Читать книгу Rags-To-Riches Wife - Catherine Tinley - Страница 16

‘I am Jane Bailey.’

For a moment, Robert could not take it in. Already distracted by the sight of the beautiful maid putting on a cloak, he had felt his spirits raised at the prospect of her accompanying them. To discover that she was, in fact, Jane Bailey herself, seemed impossible.

‘Pardon me?’ he managed.

Lady Kingswood intervened. ‘Now, Jane, I trust you will enjoy your time in Yorkshire and return to me safe and sound. I shall be lost without my personal maid for an entire month.’ She turned to Robert. ‘I do hope, Mr Kendal, you realise just how much of a sacrifice we are making. Jane will be greatly missed here at Ledbury House.’

She is personal maid to the Countess!

Robert, conscious of the interested gaze of his hired postilion, two footmen, and a disapproving older servant, decided his best option was to take the situation as he found it.

‘Indeed. In that case I shall be sure to return her to you as soon as I may.’ He addressed the maid directly. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bailey.’

He bowed politely, feeling deeply uncomfortable. He never liked public attention at the best of times. The pressure of saying the right thing in such a delicate situation was even more fraught.

‘And I you,’ she replied.

Her voice was soft and pleasant, and sent an unexpected jolt through him.

The older servant embraced her, as did Lady Kingswood, and a few moments later he handed her up into the carriage. She wore no gloves, and the warmth of her hand in his discomposed him somewhat.

Lord! This is a complication I had not counted on.

He sat opposite her, in the small backwards-facing seat. His post-chaise was larger than many, and fairly comfortable, yet after his long journey down he had come to hate it. Now five more days on the road lay ahead. Five days backwards-facing. Five days in the company of—he stole a glance at her—truly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

She kept on waving at the Ledbury House ladies until they were out of view, so he took the chance to study her. Her dark hair was just visible under the simple straw bonnet which framed quite the prettiest face he had seen in a long, long time. Her eyes were blue, and trimmed with long dark lashes. A straight little nose, tempting pink lips and a rosy complexion completed the vision.

He tried to assemble his disordered thoughts. The mysterious Jane Bailey was a young woman—a lady’s maid working as a servant in Ledbury House. Surely too young to be his uncle’s by-blow. Who, then, was she?

They had turned out of the Ledbury House drive now, and he was disconcerted to see that Miss Bailey was a little emotional. Wordlessly, he offered her a clean lawn handkerchief.

‘Oh! Thank you, but I have...’ She rummaged in her reticule, pulled out her own rather dainty handkerchief, then blew her nose with a no-nonsense air that impressed him a little.

‘Forgive me, but you have not been away from home before?’

The fact that she was a servant made it easier for him to converse with her. Particularly when the servant was as beautiful and as intriguing as this one!

Social gatherings generally bored him. He still remembered the ordeal of having to perform like an actor on a stage any time he was brought into his aunt and uncle’s presence. He had suffered it many times as a child, and echoes of it still sometimes came to him in empty gatherings.

She shook her head. ‘Never! Well, that is to say I have never before left my mother behind.’

It only took him a moment to work it out. ‘The other lady you embraced just now?’

She nodded. ‘My mama is housekeeper at Ledbury House.’

The pride in her tone was unmistakable.

‘Indeed? I should tell you I was impressed by Ledbury House. A well-run household, I think.’

He was rewarded with a slight smile for this.

‘My mother is an excellent housekeeper, and we are fortunate to serve at Ledbury House.’

‘Have you always lived there?’

‘No.’ Her brow creased slightly. ‘I grew up in Cambridgeshire, in service to Miss Marianne’s—Lady Kingswood’s—own family. After Miss Marianne’s marriage my mother and I—er—we followed her here.’

Abruptly, she closed her mouth, as if reluctant to say more.

There is some story there. Too soon to press for more information now, though.

‘And have you ever been to Yorkshire, Miss Bailey?’

‘Never.’

Her face closed. She clearly did not wish to discuss her connections with the north, whatever they were.

Too many questions too soon, Robert. You have five full days to discover whatever she might tell you.

