He could see her swallow, could see her force herself to smile.
“I couldna rightly say we are in agreement, milord, as that would require the suspension of all rational thought. But ye might say that I have accepted where the winds of fate have carried me, and I’ve determined there is no point in arguing it, for if we do, we shall both remain angry, and that serves neither of us.”
Interesting. Was it possible that she had, through some divine intervention, accepted it? No. Impossible. She was far too obstinate and headstrong. Of course he couldn’t trust her. He knew Mared, knew how unconquerably proud she could be…. It had been one of the many things he’d once admired about her.
Now all he’d admire was her ability to clean his house.
“Ye may take yer meals with the rest of the staff in the servants’ dining room,” he continued curtly, “and now ye are dismissed to attend Miss Douglas.” He stood and turned away from those unreadable green eyes and strode from the room, reminded once again that while he might be enticed by her appearance, he could not abide what was inside her.
When Mared heard the door close, she clenched her fists and banged them on the arms of her chair as she dropped her head back against it, her eyes closed, groaning. She’d never endure this. Never!
After drinking the potion Donalda had given her, she’d spent a sleepless night, hoping for a miracle. When one did not come, she considered Anna and Ellie’s advice to slay him with kindness. As she could think of no other practical way to slay him, she had reasoned, in the wee hours of the morning, that it was good advice. Payton expected her defiance—he’d never expect her compliance. He’d not want her compliance, as it would bleed all the joy from his degradation of her.
Yet she’d not bargained for her compliance coming at such a high personal cost. Another large piece of her pride had broken off and splintered into dust.
She abruptly vaulted out of her chair and began to pace. “Ye will see to it that this house shines like a golden bauble,” she mimicked him. “And now ye are dismissed. Bloody rotten tyrant,” she muttered. “A repugnant, mean-spirited, slubberdegullion, that one—”
The door swung open; Mared gasped and whirled about, her heart pounding.
It was Beckwith, his face looking even more pinched than usual this morning. “His lordship would have ye attend Miss Douglas forthwith.”
“Oh.” She glanced around the room, nervously ran her hand along the seam of her gown, wondering how she might endure this.
“I believe he intended for ye to go straightaway,” Beckwith added coolly.
Mared frowned at him. “I know,” she said and followed him out of the room, falling in beside him as they strode down the corridor.
She glanced at the butler from the corner of her eye. She judged him to be just a few years older than she. He was a proud man, she could see that in the tilt of his bony jaw and the way his neckcloth was tied to perfection with what seemed the goal of strangulation. “So then, Beckwith…” she tried. “We are to be fellow soldiers, aye? Partners of a kind, as it were?”
To her surprise, Beckwith stopped midstride and turned to face her, his lips pursed unpleasantly. “I beg yer pardon but I think no’, Miss Lockhart.”
“Oh,” she said, and thought she should explain to him that contrary to what he might think, she was no longer a member of the Quality.
Before she could say a word, however, Beckwith unabashedly and enthusiastically continued, “I am the chief man in the laird’s employ, which means that all the other servants in his employ answer directly to me.” He gave her a mean little smile. “That would include yerself, Miss Lockhart. Henceforth, ye shall know me as Mr. Beckwith.”
Mared blinked in surprise.
He turned sharply about and started up the grand stairs. “Do hurry along,” he said haughtily. “Ye’ve kept Miss Douglas waiting long enough, ye have.”
Her thoughts and her tongue frozen in astonishment, Mared picked up her hem and hurried after him.
On the second floor, Beckwith stopped before a white door with a painted porcelain knob and rapped lightly. A chambermaid in a white cap answered.
“Stand aside, Rodina,” Beckwith said brusquely.
The dark-eyed girl curtsied and stepped aside, eyeing Mared curiously as Beckwith crossed the thresh-old and bowed. “Miss Douglas, may I present the new housekeeper, Miss Lockhart.”
“Oh, is she here, then?” Sarah Douglas chirped from somewhere inside the room.
Beckwith gave Mared a look; she swallowed the last lump of her pride and stepped inside the room.