made no reply, just continued past him into the hall. Her heart was racing, her stomach oddly trembling. Fear of losing their desperately needed employment, she told herself. But as her gaze slid one last time toward the tall, dark-haired earl, she worried that it might be something else.
The ormolu clock on the mantel struck midnight. Seated behind the desk in his study, Cord barely heard it. Instead, he stared into the circle of light from the silver whale-oil lamp illuminating the ledger he had been poring over since just after supper. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, thinking how far into the red his family fortune had sunk before he had taken over the job of rebuilding.
Until the day his father died, he’d had no idea the problems the old man had been facing. Cord had been too busy carousing with his friends, drinking and debauching, gaming, skirt-chasing and generally doing whatever pleased him at the moment. He’d had no time for family responsibilities, duties that should have been his as the eldest son.
Then his father had suffered an apoplexy, leaving him unable to speak and his left side paralyzed, distorting his once-handsome face. Two months later, the earl of Brant was dead and the crushing weight of his financially failing earldom settled heavily on his son’s more-than-adequate shoulders.
In the two years since, Cord still wondered if the earl might not be alive today if his son had been there to help ease his burden. Perhaps together they could have solved at least a portion of the estate’s financial problems. Perhaps if the strain hadn’t been so great…
Ah, but it was too late for that now and so the guilt remained, driving Cord to do what he felt he should have done in the first place.
He sighed into the silence of the room, hearing the clock tick now, watching his shadow move against the wall as he leaned over his desk. At least there was some satisfaction in the accomplishments he had made. Several wise investments over the past two years had returned the Brant coffers to a satisfactory level. He had earned enough to pay for all the needed repairs on the three estates that belonged to the earldom and make several new investments that looked very promising indeed.
Still, it wasn’t enough. He owed his father for failing him in his time of need. Cord meant to repay him not by simply rebuilding the Brant family fortune but taking it to greater heights than it had ever been before. Not only had he discovered he was remarkably good at making money, he had formulated a financial plan, one that included marriage to an heiress, a lady of quality who could contribute to the family wealth.
He didn’t imagine that goal would be particularly difficult to accomplish. Cord knew women. He felt comfortable with them, liked them—young or old, fat or thin, rich or poor. And they liked him. He already had his eye on a couple of potential mates. When the time came, it wouldn’t be hard to decide which attractive, wealthy young woman he should marry.
Thinking of women, an image of the lovely little blonde asleep upstairs rose into his head. He had never seduced one of the servants before, or for that matter, such an obvious innocent, but remembering the beautiful Claire, he was willing to make an exception. And he would take very good care of her. He would see she had a comfortable town house and be generous enough in his allowance that she could take care of her older sister.
The arrangement would benefit all of them.
It was Monday, Tory’s first official day as the earl of Brant’s housekeeper. It was just past noon and so far things hadn’t gone well. Even though the earl had introduced her to the staff as Mrs. Temple, Tory had known it would be difficult for a young woman her age to gain their loyalty and respect.
Hiring a woman of her mere nineteen years just simply was not done. The servants were resentful of taking orders from someone they saw as completely inexperienced, and though that was scarcely the case, beyond proving herself as time went on, there was nothing she could do to change their opinion.
To make matters worse, the servants all expected the job would be given to Mrs. Rathbone, a senior member of the below-stairs serving staff. And Mrs. Rathbone was obviously furious to have been overlooked.
“Tory?” Claire came rushing down the sweeping spiral staircase. Even the mobcap she wore over her silver-blond curls, the crisp black taffeta skirt and plain white blouse, couldn’t dim the glow of her beautiful face. “I finished sweeping the guest rooms in the east wing. What shall I do next?”
Tory gazed round the lavishly furnished mansion, noting the freshly cut flowers on the table in the entry, the gleam of the inlaid parquet floors. At first glance, the interior of the house looked clean, the Hepplewhite tables glistening, the hearths cleaned of coal dust, but on closer inspection, she had discovered a number of things amiss.
The silver badly needed polishing, none of the guest rooms had been freshened in weeks, and the chimneys needed sweeping. The rugs were due for a very thorough beating and the draperies desperately needed to be aired.
She would see it done, she told herself. Somehow she would win the servants’ cooperation.
“I haven’t done the rooms in the west wing,” Claire said from her place on the stairs. “Shall I go up and sweep in there?”
Tory didn’t really want her to. Lord Brant’s room was in that part of the house and she had vowed to keep her sister as far away from the earl as she possibly could.
“Why don’t you go down to the butler’s pantry and help Miss Honeycutt finish polishing that lovely Sheffield silver?”
“All right, but—”
“My room could certainly use a bit of sweeping,” the earl drawled from where he stood on the staircase just above Claire, his unusual golden eyes running over her sister’s suddenly flushed features.
Claire dropped into a curtsey, momentarily lost her balance and almost tumbled down the stairs. Fortunately, the earl reached out and caught her arm, helping her regain her footing.
“Take it easy, love. You needn’t kill yourself trying to get there.”
More color stained Claire’s already rosy cheeks. “Forgive me, my lord. Sometimes I—I’m a little clumsy. I shall see to it right away.” Claire raced back up the stairs, passing the earl, causing him to turn and watch her climb upward. His lion’s gaze followed her until she disappeared, then he turned and fixed his attention on Tory.
“I trust you’re settling into your new position.”
“Yes, my lord. Everything is going along quite well.” That was a lie, of course. The servants barely acknowledged her existence and she wasn’t sure how much work she could actually get them to do.
“Good. Let me know if there is anything you need.” He turned and started climbing upward, heightening Tory’s worry about his intentions toward Claire.
“My lord?”
He paused near the top of the landing. “Yes?”
“There are…I have a couple of items I should like to discuss.”
“Perhaps a little later.” He took the last several steps, started striding toward his room.
“They are rather important,” Tory called after him, beginning to follow him up. “Perhaps you might break away for just a few moments.”
Brant stopped
