Читать книгу Rags-To-Riches Wife - Catherine Tinley - Страница 13

Bang! Bang! The persistent knocking at the door finally penetrated Robert’s slumber. He grunted, gritting his teeth. His chamber at the inn was positioned directly over the taproom, and he had, he believed, just suffered the worst night’s sleep of his life.

Until near dawn he had tossed and turned in the narrow bed, listening to the collective voices of what had seemed like hundreds of local farmers and tradesmen talking, laughing and occasionally singing. Finally the sounds had dwindled, but now, what seemed like only moments later, the landlord had returned to torture him anew.

‘Mr Kendal? Mr Kendal, sir? You asked me to wake you up in the morning, sir.’

‘Very well,’ Robert managed. ‘I am awake.’

Thankfully this was enough to get rid of the man. Robert lay there, contemplating his fate. Having left home five days ago, his bones felt as if they were still rattling with the trundling carriage. Five days of endless roads, of feeling trapped within the coach. Five nights of inns of various quality. Five long days of his own unalleviated company.

Today—finally—he would reach his destination, for it lay only a few miles from here. The name of it, as with every other aspect of this unexpected and unlooked-for assignment, was by this point permanently etched into his brain: Ledbury House.

Disorder had erupted in the scullery. One of the parlour maids had bumped her head, causing a small wound to bleed profusely. The other two were clucking around her like distressed hens, making a tragedy out of what seemed to Jane to be a commonplace injury.

‘No need to fuss,’ she told them, with a hint of her mother’s sternness in her tone. ‘Just let me see to it.’

They continued to exclaim loudly, while trying to mop blood from their friend’s face with towels and wet rags, splashing the bloodstained water far and wide.

Jane, notoriously calm in such situations, pressed a rag to the wound to slow the bleeding. ‘Hold this in place.’

‘Lord, what’s amiss?’ It was Mrs Cullen, the cook, a tray in her hands.

The injured party and her two friends tried to explain, simultaneously and with a cacophonous lack of clarity.

‘Never mind! Who will bring the tea to Miss Marianne and her guest?’

Everyone knew the Countess had welcomed an unexpected visitor, and tea and refreshments had been ordered.

‘Me!’

‘I shall!’

Jane frowned in puzzlement. These girls were not normally so dedicated to their work.

Something is wrong here.

She decided to intervene. ‘Neither of you can do it, for you both have Mary’s blood on your clothing.’

It was true. They looked at the stains with dismay.

Jane’s own gown had thankfully been spared. ‘I shall take it myself.’ She took the tray from Cook, wondering at the parlour maids’ evident disappointment.

‘But—’ Sarah, the more impudent of the two, looked as though she would defy Jane.

‘Yes, Sarah? There is something you wish to say?’ Jane made a fair approximation of her mother’s steely glaze. It had the desired effect. Sarah subsided, looking rather mutinous, and ceased her protest.

‘Come back for the sweetmeats, Jane,’ Cook advised.

‘I shall.’

Keeping an eye on the tray, which was laden with everything Miss Marianne would need for tea for herself and her guest, Jane walked carefully up the back stairs and pushed the door open. The second footman opened the door to the drawing room for her and Jane stepped inside.

Robert appraised the setting. The drawing room at Ledbury House was a comfortable, nicely presented room, with luxurious wall hangings and a well-maintained air. His hostess, Lady Kingswood, had welcomed him inside, bidding him sit and ordering refreshments. She was an elegant, good-looking young woman who looked to be a few years younger than he. She still held his card in her delicate hand and there was an air of puzzlement about her.

As well there might be when Robert himself did not even know why he was here!

‘Your husband, Lord Kingswood, is not at home?’

‘He is not.’

‘I see.’ His discomfort increased. He had hoped to speak to the Earl directly. ‘Might I ask, Lady Kingswood, if you are acquainted with my uncle—?’ He corrected himself. ‘With Mr Millthorpe of Arkendale, in the West Riding of Yorkshire?’

She frowned. ‘I am not familiar with the name, no. My own family is from Cambridgeshire.’

