A Sinner No More Page 5

  “Put him to work. Mr. Bowen believes the physical labor will go a long way to improving the state of his health.”

  “And what does Lord Hawksmoor think of this?” In his younger days, she’d often found him out of doors, and riding had been a favorite past time, but neither of these came close to partaking in manual labor. As a lord, such things were far beneath him.

  Father chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “I imagine he is most displeased with the notion, though Mr. Bowen is quite determined his lordship return to London hale and hearty.”

  To resume his old lifestyle. To return to the man he had become in the wake of his brother’s death. Disappointment weighed heavy upon her heart. She had hoped he wouldn’t go back to that life. That he would, instead, return to the man she had once known. Another foolish hope and, like so many others she had nursed over the years, it would end in disenchantment.

  “Then I wish you every success, Father.”

  Let him go. Let him return to his old life and leave her to hers. His return to London meant nothing to her. He meant nothing to her.

  Perhaps if she told herself this enough times, she would eventually come to believe it.

  Chapter Five

  “I can hardly believe you have the nefarious Lord Hawksmoor only two floors above us! Why London has been completely abuzz with rumors over what occurred that night and here you have the source of it right under your own roof!”

  Miss Marianne Caldwell, the youngest of Lord Caldwell’s daughters, leaned forward until she practically hovered on the edge of her seat, her cup of tea precariously balanced on one knee. As far as the Caldwell sisters went, each one appeared to be cut from a different cloth as if they shared no blood relation between them. Madalene found it most odd that three young women could grow up together in the same household yet all turn out so differently. Despite such, she could not help but feel a pinch of envy. As a child, she’d often been quite lonely, especially with Father off to war. How lovely it would have been to be surrounded by siblings.

  “Marianne,” Eugenie Caldwell’s clear voice cut off her sister’s musings. “We did not come here to partake in gossip.”

  As far as the Caldwell sisters went, Eugenie, the eldest, was the most serious of the three and appeared the least comfortable sitting in the drawing room of Northill. Then again, given her history with Lord Blackbourne, Lady Rebecca’s older brother, it was to be expected, one supposed. Broken engagements could be rather awkward.

  “Indeed, she is right,” Rosalind Caldwell spoke up. Rosalind, the middle sister, was the instigator of this meeting that had Madalene sitting here instead of tending to her duties. “Although, heavens, Lady Rebecca, you might have given some indication he was here. I would have left Marianne at home. There is no telling what mischief she’ll get up to now that her curiosity is piqued.”

  Eugenie closed her eyes and sighed, leaving Madalene with the impression the eldest Miss Caldwell spent much time corralling the youngest Miss Caldwell’s exuberant nature, while the middle Miss Caldwell simply went her own way.

  Rosalind—as she insisted on being called to cut down on the confusion of having three sisters answer instead of one—was well known in society for taking up the charge of whatever causes she felt needed her attention. It had caused all kinds of gossip, most of which centered around the fact that such behavior would likely render her a spinster. What proper gentleman would offer for such an outspoken lady who made a spectacle of herself on behalf of the poor and downtrodden? Though such gossip did not appear to deter Rosalind in the least.

  “Miss Cosgrove, I understand Lady Rebecca has spoken to you about the opportunity we wish to extend?”

  “Yes, she has.” The opportunity to become headmistress of a school was definitely flattering, and she knew Father wished her to be in a more suitable position that put her out in the world. Madalene forced herself not to grimace at the thought. As far as she was concerned, the world outside of Northill Hall was dark and dreary and fraught with unseen peril.

  Rosalind smiled, causing her eyes to sparkle. The expression animated her features and made her quite pretty. “Are you amenable to becoming headmistress?”

  “I will confess I have some reservations. Such a position is a rather daunting endeavor and would require that I leave Northill and Father.”

  “But it is not so far away, Miss Cosgrove.” Lady Rebecca gifted her with a warm, encouraging smile. “You will be but a few hours carriage ride away. You may visit whenever time allows. We would welcome you with open arms, please don’t think otherwise.”

