The proximity to Liverpool was a prime attraction of the estate. Many of those making their fortunes in Liverpool’s shipping and woollen industries wanted a country estate. Their purchase of a second house where they could retreat from the city would mark their arrival in the netherworld between their middle-class origins and the upper classes who would never accept them. Thorne Hall was ideally suited, particularly if the planned steam ferry service was more successful than the one that failed a couple of years earlier.
Bear had spoken to the people behind that project, which was why he had told his agents to look for properties in the Wirral Peninsula. The current Baron Hurley, a London man to the bone, had been glad to get rid of the place he had inherited from his uncle six years ago and visited once since. Bear had paid a price that would make the venture profitable even if he had to raze the ruin to the ground and start again.
Miss Pelman was attempting to discover his plans. He ignored her hints. Time enough to address her disapproval after his plans were accomplished.
“You may be able to help me, Miss Pelman,” he said.
She simpered again. “Pelman told me you have need of a housekeeper, Mr Gavenor, and I would be willing to fill the position. On a temporary basis, as a favour. You understand I would need maids to do the actual work, of course.” She ran her hands over her gown as if to draw attention to its quality.
Bear shook his head. “I do not need a housekeeper, Miss Pelman. Though it is kind of you to offer.”
She frowned. “Oh? Then you have someone?”
“I have my manservant. No, Miss Pelman, that was not the favour. I…” He stopped to consider his words. “I happened to chance upon a Miss Neatham, who has twisted her ankle and is unable to return to her home tonight. I offered to check on her elderly father and found him in some distress. Can you recommend a neighbour who might look after him for the night, until Miss Neatham is able to make appropriate arrangements?” There. That was all true enough without giving this witch some scandal to hold on to.
Miss Pelman’s voice became shrill, “Miss Neatham? Rosabel Neatham? Where is she staying? Who is she staying with?”
“A cottager has taken her in,” Bear prevaricated. “Terrible weather to be out in, too. The lady is fortunate she was close to somewhere dry.”
Miss Pelman snorted like a horse; one that had found something in its feedbag not to its liking. “Lady! Well some might call her a lady, I suppose.”
Bear would not allow himself to be distracted. “Mr Neatham, Miss Pelman?”
“I suppose Mrs Able might oblige,” Miss Pelman allowed, reluctantly. “She does sick-bed nursing and laying out and the like. I shall give you a note.” Suddenly, her frown smoothed and she smiled. “No. Better. Wait for me to get my cape and I shall take you.”
Uh oh. Harpy alert. “Thank you. I won’t ask you to come out in this rain. A note and directions, and I shall manage.”
“Not at all, my dear Mr Gavenor. Why, we are neighbours now, and one must help one’s neighbours. I insist. I will be right back.”
She fixed him in place with a bright smile. He imagined a crocodile might smile so, all teeth and welcoming joy as its supper approached. Beckoning to her brother, she left the room and Pelman followed, closing the door firmly behind him.
Bear crossed to the door and eased it open. They had not gone farther than the hall, and their voices carried clearly.
“Old Able, Livia?” Pelman sounded both amused and unbelieving.
“It does’’t matter. It is just for a night. But Lawrence, Rose Neatham! If she has got her claws into the first eligible bachelor to arrive in this village in years, I shall scream. Now, where did the rain hood go?”
“Gavenor’s not a man for your tricks, Livia,” Pelman warned. “Or Rosabel’s, either. They call him Bear for his sour disposition. Doesn’t have any use for the ladies, by all accounts, except to bed them.”
“Nonsense, Lawrence.” Miss Pelman sounded farther away this time. Still hunting for the rain hood, perhaps. “He was looking over the Marriage Mart this past Season. My friend Lady Partridge wrote about him. A war hero, she said, and wealthy, and ready to settle down.”
Bear remembered Lady Partridge. A sour prune of a woman, disapproving of everything. He pressed his ear to the gap he had created, straining to hear what else she said.
“But whatever he was looking for, he did not find it.”
That was true. Bear would like to have his own family. A wife who was a helpmate, and children to cherish. He’d not had that growing up, but it was possible. He needed to look no further than the Earl of Ruthford, once his colonel and now one of his investors. Ruthford, his wife, and their daughter often welcomed him into their charmed circle when he was in London.
Bear’s great aunt had insisted he marry, and in her memory he had gone to look the marriage mart over, but the debutantes made him feel old, and the fashionable widows were either avoiding a second marriage or rapaciously keen hunters who repelled him. He’d become adept at evading traps, but had achieved little else, and had shelved the marriage project for another time.
“He is picky, then,” Pelman warned. “Don’t pin any hopes on him, Livia.”
“He needs a sensible wife, Lady Partridge said,” Miss Pelman responded. “One who is accustomed to living in the country but who will show to advantage in social situations, for he is a businessman, Lawrence, and must entertain his clients.”
Lady Partridge was more perceptive than Bear had thought, then. That summed his requirements nicely.
Miss Pelman’s voice became louder and clearer as she approached the door. “A woman past the silliness of first youth, and a lady born, but not too proud, for the Gavenors are a very obscure family. Gentry, of course, or I would not consider it.”
Pelman trailed close behind his sister. “You will do as you wish. You always do.”
“I wish I knew where that Neatham pest is staying. Somewhere close to Gavenor, I’ll be bound. Twisted ankle. I am surprised such an experienced man was taken in.”
Bear hurried away from the door as Miss Pelman’s voice drew closer, and was examining a poor imitation of a Ming vase that burdened the mantlepiece when the pair entered the room.
Miss Neatham wore an oiled coat and a matching hood. The hood tied under her chin and had a collar that flared out into a cape to protect her neck and shoulders. “Let us be off, then, Mr Gavenor. You will not wish to be making the trip back to Rose Cottage after dark.” She held up a hand and he approached her. “Although… Lawrence, we should offer Mr Gavenor a bed for the night.” Again, that crocodile smile. “Lawrence could loan you some things, Mr Gavenor, which would save you a wet and unpleasant trip.”
Never. Even if he had not taken on responsibility for Miss Neatham. Now that he’d met the woman and heard her plotting, he had no intention of staying under the same roof as her. He struggled to find courteous words to refuse the offer. “Thank you, Miss Pelman. That is very kind, but I will not consider it. I have left my dinner cooking and would fear to return to a smouldering heap.”
Miss Pelman was tenacious. “Lawrence could ride…”
“In this weather?” Pelman objected, glaring at his sister, then sliding his eyes sideways to Bear and rearranging his face into a smile as false as hers. “That is, if you would like to stay, Gavenor, I could send a servant.”