Scandal's Daughters

Chapter 3

The infernal rapping resumed.

Bloody hell, would they not leave already? This staccato beating however, more cheerful and quick than all the previous knocks. Obviously that happy rhythm came in knowing whichever bloody kin stood on the opposite side of that door would soon be free of this place.

His mother. His father. Theo and her husband, the Duke of Devlin. He’d entered Lucas’ chambers two times. That was two times too many since his return nearly one year earlier.

“Lucas?” his mother’s voice more lively than he recalled, in the whole of his eleven months home cut through the wood panel. “I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Nelson.”

Lucas ran his scarred palms down his face. The servant was, in fact, a her. And the her was named, Mrs. Nelson. If he were capable of laughing, he’d have managed a sharp bark of amusement at being saddled with a maid named for one of the most honorable, triumphant military commanders. But laughter had died long ago.

“I am opening the door, Lucas,” his mother called more loudly.

Did she fear he’d be relieving himself in the chamber pot as he’d done the time she’d sent a young maid around? Alas, propriety and politeness, and all that had once made him a charming rogue, had been jaded by life; from darkness far worse than death and dying upon the battlefield.

The faint murmur of voices on the other side of that panel gave him the faint hope that, mayhap, they’d go off and leave him the hell alone. Alas, he should have known by the hell that was living the folly in hope.

“Lucas,” his sister greeted, moving forward, her steps more hesitant than they’d ever been. And that unease matched in her eyes. When he’d left, Theodosia had been a mischievous romantic believing in the lure of the Theodosia sword, an artifact she’d been named after. She now stood before him with those miserably sad, pitying eyes.

His gut clenched. How he despised that bloody emotion; he’d been subjected to it the moment he’d been set free from the French. Suffered through it when he’d been carried to his parents’ Kent estate. Shut away in his rooms was the only hint of freedom he’d know.

Deliberately averting his stare, he turned his head and took in the tall woman who stood alongside his mother in the doorway. This was the servant they’d turn his care over to now? So thin, a strong gust could knock her down, the woman had dull brown hair, drawn tight at her nape. That only accentuated her brown eyes, impossibly big in her pale face. His lip peeled. How vastly different the somber, severe woman was than the beauties he’d left behind in his wake.

Then, the lady wasn’t here to plead for his kisses or a spot in his bed, but rather to tidy his rooms and bring him meals he’d long ago ceased to taste. “Is this the woman here to empty my chamber pot?” he asked, his voice gravelly, when it once had been smooth and effortless. Lucas hung his arm over the side of the bed and picked up the chipped porcelain pot. “No need, yet,” he taunted.

His mother and Theo’s gasps blended in like horror.

Mrs. Nelson, however, angled her tall, willowy body dismissively. She flicked an assessing stare over him and then as though she’d found him wanting, looked around the room. Her gaze left no spot untouched; lingering on the drawn curtains and then returning to the chipped chamber pot. “There are far greater matters demanding my attention in these rooms than your chamber pot, Captain. Particularly an empty one.”

Lucas froze. Surely he’d imagined that insolence? Surely this stranger who’d entered his rooms hadn’t the courage, let alone the audacity to challenge him? People avoided his eyes, they walked, nay ran in the opposite direction. They did not stand with the proud, regal bearing better suited a battle-hardened warrior than an unattractive woman, certainly near her thirtieth year.

“Lucas,” his mother interjected, nervously shifting on her feet. She’d always been nervous. It was the only way he’d remembered her being. He often said that the first words she’d uttered upon his birth were “Is all well?”

“Mrs. Nelson is not solely here to keep your chambers tidied.”

He narrowed his eyes, fixing her with a glare that drained the color from her cheeks. She gulped audibly and sent an appealing look to Theo.

His sister had always been brave and bold where their mother never had been. She now stood silent.

“I am also here to provide companionship, as you desire.” It was hard to say who was more shocked by Mrs. Nelson’s cool deliverance—Lucas, or his gaping mother and sister.

Despite himself, despite this hungering to feel nothing, an appreciation for the fearless woman stirred. He continued to scrutinize her. A woman who spoke in the cultured tones, befitting no chambermaid, but a lady. “I do not,” he seethed.

She tipped her head.