‘Does your husband, perhaps, have links to Yorkshire?’

‘None that I am aware of.’

‘Curious...’ He shook his head. ‘Beyond curious.’

She was waiting patiently.

‘I apologise, Lady Kingswood. No doubt you are wondering why I am here.’ Her puzzled expression confirmed it. ‘Let me explain. I—’

The door opened, admitting a serving maid. Robert bit back his words in frustration. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the chair as the maid set the tray down on a small table beside her mistress, then proceeded to move the items from the tray to the table-top. It seemed to take an age.

‘Have you come far today, Mr Kendal?’ asked Lady Kingswood, filling the silence with an innocuous question.

‘I stayed last night at the inn at Netherton,’ he confirmed.

‘A most excellent establishment, don’t you think?’

‘Indeed,’ he lied, pushing away the memories of last night’s raucous farmers’ choir. To be fair, the place had been clean, and his mood had been somewhat assuaged by a hearty breakfast less than an hour ago.

He accepted tea in a delicate china cup. Thankfully the maid had finally left, murmuring to her mistress about sweetmeats.

Lady Kingswood eyed him keenly. ‘You were about to tell me what brings you to Ledbury House.’

He set the cup down. ‘I was.’

How to begin? She clearly has no inkling what this is about either.

‘If you will indulge me, I should wish to tell you a little of the background,’ he said.

She lifted her own cup. ‘I am all curiosity, Mr Kendal, I can assure you.’

Jane chuckled to herself as she tripped lightly back downstairs. Well, that mystery was now solved. Whoever Miss Marianne’s visitor was, he was the most handsome young man Jane had seen in a very long time. It was no wonder the parlour maids were all of a giggle. They must have seen him arrive.

Lord Kingswood was held to be good-looking, and Jane had been delighted when her beloved mistress had chosen to marry a man of looks as well as character. But this man, whoever he was, quite cast His Lordship into the shade. Piercing grey eyes under arching brows, a perfectly formed jawline, high cheekbones and luxuriant dark hair combined to create a visage the Great Masters would surely have wished to capture on canvas.

And he was every inch the gentleman, Jane had noted with a sweeping glance, with long, muscular legs encased in pale buckskins and glossy boots. His lean frame and broad shoulders were shown to advantage in his fine coat made by Weston, Jane surmised, her connoisseur’s eye having recognised the cut and style of the master tailor. Yes, a fine-looking man indeed—and one who had clearly caught the eye of the parlour maids.

Jane idly wondered who he was and what business he had at Ledbury House. Perhaps he was a suitor for Lady Cecily? The Earl’s ward was now seventeen and was possibly thinking of marriage.

Jane tutted at herself. A servant should never speculate about such matters. It might, as Mama had so frequently warned her, lead to an urge for gossip and tittle-tattle. That would never do. And nor should she, a servant, allow herself to feel drawn to a gentleman visitor.

But drawn to him was exactly what she felt. He had not noticed her, of course—and why should he? Yet Jane’s senses had been momentarily rather disordered by the sight of the mysterious young man. Master Henry’s treatment of her meant she avoided men wherever possible. But she was no nun, and could appreciate a fine face and firm male body as much as any other girl.

Settle, she told herself. He is not for you.

Five minutes later she was on her way back to the drawing room, this time bearing a selection of tempting sweetmeats and pastries. When she stepped inside she felt immediately the changed atmosphere in the room. Miss Marianne was leaning forward, her eyes huge and her attention completely gripped by whatever her guest was saying. Neither of them seemed even to notice Jane’s arrival.

Quietly, and as unobtrusively as possible, Jane walked across the room towards Miss Marianne’s table, intending to deposit the refreshments and leave without disturbing their attention. It was one of the greatest skills of a good servant.

‘And he gave you no notion of why you were sent to fetch her?’ The Countess looked astounded.

The gentleman spread his hands. ‘None whatsoever. I was hoping you might enlighten me.’

She shook her head. ‘It all sounds most peculiar, Mr Kendal. But can you tell me the name of the woman you are sent in search of?’

‘I can. Her name is Jane Bailey.’