Rags-To-Riches Wife. Catherine Tinley
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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.’
Crash! Tray, dishes, pastries and sweetmeats tumbled to the floor in a clatter of china, cutlery and food, the debris spreading far and wide. Jane could not understand why the visitor had said her name, but her attention had been completely diverted to the horror now adorning Miss Marianne’s best carpet.
It was a servant’s role to be unnoticed, unobtrusive. A shadow. Never to be seen unless the quality chose to interact with you. Since beginning her training as a scullery maid at the age of eight Jane had understood that to do what she had just done was the worst possible error she could ever make.
‘I am so sorry, my lady,’ she muttered, bending to gather some of the debris.
One of Miss Marianne’s prized Chamberlain Worcester plates was broken in two. Jane could not even begin to think how much the delicate china was worth. If any of the other girls had caused this calamity they would get a rare telling-off, and possibly even a warm ear from Mrs Bailey.
Just because the housekeeper happened to be her mother it did not excuse Jane from this culpability. What would this gentleman think of her? Of Ledbury House?
Lady Kingswood, issuing soothing reassurances, had already rung the bell for another maid, and shortly afterwards Sarah arrived—still with faint bloodstains on her sleeve.
Jane groaned inwardly. Of course it would have to be Sarah.
Together they swiftly gathered up the tumbled food, cutlery and crockery, while Lady Kingswood and her guest engaged in stilted empty conversation.
Oh, please, let us be done here, for I cannot bear to be in this room a moment longer!
Miss Marianne would think her stupid and clumsy. And what if she was so displeased she consigned Jane to work below-stairs?
Part of Jane’s mind was aware this was neither rational, nor likely, but the other part—the part currently overcome by fear and anxiety—could not at that moment be logical.
Thankfully, before long they were done. Jane would return later, to sweep the crumbs, but for now at least all the noticeable debris had been scooped up into her and Sarah’s aprons. Jane stood, bobbed a curtsey, and left alongside Sarah without a backward glance.
As they descended below-stairs in silence she could sense Sarah’s glee at her misfortune.
Oh, Jane was well aware the other servants thought she saw herself as better than them, but it was not true—not really. Being highly educated, and being a lady’s maid as well as daughter to the housekeeper, meant she had never been able to form friendships with any of the maids near her own age. But it was not that she saw herself as above them. Why, she had even served tea today in order to be helpful.
It was more that she could not be comfortable with their conversation—which focused mainly on village scandals, family gossip—and their fixation on flirting with any eligible lads in the district.
And moments like this is when I pay for it.
Sarah was clearly delighted that, having deprived the other housemaids of the pleasure of serving the handsome gentleman, Jane should have suffered such a spectacular calamity.
Jane maintained a stony silence and walked on.
Robert’s sense of disquiet was growing by the moment. Already uneasy about being sent on this wild mission by his uncle, he had felt his discomfort increase when he had realised Lord Kingswood was absent.
Apart from his mama and his aunt—and the occasional society of a courtesan or ladybird—Robert did not often find himself in the company of women, and had no idea how to respond to the archness, flirtation and simpering often displayed by the young ladies of his acquaintance.
Thankfully, Lady Kingswood had so far displayed none of these tendencies, and he had dared to hope he could communicate his delicate tale without sounding like an utter fool.
Until the