  “Thank you.” Perhaps it wasn’t so much the formidable new endeavor that made her sad to leave, but the welcome and comfort she had found here. Between Father and Mr. Bowen, she had no fear any harm would come her way. That had not always been so and she was reluctant to give such safety up without serious consideration.

  Eugenie tilted her head to one side and studied her intently; the effect somewhat disconcerting as Madalene could not fathom what went on behind the other woman’s dark eyes. “You do have an affection for children, do you not?”

  “Yes, of course,” she answered. She had always dreamed of having a big family one day. “Though in truth, I have not had much exposure to them. In one of the apartments Father and I briefly lived in, there were often many children running about and from time to time I looked after them.” It had always saddened her to see the state of many of these children, often hungry and grubby and neglected. Rosalind and Lady Rebecca’s proposed school would give such children an opportunity to rise above their meager beginnings. How could she not want to assist with that?

  “Miss Cosgrove is far more capable than she gives herself credit for,” Lady Rebecca said. “She has all of the qualities a great headmistress requires. She is organized and exudes a quiet confidence and warmth that I am certain the children will gravitate toward.”

  Madalene wasn’t sure Lady Rebecca’s praise was warranted. She did not feel particularly confident these days. Having Lord Hawksmoor in close proximity, churned up too many memories she wished forgotten, unearthing feelings she had long repressed. The whole thing left her unsettled. How she envied him his lack of memory in this regard. Though, as it turned out, not even he could fully forget that horrid night.

  “Is Lord Hawksmoor doing well?” Marianne asked, as if the conversation surrounding the viscount had not been interrupted by the actual matter they had come to Northill to discuss. “I heard he has been horribly scarred by the attack! Such a tragedy. He had such a fine and handsome face.”

  Despite her sisters’ obvious frustration at their youngest sibling’s inability to move away from the subject, Lady Rebecca smiled, her amusement evident. “You will be happy to hear that he fares well enough and that his face is as handsome as it ever was. Is it not, Miss Cosgrove?”

  Lady Rebecca’s inclusion of her in the discussion of Lord Hawksmoor’s state of handsomeness came as a surprise and for a moment, she was unsure how to answer. Because yes, he was indeed every bit as handsome as he once was. More so, as it had been some years since she’d seen him and in that time, he’d only grown more appealing. The recently acquired scar just above his brow added a rather appealing rakishness. But she feared addressing the matter aloud; afraid her unwanted attraction to him would be evident.

  She clasped her hands together. “It is as Lady Rebecca says. He is doing well.”

  “And is he still handsome, as she claims?”

  Madalene cleared her throat. “His appearance has been unaltered by his ordeal.”

  For some reason her answer appeared to amuse Lady Rebecca. “You will have to forgive Miss Cosgrove’s lack of enthusiasm over Lord Hawksmoor. I’m afraid she has had the chore of dealing with our reluctant guest on a daily basis and despite his handsomeness, he has not been the most amenable patient.”

  Marianne’s hand fluttered to her chest. “You have nursed him back to health? Oh, how romantic!”

  “Oh, good h
eavens, Mari!” Rosalind’s practical nature flared and her eyes rolled upward in their sockets. “I am certain it was nothing of the sort. I’ve nursed enough soldiers to know men, when made infirm, are absolute bears to deal with. All that pride warring against their injuries. Now, if you are quite finished interrogating Lady Rebecca and Miss Cosgrove about their guest, might we return to discussing the matter of whether Miss Cosgrove is willing to accept the position of headmistress?”

  Every gaze in the room swung back to Madalene. Was this what it would be like if she took the position? All of those eager little faces looking to her for answers and guidance? The import of what they asked her to embark upon struck her. She wanted to help, but she also wanted…what? More? Something else? The firm footing she’d experienced upon arriving at Northill had become unsteady, shaken by Lord Hawksmoor’s unexpected presence.

