Heaven Sent the Wrong One Read online

  "Ain't ye Lady Alexandra Davenport's Abigail?" One of the maids called to Alexandra as she entered the door leading to the kitchen.

  "Er, yes," Alexandra closed the door behind her and regarded the plump woman who was carrying an enormous load of newly laundered dresses. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

  "Aye, 'bout time ye do dat, lass. Yer ladyship's clothes been pilin' up me laundry room. 'Ere," she handed Alexandra the mountain of garments. "Press 'em wi' dat iron whilst them coals is 'ot."

  Alexandra gaped at the heap in her arms and exclaimed, "Right now?"

  "Aye. Wer do ye tink ye is, foolin' 'round in yer fancy frock? Da Manor 'otel?" The laundry maid made an exasperated gesture with her hands. "Off ye go now, lassie. Me needs me racks fer mor o' them dresses. Me ladyship an' 'er guests keep meself busy, me tell ye."

  ~

  A little, more than a half hour later, Allayne hurried to his rooms at the far end of the second floor. He had reiterated his instructions to his footman and coachman to keep mum about the charade, and had taken longer than necessary to get away from the housemaids who relentlessly flirted with him.

  A modicum of relief washed over him as he finally reached his bedchamber. He was delayed not more than five minutes, but that could be enough to turn away his beautiful Anna from his bed.

  He turned the knob with a soft click and peered inside.

  The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers, shrouding the chamber in shadows. Allayne waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom until gradually, the furnishings began to take shape in the darkness.

  His gaze landed on the enormous four-poster bed.

  A slim figure lounged beneath his white bedding, pale naked shoulders peeking over the edge of the linens.

  Anna.

  He hastily undressed and slipped under the sheets next to her on the bed. She was breathing steadily, lying on her side facing away from him.

  Poor darling, he grinned, placing an arm around her waist. She must have been exhausted from the long day.

  He kissed an exposed shoulder.

  She stirred with a sigh.

  Encouraged, Allayne pressed himself closer against her back.

  She responded with another heavy sigh.

  He planted a kiss on her nape.

  She moaned, mumbling words he couldn't understand.

  He trailed kisses from her shoulder to the side of her neck.

  She giggled.

  Allayne smiled to himself. His Anna had been awake the whole time. He rubbed his now inflamed member against her backside.

  She groaned and wiggled her bottom.

  Allayne couldn't abide the teasing any longer. He boldly moved his hand from her waist and squeezed her breast.

  She arched her back, pressing herself against his palm with a soft whimper.

  Allayne felt for her breast again and frowned. Had he misjudged Miss Banana's endowments? He could swear, her bosoms were as big as melons—or did she do something with her corset to make them look larger than they were?

  Another squeeze yielded nothing but paltry flesh.

  Holy smelly Moses, he noticed the coarse mat brushing against the palm of his hand covering her breast—is she flat and—God forbid—hairy chested?

  His erection wilted.

  Should he light a candle and inspect the delicacies she offered or should he just keep his mouth shut and pretend it didn't matter? Nevertheless, he did not have time to cogitate any further. Anna seemed to enjoy his groping and reached backwards, burying her fingers in his hair as she pulled his head closer for a kiss.

  Allayne did not resist.

  In the gist of things, a flat, hairy chest hardly made a difference. What he really wanted to do was to shoot his rapidly stiffening pistol at Miss Banana's juicy target—her virginal maidenhead.

  He propped an elbow to raise himself just enough to meet her half-turned lips. She was eager and hot, plunging her tongue into his mouth a little too aggressively, it somewhat surprised him.

  Allayne cradled her cheek with one hand and caressed her jaw line with his thumb to calm her down. Her skin felt oddly scraggly. Christ—was she one of those peculiar women who grew a beard? And she tasted like—what the devil—ale? She did not seem to be the type to prefer it over wine or champagne.

  He slid his fingers through her hair. It felt soft but sparse. Her long tresses and ringlets seemed to have gone missing. In the span of a half hour since he had last seen her—did she decide to cut it shorter?

  A strange feeling crept in Allayne's lust-fogged brain before it quickly turned into dread.

  He abruptly pulled away.

  "Anna?" The fleece on the back of his neck stood on end even as he uttered her name. Sweet Lucifer, please don't let it be who he thinks this person is—

  A goose-bump inducing silence ensued as they stared at each other in the gloom.

