not conscious of the girls’ presence in the house, she found herself constantly aware of his. It was as if a salty ocean breeze had blown all the way into the landlocked heart of England, bearing with it a host of unwelcome changes.
“These naval men have most exacting standards.” Mr. Culpepper wrung his hands. “At my age, where should I go if I am turned out of Knightley Park?”
Marian bristled at the thought of such a good and faithful servant treated so shabbily. “Has Captain Radcliffe complained about the running of the house?”
The butler shook his head. “Not in so many words. But he is so very quiet and solemn, just the way he was as a boy. Who knows what plans he may be making? He is so little like his cousin, one would scarcely believe they could be of the same blood.”
That was true enough. The girls’ jovial, generous father had been a down-to-earth country squire devoted to his children, his horses and his dogs. His cousin seemed distinctly uncomfortable with all three.
“Don’t fret yourself, Mr. Culpepper. I’m sure the captain would tell you soon enough if the housekeeping was not up to his standards. He seems the type that’s quick to find fault. Silence is as close to praise as you can hope for from him.”
The furrows of worry in the butler’s forehead relaxed a trifle. “I hope you are right, Miss Murray. I will endeavor to remain calm and go about my duties.”
“Good.” Marian flashed him an encouraging smile, pleased that she had been able to ease his fears a little. “That’s all any of us can do, I reckon.”
As she continued on down the stairs, Marian strove to heed her own advice, though it wasn’t easy. She would have feared the captain’s disapproval less if her position was the only thing at stake. But with the children’s welfare hanging in the balance, she could not afford to put a foot wrong.
As she tiptoed past the dining room, the muted clink of silverware on china assured her the captain was busy eating his dinner. A few moments later, as she hurried back from the library, a sudden crash from inside the dining room made her start violently. It sounded as if a piece of china had been hurled to the floor and smashed into a hundred pieces. The noise was immediately followed by a wail of distress from Bessie, a nervous, and often clumsy, housemaid. What had the captain done to make the poor lass take on so?
Marian marched toward the dining room, not certain how she meant to intervene but compelled to do what she could to defend the girl.
She was about to fling open the door when she heard Bessie sob, “I’m s-sorry, s-s-ir! Have I burnt ye with that tea? I told Mr. Culpepper I’m too ham-fisted to be waiting table. Now ye’ll send me packing and I wouldn’t blame ye!”
So it was Bessie who had fumbled a teacup. A qualm of shame gripped Marian’s stomach as she realized she had once again jumped to a most uncharitable conclusion about Captain Radcliffe.
His reply to Bessie made Marian feel even worse. “Don’t trouble yourself. If Mr. Culpepper asks, you must tell him it was my fault. I am not accustomed to handling such delicate china. Now dry your eyes, sweep up the mess and think no more of it.”
As Marian fled back to the nursery, her conscience chided her for all the harsh things she’d thought and said about Captain Radcliffe since his arrival. She should have been grateful to him for allowing Cissy and Dolly to stay at Knightley Park when he’d been under no obligation to keep them here. Instead, she’d compared him unfavorably with his cousin and held those differences against him. She’d resented the loss of a few petty privileges, as if they’d been hers by right rather than by favor. Worst of all, she had allowed mean-spirited rumors to poison her opinion of the man without giving him a fair opportunity to prove his worth.
Clearly she needed to pay greater heed to her Bible, especially the part that counseled “judge not, lest ye be judged.” It might be that, in the eyes of God, Captain Radcliffe had a great deal less to answer for than she.
Chapter Three
Coming to Knightley Park had clearly been a huge mistake. As Gideon returned to the house after several frustrating hours reviewing the steward’s progress, he reflected on his folly.
He had come to Nottinghamshire expecting to escape his recent troubles by revisiting simpler times past. But Knightley Park was no longer the calm, well run estate it had been in his grandfather’s day. And he was no longer the solitary child, made welcome by one and all.
The seeds of gossip had followed him here and found fertile soil in which to breed a crop of noxious weeds. Young footmen turned pale and fled when he approached. Tenants eyed him with wary, resentful servility. Housemaids trembled when he cast the briefest glance in their direction. His cousins’ governess sprang to her young charges’ defense like a tigress protecting her cubs.
Gideon had to admit he preferred Miss Murray’s open antagonism to the sullen aversion and dread of the others. And he could not fault her willingness to shield the children, even if there had been no need. Unfortunately, his flicker of grudging admiration for Miss Murray only made her suspicion and wariness of him sting all the worse.
As he entered the house quietly by a side door, Gideon could no longer ignore a vexing question. How could he possibly expect the Admiralty’s board of inquiry to believe in his innocence when his own servants and tenants clearly judged him guilty?
Passing the foot of the servants’ stairs, he heard the voices of two footmen drift down from the landing. He did not mean to eavesdrop, but their furtive, petulant tone left Gideon in no doubt they were talking about him.
“How long do you reckon we’ll have to put up with him?” asked one.
The other snorted. “Too long to suit either of us, I can tell you that. With old Boney beaten at last, I’ll wager the navy won’t want him back.”
Gideon told himself to keep walking and pay no heed to servants’ tattle. He knew this was the sort of talk that must be going on behind his back all the time. The last thing he needed was to have their exact words echoing in his thoughts, taunting and shaming him. But his steps slowed in spite of himself, and his ears strained to catch every word.
Did part of him feel he deserved it?
One of the footmen heaved a sigh. “So he’ll stay here to make our lives a misery instead of his crew’s. It’s not right.”
“When did right ever come into it?” grumbled the other.
Gideon had almost managed to edge himself out of earshot when a third voice joined the others—a woman’s voice he recognized as belonging to Miss Murray.
“Wilbert, Frederick, have you no duties to be getting on with?” she inquired in a disapproving tone, as if they were a pair of naughty little boys in the nursery.
“We just stopped for a quick word, miss. We’ve been run off our feet since the new master arrived.” They were obviously counting on the governess to sympathize with their disgruntled feelings.
By now Gideon had given up trying to walk away. He braced to hear the governess join in abusing him.
“Perhaps if you’d kept up with your duties during the past few months,” she reminded the young footmen instead, “you might not have to work quite so hard now to get the house back in decent order.”
