Carnal Knowledge Ch. 01-02

"Miss Lockhart! Father has said we may breakfast in the dining room as long as he is at home! Isn't it wonderful?"

Nicholas bounced in his chair. "He's going to take us riding after we eat!"

"Yes, that is quite wonderful," Eliza replied flatly. It was certainly unusual for children to eat in the dining room, but the earl was free to set his own rules.

She looked directly at Lord Rockdale for the first time since entering the room, trying hard to contain her ire in front of the children and footmen.

"I was told you required me in the dining room," she said stiffly.

The earl waved a hand. "I see no need for you to take your meals alone, Miss Lockhart. The children speak of you fondly, and we all would be honored for you to join us." He smiled first at her then down at the children, his demeanor polite and affable.

Her eyes narrowed, trying to reconcile the monster who had defiled her last night with this genteel lord.

"Please, George, assist Miss Lockhart to the table and Oliver, fill a plate for her from the sideboard."

The two footmen hastened to obey his orders. Eliza thought to protest at first, but not wishing to make more of a spectacle of herself than necessary, she huffed inwardly and sat in the chair that the footman pulled out for her. As Oliver sat a brimming plate in front of her along with a steaming cup of chocolate, she bit her lip.

Honestly! What did he think he was doing having the footmen treat her as a lady of the house? It was highly improper, and no doubt the talk of it would make quick rounds of the staff.

She forced herself to take a few bites of the delicious food. Hunger had deserted her in such close quarters with her cruel employer.

She tossed her silverware down with a loud plunk. "I require a word in private, my lord," she said rudely, trying and failing not to glare directly at him.

She looked down and frowned, uncomfortable knowing the footmen were no doubt observing her ill-mannered behavior.

"Why, of course, Miss Lockhart, it would be my pleasure," he replied pleasantly. "I must meet with my secretary this afternoon after riding with the children, so perhaps before dinner?"

She gave a curt nod in reply and picked up her fork and knife again.

Lord Rockdale and the children finished their breakfast before her, and the youngsters leapt up, Anna practically dancing toward the door.

"Have Nanny Goodson help you with your riding attire and meet me at the stables," the earl instructed the children, and they bounded from the room.

He stood and turned to face her, inclining his head. "Miss Lockhart, I apologize for detaining the children from their morning lessons. I hope I am not disturbing your routine too badly." He bowed. "I bid you a good day."

She sat tight-lipped and gripped her knife tightly, wishing with all her might to hurl it at his retreating back.

Blankly, she stared down at her plate, trying to decide if she wished to choke down any more food.

Oliver began to clear the table, gathering dirty dishes on a tray before exiting silently.

With surprise, she felt a presence behind her chair. She saw with a backward glance it was the tall and burly footman, George. He leaned over the table quite close to her, reaching for the butter dish. She sucked in a shocked breath as his arm brushed against the side of her breast. She stared up at him incredulously.

"Please watch what you are doing!" she whispered.

"Oh, hen, trust me, I am watching." He leaned in close to murmur in her ear. "I watch those nice tits and arse you've got every chance I get. Tell me, if I ask nicely, will you lift those pretty skirts for me, too?"

A cold rage swept over her. "Excuse me, but you are being extremely offensive!" She moved to jerk her chair back, but he clamped a hand on her shoulder.

"Do not touch me," she hissed.

He chuckled. "Aww, don't be all coy with old George. I saw the master carrying you upstairs late last night. If I would have known it was that simple, I would have been between your legs a long time ago. Of course, I'm no earl, but I think you'll like what I got for you just fine."

Eliza rammed her elbow with all her strength into his midsection, and he moved back with a grunt. Brandishing her fork, she stared hard at him. "If you lay a hand on me again, you will be sorry."

He grinned unrepentantly. "It ain't so much my hand I had in mind."

Oliver reentered with an empty tray and looked curiously over at the two of them.

Cheeks burning, she stalked out of the room. Urgent to be away, she practically ran downstairs and out the side door of the house into the gardens. She walked without thought, almost numb with shock and dismay.

The gardens were lovely in the early spring, but Eliza had no appreciation for the beauty. How could she possibly stay in this horrible house? Surely she had no recourse but to leave her position.

Swallowing hard, she recalled the many months it had taken her to secure this job at Verity Hall. How long before she could get another? How long until there was no money to put food in her younger sister's mouth? There was always service, she reflected grimly, but the salary would be paltry, and she would not put it past Mrs. Biddleton to put the word out against her. She kicked viciously at a potted plant, knocking it over.

She collapsed onto a nearby bench, tears and misery overtaking her. An older man's head popped up from some shrubbery, and he quickly scurried over. Looking with horror between Eliza and the over-turned pot, he looked torn between the two calamities.

He wiped his hands on a pocket rag. "There, there, young miss. What has turned you into a watering can?"

