“What do you want with me, woman?” An edge had returned to his tone.
“Nothing,” she heard herself say. “You could at least be agreeable. Other gentlemen treat their mistresses with…”
He cut her off. “Mistress? You think you are my mistress?” His entire body recoiled from her. “You are naught but a bit of muslin.”
The cruelty of his words rendered her speechless. He had not called her his whore, exactly, but he might as well have done.
Before she died, her mother had made Jenny agree to better herself. “Jenny” she had said, “promise me that ye will do yer best t’ find a life that ye can be proud of. M’ own life has me dying of the pox. I’ll ne’er see ye grown. Oi want more fer ye, child.” Jane Maven had died later that very night.
Jenny had promised her mother to do better, but the gambling hell and its vices had been too tempting for a young girl, already hungry and penniless. She drew herself up. Quaking at her knees, she knew she had to change her path, now.
“Perhaps you should leave. I have no standing with you, and I am not sure why I ever cared. You are a horrid man. Leave now! Go home to your wife.”
“Stop talking, Jenny. I need to think.”
His reversal in attitude made her head spin. “Did you hear me, Lord Whitton?” She fairly screamed his name. “I said, ‘go home!’”
“Perhaps there is still some advantage to be made with my mother.” He spoke aloud, almost to himself, while pacing up and down again.
He had ignored her.
Benjamin had wormed his way into her heart. She desperately needed to help him—somehow. Except, first, she needed to free herself of this man.
“I am an earl. I have a great deal of influence.” She heard him say.
He was not listening to her at all. What mischief was Whitton planning now?
Chapter 13
“Miss Nora, here’s ye chocolate and a couple o’ pieces of toast, and a wee biscuit from the batch I jus’ pulled from the oven. I thought ye could use the indulgence this morning after the night ye had,” Mrs. Simpkins said, placing a tray down on the small table next to Nora’s bed. “I thought as how, with the extra men about, ye would sleep better.”
Nora had been lying there, awake, and when Mrs. Simpkins knocked, she sat up and stretched, holding back a yawn. She needed a stout dish of tea.
“I could smell your heavenly biscuits all the way up here,” she said with a giggle. “Did I wake you last night?”
“Ye did, miss. I came in and ye were screaming. It sounded like ye were praying. I sat next to ye and smoothed yer hair back from yer forehead until ye calmed and were resting again. Ye kept mumbling about little Amy but never opened yer eyes. She slept soundly all night. I looked in on her when I left yer room.” The older woman scanned the bedchamber. “I confess, I worried about ye.”
Nora recalled the dream. She had been running for her life, holding Amy close to her. Growing tired, she had stepped behind a building to catch her breath when powerful hands had pulled her backwards. It was a man, but she could not remember a thing beyond that. Perhaps Mrs. Simpkins’ soothing manner had finally coaxed her from the dream. She wondered if it had been a vision, as a chill of fear seized her and shook her to the core. Nora had experienced visions in the past and had never deciphered their meaning until she witnessed the same incident happen in life. This dream frightened her still. It had to be the dastardly Sneed chasing her. Certainty eluded her—maybe because the dream had ended too soon. She could recall nothing about the man who caught her and fought to quell her growing panic. Had it been Sneed?
Nora had expected to sleep better, knowing that the perimeter of the school was being watched by Lord Shefford’s footmen and was secure. Her mother had always said that visions did not happen until the body and the mind were relaxed. A shiver ran from her spine to her toes. She would let no one take Amy—or any child. Yesterday’s visit to her grandmother had been delayed. Today, she hoped, nothing would prevent her from seeing Grandmama to discuss the deed and other things which had transpired, still needing to tell her about her betrothal.
As she sat on her bed, reflecting on her dream and nibbling her toast, Uncle Wilford’s face flashed across her mind. Gosh! It had been a long time since she had had a foretelling. Could this be a second one? Could he be in danger or was he stirring more trouble? She knew naught of what it might mean and shook her head to clear it. The sun had already been up an hour, and she was eager to see Amy and Alice.
She stepped to her wardrobe and withdrew her golden muslin. Pleased with her dress selection, Nora secured the hooks and buttons on the front before leaning down and pulling on her half-boots. Having finished dressing, Nora gulped down the last of her chocolate, gathered together the dishes and hurried with them down to the kitchen.
“’Tis good to spy ye up and about Miss Nora! The children have just settled down to breakfast,” the cook said, peering over her shoulder from the sink. “Spending time with ye before they begin their lessons will put a smile on a few faces,” she added with a wink.
“I fear I slept a little longer than I usually do, and I do not want to miss this time with them,” she said as she set down the tray and hurried back towards the schoolroom.
As she headed up the stairs, male voices in the entry startled her. One she recognized as Amos Woods. She must remember to thank Grandmama for adding the handyman to the household.
