Rags-To-Riches Wife

She also advised the Countess on fashion—poring over the fashion plates in Miss Marianne’s magazines and periodicals and never once wishing for such finery for herself. She and Miss Marianne had an unusual relationship—if it had not been for the differences in their station Jane might even have called her a friend. Miss Marianne was all kindness, and treated Jane with much more warmth and flexibility than she ought.

Sometimes the Countess gave her an old dress she no longer wanted—but, despite her mistress’s protests, Jane would remove the lace and flounces before wearing it. Jane suspected that Miss Marianne looked for ways to be kind, but she herself still heeded Mama’s warnings.

‘You are a servant now, Jane. Never forget it.’

And, as a maid, she should always wear plain, simple clothing and dress her hair neatly.

But she had the pleasure of seeing Lady Kingswood well turned out, and the joy of caring for embroidered silks, delicate lace-trimmed gowns and delightful bonnets.

In those early years in the servants’ quarters of Miss Marianne’s childhood home she would never have dreamed of reaching the great heights of becoming a lady’s maid. And yet here she was. The other servants treated her with respect, she shared a comfortable chamber and private sitting room with her own mama, she had a secure wage and her very own tea allowance, and she had the sweetest, kindest mistress any servant could wish for. It made her secret fears seem even more preposterous.

My situation is a good one, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. How many servants have the opportunities Miss Marianne has given me?

Miss Marianne’s parents, like Jane’s own papa, had not subscribed to the popular view that a lady’s brain was not strong enough for book learning, and Miss Marianne had had an excellent education—much of which she had passed to her maid.

Jane made her way to the scullery with Miss Marianne’s nightgown and spent the next half-hour washing and scrubbing it, along with two shifts and some stockings. The lye was sharp on her hands, which were perpetually red and chapped from her work. Oh, she knew the laundry maid would happily do this task, if asked, but Jane had no notion of surrendering Miss Marianne’s nightgown to anyone else.

She sang softly as she worked, conscious of a strong sense of purpose in her life. Today her deepest fears seemed far away, and the anxious voice inside her quiet. For now.

‘I declare, Jane, you have the sweetest singing voice I ever heard.’ Jane’s mama bent to kiss her on the cheek.

Jane laughed. ‘You always say so, Mama, and I always repeat that your ear is attuned to my voice simply because I am your daughter. Now, I see you are dressed to go out. Do you need me to do anything while you are gone?’

‘Nothing in particular,’ Mrs Bailey replied, tying her plain bonnet under her chin. ‘Thomas will take me to the village, where I must speak with the butcher. All is quiet upstairs, and Mrs Cullen is content, so now is my chance to slip out for an hour. I have told them all that you speak for me in my absence.’

‘Yes, Mama.’ As housekeeper, Mrs Bailey rarely left Ledbury House, but when she did Jane was an able deputy. ‘Though I am sure nothing untoward will happen.’

Jane returned to her laundry work and Mr Handel’s aria.

Once satisfied, she stepped outside with the wet nightgown and spread it on a bush near the kitchen door. There it would remain for a couple of hours, until it was nearly dry, at which point Jane would bring it indoors to air in front of the kitchen fire. If it did not rain the nightgown would be dry and pressed long before Miss Marianne’s bedtime.

She paused for a moment, enjoying the sensation of the pale winter sunshine on her face.

I am content here, at Ledbury House, she realised.

Then the wind whipped up again and sent her scurrying inside to her mending.

Chapter Two

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.’

Chapter Three

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 maid had decided to trip over nothing and fling pastries and plates across the room.

He had glanced down at her, absently noting her pink cheeks and mortified expression. Strangely, it had made him feel a little easier, knowing that someone in the room was even more agitated than he.

She is very pretty, he had noted, surprising himself with the thought.

Another maid had arrived to help, and this one had immediately sent him a sideways bold glance.

Robert had looked away.

‘I do hope your postilion is being looked after,’ Lady Kingswood had offered politely, after murmuring reassuring words to the two maids.

‘Your groom came out to meet us,’ he had confirmed. ‘I have no doubt they are even now discussing horseflesh and poultices and whatnot.’

She had smiled. ‘Grooms and coachmen share a common language. Do you ride?’

‘I do.’ Wistfully, he had pictured the green hills around Beechmount Hall. ‘I am fortunate to live close to some of England’s finest countryside.’

‘My husband is a fine horseman.’ Lady Kingswood had not disguised her pride. ‘Such a pity he is not here today.’

‘Indeed.’

There had been a short silence.

