The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) by Jenn LeBlanc Read Free Book Online

smelled the earthiness of the clearing and the damp of the woods beyond. She stood smiling, her arms held out, grasping at the air and the possibilities until a woman’s terrifying scream jolted her from the reverie and she jumped back, losing her balance at the sill.

Mrs. Weston wandered the manor, surveying the work of the under servants. The past days had run into countless tense and nerve-racking hours of seeing to her new charge. She never knew quite what to expect from their guest, so she stayed up most nights keeping watch—and slept hardly at all during the days as well, tending her customary duties. She knew she was wearing thin.
    Francine wasn’t speaking and seemed fearful, but she had trusted Mrs. Weston enough to share her name and would soon begin to trust her with more, the housekeeper hoped. It wouldn’t be long before everything would settle down or Francine’s family would come looking for her.
    The thought arrested Mrs. Weston and she suddenly frowned. She didn’t want everything back to normal. She realized normal hadn’t been all that wonderful; it had been mundane. The manor was run smoothly and efficiently; Roxleigh had seen to that. And he was a generous master and duke. The tenants had no complaints and when they did they were seen to. She itched for something to happen beyond the silver needing polished. Again.
    Roxleigh had a novel way of running his lands, and his management had turned Eildon into a more profitable estate than it had ever been. She knew that Roxleigh’s father, Darius—the previous duke—had very nearly driven the estate into the ground. He was resentful of his life and his station. He blamed the world for his misfortunes and didn’t see the most blessed part of his life, his son, right before him.
    It was a tragedy to see him work himself to an early grave, but there had been no helping him after—
    No . She stopped that train of thought. Things were different. She could feel it in her marrow. There was something happening and it was all coming along with the girl upstairs.
    Mrs. Weston finished her rounds and headed straight to the private parlor where she witnessed something she thought never to see again—and she screamed.
    Francine stumbled from the window. She cried out, but the sound was trapped in her vocal chords, and she put one hand to her mouth, the other to her throat. Shaking from her toes to her shoulders with fright, she nearly fell to the floor as Mrs. Weston rushed over. She looked into the woman’s round, gentle face and saw the infusion of fear. She dared not utter a word.
    “Apologies, Miss Francine, you gave me a start. What were you doing?” Mrs. Weston asked nervously. Francine shook her head. She glanced at the window, trying to figure out what was so fearful as to cause Mrs. Weston to scream like that.
    “Miss Francine,” Mrs. Weston said with a disapproving look on her face. “I know you do not speak, but I also know you can. And if you do not tell me what you were doing at that window, I will have to inform His Grace about exactly what I saw. I cannot take a chance on this. Go back to your silence afterward if you must, but trust me now or there’ll be hell to pay when he returns.”
    Francine looked into the woman’s eyes, noting the well-masked concern. She certainly didn’t want a bad word to get to him . She glanced toward the window. She was keenly aware that her existence here at the manor was conditional and if she disrupted him she might be sent away. It was that unknown that she couldn’t bear, even though she had become accustomed to it. She’d faced that before, when the police came to take her away after her parents died, and now as a grown woman she dreaded it even more.
    “I…” She cleared her throat gingerly. She could handle no more than a whisper, and even that strained and tightened the muscles of her throat to a thick, scraping ache.
    “Go on now, out with it,” Mrs. Weston prodded. Francine clutched her