‘Today we shall travel as far as Market Harborough. I have written to the King’s Head to reserve rooms for us there. I trust that is satisfactory?’

She nodded, and then sat back to look out of the window. He took the opportunity to watch her surreptitiously and to review what he knew about her. A servant...the daughter of a servant. Already lady’s maid to a countess at a young age—which indicated both capability and dedication. Lady Kingswood thought highly of her...that much was also clear.

What had she to do with his uncle? From what he had seen Miss Bailey’s mother had been a good-looking girl in her youth. Could his uncle have had a liaison with the mother only twenty or twenty-five years ago?

Robert tried to calculate Miss Bailey’s age and his uncle’s likely age when she had been born. He frowned. It was possible, though unlikely.

He glanced at her again.

My, she is beautiful!

He shifted slightly in his seat. As a servant, she needed no chaperone to accompany her. Not that she should need one. As a gentleman he had vowed to protect her and he would do so. He must. Honour required it.

He frowned. He had not brought a footman on the journey, preferring to make his own travel arrangements, so they would be alone apart from the various postilions who would steer the horses as they journeyed.

In blithely assuring Lady Kingswood of his good behaviour he had not known the temptation which was to follow. The temptation currently sitting opposite him, wearing a fine grey dress that hugged her form.

Some gentlemen, he knew, entered into liaisons with willing servants and ensured they did not suffer afterwards. This generally amounted to ensuring they gained another suitable post and that any children resulting from the association were brought up in suitable safety and comfort.

He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Viewing Miss Bailey’s innocent face—currently she was gazing at the passing landscape—he could not imagine anyone being so lacking in principle as to pursue her for an irregular relationship. Despite her possible origins she had clearly been raised by good people with strong moral values. Everything about her—her demeanour, her demure clothing, her reserved conversation and the complete absence of anything resembling flirtation—confirmed it.

Shockingly, he found himself wishing she was otherwise...

‘I am sorry, sir. Nuthin’ I can do about it.’

The innkeeper’s face was twisted with concern—as well it might be. Mr Kendal’s expression was thunderous.

This is all about me.

Jane, used to remaining unseen and unnoticed, was deeply uncomfortable at this unwarranted attention.

‘I specifically requested two bedchambers,’ Mr Kendal repeated.

‘That you did, sir,’ the landlord acknowledged. ‘But I got your letter just this afternoon and I only have the one room free.’ He glanced at Jane’s servant garb. ‘Your servant may share a room with our chambermaids, if you like. We have three of them in the one room, with a spare bed free.’

A perfectly suitable arrangement! Jane breathed a sigh of relief.

Mr Kendal, however, was not to be diverted so easily.

‘Or Miss Bailey could have the bedchamber and I could sleep somewhere else.’

Jane gasped. ‘I am quite content with the innkeeper’s suggestion, sir. I am well used to sharing a bedchamber with other female servants.’

His gaze swivelled towards her, grey eyes meeting blue. ‘But...’ He frowned. ‘It does not seem right.’

Has he forgotten I am a serving maid?

‘It is entirely reasonable, sir.’

He looked confused, then nodded slowly. ‘I suppose you have the right of it.’ He turned back to the landlord. ‘Very well. I should also like a private parlour for dinner.’

‘Yes, sir. That I have got.’

The innkeeper’s relief was palpable. Taking a key from a cupboard behind him, and a lighted candlestick from the table, he led Mr Kendal up a twisting narrow staircase to the upper floor. Jane trailed behind, hovering on the narrow landing as Mr Kendal followed the innkeeper into his allocated bedchamber.

The landlord lit a branch of tall wax candles from his single one, casting warm light around the room. Moving to the fireplace, he lit the fire that had been set there. From her position in the dark corridor Jane glanced around. The chamber looked spacious, comfortable and clean.

‘Would it please you to dine in one hour, sir?’ The innkeeper paused, awaiting his guest’s response.

Mr Kendal consulted his pocket watch. ‘Very well. Er... Miss Bailey?’

Jane started. She moved to the doorway. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘I shall expect you to dine with me.’

‘Yes, Mr Kendal.’