“Desire your company,” he looked pointedly at his kin. “Or anyone else’s.” His parents, his siblings, the servants who stepped through these doors gawked with either pity or like they’d stumbled upon an Astley’s Circus oddity. Their presence served as a forever reminder of how he’d been indelibly changed and how he’d never again be the man he was. The sooner everyone allowed him his solitude, the sooner he could find some peace at last. “I want you gone,” he said flatly when the woman continued to watch him with an inscrutable expression. Did he imagine the panic that flared in her eyes? “I’ve no need of a stern-faced maid in my rooms. If I wanted female companionship, I’d hire a—”

“Lucas,” his mother cried, slapping her hands to flaming cheeks.

...You are my brave, honorable boy. Do not be a hero, Lucas. Promise me you’ll come home, just as you are...

Self-loathing filled every corner of his being. It spread to his mouth, leaving a bitter taste of regret and pain. “Your services are not required here,” he managed in deadened tones, hating himself. Hating the monster he’d become and the man he’d never again be. “Get out,” he whispered. “All of you.” He let the chamber pot slip from his fingers and it sailed to the floor.

His mother and sister cried out as it shattered, spraying splinters of glass.

Through the mayhem, Mrs. Nelson remained as cool as the most undaunted soldier in battle. Silent, where his mother and sister now wept. “Will you excuse us a moment, my lady?”

His body went still. By God, surely he’d imagined that command issued from the sour-faced creature. The quick patter of footsteps and then the closing door indicated Mother and Theo left him alone with the woman.

Mrs. Nelson drifted over and toed a particularly large shard of white glass. She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Well, this certainly moves up my proverbial list of matters that require tending to in your...” She wrinkled her nose. “...rooms. Do you have another?”

Lucas opened and closed his mouth several times. People didn’t speak to him in that casual, curious manner. Not anymore. They picked their way haltingly, fearfully around their words and actions. “What?” The query escaped him, harsh and ragged.

“Another chamber pot,” she said in slow tones better suited to chastising a child.

Blankly, he shook his head once.

“As I suspected.” The lady sighed. “Then, it was in poor judgment to hurl the only one you do have.”

He growled. The vixen was taking him to task like a little boy who’d made off with Cook’s just-baked tarts. But then, isn’t that what I’ve become? A scared, useless child, afraid to be around others, afraid of the nightmares and the madness that plagues me? “I’ve already told you, you are relieved of your duties.” He’d not have a female around here, reminding him of how he’d once been the charming rogue, in whose bed ladies had vied for a place.

Mrs. Nelson shifted her attention away from that piece of glass. “I am afraid I cannot do that, Captain Rayne. I understand you’ve no desire for company,” she went on, coming closer until her knees brushed the edge of his mattress. “That you’ve been content to close yourself away in your chambers.” What did she know of it? Nothing. “I have need of this post and, as such, it will take more than a,” she gestured behind her, “broken chamber pot to run me off. Furthermore,” Furthermore? “you’ve run off nearly all your family's staff and, as such, cannot afford to be discriminating.” With him lying there flummoxed, she started for the entrance of the room and then stopped, her fingers poised on the door handle. “That is, unless you wish to clean your own chambers?” At his silence, she inclined her head. “I did not think so, Captain.”

“Have you not heard,” he taunted on a chilling whisper that sent the color draining from the lady’s cheeks. “Castle Rayne was cursed long ago and it is haunted by the dead lords and ladies who once called this home.” So were the legends and folklores told him and his siblings when they’d been young children sitting at their father’s knee. As a boy, he’d been the only Rayne to scoff at those tales. Until time had proven the depth of that curse.

The woman’s throat moved. Of course she’d cower and run. They all did. Including his own family. Except—Mrs. Nelson tipped her chin up. “I do not believe in curses, Captain Rayne.” She lied. He saw the truth, bright and clear, radiating from the depths of her brown eyes. “If you’ll excuse me?” she excused herself, hurriedly, making a further mockery of her efforts at bravery.

This one would not last a week. “I said, do not come back,” he bellowed.

With the regality befitting a queen, she closed the door behind her with a decisive click.

Lucas stared at the wood panel a long while. He’d spent nearly two years existing in absolute silence. That vacuum had, at first, been imposed on him, a wounded soldier taken as prisoner from the fields of Talavera, by cruel guards who’d delighted in chaining and beating him. Then, that silence had changed to something willing on Lucas’ part. Words, whimpers, even the whisper of sound brought with it the threat of death. From then, he had existed as a shell of a man, breathing but not living. He’d ceased to feel—anything.

Until now.

Now, curiosity about the woman who’d challenge a duchess, countess, and captain from the King’s Army filled him.

With that, Lucas rolled onto his side and stared at those brocade curtains. Boredom. There was no other accounting for the questions that slipped in about the pursed-mouthed servant he’d run off this time.