Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(8)

“Would you like to know how much I'll be paying you?” he asked abruptly.

She stared at her folded hands. “I trust you will provide an adequate salary, my lord.”

“Five pounds a month should be acceptable.” Luke was annoyed by her slight nod. The amount was well above the usual rate. Some sign of gratitude, or praise for his generosity, wouldn't be unwarranted. But there was nothing.

He didn't think Emma would like her. How could this fey creature find any common ground with his scapegrace daughter? She seemed to be lost in some inner world that held far more appeal than reality. “Miss Billings,” he said tersely, “if you aren't able to fulfill the position to my satisfaction, I'll give you adequate time to find a new situation.”

“That won't be necessary.”

He snorted at her confidence. “You're very young. Someday you'll learn that life holds many surprises.”

An odd smile flitted across her lips. “I have already made that discovery, my lord. ‘Twist of fate’ is how the English put it, yes?”

“I suppose it was a twist of fate that brought you to the Ashbournes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“How long have you been acquainted with them?”

The hint of a smile vanished. “Is it necessary that you ask questions, sir?”

Luke settled back in his seat and folded his arms comfortably. “I think I'm entitled to a few. Regardless of your dislike of questions, Miss Billings, the fact is that I've agreed to entrust you with my daughter's welfare.”

Her forehead puckered as if she were trying to solve a riddle. “What would you like to know, my lord?”

“Are you a relative of Alicia's?”

“A distant cousin.”

“Are you Russian by birth?”

She didn't move, her lashes lowered. It seemed as if she hadn't heard him. Then she nodded slightly.

“Married?”

Her gaze remained on her folded hands. “Why must you ask that?”

“I want to know if I should expect an enraged husband to appear on my doorstep someday.”

“There is no husband,” she said quietly.

“Why not? Even without money, your face is attraction enough to land a few decent offers.”

“I prefer to remain alone.”

He smiled wryly. “I prefer that myself. But you're far too young to resign yourself to a lifetime of solitude.”

“I am twenty-two, sir.”

“Like hell,” he said softly. “You're barely older than Emma.”

She glanced up at him then, her face lovely and severe. “Years don't really matter, do they? Some people never know more at sixty than they did at sixteen. Some children are aged by experience, and they know far more than the adults around them. Maturity isn't easy to measure.”

Luke looked away, the glint of challenge fading. What had happened to her, and why was she alone? There must be someone—a father, a brother, a guardian—who had taken care of her. Why was there no one to protect her now?

He rubbed his fingertips over his left sleeve, feeling for the outline of the leather strap that bound the hook to his arm. Miss Karen Billings—whoever she was—made him restless. Silently he damned Charles. A month. A whole bloody month.

She was absorbed by the scenery outside the window as they neared the outskirts of Southgate. Originally an estate village, it had broadened into a bustling town with the largest marketplace in the county. It was bordered with lush meadows and creeks, and a forest of beech and oak. The handsome brick buildings that housed the corn exchange, the mill, and the grammar school had been designed by Luke's grandfather. He had also lent his talents to the church in the town center, an austere structure faceted with large stained-glass windows.

The outline of an impressive manor house rose on a broad hill that overlooked the land for miles around. Miss Billings glanced at Luke questioningly.

“That's Southgate Hall,” he said. “Emma and I are the only Stokehursts in residence. My parents prefer to stay on our property in Shropshire. My sister married a Scotsman, and they live in Selkirk.”

The carriage traveled up a winding road, through the gate of a massive wall that had originally protected a Norman fortress. Southgate Hall had been built on the remains of the original castle. The central section dated from the sixteenth century, while the rest had been added in modern times. With its romantic profusion of turrets and gables, and its soaring height, it was known as one of the most picturesque homes in England. Art students often visited to paint their own renditions of the distinctive house and the interplay of brick and glass across its east-facing front.

They stopped at the entrance, surmounted by trefoil moldings and a medallion bearing the family crest. After being helped from the carriage by footmen dressed in black livery, Tasia stared at the carved image over the door. It was a hawk, clutching a single rose in its talons.

She started as she felt a touch at her elbow, and turned toward Lord Stokehurst. The sun was at his back, casting his lean face in shadow. “Come inside,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him. An elderly butler with a long chin and balding head held the door open. Lord Stokehurst introduced them. “Seymour, this is Miss Billings, the new governess.”

Tasia was surprised at being presented to the butler, instead of the other way around. Then she remembered that she was no longer a lady, but a servant of lower rank. Inferior was always presented to superior. A rueful smile crossed her lips, and she dropped a quick curtsy to Seymour. They entered a magnificent hall two stories high, with an octagonal stone table in the center. A flood of natural light shone through the solar windows up above. Tasia's appreciation of the hall was interrupted by a shout that echoed off the walls.