  A presence that had caused the embers of all the things she had once wanted to burn anew.

  “Might I have a little more time to decide?”

  Rosalind’s shoulders drooped, but Lady Rebecca quickly stepped in. “Of course, you may. We have not yet broken ground on the school, and won’t until the winter passes. There is still time for you to make up your mind.”

  Madalene nodded. Why did she hesitate? When would such an opportunity come her way again? The Bowens had every intention of replacing her as housekeeper. She had only taken the position as a favor until they found a suitable and permanent replacement.

  Yet, she could not shake the sense that fate had something else in store for her than running a school. A calling of a different sort.

  But whatever that something else was, it remained infuriatingly silent.

  * * *

  Hawk stared at the tall, older gentleman who had entered his bedchamber. It was difficult to judge how old he was. His wild hair and trim beard were snow white, a stark contrast to his eyes that sparkled with vitality and strength. In one of his hands, he held his hat. The other hand, however, was gone and the sleeve that held the arm had been neatly folded and pinned above where his elbow should have been.

  “You’ve lost an arm.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of the man’s mouth. “On the contrary, my lord. I know exactly where I left it.”

  “And where might that be?”

  “The battlefields of Waterloo.”

  “Ah. Well, I unfortunately have no idea where I left my memory. It seems to have ambled off somewhere without notice, leaving me with both my arms but no recollection of a whole host of things such as how old I am, my preferred drink, or who you are. Do we know each other, Mr.—?” Hawk raised his eyebrows.

  “Cosgrove, my lord. And I believe you to be in your thirtieth year or there about, likely you prefer a well-aged brandy and no, we have not met before, though my daughter was once in service to your family.” At this announcement, the man’s countenance changed, turning stern. Unyielding.

  “I see.” Hawk swallowed. Had she said something to him about the other night? Or was it simply that his family had sacked her that brought a sudden tension into the room? “Well, what is it that has brought you here to interrupt my day? As you can see—” He raised one eyebrow and swept his arm wide, taking in the neatly appointed room that possessed nothing more than the required furniture. No books, no newspapers, no visitors vying for the two available chairs. “—I have much going on and very little time to entertain.”

  “Mr. Bowen has indicated you wished to regain your strength and return to London. He has charged me with ensuring you achieve this. A task I’m more than pleased to attend to. As I am sure you can imagine, your presence here has my daughter rather discomfited. I believe the sooner you leave, the sooner she will feel more at ease.”

  Fear fizzled in his belly. Did Cosgrove know what had happened with Phillip? That Hawk was a murderer? Had she told him? He took a breath to steady the rapid beating of his heart.

  “I see.” Hawk sat up straight and did his best to look lordly and imposing. Difficult to do when one was laid up in bed wearing nothing but a nightshirt. “You’ll have to forgive me, but my memory on the subject is somewhat…gone, for lack of a better word. Please, enlighten me as to the cause of your daughter’s discomfiture. And feel free to speak openly.” Though he had the sense the man did not require his permission on that account. From what he’d witnessed thus far, Mr. Bowen maintained a rather open relationship with his servants, speaking to them as if they were on the same level as he.

  “I’m afraid I cannot give you a reason for why your presence distresses her, only that as a father, I can tell when my daughter is distracted and out of sorts. As she has been since your arrival.”

  “I assure you, I mean your daughter no harm.”

  The older man slipped his hat under what remained of his missing arm in one fluid motion. “Nor do I accuse you of such. Besides, you are hardly in any position to do harm to anyone.”

  “Yes, thank you for that reminder.” Perhaps regaining his strength and rehabilitating his flagging pride might not be such a bad idea after all.

  Cosgrove gave a curt nod. “I understand it is not my place to suggest you hasten your departure from Northill, my lord, but my daughter’s welfare and state of mind is of utmost importance to me.”

