Читать книгу Rags-To-Riches Wife - Catherine Tinley - Страница 15

Strange...thought Robert idly, glancing at the few remaining russet, gold and yellow leaves still clinging to the trees as his carriage rumbled through the country lanes towards Ledbury House. Even in February some of their trees still hold a few autumn leaves, while in Yorkshire winter has been with us for nigh on four months already. Winter comes later and kinder this far south.

He felt a pang of nostalgia for his home. He was often gone from Beechmount Hall on matters of business, but after a few days away he always ached to return. Not long now. If Lady Kingswood would only tell him where he could find this Jane Bailey, then...

Then his next task would be to convince her to come with him—but what method of persuasion Robert was to use he honestly did not know.

He sighed as the carriage pulled up outside the front door. The postilion dismounted from the lead horse and let down the step. Robert descended, glancing around instinctively. Ledbury House was a fine dwelling, comfortable and cosy without being imposing. The contrast with Beechmount Hall, where he had lived for the past twenty years, was stark.

His hostess was there to greet him and introduce him to her guests—the local vicar and a young relative whom she addressed as Lady Cecily. Apparently she was Lord Kingswood’s ward and lived at Ledbury House. She had been away visiting relatives and had just returned.

How could he discover more about the identity and whereabouts of Jane Bailey when there were four of them for dinner?

Shortly after his arrival, dinner was served. Robert accompanied Lady Kingswood to the dining room, with the Reverend Burns and Lady Cecily following. Naturally rather reticent, he had learned over the years to endure social gatherings with an appearance of equanimity. Afterwards, he always found himself drained by the effort of being in company.

I do believe, he thought now, my aversion to empty social intercourse goes back to my circumstances at the time when I first moved to Beechmount Hall.

Tonight, however, Robert had a purpose, and he intended to make the most of the opportunity.

He had the honour of being placed on Lady Kingswood’s right, and as the first course was served she politely drew him out, asking if Yorkshire had always been his home.

‘It has,’ he confirmed. ‘I was born in Harrogate and lived there with my parents until my father died, after which my mother and I moved to Beechmount Hall. I was eight, so that was exactly twenty years ago.’

The vicar and Lady Cecily were conversing politely at the other side of the table. Robert absentmindedly thanked the footman who was serving the first course—soup, along with a squab pie and some leeks. He tried a forkful, which tasted delicious.

‘Your mother is related to the family there?’ Lady Kingswood continued.

‘Distantly,’ he confirmed, as a middle-aged female servant entered, carrying further dishes. She was followed by a maid—the pretty one who had dropped the tray earlier.

Females waiting at table? Unusual. A deliberate informality, Robert suspected.

Lady Kingswood was politely waiting for him to say more.

‘My mother’s aunt is Mr Millthorpe’s second wife—his first having died many years previously. Aunt Eugenia is my mama’s only living relation, so it made sense for us to move there.’ He shrugged. ‘I was too young to fully understand the reasons, but I believe my mother and her aunt provide female company for each other, so it suits both of them.’

‘Wait. Mrs Millthorpe is your great-aunt, and yet you also address her as “aunt”?’

‘Yes—at Mrs Millthorpe’s request. I should explain I call her husband my uncle, although he is in fact only my great-uncle by marriage. Mrs Millthorpe desires me to call them simply “aunt” and “uncle”, as my mother does, declaring she would not suffer the indignity of being anyone’s great-aunt!’

Lady Kingswood smiled at this. ‘And are they both still there at Beechmount Hall?’

The servants, having placed all the dishes on the table and removed the covers, now stood back impassively, waiting for them to eat. Normally Robert would barely notice, but the maid with rosy cheeks continually drew his attention. Not that she was doing anything in particular.

It is just that she is remarkably pretty.

A footman served Robert a slice of pie. ‘Er—yes, they are. My Aunt Eugenia swears she could not manage without my mother.’ He frowned.

Lady Kingswood glanced briefly across the table, to where the vicar and Lady Cecily seemed entirely focused on their own conversation. ‘And it is your uncle who has sent you here?’

Robert nodded. ‘It is.’

‘Tell me more of Mr Millthorpe.’

For the next two hours Robert attempted to reassure Lady Kingswood of his honourable intentions. He could not be dishonest about his uncle, but carefully used words such as ‘eccentric’ and ‘strong-willed’ to signal something of the old man’s character without, he hoped, frightening the Countess.

At times Lady Kingswood conversed politely with the vicar, while Robert chatted about botany and books with Lady Cecily. However, each time the table turned he and Lady Kingswood returned to their discussions of Beechmount Hall and those who lived there.

The name Jane Bailey was not mentioned.

