should,” his mother said.
“No, stay. I want to talk to you, Miss Trim.”
“Bully her, you mean,” his mother sniped.
Leath ignored the gibe and focused on his mother. “Where did you discover this paragon?”
“In the kitchen, my lord,” Miss Trim said with a hint of challenge.
“Nell, don’t bait my son. He doesn’t like to be crossed,” his mother said as if describing a fractious toddler. “James, Nell came to us in July as a housemaid. I was suffering … megrims and she was drafted into my care. It was immediately apparent that her talents extended beyond dusting and scrubbing.”
Leath fumed under his parent’s tolerant glance, even as guilt assailed him. He well knew his mother’s courage. “Megrims” meant she’d been prostrate with pain. And he’d been in London and ignorant of her suffering. While this encroaching maidservant took advantage. “A housemaid is no apt companion for the Marchioness of Leath.”
“She is when the marchioness so decides,” his mother snapped. “If I can no longer choose who serves me, it’s time I moved to the dower house.”
Leath endured a meaningful glance from Miss Trim, as if to remind him that his mother’s health was poor and this disagreement must try her nerves. Damn it, he knew that. In frustration, he ran a hand through his hair. If they ever allowed women into parliament, every man there was doomed.
“Mamma, this is your home. There’s no need for this.”
“If it’s my home, I should be allowed to select my servants,” she said stalwartly.
Miss Trim shifted to a table covered with bottles and vials and poured a cordial for his mother. “Your ladyship, perhaps I should return to my former place in the household.”
Leath’s eyes narrowed on her. “Capital suggestion.”
His mother accepted the small crystal glass with a grateful smile. He couldn’t help noticing the glitter in her eyes. She didn’t look ill. In fact, she looked better than she’d looked in recent memory. But the doctors had insisted that too much excitement could exhaust her.
“I will not countenance you dismissing Nell just because you’ve got some bee in your bonnet.” She handed the half-empty glass to Miss Trim, who returned it to the table without glancing at him.
He sighed. “It’s a pity to start our reunion with an argument.”
His mother regarded him with a less militant light in her fine gray eyes. “Perhaps I should have told you in a letter.”
He doubted that would have changed his mind about Miss Trim’s suitability, although he might have had a clue about the identity of last night’s moonlit wraith. “I’m willing to give the girl a chance.”
He waited for his mother to insist that he had no say in the matter, but it seemed she too regretted their disagreement. “You’ll soon see how good she is for me and you’ll be as grateful as I am that she came to us.”
Somehow he doubted that. “I would still appreciate the chance to interview her.”
Miss Trim glanced up quickly and he saw that she was as reluctant to be interviewed as his mother was to allow the interview to take place. Too bad. He was master here and it was time he took control. His mother had always been an excellent judge of character and he had a large and capable staff. But even so, things at Alloway Chase were not as he wished.
“Don’t let him browbeat you, Nell,” his mother said with an encouraging smile.
“For heaven’s sake, Mamma, you make me sound like a tyrant.”
His mother arched her eyebrows. “If your guilty conscience prompts that thought, perhaps you should examine your behavior.”
He flushed, he who stood firm under the most concentrated parliamentary attack. His mother always knew how to best him, devil take her. “I’ll be gentle.”
The girl clearly didn’t believe him, but his mother took the statement at face value. “Thank you. I won’t have you upsetting someone who is so kind to me.”
Miss Trim hovered near the sideboard, looking as guilty as sin. Interesting.
“Miss Trim, if you please, we’ll adjourn to the library.” He knew she caught the faint edge as he mentioned the scene of their nocturnal encounter.
“You promise not to browbeat her?” his mother insisted.
He muffled a growl. He wasn’t in the habit of badgering the servants. At this rate, the girl would be in such a state by the time he questioned her, she’d be in hysterics.
“Do you need anything, my lady?” she asked with a calmness that belied that prediction.
“Just my book and spectacles,” his mother said and accepted them with a smile. “Don’t stand for any nonsense from James.”
Miss Trim’s smile was faint as she curtsied and preceded him from the room with a poise that wouldn’t disgrace a debutante at Almack’s. As he followed, Leath couldn’t help thinking that she was the damnedest housemaid he’d ever seen.
Nell’s heart hammered with dread by the time she reached the library. She knew Leath chose this room to intimidate her. Goodness, after his tiff with his mother, she might yet face dismissal. It was clear that he wanted to get rid of her. If he did, how would she gather the evidence against him?
Before she was summoned, her eavesdropping had been enlightening. The newspapers were right. Leath’s political career was in trouble. Good. When Sedgemoor used the diary to expose him as the villain he was, all hope of public office would evaporate.
Nell had arrived at Alloway Chase despising Lord Leath. But that was before she’d listened to him battle with a mother he loved over something he considered important for her sake, not his own.
Mentally Nell kicked herself. His kindness to his mother didn’t mean anything. With his family, the marquess might act the civilized man, but at heart he was a monster. If she forgot that, she was lost.
She stood straight and quiet in the center of the library as he prowled across to sit behind the desk.
“It’s too late to pretend humility, Miss Trim,” he barked, making her start.
When he’d spoken so tenderly to his mother, the beauty of his deep baritone had struck her. Now his voice was like a gunshot. Of course it was; she was a lowly servant. And he didn’t like her, despite those disturbing moments last night when she’d sensed male interest. This morning he’d regarded her like a cockroach in the castle’s pantry. Should the Marquess of Leath ever condescend to visit that prosaic location.
“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly, intending to needle him.
She succeeded. He growled and gestured toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”
“It’s inappropriate for me to sit in your presence, sir.”
“It’s inappropriate to answer back, my