  "Andy?" Allayne heard himself say in a voice sounding bizarrely disembodied from the rest of him.

  "S-sir?"

  Another stunned silence.

  Then, at exactly the same time—both of them screamed.

  The whole house rattled as they sprang away from each other, scrambling off in such haste that the two of them fell bottom-first on the carpeted floor on either side of the bed.

  ~

  In the servant's area downstairs, the butler paused in mid-sentence, the laundry maid stopped in mid-wash and the cook halted with her cleaver suspended in mid-air.

  Alexandra looked up from her ironing, a task she pretended to be proficient in and asked, "What was that?"

  They all looked at each other. The loud thud upstairs certainly was alarming.

  The butler placed a forefinger against his lips, urging them to be silent.

  They all jumped at the sound of another crash.

  "Thieves!" the laundry maid said, "I tell ye, Mister Butt-ocks, them thieves come to rob us an' tie us all up—"

  "An' ravish us!" Cook added, bloody cleaver still in hand.

  "Ye tink?" The laundry maid beamed, displaying a missing front tooth. "Then put away 'em bloody hatchet! Me knows nothin' 'bout ye, but me needs some serious tuppin', if ye catch me meanin'," she waggled her brows tellingly at Cook.

  Cook's plump, freckled face lit up. She immediately replaced the broad-bladed knife next to the chunk of meat on the butcher's block.

  "Really, Mabel," the butler gave the laundry maid a reproachful glare. "Your brilliance astounds me."

  "Tank-ye, Mister Butt-ocks."

  "Mister Botocks, Mabel! Fifteen years and your tongue is still as twisted as a sailor's knot. By the by—do you know what the thieves will do after they ravish you?"

  Mabel shook her head.

  "Eh..." Cook searched the ceiling in deep thought, "them ravish ye too?"

  "Gud fer ye, Mister Butt-ocks!" Mabel exclaimed. "Fifteen years an' me ne'er seen ye git tupped. Dat ain't wise fer ye constitution, ye know. Makes ye grouchy an' restless an' all. Might as well pickle yer damn cucumber if ye ain't goin' to use it."

  "Vinegar an' sugar," Cook nodded, "an' a sprinkling o' pepper in a cannin' jar."

  Alexandra emitted an unlady-like snort.

  "You imbeciles!" The butler yelled. "After they ravish you, they will cut your throa—!"

  A flurry of footsteps and repeated thumping froze the butler's words. "Grab your weapons!" he commanded in panic. "Of all days, I gave the footmen and most of the staff the day off today! We'll have to defend the manor by ourselves!"

  Cook picked up her cleaver, Mabel got her laundry board, and Alexandra took her iron.

  "Mister Butt-ocks needs 'em tea cup and a silver fork," Mabel snickered under her breath.

  "Or them mummified cucumbers in da cu'board," Cook replied.

  Alexandra stifled her laughter. Who would have known she would have this much fun and adventure with the servants downstairs? It almost made up for her disappointment in missing her tryst with Andrew. She wondered about their own house help at home
in Weston Abbey. Are they this amusing and comical too? Perhaps she should spend more time getting to know them when she gets back.

  "Sshhh!" The butler glanced back at them with a glower as they made their way up to the servant's stairs into the dimly lit hallway, leading to the second floor bedchambers.

  The noise could be heard more distinctly in the left wing corner of the house.

  They tiptoed in a single file, stooped right behind each other with the butler in the lead.

  "Me saints, Mister Butt-ocks," Mabel whispered. "Yer arse looks tasty 'nough to make a wench crow."

  "Das no fair," Cook complained from behind Mabel. "All me can see is yer wretched, fat arse."

  Alexandra, the last in line, giggled.

  "Quiet!" The butler rasped from the front.

  A loud thud echoed from somewhere further down the corridor.

  They scurried silently in a train-like manner towards that direction.

  A curse and what sounded like furniture hitting the floor emanated from a door.

  The butler screeched to a halt.

  "Och! Fer Christ's sakes, Mister Butt-ocks," Mabel said in a muffled voice. "Why'd ye suddenly stop? Ye gots me nose shoved in yer butt-crack!

