, and then it was painstakingly brushed by a battalion of housemaids. Mrs. Knaggs was busy supervising the activity, walking back and forth in a rustle of starched white apron. Tasia found her in one of the second-floor hallways, carrying a can of melted beeswax.

“Ma'am—”

“Ah, Miss Billings!” The housekeeper was flushed with exertion. She paused as Tasia came to her. “There aren't enough hours in the day to keep such a big place clean,” she commented, gesturing with the small can. “Carpets are trouble enough, but the wood floors are even worse.”

“Ma'am, I've come to tell you—”

“I already know. The master informed me this morning that you would be leaving us.”

Tasia was taken aback by the matter-of-fact statement. “‘He did?”

“Yes, and he ordered one of the carriages to be readied, to take you wherever you want to go.”

Rather than protest her departure, it seemed that Stokehurst was trying to make it as convenient as possible. “How kind of him,” Tasia said dully.

“I hope you have a pleasant journey,” Mrs. Knaggs said, her tone brisk, as if Tasia was merely going to the market for the day.

“You haven't asked why I'm leaving so suddenly.”

“I daresay your reasons are your own business, Miss Billings.”

Tasia cleared her throat uncomfortably. “About my month's wages, I was hoping—”

“Oh, yes.” All at once Mrs. Knaggs looked mildly embarrassed. “The master seemed to feel that since you haven't stayed the entire month, you aren't entitled to the wages he promised.”

Tasia turned red with surprise and rage. “It's only a few days short of a month! Do you mean to tell me he won't hand over a shilling of what he owes me?”

The housekeeper looked away. “I'm afraid. so.”

The bastard! The stingy, contemptible, smug, unscrupulous bastard. He was trying to punish her for not doing what he wanted. Tasia struggled for composure and finally spoke in a strained voice. “All right. I can get along without it. Goodbye, Mrs. Knaggs, and please tell Mrs. Plunkett and Biddle and the others that I wish them well—”

“Of course.” The housekeeper reached out and patted her shoulder in a friendly gesture. “We've all become quite fond of you, my dear. Goodbye. I must hurry with this wax—miles of floors to be polished…”

Tasia watched the housekeeper stride away. She was disconcerted by Mrs. Knaggs's breezy farewell, having expected something a little more heartfelt. Maybe the rumor had already gotten out that Stokehurst had spent the night in her room. There were no secrets at Southgate Hall. That must be the reason for the housekeeper's offhand manner—she wanted Tasia to leave quickly, and good riddance.

Humiliated, Tasia slunk to the entrance hall, wanting nothing more than to be far away from Southgate. Seymour, the butler, treated her with the same friendly politeness as always, but she couldn't meet his eyes as she asked for the carriage to be brought around. She wondered if he too suspected what she had done with Lord Stokehurst the night before. Perhaps it was written on her face. Surely anyone could look at her and see the loss of innocence. She was a fallen woman, with yet another sin to add to her list.

“What destination shall I tell the driver, miss?” Seymour asked diffidently.

“Amersham, please.” It was a village on the coach road with many old inns. Her plan was to stay there for the night, sell her grandmother's little gold cross for as much as she could get, and then hire a local man to convey her to the west of England. She knew there were numerous rural towns and ancient villages there, where she would be able to hide and assume the anonymous life of a dairymaid or houseservant.