All in all it had been a most pleasant evening, if tiring, he concluded, climbing into his coach while the coachman held up a lantern for him. And hopefully a useful one. Lady Kingswood had asked him to return on the morrow, which he took as a positive sign.

As the post chaise made its way down the lanes by moonlight towards the inn at Netherton his thoughts turned again to the pretty housemaid. It had been a long time since a woman had caught his eye. He had had his share of discreet liaisons—most recently with a London courtesan, and until just two months ago a flirtatious widow in York. He had no thought of marriage, so restricted himself to encounters where the woman involved would understand what he could and could not give.

Respectable servants, no matter how beautiful, had never been of interest to him. Until now.

I wonder what her name is, he thought idly. She should be Diana, goddess of the woods. The huntress, the wild one...

He chuckled at his own flight of fancy.

Ah, but she is a goddess, hiding in a servant’s livery.

‘My fair Diana!’ he muttered aloud, imagining himself offering her a sweeping bow, before kissing her hand. ‘Lord!’ he told himself. ‘You are drunk, Robert. Do not let a flirtation distract you from your obligation.’

Yet as the carriage trundled on he lost himself in imaginings which would have shocked the ladies of Ledbury House.

Jane awoke early, before the first light of dawn began seeping into the basement window of the chamber she shared with her mother. Serving at table—not something she or her mama normally did—had been challenging, and she had needed all her years of training to remain impassive as Mr Kendal had talked of her grandfather, his second wife and her father’s family home.

Until yesterday she had known very little about such things. Sensitive to her mother’s pain—and to her decree that they must not speak of Papa’s family—Jane had kept her curiosity to herself, where it had burned in a glowing ember, deep within her.

Once her mother had frowned at her, and she had, with effort, torn her eyes away from Mr Kendal’s handsome profile. He had been entirely focused on his conversation with Miss Marianne, but Lady Cecily had been eyeing her with puzzlement.

Jane had diverted her gaze from the good-looking visitor, instead staring fixedly into the middle distance, over the heads of all the diners, with, she hoped, no interest. Lady Cecily, who knew full well that the housekeeper and Lady Kingswood’s personal maid should not be serving, had, after a moment, returned to her conversation with the vicar.

After that Jane had been careful not to look directly at Mr Kendal, though in truth she had remained entirely conscious of him throughout the evening. At times she had struggled to hear his words over Lady Cecily’s conversation with the vicar and the scrape and clang of cutlery on china. But she believed she had the essentials.

I find him interesting.

The thought made her heart flutter in a strange and novel way. If he had been, like her, a servant, she might have sought to get to know him. The realisation was disturbing. Ever since Master Henry had attacked her four years ago she had been wary of men of all classes, but particularly gentlemen, some of whom seemed to believe they could use their power however they wished.

She turned over on to her side, watching the light slowly grow on the unadorned wall in front of her.

Will Mama permit me to travel to Yorkshire?

Looking into her heart, she was unsurprised to find her own wishes were now clear. She wanted to meet her grandfather and spend time in the place where Papa had grown up.

And, she admitted to herself, I wish to see Mr Kendal again.

Mr Kendal would return today, she knew, hoping to have an answer to his request for information.

Ten minutes later Mama awoke, and they both rose and prepared for the day. Conscious that her hands were shaking a little, Jane donned a plain grey gown with a lace fichu and buttoned herself into stout boots. She brushed her hair and tied it up, then added the crisp white cap denoting her status, along with a clean apron.

Mama did not mention Mr Kendal, and nor did Jane, yet there was an air of expectancy about everything. It tingled just out of Jane’s reach. Something different. Interesting. Exciting.

In only a few hours all would be resolved one way or another.

‘There you go, my lady,’ said Jane, adding one final pin to her mistress’s coiffure. ‘You look beautiful.’

Lady Kingswood patted her hand. ‘Thank you, Jane. Now...’ She turned as she spoke, away from the mirror, to look at Jane directly. ‘What did you make of Mr Kendal?’

Jane felt a slow blush build in her cheeks. ‘He seems a true gentleman.’

Miss Marianne’s eyes narrowed. ‘I believe he is.’

Unspoken between them were their experiences at the hands of Master Henry.

‘I know,’ said Lady Kingswood after a moment, ‘that you will heed your mother’s advice, but if it were up to you, would you wish to travel to Yorkshire?’

Jane nodded firmly. ‘I would. I have never met my grandfather, and it sounds as though this may be my only opportunity. I assume my grandfather will pay the costs of my travel, and as a serving maid I need no chaperone. In that sense my going will inconvenience only myself and you, Miss Marianne!’ She bit her lip. ‘How should you manage if I am not here to assist you? I could not leave you for so long. Why, it will take nigh on a week to get there, and another to come back, plus whatever time I spend there...’