He frowned. ‘That is to say I should like to request that you dine with me.’

Jane’s brow creased in bewilderment. What was the difference? ‘Yes, sir.’

‘But, no, I...’ He glanced at the landlord, whose puzzled expression mirrored Jane’s own. ‘Never mind.’

Jane considered the matter as she followed the landlord to the servants’ quarters, but was unable to fathom Mr Kendal’s meaning.

‘Here you go, miss.’ The innkeeper opened the door at the top of the attic stairs and stepped inside.

Jane followed, shivering as a blast of icy air hit her.

‘A bit draughty in here, mind, but once all the others are in here with you it will soon warm up. They are all busy below, and shall be until around ten o’clock.’ He lit a small tallow candle, which sputtered in the draught. ‘This bed is free.’ He pointed to a slightly stained pallet—the second in a row of four to Jane’s left. ‘I shall send up a sheet and a blanket for you later.’

‘Thank you.’

The door closed behind him and Jane sank down onto the thin pallet. Oh, how she ached from being stuck in the jolting carriage for most of the day! The pallet was nothing to her comfortable bed at Ledbury House, but was typical of servants’ accommodation in less wholesome establishments.

Reaching for the tallow candle, she carefully inspected the pallet for lice and fleas. There were none visible, which gave her some hope. They might not survive in a room this cold.

She shivered again. Nor might I!

Carefully she searched in her bandbox for her woollen stockings and put them on, on top of the thin pair she was already wearing. Keeping her cloak on, she wrapped it tightly about her, but decided to remove her bonnet as the straw was beginning to scratch at her scalp.

Drawing the hood of her cloak up, she concentrated on watching her breath fog the air in front of her and, despite the cold, on enjoying not being in a moving carriage.

Finally—thankfully—she judged that almost an hour had passed, based on the tallow candle having shrunk to half its length. She unfolded her legs and stood up slowly. Since sunset the temperature had kept on dropping. There would be a sharp frost in the morning.

With some regret, she removed her cloak, folded it, and left it on the pallet.

The thought of seeing Mr Kendal again made her heart skip momentarily. She could not quite divine why it was behaving so erratically.

As she descended she could feel the air getting warmer. By the time she had reached the ground floor there was a welcome warmth which danced on her skin and heated the air in her lungs.

One of the chambermaids showed her to Mr Kendal’s private parlour. He had not yet arrived. Jane made straight for the fireplace, which boasted a small but cheerful fire. Hurrying across the room, she held her frozen hands out towards it. It surely was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen!

The door opened and closed behind her, sending a puff of smoke billowing out into the room. It must be him! Briefly, the heat reached all the way to her elbows, then subsided again.

She turned. ‘Good evening, sir.’ Her voice sounded normal. Good. At least her stuttering heart had not revealed itself in her tone.

Mr Kendal had changed his clothing for dinner. She could not resist running her eyes over his fine figure.

‘Good evening, Miss Bailey.’

He frowned, causing her to run a nervous hand over her hair, wondering if she were untidy. There had been, of course, no looking glass in the attic. At her back, slight heat from the fire began to penetrate through her dress and thin shift. Strangely, and most inconveniently, she now began to shiver. But she was warming up. It made no sense.

He strode towards her, peering into her face. He was still frowning. ‘Miss Bailey,’ he announced. ‘Your lips are blue.’

She brought a hand up to touch her mouth. ‘Th-they are?’

He nodded grimly. ‘Give me your hand.’

She obeyed instinctively. He took her right hand, then the left, but she could barely feel his touch. With a muffled exclamation he wrapped both his hands around hers, rubbing gently.

‘You foolish girl! You are half-frozen!’

‘Oh, n-no!’ she lied. ‘I am j-just a little chilled.’

‘Your teeth are chattering, your hands are like ice, and your lips are as blue as—as your eyes,’ he muttered. ‘How on earth did you get so cold? Have you been outside?’

‘No! Of course not!’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘I have been in my chamber.’

His lips pressed into a single angry line. Releasing her hands, he walked to the table and drew forward a stout wooden chair. The stiffness in his spine and the set of his shoulders displayed his irritation. Arranging the chair directly in front of the fire, he bade her sit.

