The Uncatchable Miss Faversham by Elizabeth Moss

eagerly. And even in this smoky little cottage he was not safe.
        There was a faint creak above his head as Rose Underwood stepped across the floor with a light tread, perhaps trying to listen from the top of the stairs.
        ‘Miss Faversham is indeed returned from London,’ he agreed, keeping his voice admirably even. He had no wish to add to the village gossip on that score. ‘To make the funeral arrangements and open up the Hall to visitors. The last remaining members of Mrs Lovett’s family live further north and could not be here earlier, so I believe she has taken that onerous task upon herself.’
        ‘Aye, that’s what we heard too. Some of the girls in the village have been taken on up there until after the funeral. And a few good lads, for a-looking after the stables and grounds.’ Jack Underwood sniffed. ‘The place was in a right poor state, they say. The drive peppered with pot-holes, none of the chimneys swept, and everything raggle-taggle in the upstairs rooms.’
        ‘I’m sure Miss Faversham has it well in hand.’
        ‘Not so black as some would paint her, then?’ Jack asked quickly, and the curiosity in his voice was now unmistakeable.
        ‘I really wouldn’t know. But it’s growing late and I cannot keep you any longer from your day’s business.’ Nathaniel rose, firmly shaking the man’s hand before he too could rise. ‘No, stay where you are. I can show myself out.’
        Lucifer had indeed crept into the hedgerow to shelter himself from the rain. But at the sound of the cottage door opening, the puppy came bursting out again, wagging his tail with ludicrous enthusiasm.
        Nathaniel bent to stroke the grovelling puppy behind his ears, and laughed as Lucifer rolled onto his back with abject pleasure. ‘What am I to do with you, disobedient wretch?’ he demanded.
        The rain clouds had already begun to roll away beyond the little village of Darrow, heading across the valley toward the tree-hidden roofs of Faversham Hall.
        He was aware of a burning sensation deep inside that would not be repressed simply by wishing, and knew the cause of his frustration. The puppy at his feet barked and ran twice between and around his legs, wagging its tail with violent excitement now that the rain had eased off and the morning was good for walking once more. ‘Will you never consent to do as you are told?’ he asked the young dog, once more attempting without success to call him to heel.
        He could just as easily have asked the same question of the flighty, irrepressible Miss Eleanor Faversham: ‘Will you never consent to do as you are told?’
        He already knew what that lady’s answer would be. An unqualified and resounding No!
        Straightening up, his smile was quickly wiped away by the sight of that lady herself, strolling down the muddy lane towards him, her maid beside her, a dark-skinned figure he remembered instantly from his youth, a covered basket over her arm.
        What the devil?
        Nathaniel removed his hat, bowing with meticulous politeness as the two drew level with him.
        What was she doing in Darrow, walking right past Jack’s cottage, surely the last place he had expected to encounter Miss Faversham? This was his haven, his sanctuary from the outside world.
        Splendid in a dark blue velvet walking gown that nipped in her waist and emphasised the swell of her breasts, her feet clad in the most elegant half-boots he had ever seen, Miss Faversham looked at him coldly, unspeaking.
        ‘Your servant, Miss Faversham,’ he managed, feeling once again as though he had been kicked in the guts.
        Eleanor glanced momentarily at the cottage. Its front door still stood slightly ajar, to his great chagrin, almost as though to suggest that he had just left it. At a narrow upper window, he saw the faded curtain twitch, and caught a glimpse of Rose Underwood and her reddish, mop-capped head,