The housekeeper inclined her head.
The maid was waiting beside the servants’ stairs and led her back up to the entrance hall without another word. They parted ways upstairs, not far from Ruby’s chamber.
If her aunt was not here, and her cousins were not here, but on their way, she was in for a cold and lonely Christmas indeed, worrying over who her uncle might want her to marry in exchange for his help.
“You only had to look in this room to learn I was telling the truth,” Lord Stockwick said suddenly, startling her out of her wits. He was standing just down the hall, his hand on a door latch. He pushed the door wide and stepped back with a smile. “The countess’ chamber is right here, just down from yours.”
Ruby wet her lips and hurried forward, sweeping past him to see for herself. She entered a room covered in white cloths and so cold, she shivered.
“They’re all like that. Cold and closed up,” Lord Stockwick promised.
Ruby didn’t remember this chamber.
Hector went to a wall and tugged on a white cloth draped over a picture frame, showering himself in the dust. He uncovered a portrait of her aunt as Ruby remembered her looking years go.
Hector cursed softly, batting at his sleeves and dusty hair. “I should have known that would happen,” he complained, and then he sneezed. “She hasn’t lived in this room for ten months or more.”
“The servants have been neglectful.”
“The servants were probably ordered to shut up the room and forget the countess even existed.” Hector shook his head. “He’s a spiteful, nasty man, your uncle. You’d best be cautious of him and whatever plans he has for you.”
“Why do you think he has plans for me?”
“I have been Clement’s confidant for many years. Vyne makes plans for everyone in his family and cares little what you all think of them, so long as he has his way.”
Distressed by that remark, Ruby went to the window and drew back the drape to look out. This room was at the front of the house, overlooking the drive. The best view, she thought. Lord Vyne’s bedchamber was on the other side of the house in a similar position of importance. “What do you suspect he is planning for me?”
“I don’t know, which makes me suspicious. Last year he made a wager with his son. Dangling freedom for Lady Vyne and her children if he wed within three months. He’d even gone so far as to pick out the bride, too.”
“But didn’t you say Clement married your sister?”
“A mistake in the wording of the wager that I don’t think he’ll make again. Clement married my sister because he fell in love with her, winning the wager true—but not how Lord Vyne intended things to turn out.” Hector scrubbed his jaw. “You said you were Mrs. Roper now?”
Ruby always hated when people questioned her marital status. “Yes. I’m a widow,” she admitted.
“Ah, then you ought to be careful you don’t find yourself married again too quickly,” he warned. “Vyne is not above using his own family to settle his debts with an advantageous match that profits him more than you.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t do that to me,” she lied, knowing full well she had put her future in her uncle’s control.
Hector shrugged. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when the next arrival at The Vynes turns out to be a bachelor in want of a wife.”
She looked at him curiously. “Are you married?”
His eyes narrowed. “No, and I intend to stay this way for a long time to come,” he promised before excusing himself and sauntering back out into the hall.
Chapter Seven
Hector was rudely awakened by the clang of a fire poker striking the hearth. “Do you have to do that now?”
“Sorry, my lord,” Parker apologized. “The fire needs to be relit.”
Hector pulled himself up from his warm bed and scowled at his valet. “Why did you let it go out in the first place?”
“It won’t happen again. I’ve been trying to find out more about Mrs. Roper for you and the guest who is expected to arrive. It has been a frustrating morning all round. The servants here are less forthcoming than any I’ve ever met.”
“Vyne’s influence, I’m sure,” Hector concluded.
He shivered. The room was damn cold, and Hector only wore the bedsheet and a thick blanket over him. He never wore a nightshirt, preferring nothing to come between him and the perfect night of rest. Uncomfortably chilled, he glanced over the side of the bed, but his clothes from last night were missing from the floor. Cursing his new valet’s efficiency, Hector burrowed back under the bedding. His last man had known not to do any valeting before luncheon.
But it was no use. Hector was cold and wide awake. He’d have to get up and dress.
Bracing himself, he rolled out of bed and rushed to his traveling trunks, pawing through his clothes to find his warmest garments urgently.
“My lord, please, don’t ruin my morning’s work on your wardrobe,” Parker cried out in anguish. “I had everything pressed and ready to wear.”
“I want my warmest clothes on me today.” Hector spared the discarded clothing a fleeting glance. “I’d like not to freeze to death.”
“Here, let me help you,” the man offered, easing between him and the remaining clothing. He offered up an undershirt, then a recently ironed white linen shirt. Hose came next, then long trousers that secured under the arch of his foot. He put on his favorite boots and the thickest wool waistcoat he owned, and then a brown wool coat, longer than he’d typically wear. Hector had come to The Vynes prepared for the great chill of the place.
Finally starting to warm up, he moved to the fire but quickly saw the pitiful flames would never warm him the rest of the way. “You cannot allow the fire to die down again. This is the coldest place on earth. There must always be a good fire in my room. Always.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Parker said as he rushed to the fire again and began to poke it.
The fire, if anything, burned a little less. This would never do. “Stop poking it. Give it time to catch properly again.”
Parker finally sat back on his heels and rubbed his arms. “This might take a while.”
“Yes, it probably will.”
Parker looked up at him “I believe there is a good fire burning just down the hall in the upstairs parlor.”
“That will have to do.” He frowned. “Why was the upstairs parlor lit?”
“Mrs. Roper and her son are there already,” Parker explained, adding a little kindling to the meager flames.
“Ah,” Hector murmured. “The widow.”
Parker looked up at him again. “Is there something wrong?”
“Yes. No. She’s a widow,” he complained.
“Why is that an issue? Were you not a frequent companion of Lady Freemont’s, a widow, just last month?”
“The month before.” Hector scowled. “You know, for a relatively new employee, you know far too much about my life.”
“I can’t help it if your servants talk, my lord,” he murmured, adding more fuel to the fire before standing up to face him. “It is a regrettable facet of downstairs life in every place but here.”