  "Ow Lud, Mabel!" Cook slapped Mabel's posterior. "Will ye quit fartin'? Me gots me face stuck in yer arse with me mouth open!"

  "Quiet!" The butler muttered louder than he should, grabbing the lone branch of candles from a side table along the hallway.

  ~

  Inside the bedchamber, Andy and Allayne were on their hands and knees groping in the dark for the matchsticks that must have fallen somewhere in the commotion.

  "Ow! You dope!" Allayne cursed as he butted heads with Andy. "What are you doing here? I told you to look on the other side of the bed!"

  "I-I-I'm sorry Sir," Andy wailed. "B-b-but, I'm afraid of the dark."

  "You're afraid of—" Allayne uttered a louder curse. He was so disgusted with himself for kissing a man that he would scrub his tongue with a towel and soap until it was raw, as soon as he located the washbasin. And now, to add to his dilemma, Andy wouldn't stop following him. "You were here by yourself before I came in, you idiot!"

  "Y-yes Sir, but I had t-the fire going," Andy replied in a trembling voice. "Now, everything is dark and for sure the monsters are going to eat us!"

  "What nonsense!" Allayne yelled and pushed him away. "Will you stop crowding me? We need to find those matchsticks so we can get dressed!"

  "S-sir, there's a s-shadow over there," Andy glued himself to his side even more.

  "That's your shadow, you jackanapes!" Allayne rolled his eyes in the dark, wishing the clouded quarter moon would provide more than the meager illumination coming through the windows of the bedchamber. "Alright, enough of this!" He drew himself up to a standing position and began to feel his way towards the door. He should have just run naked outside and grabbed a branch of candles in the first place, instead of fumbling in the dark with a damn buffoon who was afraid of monsters.

  "S-sir?" Andy called when he was almost halfway to the door. "W-where are you?"

  "Stay here. I'll be right back," Allayne stifled an oath as he stubbed his toe on the foot of a table.

  "Oh, no! Sir, please don’t leave me here!" Andy cried. "They're coming to get me and eat me! We're all going to die!"

  Andy must have bolted blindly towards him because he could hear him crashing into furniture, toppling them over, causing a multitude of objects to fall on the floor.

  However, before Andy could reach him, the door to the chamber swung open and bright candlelight illuminated the room.

  "Who's there?" A man's stern voice called from the doorway.

  Allayne grabbed the first thing he could reach to cover himself—a figurine from a nearby table.

  "Aye, show yer self!" A woman's voice followed.

  The man raised the branch of candles higher for the light to reach farther into the room.

  Oh Lord, Allayne scratched his temple. It's the countess' servants and—

  "Anna?" His mouth felt like cotton and a lump the size of a lemon lodged in his throat.

  "Andrew?" Her eyes widened to an impossible degree.

  "You know him?" The butler asked in disbelief.

  "Me likes yer trunk," the servant carrying what looked like a laundry board, waggled her eyebrows at his crotch.

  Allayne glanced downwards. The figurine he happened to grab was actually a well-made stone sculpture of an elephant's head—with its trunk extended like a trumpet.

  "Eh—me likes 'is bird nest better," the plump servant pointed a bloody cleaver past him to who he could only guess was Andy. "See 'is itty bitty beak stickin' out?"

  Allayne turned his gaze slowly towards Andy.

  Just as he had suspected. Andy stood as naked as a freshly plucked chicken, exposed to the hilt down to his very hairy birdie. However, to his credit, he had yanked a pair of drawers over his head—concealing his identity.

  Smart idiot. Allayne muttered to himself, wishing he had done the same thing.

  "Somebody explain to me what's going on here!" The butler yelled. "Who are you, Sirs?"

  "Mister Botocks—" Alexandra said in a calm manner. "Why don't we continue this after the gentlemen have gotten dressed?"

  The butler ruminated for a second. "Very well. But we'll stay right here just to be sure they can't escape." He turned to the men. "You may dress behind the screen over there."

  "Eh—ain't we suppose to git ravished first?" Cook said.

  "Aye, me ain't riskin' me neck if me ain't gettin' no tuppin' from dat 'ansome gent o'er der!" Mabel fluttered her lashes and directed a come-hither toothless smile at Allayne.

  "Shut up, the two of you!" The butler scolded.

