He had her at a disadvantage. “Gladius,” she automatically corrected.
Those piercing eyes made narrow slits that threatened to see inside her soul to all the darkness and lies there.
He knows. My God, he knows. How could he know?
“Aidan!”
They looked as one to the entrance of the room. A small, plump lady stood in the doorway, studying her. At the interruption, a wave of relief so strong gripped Eve, her shoulders sagged.
“I’m merely giving the young woman a lesson on the importance of the gladius,” the younger man groused.
The lady glared at him in return and then turned to Eve. “You are Mrs. Nelson, I assume?” she asked, coming over.
“I am, my lady,” Eve replied, attempting to place her. Surely she was too young to be the Countess of Lavery and, yet, she commanded respect and attention of a room with an ease, the queen would envy.
The other woman favored Eve with a smile. A real smile. So unlike the dark-frowning stranger before her. Or the glares and glowers that had greeted her almost two years earlier, upon her return to England. She fought to formulate a proper word or reply. Would the young woman be smiling now if she knew my identity?
After all, from a bad crow a bad egg.
“Mrs. Nelson doesn’t require a history lesson,” the young woman said dryly. “You must forgive Mr. Rayne.” She continued over Mr. Rayne’s glower. “I am Captain Rayne’s sister.” Oh, bloody hell. The duchess. “The Duchess of Devlin and this,” she waved to her brother, “angry, mistrustful man is my youngest brother.”
Eve’s skin pricked under Mr. Rayne’s scrutiny. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Eve murmured, sinking into another flawless curtsy befitting the ballrooms of Europe. “I did not realize—”
“She was staring at the gladius,” Mr. Rayne put in through tight lips.
Eve balled her hands. Granted, the Rayne kin were deserved of their protectiveness of that long fought-over relic. Yet the last thing she wanted was to touch the sword that had so cursed her ancestors.
“It is an impressive piece that anyone would be hard-pressed to not admire,” the duchess countered and she gave Eve another supportive smile. “Aidan, if you’ll excuse us. Mrs. Nelson doesn’t need to begin her tenure here with you questioning her motives.” The gentleman frowned. “Go,” his sister said firmly.
The pair remained locked in a silent battle. Ultimately the kind-eyed duchess triumphed and her brother took his leave, but not before he favored Eve with a warning look.
The Duchess of Devlin sighed. “You must forgive him. It is a beloved artifact that had been lost to our family for many years. He’s wary of all who come near it.”
Had he gathered Eve’s identity, Mr. Rayne would sooner toss her out on her arse than let her gaze upon that gladius.
“Please, sit,” the duchess urged, motioning to a chair. “It is my understanding you’re here as a maid of all work,” the regal woman said, after they’d both sat.
Yes, which made this meeting with a duchess and countess, unorthodox, to say the least.
“I am, Your Grace,” she confirmed. Having returned to England two years ago, Eve had landed, in total, five posts—until her identity had invariably been discovered. Before that, however, she’d been welcomed into household staffs. Never had she been greeted in a parlor by the powerful peers who’d hired her.
Some of the light went out of the duchess’ eyes. “I would speak with you about my brother, Captain Rayne,” she began in halting tones. “Before you meet him, there is something you should know.” Eve stilled. Why should she know anything about the lady’s brother? It wasn’t a maid’s place to know anything of her employer’s kin. “He is not...” Whatever words she’d share were cut into by the sudden appearance of an older woman with graying hair and aged eyes.
Eve’s mind teemed with curiosity. He is not, what?
“Mother,” the duchess greeted. Eve dipped another curtsy for her employer, the Countess of Lavery.
“Mrs. Nelson,” the older woman said without preamble. “Will you please sit?” She gestured to the seat Eve previously occupied and then claimed the delicate ivory settee opposite her.
Both mother and daughter stared on in silence. Eve, however, had long grown accustomed to quiet. She was the daughter of a lieutenant colonel who had ingrained into his only child the skills that ultimately went with the military—tenacity, adaptability, and the ability to maintain silence.
Prepared for the enumeration of her responsibilities, she was, instead, stunned by the countess’ words. “It is my understanding you followed the drum.”
Her heart stopped and a sickening dread slithered around her insides. In crafting false references for employment at the agency, Eve had shown her father’s ruthlessness and presented herself as a war widow. There was far more kindness shown a hero’s widowed wife than a traitor’s spinster daughter. She searched the countess’ features for any hint of accusation or knowing that an Ormond sat before her, but her eyes revealed nothing but curiosity.
Eve cleared her throat. “I did, my lady. I followed the drum in the Peninsular Campaign—”
The Duchess of Devlin gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. From over her palm, her eyes formed perfect circles. Oh, God, she’d said too much. Eve firmed her shoulders and braced to be shown the door.
“Do you know anything about my son, Mrs. Nelson?”
At the unexpected question, she slowly shook her head. As a girl, her father regaled her with tales of their family’s battle with the Raynes. Beyond those stories of long ago, she knew nothing about the people before her. “No, my lady.” As it was, most young women being interviewed and assigned employment were not afforded the details of the lofty employers whose households they’d been assigned.
Tears filled the other woman’s eyes and she blinked. “My son fought in the Peninsular Campaign. He was taken from the fields of Talavera...” With the countess’ words droning on in her mind, Eve focused on breathing. Oh, God, this was to be her penance for her family’s sins. The constant reminder of war and warfare, and her father’s treachery, even in the countryside, there was no escaping it. Her family had betrayed the Raynes, not once, but twice. And with my presence here, a third time. “And he is not the same,” Lady Lavery finished.
Because of my father. Nausea roiled in her belly and she swallowed hard to keep from casting up the contents of her stomach. How many soldiers and their families suffered because of the greed and crimes of her own sire?
“He is angry,” the duchess put in quietly. “He barely speaks.” Her throat worked. “Except to order people coldly about and hurl obscenities.” Well, having moved freely among soldiers for the better part of her life, Eve was more at home with that rawness and realness than the polite affairs she’d attended through the ballrooms of Europe.
“He has run off nearly all the servants. The only members of the staff remaining are our oldest, most loyal souls.” She struck the air with her wildly gesticulating hand. “Even the remaining servants will not enter his chambers but to bring his food and tray, and...” The countess ceased her nervous prattling and coughed into her hand. “I hope to find a servant who might not only care for his chambers but also read to him, and...” The lady’s lips pulled in a grimace. “Talk to him.” Lady Lavery covered her eyes briefly with her palm. “I should not be leaving for the London Season,” she murmured. Her daughter claimed her fingers, giving them a squeeze.
Eve stared, momentarily transfixed by that foreign bond of mother and daughter. Her own mother died giving life to her. She’d never known anything but a gruff, military-minded papa.
The countess continued speaking. “My son is...was—” She grimaced and gave her head a shake.
She stored enough secrets and silence to rival the Home Office that she’d no business to even a jot of curiosity about that slight, telltale movement. And yet, intrigue stirred for this dark family with their sad expressions and unfinished sentences. “May I speak freely, my lady?” she asked quietly.