Thankfully the maids had now completed their task and departed, the second one once again trying to catch his eye.

Robert kept his gaze firmly and politely on Lady Kingswood.

The door closed behind them and Lady Kingswood’s demeanour instantly changed. Bringing her hands together, she narrowed her eyes. ‘I must tell you, Mr Kendal,’ she asserted, ‘Miss Bailey is very dear to me, and I should not wish her to become embroiled in anything unsavoury or anything that might bring her harm.’

‘Then she exists and you know her!’ Seeing her startled expression, he made haste to explain. ‘My uncle—that is to say, Mr Millthorpe—was very clear that he wished to speak to Miss Bailey and that she would come to no harm by it. I think,’ he added reflectively, ‘that he sent me in order to reassure Miss Bailey and those close to her on that very point.’

‘And do you know why he wishes to speak with her?’ There was a decided crease on Lady Kingswood’s brow.

‘I do not—not for certain, at least. I confess until this moment I was not convinced Miss Bailey even existed, or that I would find her here. My uncle is elderly and in poor health. While this was decidedly not a deathbed request—for he enjoys reasonably good health—he made it clear he wishes to meet Miss Bailey before he leaves this earth.’

This elicited a response—a flicker of something in the Countess’s eyes. Recognition? Memory? Then it was gone, and so quickly he might have imagined it.

He coughed politely. ‘Mr Millthorpe is aged, and somewhat eccentric, and likes to try to make me do his bidding.’ He grimaced. ‘That sounds wrong. I have great affection for him. But I confess that although we have lived in the same house for most of my life, he still manages to surprise me on occasions.’

Lady Kingswood nodded politely, clearly believing it would be indelicate for her to comment on this.

‘So,’ he offered, leaning forward. ‘Might I enquire a little about Miss Jane Bailey? Does she live nearby? Might you be able to give me her direction? I confess I am curious about her. Is she a woman in her middle years, perhaps?’

The Countess tilted her head to one side. ‘I shall consider the matter, Mr Kendal. But tell me: what led you to believe you might find news of her here, at Ledbury House?’

A decided rebuff. He had travelled all this way and might yet fail. He would have to tread carefully with Lady Kingswood. If she denied him, Robert would be obliged to return to Yorkshire empty-handed.

‘Ah! That I do know. My uncle indicated that he had commissioned a Bow Street Runner to investigate the whereabouts of Miss Bailey. While he would tell me nothing of his motives, he was most proud of his methods.’

‘A Bow Street Runner!’ She shook her head in bemusement. ‘Mr Kendal, I shall be frank with you. I have never met you before, and I am unsure whether I should trust you with the information you seek. You have made it clear your undertaking is not simply to speak with J—with Miss Bailey, or to pass on information. Instead you wish to take her hundreds of miles away to the wilds of Yorkshire, with only yourself to accompany her.’

The wilds of Yorkshire? It was hardly deepest Africa! But Robert noted she seemed genuinely concerned for Miss Bailey’s safety.

He nodded. ‘I see that. But I know not what further reassurance I can provide, save my word as a gentleman.’

Her lip curled. ‘Both Miss Bailey and I are aware that supposed “gentlemen” do not always behave honourably.’

Robert blinked, noting this for future reference. Politeness prevented him from asking the Countess for more details.

He cast around his mind, but no further strategy came to him save honesty. ‘Then we are at a standstill. I know not what I can say or do to convince you. Certainly on a practical level I can undertake to hire a maid to travel with her—perhaps one of your own maids?’

For some reason, an image of the pretty pink-cheeked maid suddenly filled his inner vision. Cease! he told himself sternly. Now is certainly not the time for dalliance.

For some reason this seemed to amuse her.

She thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Mr Kendal, I shall make you an offer. Come back tonight for dinner, at half past six, and we can discuss this further. I hope you understand I need time for consideration?’

‘Indeed, and I am grateful that you have not sent me away with a flea in my ear.’ He rose. ‘I thank you for your time, and I shall indeed return.’

He bowed, smiled, and departed.

‘Oh, Lord!’ Jane cradled her head in her hands. ‘I am so sorry, Mama!’

Miss Marianne might understand, but Mama had such high standards for both of them Jane felt she had let them both down.

Mrs Bailey was still removing her bonnet and shawl. ‘What on earth happened, Jane? Sarah could not wait to tell me that one of the Worcester plates had broken and that it was not her fault!’

‘It is true.’ Jane’s tone was rueful.

She gave her mama a brief summary of the disaster in the drawing room.