In which our heroine and his lordship meet again

Bread, cold mutton, and hot tea had revived Corinna's flagging energy. Washed and changed in no time, she stood in the middle of her chamber with ten minutes to spare.

Where should she hide those wretched jewels?

Her drawers and chemises, neatly stowed away in a chest, were a too-obvious hiding place, ditto the mattress, which left her with the fireplace.

She crouched in front of of the mantle and examined the bricked chimney. It was too narrow for her to squeeze inside, but that wasn't necessary. From her reticule, she picked a nail and used a log to push it in.

Corinna then sprang from her crouch and fetched the chamois pouch she'd used to transport the jewels, a necklace, a brooch, and a ring.

Their original velvet box now lay beside the King's Highway, since carrying the darn thing would have been madness. Not only that, the box was much too clunky, anyway.

Her job done, she brushed off her hands. The pouch dangled inside the fireplace, out of sight from prying eyes and, while not ideal, safe for the moment. As soon as she found a chance to sneak outside, she would search for a hollow tree or a place to bury her loot.

The further they were away from her person, the better. Of course, if they were found, there would be a big hallo.

Well, she would simply have to ensure they wouldn't be found until she had devised a plan on how to hand them over.

Corinna checked her father's old timepiece. Three more minutes until Haversack's arrival, so she'd better ensure there wasn't any soot on her clothes.

The mirror in the wardrobe was fly-specked and tainted, but it valiantly reflected the image of a tall damsel in a dove-blue gown. Her cheeks were flushed instead of being fashionably pale, and her short blonde hair curled into a comely enough face.

The dress had long sleeves and a high bust, of course, but it was the lightest she'd brought and the one that best matched her coloring. For ornament she only wore a pendant with a lock of Robin's hair.

While she didn't exactly look the prim governess, she appeared respectable and competent, which gave her faith she'd clear the upcoming hurdles in her life's path.

A soft scratch sounded on the door.

"Yes?"

"Haversack's the name, miss. I'm here to escort you to his lordship."

The butler's voice, full and booming, had an odd accent she couldn't quite place, but it didn't sound quite English, even if his diction was perfect.

When she opened the door, the butler stepped aside, causing the floorboards to creak. Somehow, the man melted into the shadows of the corridor, and the same moment she joined him in the corridor, she immediately knew why.

Haversack must hail from one of the colonies, for not only was he clad in black, as befitting a butler, but his face was as dark as the night. He also was built like a pugilist--wide shoulders, muscular arms and legs. The man's expression was inscrutable and haughty, a sure sign of an excellent butler.

One thing was for certain--he was no Frenchman.

She smiled at him. "Thank you. I'm ready." Well, she was, but her heart was still beating a fast tattoo.
"Very good, miss," Haversack said. "Let me lead the way." He creaked along the corridor and down the carpeted treads.

Corinna swallowed and raised her head high. She wouldn't let herself be cowed.

***

Haversack opened the library door.

"Miss Wolverstoke of Penninghall, your lordship."

She was no longer "of Penninghall", but this wasn't the right time to speak up.

Concealed behind Haversack's broad back, she saw little the room at first, other than bookshelves brimming with books filling the high walls. Nor did it help that the marquis was seated at a desk that stood right in front of the windows from where evening sunshine streamed unabashed.

When Demoral rose, all she could make out was a tall silhouette outlined in light.

Haversack stepped aside and nodded at her to enter, which she did, her heart pounding away.

Such a silly heart. She'd mastered much more dangerous situations than a mumps-stricken man in his library, lord or no lord.

Those thoughts were valid, but they did nothing to allay the queasiness churning in her stomach.

Taking care to measure her steps--she must not appear fast or brash--Corinna proceeded further into the library. She had only gone a few steps when her slipper caught on the edge of the carpet.

Drat.

Windmilling her arms, she banged her hip into a wooden globe and sent it spinning into a whirl.

The globe was on wheels, it would be, and it rolled aside.

