But the next thing she knew her traitorous lips opened, and a half dozen lies spewed forth. “I didn’t lie to you before, my lord. My cloak is a gift from Lady Dunton’s daughter. She made a present of it to me when I left Stoneleigh.”
“A present,” Lord Darlington repeated.
“Yes, my lord.” That much at least was true. The cloak had been a gift. From Lady Clifford, not Lady Dunton’s daughter, but it was as close as she could get to the truth. Georgiana always warned her to stay as faithful to the truth as possible when telling an enormous lie, and the lies one was compelled to tell should be simple ones, and thus easier to remember.
“How generous of Lady Dunton’s daughter.” He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “I suppose the blue ribbons were a gift, as well?”
“No, my lord. I have a great-aunt who lives in London. She sent me the ribbons.”
Alas, one lie seemed to be her limit, because this second one didn’t leave her lips quite as smoothly as the first one had. He noticed it, and his gaze sharpened on her face. Much to her dismay, Lord Darlington appeared to be the sort of man who noticed everything.
“Your aunt’s name, Miss Gilchrist?”
Cecilia nearly groaned aloud. Oh, why had she mentioned a great aunt? She might have just said she’d purchased the bonnet in London, but she’d had to throw a great aunt into it, and complicate things. If Georgiana were here, she’d be appalled.
“She’s, ah…Mrs. Bell, my lord.” There, let the blasted man do a search through the hundred or so Mrs. Bells living in London.
“Her direction?” Lord Darlington snatched up the quill from his desk, dipped it, and hovered it over a scrap of paper.
Cecilia’s satisfaction faded. “Lambeth Road, my lord.” Surely, there must be at least one Mrs. Bell in Lambeth Road?
He scrawled the direction on the paper, then tossed the quill aside and leaned back in his chair, his hands over his wide chest, his hard, blue eyes fixed on her face. “You did say you were born in Stoneleigh, didn’t you, Miss Gilchrist?”
Cecilia resisted the urge to squirm. “Yes, my lord.” Again, it wasn’t a lie, precisely. She’d been born in Stoneleigh, and had spent her infancy there, but it was so long ago it might have been in another lifetime. After her grandmother died her parents had moved to London, and Cecilia had been there ever since.
But if Lord Darlington knew she hailed from London, he might connect her to the Clifford School. Lady Clifford made it a point not to call attention to their activities, but the school and its proprietress were infamous among certain people in London. Lord Darlington would find out who she was eventually, of course, but Cecilia intended to be gone from Darlington Castle long before then.
He didn’t speak for some time, but leaned back in his chair, his arctic blue eyes moving over her face. His posture bespoke casual ease, but Cecilia wasn’t fooled. There was nothing easy about the rigidity of his spine, the tightness of his lips, the clench of his fingers.
She crossed her ankles under cover of her skirts, then recrossed them. She twiddled her thumbs, avoiding his gaze, but the silence stretched on for so long a bead of sweat gathered in the tightly bound hair at her nape and slid down the back of her neck. Finally, she glanced up at him, unable to bear the quiet another moment, and found him staring at her from the other side of his desk.
Cecilia returned the stare, cocking her head. It was a great pity his eyes were such a cold blue, because with those long, dark lashes they were quite stunning.
She blinked, surprised at herself.
“This glowing reference from Lady Dunton.” Lord Darlington drew the page toward him across the desk, his gaze once again flicking over the signature. “If I were to contact her ladyship regarding your service, she’d verify every word written here. Is that right, Miss Gilchrist?”
Lady Dunton was one of the Clifford School’s aristocratic, silent patrons. Not one word of the reference she’d written for Cecilia was true, but her ladyship would swear to Lord Darlington it was. So, Cecilia opened her mouth, and pushed another lie between her lips. “Of course, my lord.”
Once again, he didn’t reply right away, just gazed at her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Cecilia was losing heart, her faith in her ability to convince him waning with every moment, but just as she’d given it up for lost, Lord Darlington spoke.
“I don’t like liars, and I care even less for gossip and strangers prying into my private affairs. My servants are loyal to me, and they know better than to gossip. If I find you’ve carried any tales outside my home, I will dismiss you instantly, without references. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord.” Cecilia gulped, both relief and dread pooling in her stomach. He was going to let her stay on as housemaid, but being his housemaid meant living at Darlington Castle under the cold, watchful eye of Lord Darlington, who seemed to have taken an immediate dislike to her.
He looked hard at her, then gave a short nod. “It won’t be an easy post. I’ve lived in retirement for the past year, and the castle has been closed to guests. We’re short on staff, and a great deal of work is yet to be done before my betrothed arrives in Kent in a fortnight. You’ll be treated fairly, but you’ll be expected to work hard.”
Cecilia had never been afraid of hard work. That is, she’d never worked as a housemaid before, but it couldn’t be any more difficult than mudlarking in the Thames, and she’d survived that for more than two years. “Yes, my lord.”
“I suppose we’ll find out how sturdy you are, won’t we, Miss Gilchrist?”
Heat rose in Cecilia’s cheeks, but instead of snapping that she was far sturdier than he’d ever imagine, she wisely kept her mouth closed.
That dark eyebrow quirked once again at her silence. “Just one more thing, Miss Gilchrist. You are not, under any circumstances, to enter my late wife’s bedchamber. It’s kept locked at all times, so as not to tempt the curious, but it’s crucial all of my servants understand no one enters that room without my explicit permission.”
Well, that was strange. Cecilia couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Darlington intended to do with the future Marchioness of Darlington if she wasn’t meant to take up residence in the marchioness’s apartments, but it didn’t seem a good idea to ask.
“If you disobey me in this, you will be dismissed and sent from the castle immediately. Is that clear?” Lord Darlington leaned across the desk, pinning her with his gaze.
“Yes, my lord.” They were the only three words Cecilia was still capable of uttering in his presence, it seemed.
“Very well.” Lord Darlington rose from his chair—and rose, and rose, and rose, his long body seeming to take ages to unfold—and pulled the bell once again. Cecilia stumbled to her feet as well, and the two of them stared at each other in silence as they waited for Mrs. Briggs to answer the summons.