  “Of course. As it should be.” Or so he assumed, not having children of his own. His heart lurched. Did he? Good heavens, how could he not have asked this question sooner? He was quite certain he had no wife, but had he had one at one point? She could have died. People did that. Look at his brother. Granted, his brother had some assistance in that regard. Another lurch. Dear sweet Lord! Had he killed his wife? Was he some kind of deranged killer who went about murdering those closest to him? Perhaps Miss Cosgrove was right to be agitated in his presence.

  “Are you quite well, my lord?”

  Hawk glanced up at Cosgrove. “Yes. Of course. Why?”

  “You’ve suddenly gone quite pale. Should I call for someone?”

  He shook his head, which did very little to clear the unsettling questions. “Miss Cosgrove relayed to me that my family dismissed her from Raven Manor.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I don’t suppose she happened to express to you the reason or circumstances of her dismissal?”

  “She did, though I believe her story to be little more than hogwash. For whatever reason, she does not wish me to know the particulars.”

  “And this does not concern you?”

  “It concerns me greatly, my lord. But my daughter, when she decides not to speak on a matter, cannot be moved in this conviction. I suspect it had something to do with your brother’s death, though what exactly, I cannot fathom.”

  “Yes…I suppose that would do it.” He forced a rather weak smile. “A dreadful riding accident, or so I’ve been told.”

  “As I understand.” If Cosgrove believed this explanation, or thought it as much hogwash as his daughter’s explanation of her dismissal, Hawk could not ascertain.

  “Well, then.” He could think of nothing else to say to add to the conversation. “When shall we begin the process of regaining my strength so I might return to my life and leave your daughter to hers?”

  “Tomorrow should be soon enough. I would counsel you to eat well and get a good night’s sleep. We can begin in the morning, bright and early.”

  “Bright and early. And what exactly constitutes bright and early in your world?”

  “Sunrise.”

  Hawk winced. “How positively ghastly.”

  “I shall make the arrangements with Mr. Bowen.” With a short nod, Mr. Cosgrove walked to the door then stopped. “I did not mean to give the wrong impression, my lord. If it is of any comfort, during her time at Raven Manor, Maddie had described you as a thoughtful young man who had treated her with every kindness.”

  Maddie.

  The name tugged at his heart. Sweet and innocent. Had what she witnessed destroyed that part of her? An overwhelming urge to make things right, to give her bac
k what he may have taken, raged through him. But the other part, the part that hissed from the shadows of his mind, told him he did not own that right.

  Some things were better left to the darkness.

  Chapter Six

  The damp air bit at his skin, seeping deep into his bones as Hawk lifted the shovel of foul smelling mixture of manure, hay and God only knew what else then tossed it into the cart. He had taken off the heavy coat he’d worn and hung it on a nearby peg. Cold sweat soaked his borrowed shirt and he had lost the feeling in his arms.

  No, that wasn’t exactly true. He could feel them. And they hurt like hell. How much shit must he remove from the stables before Cosgrove returned and saved him from this fresh new hell he’d been thrust into?

  For the love of all that was holy, was there another lord in all of England to be found in such lowered circumstances? He had attempted to bribe one of the stable boys to assist him, but the lad only laughed and waved him off. Apparently incurring the wrath of a Peer of the Realm ranked far below displeasing Northill’s esteemed steward.

  Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

  For the past week he’d been subjected to one ridiculous chore after another. Cosgrove had started him off slow with lighter work that left him shamefully exhausted. So much so that, despite his best attempt to stay awake for Miss Cosgrove’s evening arrival, he had failed. It had been a full seven days since he had laid eyes on her lovely face, yet when he awoke the subtle hint of wild roses lingered in the air around him like her own personal calling card. The effect proved most disconcerting, awakening parts of him and creating an intense longing that went far beyond what was proper.

  As each day passed, the chores became more labor intensive and bit-by-bit his strength and stamina returned, bringing with it a rather voracious appetite that Mr. Bowen’s cook was only too happy to feed. Hawk wondered what it would take to steal the woman away when he left. Given the loyalty the servants displayed to their employer, likely he would have to pay a king’s ransom.