He smiled kindly at her. "I'm Willoughby, the gardener here." As if unable to help himself, he righted the pot and crouched down to scoop the spilled earth back around the plant.

She looked up at him through watery eyes. "I'm sorry about the plant, Mr. Willoughby. I find myself quite overcome today."

Finished with the plant, he brushed his hand off again and stood. "Not to worry, miss. What would a pretty thing like you have to worry over?"

He paused as if a thought occurred to him, and he reddened. "You haven't found yourself, err, hmm." He bounced a little on his heels. "You know, err, in the family way?" The gardener looked deeply embarrassed but met her eyes.

"Oh no!" Eliza automatically replied before glancing down at her stomach in dismay, realizing the fact was now not out of the realm of possibility.

She looked up into his kind eyes again and somehow the truth spilled from her lips. "It is a terrible thing, Mr. Willoughby," she said hoarsely. "The master has ruined me against my will, and I do not know what to do. I have little funds, and my family back at home is depending on me for support."

The gardener looked dumbstruck. "Oh, my poor dear." He removed his hat and twisted it in his hands. "Poor, poor, girl," he muttered.

He gazed down at her, eyes troubled. "I have some money I can give you. It isn't much, but it would at least get you to the village and perhaps some of the fare to get home."

A shadow fell over them. "Excuse me, Willoughby," said Lord Rockdale in an icy voice. "The roses look wilted, could you please attend to them at once."

His voice cracked like a whip, and the gardener reacted as if he had been physically struck.

"Of course, my lord. Right away, my lord." He tugged his forelock and disappeared back into the shrubbery.

Eliza stood slowly, defiantly meeting his gaze. Dressed for riding, he tapped his crop against his thigh, regarding her silently.

Swift as a cobra, his hand shot out to grasp her elbow firmly. "Walk with me, please, Miss Lockhart." Though voiced as a request, his eyes were angry as he hauled her further down the path.

She wrestled against his grip, but he held her firm until they had reached the reflecting pond.

He released her arm and whipped around to face her. "I will not force you to stay in this house. You are free to leave your position at any time."

He took a breath as if collecting himself. "It is a shame, though, about your mother falling ill recently." He smiled thinly at her sharp intake of breath. "Yes, I had quite the conversation with the butler about you this morning. We took a chance on hiring such an inexperienced governess, as I'm sure you know."

"Do not speak of my family!" Her hands balled tightly, and she shook with the desire to plant a fist right into his cold, arrogant face.

He shrugged carelessly. "Stay or go, it is of no import to me. But realize this, if you leave, it is without further wages or assistance. I'm sure you will find a way to get you and your belongings back to Lancashire somehow."

"I have money," she returned hotly. "I will hire someone to help me."

"Oh?" he said casually and reached into his pocket. "Oh dear, look what I have found, was that not lucky?"

Eliza stared dumbly for a moment at the small coin purse made from beautifully tooled, brown leather that he held out in his hand. Her father's coin purse. The leather pouch disappeared back into his pocket.

"You utterly contemptible man," she said, voice trembling with rage. "How dare you steal from my room!"

"I think you will find I dare whatever I wish in my house, Miss Lockhart. Whatever you decide, know this," he reached out and grabbed her chin forcefully, causing her to cry out. "You will never speak of my personal dealings with anyone ever again, not with the staff, not anyone, do you understand me? I can make life quite unpleasant for you if I so wish."

With that pronouncement he released her abruptly and strode away.

Shaking all over, Eliza walked aimlessly in the gardens until her breathing had slowed to a normal rhythm. She shook her head at her own stupidity in confiding to the butler about the recent letter received from home. How had this position turned into such a nightmare so quickly?

As she made her way back to the house with dragging feet, Eliza noted the kindly gardener was nowhere to be seen. Face it, Eliza, she thought bitterly, there is no one to depend on but yourself.

She wiped her face with her handkerchief and briefly considered sending a letter to her mother or dear old Nanny Wick to ask for assistance. She shook her head sadly and rejected the notion. There was no extra money at home to send, and her mother had been recently ill as well. That would never do.

Eliza thought frantically of others she might appeal to for assistance. For the first time in her life, she cursed the fact that she had been so reserved growing up and consequently had no close friends she could call upon. A group of lawyers had handled her father's estate, but she certainly did not know any of them well enough to solicit aid.

She thought then of her father's friend, Sir Harold Cavendish, whose letter of recommendation had helped secure her the position at Verity Hall. He would not hesitate to aid her, she was positive. Unfortunately, the good man was currently touring the continent with his wife and family.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, wishing to throw back her head and scream her frustration to the world.

Grimly, she decided there was no option but to stay, at least for now, until another solution was discovered. She would have to be vigilant and never allow herself to ever be alone outside her chamber.

The earl might think he had her at his mercy, but she would not make things so easy on him next time.