Ann Lethbridge

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Chapter One

With a growing sense of dismay, Pamela gazed at Rake Hall, the address of her new employer, the Earl of Dart. Lit only by the moon. What must have once been a fine manor house built in the Palladian style was now a ramshackle hulk of boarded up windows, overgrown ivy and shrouded in darkness.

Clearly, the sly grin on the innkeeper’s face in the village of Rake had been a warning Pamela should have heeded. Not to mention the sniggers from a couple of the patrons in his taproom when they overheard her asking for its direction.

At the time, she had ignored the worry that had niggled in the corner of her mind. After all, the agency had been quite glowing in their recommendation. Not to mention the offer of a fabulous salary. This would definitely be a step up in her career as a cook.

On the other hand, if she hadn’t been quite so desperate to find a new position after her third argument with the head chef at her last post, she might have wondered at the generosity of the offer.

It had come at a moment when she feared she might be dismissed without a reference, having tossed out one of the head chef’s desserts because she had been quite sure he had used rancid butter, likely in order to pocket the funds provided to purchase fresh.

The chill of the evening caused her breath to mist before her face. Fortunately, the brisk two-mile walk had kept her warm, but there was no denying winter was just around the corner.

Having to walk should also have been a warning sign that all was not well. She ought to have been met by some sort of transportation from Rake Hall. But, no. The best she had got from the innkeeper was directions to the manor house and an oily smirk.

Now she was in two minds as to whether to cut her losses and run.

She glanced up at the sky sprinkled with stars. Even by the light of a full moon, she did not fancy the long walk back to the village. And what would she do when she got there? She had no funds to pay for board and lodging. Would she sleep under a hedge like the vagrants she had pitied over the years?

She shifted her valise to her other hand, flexing her arm for ease. Well, she had walked this far, she wasn’t going to turn back now. Besides, she had used her advance of a week’s salary to pay for her travel from Cornwall. At the very least, she needed to work that off.

Very well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

As advised by the agency, she made her way around to the back of the house and across the courtyard between the house and the stables. To her relief, things looked a little less run down on this side of the house and the glow of candles in a couple of windows seemed welcoming.

A lantern beside a low heavy oak door guided her steps. She put down her valise, clenched her fist and banged hard.

After a long pause, and right at the moment she plucked up the courage to bang again, she heard the click of footsteps on flagstones inside.

The door swung back.

A startlingly handsome man of dishevelled appearance, his necktie loose and his coat an embroidered grey waistcoat with buttons undone, opened the door and held up a lamp.

His dark eyebrows drew together at the sight of her.

‘Yes?’

Oh, Lord, what sort of house was this? Not a very well-run one if he was any example. She straightened her shoulders. ‘I am Mrs Lamb, the new cook.’

His eyes widened as if he was surprised. He leaned one shoulder—one impressively broad shoulder—against the door, crossed his shirt-sleeved arms over his chest and his lips curled in wry amusement as he looked her up and down. His smile turned appreciative and devastatingly attractive. ‘Are you now?’

Her heart did an odd little flip-flop accompanied with a strangely girlish sensation of excitement. She hadn’t felt this way since the first time Alan had kissed her on one of their long walks. Alan. The pain of loss hit her anew, followed swiftly by a sense of shame at her untoward reaction to this fellow.

For a moment she had trouble speaking. ‘The agency sent me,’ she forced the words out. ‘I have a contract.’

His eyebrows rose. He nodded his head slowly, his gaze pursuing her as if she was an insect under a microscope. ‘You were expected two hours ago.’

Who was this person? The butler? She hoped not. If she wasn’t mistaken, he had imbibed a little more than he should have and was far more arrogant than he ought to be. She lifted her chin. ‘The mail was late. Still, I expected a conveyance to be awaiting me.’

‘Did you now?’...