heard the tension that crept into her voice. She needed this job—very badly. But she wouldn’t stay without her sister. Apparently, she hadn’t realized yet that Claire was the reason that she had been employed.
“As housekeeper, you will be able to hire as you wish. Another chambermaid would probably be useful. I’ll summon Mrs. Mills. She can show you around and discuss the duties you will need to perform. As this is a bachelor household, I imagine it would be better if I introduced you as Mrs. Temple.”
Her lips slightly pursed as she recognized the necessity of the lie, which obviously didn’t sit well with her.
“Yes, I suppose it would. As that will pose a problem for Claire, you may refer to my sister as Miss Marion. That is her middle name.”
He motioned toward Timmons, who left to collect Mrs. Mills. The broad-hipped housekeeper arrived a few minutes later, a speculative look on her face.
“Mrs. Mills, this is Mrs. Temple,” Cord said. “Beginning on Monday, she will be taking your place.”
The housekeeper’s speckled gray eyebrows drew together. “But I assumed Mrs. Rathbone—”
“As I said, Mrs. Temple will be your replacement. And this is her sister, Miss Marion. She’s being employed as a housemaid.”
Mrs. Mills didn’t look all that happy, but she nodded her acceptance, then motioned for the women to follow her and started climbing the stairs.
“We’ll get your sister settled in first,” the housekeeper said. “Then I’ll show you to your room. It’s downstairs next to the kitchen.”
“Come, Claire.” The dark-haired sister’s command drew the blonde’s attention from the flower-filled urn. “Mrs. Mills is going to show us our rooms.” Though the words were directed at Claire, her eyes were fixed on Cord and he thought that they held a trace of warning.
The notion somehow amused him. A servant with that kind of pluck. For the first time in weeks, Cord found himself thinking of something other than the business of being an earl and his worry about Ethan.
He cast a last glance at Claire, who climbed the stairs with her elegant head bent forward as she studied the patterns in the carpet. Cord watched the way a silver-blond strand of hair teased her cheek and felt a familiar male stirring. Thinking of the intriguing possibilities the future suddenly held for him, he smiled.
Then he thought of the stacks of paperwork waiting on his desk and the smile slid away. With a sigh, Cord headed for his study.
Two
It was early the following morning that Mrs. Mills began her instruction and Tory learned the scope of her duties. Fortunately, she had managed a fairly large household at Harwood Hall, though the penny-pinching baron kept the staff to a minimum, resulting in long, exhausting days for all of them.
Though Claire had never worked at Harwood, she accepted her duties without the least complaint, collecting peas and beans from the kitchen garden, haring off to the marketplace for a pot of butter Cook needed for the evening meal, enjoying the camaraderie of working with the other servants.
Since their mother, Charlotte Temple Whiting, Lady Harwood, had died three years ago, they’d had very little social life. Tory had been away at Mrs. Thornhill’s Private Academy when her mother had fallen ill. After her mother’s death, her stepfather had insisted that Tory forgo the balance of her term at school to stay home and manage the household in her mother’s stead.
Claire, he said, could receive private instruction. Where the girls were concerned, the baron was miserly in the extreme, but Tory now knew he also hoped to find his way into her sister’s bed.
A shiver ran down her spine. Claire is safe now, she told herself. But in truth, the theft of the necklace and the possible death of the baron hung over them like a shroud that darkened each of their days. Surely, if the man had died, she would have read about it in the papers—or been apprehended for the deed by now.
Then again, perhaps the baron had recovered and simply said nothing of the crime, hoping to avoid a scandal. He was obsessed with the title he had gained on the death of her father. He was Baron Harwood now. He would not wish to sully the name.
Her mind strayed to the necklace. From the moment Miles Whiting had first seen it, he had been fascinated with the beautiful string of pearls interspersed with glittering diamonds. Tory thought that perhaps he had purchased it for his mistress then couldn’t bear to part with it. Whatever the truth, the necklace always seemed to have an odd sort of hold over him.
Surely the whispered tales of violence and passion, vast fortunes gained and lost that revolved around the necklace were nothing more than fantasy.
Then again…Tory glanced around, thinking of her present situation, her face damp from the coal fires burning beneath the pots boiling on the stove, her hair springing out of its coil and sticking to the back of her neck. She thought of Claire and worried at the earl’s intentions—and wondered, just for an instant, if perhaps the curse was real.
Tory worked with Mrs. Mills, going over each of the tasks she would be responsible for as housekeeper. Keeping the accounts, preparing menus and receiving deliveries, inventorying the larder, looking after the linens and placing orders for household supplies were among an endless list.
It wasn’t until several hours later, as she headed upstairs to begin an inventory of the west-wing linen closet, that she encountered the earl, lounging in the doorway of one of the bedchambers. Her sister was changing the linens inside the room, she realized, and her whole body stiffened.
“Is there something you need, my lord?” Tory asked, certain she knew what he was about.
“What? Oh, no, nothing, thank you. I was just…” He flicked a glance at Claire, who was staring out the window holding an armload of dirty sheets. “What is your sister doing?”
Tory followed his gaze, saw Claire standing there with a mesmerized look on her face. Reaching out, she caught a moth on the tip of her finger. She didn’t move an inch as she watched the tiny wings float up and down.
Worry tightened Tory’s chest. They needed this job. They were out of money, out of options. They simply had nowhere else to go.
“You needn’t fear, my lord. Claire is a very hard worker. She’ll see her tasks completed. It might take her a little longer than someone else, but she’s very conscientious. And she’ll do a very good job.”
The earl looked down at Tory. His eyes were a sort of golden brown, a bit unusual and somehow disturbing.
“I’m sure she will.” His gaze flicked back to Claire, who still stood mesmerized by the slow, graceful movement of the tiny moth.
Tory started forward, walking purposely into the room. “Claire, darling. Why don’t you take those sheets down to Mrs. Wiggs? She could probably use some help with the laundry.”
Claire’s face softened into a beatific smile. “All right.” Strolling out of the room, she breezed right past the earl, whose gaze followed her feminine movements down the hall.
“As I said, you don’t have to worry about Claire.”
His attention returned to
