had again that inexplicable, yet somehow pleasant, sensation of breathlessness.
Chapter Four
By evening, the monstrous clouds building up in the east and threatening to pour out the heavens had dispelled the brief warmth of spring, just as William Desmond had predicted; and a nagging chill had settled over the inn. It was Cleome’s habit to take the record books into the downstairs sitting room after dinner and tally up the expenditures and profits of the day. It was a chore she enjoyed and more than once, she had told her granda that balancing the books was like putting a great puzzle together. He always said it made him proud that she had inherited his quickness with sums.
She had been responsible for shrewd changes in the Eagle’s Head since her grandmother’s death, changes that had saved them a lot of money. Her active brain appreciated any exercise and since Mr. Stoneham had ordered coffee and brandy for his guests, Cleome thought she would have time to attend to her bookkeeping. She was bending over the huge ledger, a rose-colored shawl draped about her shoulders, the feather of the quill pen resting against her cheek, when the door opened and Garnett led the gentlemen into the sitting room. With him were Lord Easton, Sir Rudgely Foxworth and Sir Rudgely’s brother-in-law from Manchester, who owned several coal mines.
“Oh, I say!” Garnett exclaimed on seeing her there. “I believe we’re intruding. I do beg your pardon, Cleome.” He did not sound the least bit contrite.
“Not at all,” she replied with measured courtesy. “Grandfather told me Mr. Stoneham was to have access to the sitting room after dinner. I am finished here.”
“Do not leave on my account,” Drake urged, his voice as smooth as fresh cream. “There’s room for both our endeavors.”
“Although how I’ll be able to concentrate on anything with such a lovely presence in the same room, I cannot fathom,” Garnett interjected, taking the seat nearest Cleome. “What are you studying so intently? Surely not lessons from school.”
Cleome didn’t like his familiar manner, especially in front of Mr. Stoneham and the others, for it made it appear that she and Garnett had a more intimate relationship than that of neighbors. But all eyes were turned on them, as if every man there would relish any return on her part that might instigate a bit of gossip. Lord Easton glared at Garnett and looked at Cleome with obvious disapproval, and she resolved that Garnett must be put off for once and all.
“I am working, sir,” she replied, rising gracefully from her chair. She closed the ledger and replaced the quill in its stand. “Seeing to the books is only one of the duties required of me.” She paused, waiting for the full inference of her words to sink in. But as her pride would not permit her to totally accede to the class differences that would forever divide them, she continued, “I do not recall our last meeting, before yesterday, with any fondness. I trust the years have taught you manners that befit a gentleman of your standing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my day’s work is not yet done.”
Her head high, she left the room; but not before she noted the relief that swept across Lord Easton’s features. His precious heir was safe from her wicked clutches. Cleome knew that’s what he was thinking and she took pleasure in imagining how surprised his lordship would be if he knew what she really thought of his pampered offspring. She had no way of knowing it, but the look in Drake Stoneham’ eyes conveyed a far different message—one of approval for her discriminating tastes.
**
A rumble of thunder shook the house, lightning flashed, and pounding rain battered the cobblestones outside as Cleome put her books away. Taking a candle, she went upstairs to look in on her mother. Ramona was fretful and restless, as she always was when the weather was bad. It had been storming wildly when the ruffians Adelaide had hired had torn
Chapter Four
By evening, the monstrous clouds building up in the east and threatening to pour out the heavens had dispelled the brief warmth of spring, just as William Desmond had predicted; and a nagging chill had settled over the inn. It was Cleome’s habit to take the record books into the downstairs sitting room after dinner and tally up the expenditures and profits of the day. It was a chore she enjoyed and more than once, she had told her granda that balancing the books was like putting a great puzzle together. He always said it made him proud that she had inherited his quickness with sums.
She had been responsible for shrewd changes in the Eagle’s Head since her grandmother’s death, changes that had saved them a lot of money. Her active brain appreciated any exercise and since Mr. Stoneham had ordered coffee and brandy for his guests, Cleome thought she would have time to attend to her bookkeeping. She was bending over the huge ledger, a rose-colored shawl draped about her shoulders, the feather of the quill pen resting against her cheek, when the door opened and Garnett led the gentlemen into the sitting room. With him were Lord Easton, Sir Rudgely Foxworth and Sir Rudgely’s brother-in-law from Manchester, who owned several coal mines.
“Oh, I say!” Garnett exclaimed on seeing her there. “I believe we’re intruding. I do beg your pardon, Cleome.” He did not sound the least bit contrite.
“Not at all,” she replied with measured courtesy. “Grandfather told me Mr. Stoneham was to have access to the sitting room after dinner. I am finished here.”
“Do not leave on my account,” Drake urged, his voice as smooth as fresh cream. “There’s room for both our endeavors.”
“Although how I’ll be able to concentrate on anything with such a lovely presence in the same room, I cannot fathom,” Garnett interjected, taking the seat nearest Cleome. “What are you studying so intently? Surely not lessons from school.”
Cleome didn’t like his familiar manner, especially in front of Mr. Stoneham and the others, for it made it appear that she and Garnett had a more intimate relationship than that of neighbors. But all eyes were turned on them, as if every man there would relish any return on her part that might instigate a bit of gossip. Lord Easton glared at Garnett and looked at Cleome with obvious disapproval, and she resolved that Garnett must be put off for once and all.
“I am working, sir,” she replied, rising gracefully from her chair. She closed the ledger and replaced the quill in its stand. “Seeing to the books is only one of the duties required of me.” She paused, waiting for the full inference of her words to sink in. But as her pride would not permit her to totally accede to the class differences that would forever divide them, she continued, “I do not recall our last meeting, before yesterday, with any fondness. I trust the years have taught you manners that befit a gentleman of your standing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my day’s work is not yet done.”
Her head high, she left the room; but not before she noted the relief that swept across Lord Easton’s features. His precious heir was safe from her wicked clutches. Cleome knew that’s what he was thinking and she took pleasure in imagining how surprised his lordship would be if he knew what she really thought of his pampered offspring. She had no way of knowing it, but the look in Drake Stoneham’ eyes conveyed a far different message—one of approval for her discriminating tastes.
**
A rumble of thunder shook the house, lightning flashed, and pounding rain battered the cobblestones outside as Cleome put her books away. Taking a candle, she went upstairs to look in on her mother. Ramona was fretful and restless, as she always was when the weather was bad. It had been storming wildly when the ruffians Adelaide had hired had torn
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