Lady Kingswood seemed to be considering her words carefully. ‘Jane, you have been my maid since we were but children ourselves, and I shall, of course, miss you dreadfully. But I believe it is important you take this opportunity, should your mama permit. I shall ask Mary to assist me while you are gone.’

‘Mary!’ A spasm of anxiety coursed through Jane.

What if Miss Marianne prefers Mary? What if I am ousted from my place on my return?

She frowned at her own fears. Miss Marianne would not do such a thing!

‘Yes, Mary,’ Lady Kingswood repeated firmly. ‘She can at least dress hair, though I am not hopeful of her mending skills being anywhere near yours.’ She smiled. ‘Do not fret, Jane. There is much more between us than mistress and servant. Your place in my heart makes it impossible you could be forgotten.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Jane replied gruffly.

‘Mr Kendal is expected in the next hour. Ring the bell for Mrs Bailey and we shall see what is to happen.’

‘Lady Kingswood!’ Robert gave a smart bow, conscious that the moment of truth had finally arrived.

Was he going to be obliged to return to Yorkshire having failed in his task? He could just imagine his uncle’s biting reaction if that were the case.

The old man could go from mild-mannered and easy to severe and sharp in an instant—particularly when his demands were thwarted. As a child, Robert had quaked in his boots at such moments. Now, remembering his uncle’s wistful expression as he had contemplated the report on Miss Bailey, Robert felt a burning need to succeed in the task set for him.

Do I still seek my uncle’s approval, even after all this time?

‘Good day, Mr Kendal. Please be seated.’

Her expression gave nothing away. They exchanged niceties—he being careful to thank her once again for her hospitality and for the excellent dinner the night before. Then there was a pause.

‘Lady Kingswood,’ he ventured. ‘You understand I have come here in the hope that I may finally be informed about the whereabouts of Jane Bailey. I have been away from home now for a week, and must soon either speak to her or return to Yorkshire.’

She nodded decisively. ‘I am aware.’ She tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair. ‘Let me be frank with you, Mr Kendal. You have given me information about your uncle, and about your home. You have also indicated that you are unclear about why Jane Bailey is being sought in Yorkshire.’

‘That is correct.’

‘Miss Bailey has never been away from her family before, and is not well-travelled. Can you guarantee no harm or upset shall come to her should she go with you?’

He was conscious of a thrill of victory—which might be premature. ‘Whatever is in my power to influence I shall do so in order to protect her, I assure you.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Your phrasing does not inspire me with confidence, Mr Kendal.’

He spread his hands. ‘I only meant to say I am not in control of the roads, the weather, disease, or unexpected events such as accidents. But I can assure you, my lady, her happiness and comfort will be my priority. I have brought my own post-chaise, and intend to hire horses and postilions at the posting inns. We shall travel by easy stages, and no more than forty or fifty miles per day.’

In his head he was imagining Jane Bailey as a fearful, vulnerable, middle-aged lady, anxious about travel and nervous about being gone from her home.

How am I to endure five days with such a person?

‘And what of her personal safety? She will travel without a chaperone.’

Ah, so she is not a gentlewoman. Perhaps, then, my notion is correct and she is a by-blow of my uncle.

Lady Kingswood was regarding him evenly. With a start, he realised the Countess was checking to see if he might have designs on a vulnerable female in his care. His temper rose.

‘You have my word,’ he said coldly. ‘She will suffer no harm from me.’

This seemed to please her. ‘Good. In that case, I am happy to inform you that I have...er...been in discussion with Miss Bailey and her mother, and she has agreed to travel to Yorkshire for a short visit.’

His heart leapt. But he was puzzled. Miss Bailey’s mother yet lived? Why didn’t his uncle wish to see the mother of his child?

‘How short?’

‘No more than two weeks. Given the distance, that would require her to be gone from home for nigh on a month. She must return by early March.’

‘Very well,’ he returned, with the air of a man conceding a point.

Inwardly, he was delighted. Even a few days would have been enough. To have her at Beechmount Hall for an entire fortnight was more than he had hoped to offer his uncle.

‘I shall write to my uncle to make him aware of Miss Bailey’s impending arrival. Will she be free to leave tomorrow morning?’

‘She will.’

‘And might I meet her before then?’

She glanced away, frowning slightly, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘Unfortunately, as I am sure you understand, she will be busy today, packing for her journey. It is no little undertaking for someone unused to travel.’

‘Of course.’ He had no wish to press the point, content with his achievement in convincing Lady Kingswood of his respectability and trustworthiness.

It was only afterwards, back in the inn for one final night, that he realised Lady Kingswood had told him exactly nothing of Jane Bailey herself, nor of their relationship with each other.

