The Wallflower Wager. Tessa Dare

I sell it.”

      “As I indicated in my correspondence, Mr. Duke, there have been a few obstacles.”

      “You call them obstacles. To me, they sound like excuses.” He gestured at the water basin. “You told me this is the latest innovation. Hot running water.”

      “It is the latest innovation. It’s so new, in fact, that this is only the second boiler of its kind in England. There’s only one man on this side of the Channel who knows how to perform repairs.”

      “So get that man in here to repair the cursed thing.”

      “Yes, well, here we come to the obstacle.” Hammond pushed both hands through his silver hair. “That particular man is dead.”

      Gabe swore. “Get the other one on a ship, then.”

      “Already under way.”

      As they strode down the corridor, Gabe stopped to peer through the open doors, surveying the progress in each chamber. No wallpaper in this one, unfinished molding in another . . .

      Unacceptable.

      “So tell me about these other ‘obstacles’ you’ve encountered.”

      Hammond stared down the staircase and lowered his voice, speaking through unmoving lips. “I’m looking at one of them now.”

      Gabe peered in the same direction. “The housekeeper?”

      “Oh, good,” he muttered. “You see her, too.”

      “Should I not?”

      “I don’t know. I’m not certain she’s human. Sometimes I think she’s a ghost who’s been haunting the place for centuries.”

      Gabe gave his architect a worried look. Maybe Hammond needed a holiday. The man was getting on in years.

      He assessed the housekeeper in the light of day. The woman carried herself with a strict demeanor, and her appearance might as well have been sketched in charcoal—from her severely parted black hair, down her black buttoned frock, all the way to her polished black shoes.

      “She looks like the typical housekeeper if you ask me.”

      “There is nothing typical about that woman,” Hammond said. “You’ll see. I swear, she moves through walls. Materializes out of thin air. You’ll be walking down a perfectly empty corridor. Suddenly, there she is right in front of you.”

      Gabe had to admit, she’d certainly appeared out of nowhere last night.

      “I’m an architect. If there were secret corridors in this house, I’d know—and there aren’t. I’m telling you, she’s some kind of spirit. I’m hoping you’ll sack her, but I’m not certain it would work. You’ll need an exorcism, I think.”

      “Finding and training a suitable replacement would be a monumental task on its own.” Gabe knew the value of a competent employee—and after last night, he wasn’t giving the woman any reason to go spreading vindictive rumors about. “So long as she’s loyal, she stays.”

      “She’s much too loyal. She doesn’t want anything changed. Projects that were done one day will be mysteriously undone the next morning.”

      “So she’s meddling?”

      “That, or working incantations.”

      “I’m not going to sack her. When people are competent in their posts, I keep them on.” He gave Hammond a look. “Even if they are annoying.”

      “I worried you’d say as much.” Hammond sighed. “Whatever else can be said for the creature, she does know this house. Better than you know the face of a shilling.”

       I doubt that.

      “But when she has you scared out of your wits,” Hammond said, “don’t come knocking at my door in the middle of the night. I won’t let you in.”

      “How disappointing.”

      They made their way down the remainder of the stairs and into the breakfast room. A bowl of fruit sat on the table, waiting. Gabe’s mouth watered, and yet—as always—his instinct was to hesitate.

       Don’t touch it, boy. That’s not for the likes of you.

      No matter how much wealth he amassed, it seemed he would never banish that voice. And no matter how much he devoured, satisfaction eluded him. The hunger never went away.

      He reached for an apple, shined it on his waistcoat, and took a defiant bite.

      “And then there’s your third problem.” Hammond nodded at the window. “Just out there, on the green. Lady Penelope Campion.”

      Gabe strolled to the window. She looked different this morning. Different, but no less pretty. The spring sunshine lent her fair hair a golden sheen, and a simple frock skimmed the contours of her tempting, graceful curves. Even from here, he could see her smile.

      Lovely as she might be, she wasn’t Gabe’s usual sort. He wanted nothing to do with delicate, pampered misses possessing no knowledge of the world beyond Mayfair. They were painted china on a high shelf, and he was the bull charging through the shop.

      All the more worrisome, then, that Lady Penelope was working her way under his skin.

      He took another bite of his apple, snapping the crisp sweetness down to the core.

      Gabe watched her move to the center of the green. In one gloved hand, she clutched a leash. The other end of the leash was attached to . . . something furry and brown that rolled.

      “What is that?”

      “That would be a mongrel with two lamed hind legs. Apparently, Her Ladyship’s friend devised a little chariot for his rear half, and the dog careens around the neighborhood like a yapping billiard ball. If you think that’s strange, wait until you see the goat.”

      “Hold a moment. There’s a goat?”

      “Oh, yes. She grazes it on the square every afternoon. Doesn’t precisely elevate the atmosphere of Bloom Square, now does it?”

      “I see the problem.”

      “I’m only getting started. Her Ladyship has single-handedly set us back a month on the improvements.” Hammond pulled a collection of letters from a folio. He held one aloft and read from it. “‘Dear Mr. Hammond, I must request that you delay completion of the parquet flooring. The fumes from the lacquer are dizzying the hens. Sincerely yours, Lady Penelope Campion.’”

      He withdrew another. “‘Dear Mr. Hammond, I’m afraid your improvements to the mews must be temporarily halted. I’ve located a litter of newborn kittens in the hayloft. Their mother is looking after them, but as their eyes are not yet open, they should not be displaced for another week. Thank you for your cooperation. Gratefully yours, Lady Penelope Campion.’”

      Gabe sensed a theme.

      “Oh, and here’s my favorite.” Hammond shook open a letter and cleared his throat for dramatic effect. “‘Dear Mr. Hammond, if it is not too great an imposition, might I ask that your workers refrain from performing heavy labor between nine o’clock in the morning and half-three in the afternoon? Hedgehogs are nocturnal animals, and sensitive to loud noises. My dear Freya is losing quills. I feel certain this will concern you as much as it does me. Neighborly yours, Lady Penelope Campion.’” He tossed the folio of letters onto the table, where they landed with a smack. “Her hedgehog. Really.”

      Outside, Her Ladyship coaxed her dog back toward the house, lifting both dog and cart up the few steps to her door. Gabe turned away from the window, rubbing his temples.

      “The situation is untenable, and that makes the house unsellable. No one wants to live next to a barnyard. I’ve tried reasoning with her, but when it comes to those animals, she’s surprisingly tenacious.”