Free Carola Dunn by The Actressand the Rake Page B

library Nerissa breathed a sigh of relief. A fortuitous question had started the stiffly polite Mrs Hibbert reminiscing about Mama’s childhood. After that, the housekeeper had remained cordial, advising her new mistress rather than challenging her. Though Nerissa was still muddled about the duties and responsibilities of the lady of the manor, she hoped for Mrs Hibbert’s continuing help.
    However, she dared not count on such forbearance. Mrs Hibbert probably didn’t know her grandfather’s Will had described her as an actress and a whore. The servants had left by the time that part was read, she recalled. The housekeeper’s attitude was bound to change when she found out, but Nerissa didn’t quite dare broach the subject in order to deny it.
    When Mrs Hibbert left, she sat by the fire considering her best course of action. She didn’t think a respectable servant would ever confront her face to face about so scandalous a rumour, so how was she to deal with it?
    Perhaps Miles would explain for her. He had known the woman since childhood and was on friendly terms with her, and he seemed to believe Nerissa’s claim of innocence.
    She already owed him so much, though. She had definite qualms about putting herself under further obligation. After all, he had not quibbled with Sir Barnabas’s opinion of him as a debauched gamester. Perhaps he expected her gratitude to take tangible form, some time in the future if not at once. Nerissa shivered as her imagination suggested what tangible form a libertine might demand.
    Yet he had been very kind, and he must have realized from the first that she was a rival for the baronet’s fortune. Now that he had shaved, his eyes no longer red-rimmed with fatigue, he didn’t look dissolute any more. At least she’d ask his advice.
    A footman came in to light candles, and she realized that the autumn afternoon had faded to dusk outside the windows.
    Carrying a candelabrum from the mantelpiece, she moved to the desk to write to her parents. Despite the manifest difficulties ahead of her, she wanted to stay. She wanted to prove to herself that she was capable of more than turning a length of shoddy plaid cotton into a kilt.
    In a desk drawer she found paper, pens and penknife, and sealing wafers. The brass inkstand was half full of ink. There was nothing to hinder her but uncertainty as to how to persuade Mama and Papa to let her stay at Addlescombe. If she told them she had been outrageously insulted by Sir Barnabas’s Will, her presence was bitterly resented by her relatives, and her only ally was a wastrel with a penchant for actresses, they’d order her home at once.
    As she dipped a quill in the ink, a white-capped head peeked around the door. Cousin Sophronia scurried in, then stopped in dismay, her hand clapped to her mouth.
    “Oh dear, you are busy,” she squeaked. “I do beg your pardon for interrupting.”
    “Not at all, Miss...” Nerissa cast her mind back to long-ago introductions. “Miss Datchett.”
    “Oh please, everyone calls me Miss Sophie. Though you are some sort of very distant cousin, are you not? Effie explained, but I fear I did not follow her. I seldom do,” she confided with a nervous glance over her shoulder, “but I’m sure you ought to call me Cousin Sophie.”
    “If you will call me Nerissa, ma’am.”
    “I will, when Effie is not about. Are you writing to your mama? Do please send dear Anthea my fond remembrances.”
    “I will, Cousin Sophie. Won’t you sit down?”
    “I cannot stay more than a minute. Effie doesn’t know I have come. I just want to tell you that I don’t mind a bit if you inherit Addlescombe and two hundred pounds a year is excessively generous and I would so like to be friends but you must promise to keep it secret from my sister,” she finished breathlessly.
    “Why, yes, of course,” said Nerissa, surprised. “I’ll be delighted to be friends, and I promise not to tell Mrs Chidwell.”
    Cousin Sophie’s round face