‘Now, Jane, you be careful.’ Mama hugged her tightly.

‘I shall.’

Tears sprang into Jane’s eyes. Never had she and her mama been apart. Even after the incident with Master Henry, when they had left his employ, they had done so together, following Lady Kingswood to London and then on to Ledbury House. Those were the only long journeys Jane had ever undertaken in her life. The thought of travelling all the way to Yorkshire was daunting, yet strangely exciting.

Standing in the hallway, awaiting the arrival of Mr Kendal, Jane suddenly shivered. Change had come to her and, while it was exciting, it was also more than a little frightening.

At her feet was a large trunk, stuffed to the brim with clothing that Miss Marianne had suddenly and inexplicably decided she no longer needed, and which ‘would do Jane very well’.

Jane had protested to no avail as dresses, stockings and slippers had been thrown in a heap onto Miss Marianne’s bed. She and Jane were of a similar size, which had always assisted Jane when mending Miss Marianne’s dresses, or making new ones. And Jane had stood frozen in stunned silence as she tried to understand that all these beautiful things were now hers.

This morning, though, she had resolutely donned her maid’s grey gown and white fichu as usual, unwilling to wear finery in front of Miss Marianne, Mama and the other servants.

I should not wish them to believe I am acting above my station.

As well as her trunk she had a battered bandbox, containing the essentials for her journey—the main items being a spare grey dress, her hairbrush and some wool stockings. Miss Marianne had also given her a reticule as a present, embroidered with a trail of blue flowers and with a blue silk drawstring ribbon. Inside was a handkerchief, some coins, and a small scrap of paper on which Mama had written a note.

Go well, my Jane, and never forget who you are.

Never! Jane had vowed, tucking it back into the reticule and hugging Mama again.

Mama had warned her to be wary of all—and particularly Mr Kendal. ‘He will no doubt attempt to influence you to be forgiving towards Ned’s father, but you must resist. If Mr Millthorpe has genuinely repented you may discover that for yourself. Until then I advise you to keep your own counsel.’

Jane had nodded thoughtfully. ‘That is wise advice, Mama. Indeed, I shall endeavour to avoid speaking of anything to do with Papa or Mr Millthorpe.’ She had frowned. ‘Mr Kendal may think it odd, yet it seems to me to be the wisest course of action.’

Miss Marianne had agreed. ‘Mr Kendal seems perfectly amicable, and yet we know nothing of his motives, nor of Mr Millthorpe’s. I think it best to keep your views on Mr Millthorpe’s treatment of his son to yourself. And the easiest way in which to achieve that is to avoid being drawn into conversation about either of them.’

‘Promise me, Jane, you will tell him only what you must. Keep your own counsel until you meet the old man yourself,’ her mama had begged.

Jane had promised, shivering a little with apprehension.

Miss Marianne, whose generosity knew no bounds, had then passed her three more coins, equivalent to a full two months’ salary. When she had quailed, Lady Kingswood had hushed her.

‘Remember, Jane, that while I was a governess, before my marriage, we were fully friends for a time. This is my gift to you in memory of that friendship.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

Jane’s words had been choked with emotion as the money had been stowed safely deep within Jane’s trunk. And that feeling was strengthened now, as the carriage drew up and Mr Kendal stepped out.

Jane had been trying, with little success, to ignore how handsome he was in face and form, and how thoughts of him had disturbed her sleep these past two nights. Today he wore fine buckskins, gleaming boots, and a shoulder-hugging claret jacket.

He would be considered a fine-looking man by anyone who encountered him, Jane knew. And the thought of being alone with him in a carriage for much of the next week sent a shiver through her. Anxiety? Anticipation? Delight? She could not be sure. Nigh on a week travelling, then two weeks in Yorkshire, followed by the journey back...

The housemaids were agog with interest and envy at Jane’s good fortune.

‘Why could it not be me?’ Sarah had wondered aloud. ‘I should love to spend five days locked in a carriage with the delightful Mr Kendal!’

There had been something earthy and raw in her laugh that had left Jane feeling both uncomfortable and yet strangely in harmony with the sentiment.

Miss Marianne arrived in the hall to greet her guest. The footmen picked up Jane’s trunk and carried it out to the carriage, where Mr Kendal’s postilion strapped it on. Jane took a breath, then donned her cloak and bonnet.

Her action caught Mr Kendal’s eye. He looked from Lady Kingswood to Jane, and for an instant his gaze blazed into hers.

‘Are we to take a maid with us to accompany Miss Bailey after all?’ he asked Lady Kingswood.

Miss Marianne did not respond directly. Instead she looked at Jane.

The moment had arrived. She must speak.

She stepped forward, looking him in the eye. ‘I am Jane Bailey.’