She was teetering, losing her balance, but suddenly there was a body next to hers and a firm hand supported her elbow.

As she steadied herself, the tips of her ears on fire, a fresh woodland scent reached her nose.

"Eager to present yourself, Miss Wolverstoke?"

The arm dropped away, but the man it belonged to remained in the same place.

"I beg your pardon for my clumsiness," she said to the carpet, and found it wouldn't do. She looked up and met the marquis's gaze.

His eyes were even greener than she remembered, but this time, his face wasn't flushed and distorted by illness. Instead, a soft smile made the freckles dance on his pale cheeks and Corinna found it hard not to grin in response.

He was dressed for the countryside, with fawn buckskin breeches, top boots, and an olive coat of almost military neatness that molded itself to his shapely physique in an admirable fashion. His had to be a top tailor, Scott most likely or Schultz.

The marquis's hair, nut brown and much lighter in color than she remembered, was arranged in the windswept style. It must have been drenched in sweat the last time she saw him, caught in the throes of his affliction.

As Mrs. MacGregor said, he appeared wan and tired, but other than that, he appeared perfectly normal.

Actually, it was more than that.

There was nothing outrageous about his lordship's regular. He didn't resemble in the slightest the heroes in her favorite romantic novels she borrowed again and again from the circulating library. But the man now leaning on the wainscoting, radiating amusement, closely resembled the vague ideal she had so far not been able to give a face.

He pushed himself off the wall and examined the carpet through his eyeglass.

If it makes you feel any better, I fear you're not the first to be trapped by this old rag."

He rearranged the rumpled folds with the tip of his boot.

The door to the library snicked shut.

Confound it all, Haversack had watched on and the story of her blunder would now spread below stairs like wildfire. What an outrageous way to start her new position.

"If that's the case, why is the rag, as you call it, my lord, still in situ?"

Lord Demoral sniggered. "Wait until you meet the dowager Lady Demoral, and you'll know why. Let's sit."

He waved at a reading table and chairs placed in one corner, and led the way across. Arrived at the table, he pulled a chair for her and waited until she was seated. Corinna made a point of folding her hands in her lap and pasting a demure smile on her lips.

Demoral wriggled his nose. "Have we met before?"

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. "How should that be possible?"

"Mh, I don't know. But you strike me as being familiar somehow. Am I correct to assume you had a London season?"

"Yes." Two, in fact, but since the two offers she received for her hand came from gentlemen almost twice her age, she gave up all pretense and turned her back on the ton. Then Agatha came her way, and she'd believed herself a daughter of Sappho, or at least someone who was on the fence.

"I never moved in your circles, but it is entirely possible that we met somewhere. I wouldn't expect you to remember, though. That is flattering for sure."

He tilted his head, laughter dancing in his amazing eyes. "You, Miss Wolverstoke, are not easily forgotten, I dare say."

Heat flooded her cheeks. "I'm not in the habit of stumbling over the furniture, my lord."

"Ah no, that's not what I intended to convey, forgive me."

A knock sounded on the door, and it opened almost the same instant to admit Haversack, carrying the tea paraphernalia.

This wasn't silvered brass like in the Dower House, this was the genuine article, polished until it shone in the light.

"Take some refreshment, Miss Wolverstoke, and then I'll tell you more about your charge. But first let me express how grateful I am that you took this position. It is more luck than I expected. You, I know, are a woman of the world, and you will not shy at the slightest opposition like the other ladies have done."

Dearie me, that child must be a real handful.

Good, though, he didn't know her true reasons for joining his household. And even better still he had no clue why she looked familiar.

At the sound of the door opening yet again, Haversack stopped pouring tea.

"Ah, my lady. I'll put out a cup for you swiftly."

Corinna's heart sank. The dowager Lady Demoral she could quite do without.

1598 words

This chapter is dedicated to another one of my oldest Wattpad friends @rosannapatruno

Her latest work "Of Love and Sin" is a true hidden gem. I suggest you check it out!