  Minutes later, both men emerged fully dressed.

  "Mister Carlyle—is that you?" The butler asked, in astonishment.

  "Er, yes," Andy turned into a beet red.

  "I wasn't aware that you'd returned, Sir. I thought you were at the viscount's soiree with the countess."

  "Well—we were," Andrew, replied, somewhat flustered. "But, we did not know anyone there and decided to come back early."

  "We—Sir?" The butler raised his brows.

  "Er—yes," Andy broke into a sweat. "I-I-I—"

  "I accompanied Mister Carlyle," Allayne interjected.

  "I see," the butler rubbed his chin. "I apologize if we have intruded, but we were alarmed at the commotion and decided to investigate."

  "We were trying to catch the rodent," Allayne replied coolly.

  "I'm sure you were," the butler nodded in agreement, though his expression said otherwise.

  "I just finished helping Mister Carlyle undress and I went to the adjoining sitting room to change into nightclothes myself, when the rodent appeared from out of nowhere and knocked off the branch of candles," Allayne added.

  "I'm sure it did," the butler's solemn face did not change.

  Allayne shrugged and threw a sheepish grin at Alexandra.

  "What's going on here?" Everyone turned towards the mousy woman wearing spectacles.

  "Lady Alexandra!" The butler exclaimed in surprise. "I thought you were at the viscount's soiree."

  The lady blushed and seemed to have become tongue-tied.

  "Lady Alexandra had a headache," Alexandra said. "I accompanied her to and from the affair."

  "Aye, das right!" Mabel took the clothes iron from Alexandra and gave her a secret wink. "Me seen lassie 'ere 'elp 'er ladyship upstairs."

  "Aye, me seen 'er too," Cook said.

  The butler looked from Alexandra, to Mabel to Cook. "Very well. Since I am obviously outnumbered and some people choose to lie rather than tell the truth, then I leave it to their conscience. May God strike them with lightning and may their souls burn in hell." He gave the three a speaking look and bid goodnight to the Lady and the Viscount’s heir, then turned on his heel, and walked stiffly down the hallway.

  "Och, come now, Mister Butt-ocks," Ma
bel's voice echoed in the corridor as she and Cook scurried to keep up with the butler, "don't ye be sour now. Me tells ye—ye needs som' good ol’ tuppin', otherwise yer nuts'll fall off and ye'll be grouchy 'till yer ninety."

  "Aye—an' ye'll grows a bosom," Cook's huskier voice boomed, "bigger t'an Countess Penthorpe's."

  "Quiet!" The butler's voice reverberated throughout the whole house.

  ~

  Anna was still laughing when Allayne navigated his way out of the disorderly bedchamber.

  "You've found some amusing friends," he chuckled as the servants' bickering faded.

  "Yes," she lifted her face to look up at him. "I'm sorry I was delayed. Mabel asked me to help with the ironing and I could not refuse."

  "That's alright," Allayne glanced inside the bedchamber where Andy and Lady Alexandra were locked in an embrace, oblivious to their presence. "It seems another couple had the same idea."

  They both laughed at the timing and all the muddled up things that had happened in between.

  When at last their hysterics subsided, Allayne cupped her face in his hands and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips.

  She rested her cheek on his shoulder afterwards, and he gathered her in his arms.

  "So, my dear, lovely Anna," he whispered in her hair, "what do you think of our first night?"

  "It was beautiful," she sighed, wrapping her arms about his neck. "I've never experienced anything like it."

  "God have mercy," Allayne chuckled. "I hope we never go through it again."

  Chapter 10

  The Last Day

  Alexandra sat in the servants' dining area, dreamily savoring the delicious breakfast Cook had prepared. The past ten days had passed in a blur of activity.

  Since the night of their botched rendezvous, the servants had taken them under their wing. Cook had developed a motherly fondness for Andrew, spoiling him with food at par with what was being served in the formal dining room. Even the very proper Mr. Botocks had taken to teaching him menial chores, sitting with him as they polished the silver, enjoying Andrew's witty conversation.

  Mabel, on the other hand, had practically adopted her, keeping her busy but staunchly refusing to let her dabble in washing the laundry. "Ye got purdy 'ands," Mabel would push her fingers away from the laundry soap, "ain't do ye no good to ruin 'em wit' lye soap."