She did so, anxiously aware that she had displeased him. Schooled her entire life to be complaisant, obedient, and most of all unobtrusive, she was aware that right now she was being much too visible.

Without a word, he left the room, closing the door gently and carefully behind him. She shuddered at this evidence of his carefully banked anger.

Oh, no, he meant to speak to the landlord!

Unhelpfully, at that precise moment her mind decided to entertain her with the memory of a previous occasion on which she had caused trouble for those around her. It had been four years ago, when Lady Kingswood—then living under a false name—had been working as governess to Lady Cecily, Lord Kingswood’s ward. Jane had inadvertently revealed that the governess was not, as His Lordship had believed, Anne Bolton, but Miss Marianne. This had led to Miss Marianne leaving in great distress and no one seeing her for weeks afterwards.

Overcome by shame, Jane held her head in her hands. From what she knew of Mr Kendal he seemed generally mild-mannered and calm. Her instinct told her he was not the type of gentleman who customarily challenged innkeepers or expressed displeasure with their services. Yet, because of her, he was forced to leave his warm parlour to take issue with his host. She felt terrible to have caused this much inconvenience.

The door opened, admitting a different serving maid. ‘Good evening, miss. Dinner is almost ready, so I am here to prepare the table, if you will permit?’

‘Of course! Mr Kendal has asked me to dine with him. I am honoured, but I am used to dining with the other servants.’

‘Ah! So you are the maid who will sleep in our attic tonight?’ The maid began setting out crockery, cutlery and carving knives on the clean table cloth.

‘I am.’ Jane paused. ‘I was upstairs earlier. It was very cold.’

‘That’ll be the gap in the eaves. When the stuffing falls out it gets powerful cold up there.’

‘The stuffing?’

‘Aye, me and the other girls have stuffed an old mattress into the hole. It works a treat, but now and again it falls out, and the wind whistles through like the very devil!’

‘That explains it! I did wonder how you managed to survive, sleeping in such a cold room.’

The maid laughed. ‘It’s not perfect, but we are glad to have a roof over our heads and an honest day’s work. Though I shan’t get the chance to nip upstairs and stuff the mattress back in place until after dinner, and even then we might be busy in the taproom.’

She moved around the table competently, arranging everything in neat formation. Watching her, Jane was struck by the similarities in their station—and the differences. They were both servants, but Jane was used to rather more luxury than a cold attic bedroom with holes in its walls.

‘Is that your master in the taproom?’

Jane raised an eyebrow at the maid’s question.

‘The good-looking gentleman as is giving my uncle an earful about something?’

Jane closed her eyes briefly. ‘Er...yes.’

The maid departed, satisfied with her work, giving way to Mr Kendal in the doorway. ‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Not at all.’

He is considerate towards servants, Jane noted.

He moved towards her and she searched his face for hints as to his mood. The earlier irritation had gone. What she saw now was—Was that an air of satisfaction?

‘How do you now, Miss Bailey?’

‘I am perfectly well, thank you, sir.’

He threw her a sceptical look. ‘You are still shivering. And yet—’ he leaned forward to inspect her more closely ‘—your lips are returning to their normal rosy hue.’

He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on her mouth, then he seemed to shake himself out of it.

He took a step back, stating in quite a different tone, ‘I wonder what delights our landlord will offer us for dinner?’

Food was not uppermost in Jane’s thoughts. She was freezing, exhausted, and still stiff from a full day stuck in the carriage. Yet, strangely, her heart was fluttering foolishly and her insides were melting with a curious warmth. It was, she recognised, to do with Mr Kendal’s proximity and the way he had looked at her mouth just now.

What is happening to me?

Since Henry Grant’s assault upon her person she had never felt this way. Of course she had encountered attractive men on occasion, but her appreciation of them had been impersonal, almost scholarly. Never visceral.

Never like this.

Before she could gather her thoughts the innkeeper appeared in the doorway, leading a procession of three maids and a manservant, all bearing dishes.

In the ensuing fuss, she found her equilibrium again, and not long afterwards her appetite.