Rags-to-Riches Wife Read online

  Lady’s maid…

  To wedded lady?

  Lady’s maid Jane Bailey’s life is turned upside down by the arrival of wealthy gentleman Robert Kendal. He’s come to take Jane to visit her long-lost aristocratic grandfather. Traveling together, they succumb to a mutual attraction. Yet Jane knows a maid should not hope to love a gentleman, even if she’s suddenly wearing silk dresses and dining with the family. Society decrees they cannot marry, but how long can Jane deny her heart?

  They both froze, faces inches apart. She could feel his warm breath on her skin, and her gaze was caught by his compelling gray eyes.

  “What are you thinking? Right now!” he demanded.

  “I wish he would kiss me!” she responded guilelessly.

  An instant later, his lips were on hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as the kiss she had been dreaming of for a lifetime finally happened. They both fumbled a little, but then—then his lips aligned with hers, slanting to fit perfectly. The sensation sent warmth pooling within her, and, without thinking, she opened her lips to allow his tongue to access the warm depths of her mouth. After a moment, tentatively, she touched her tongue to his, and a flame of passion fired through her. He groaned, the sound heightening her desire further.

  His hands were gentle on her face, stroking both cheeks, while his tongue danced with hers in an intimate waltz of longing. Jane lost all sense of time, or place or propriety. Robert was everything, her only reality.

  Author Note

  Jane’s story was something of a surprise to me. I had intended this set of books to feature a trio of governesses, all seeking employment through the same agency. Instead, Jane Bailey, Marianne’s maid from The Earl’s Runaway Governess, called out for her own story.

  Jane’s journey is the reverse of Marianne’s. Marianne was a lady who had to seek paid work for the first time in her life. Jane, on the other hand, is a maid who suddenly and unexpectedly finds herself wearing silk dresses and dining with the family. With some challenges on the way, she will of course find her way to her happy-ever-after with the gorgeous Robert.

  One quick factual note: in this book I’ve used a piece of music by Mozart called “Ruhe sanft.” Although written in 1780, it is in fact unlikely that the piece would have been well-known in England at the time of Jane and Robert’s story, but it was so perfect for Jane’s tale that I’ve included it anyway!

  I do hope you enjoy Rags-to-Riches Wife. Next, I think I might turn my attention to Lady Cecily, who is now of age and itching for adventure.

  CATHERINE TINLEY

  Rags-to-Riches Wife

  Catherine Tinley has loved reading and writing since childhood, and has a particular fondness for love, romance and happy endings. She lives in Ireland with her husband, children, dog and kitten, and can be reached at catherinetinley.com, as well as through Facebook and on Twitter, @catherinetinley.

  Books by Catherine Tinley

  Harlequin Historical

  The Earl’s Runaway Governess

  Rags-to-Riches Wife

  The Chadcombe Marriages

  Waltzing with the Earl

  The Captain’s Disgraced Lady

  The Makings of a Lady

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com.

  For my sisters,

  Donna and Aisling,

  with love

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Rescued by the Viscount’s Ring by Carol Arens

  Prologue

  January 1800, Duxford, Cambridgeshire

  ‘Your papa has passed away.’

  ‘What? I do not understand.’ Even as she spoke, the impact of the doctor’s words swept through Jane. It was as though they were a dark cloud, seeping through her ears to contaminate every part of her. ‘Passed away?’

  The doctor looked pained. ‘I am very sorry, little one. I tried very hard to save Mr Bailey, but the fever was too strong.’

  Behind him, his assistant, a middle-aged woman, emerged from the bedchamber with a dish filled with blood.

  They bled him, yet still he died? Her own internal words sank in. He is dead. Papa is dead.

  ‘Impossible!’ Her voice sounded strange, as if it was not her own. ‘I want Mama!’

  Before the doctor could stop her she dashed forward, then stopped abruptly in the doorway. This was her parents’ bedchamber—the place that had always been her haven, her refuge. When she was upset, or had a nightmare, they sometimes allowed her to share their bed. Snuggling up to Mama and Papa had always been her moment of perfect happiness—even though she had recently celebrated her eighth birthday and had a tiny chamber of her own.

  Her eyes were drawn immediately to the bed. There he was, looking white and strange and still and most unlike himself. ‘Papa?’

  ‘Oh, my darling Jane!’ Mama rose from a hard chair beside the bed. Her eyes were red with endless tears and lack of sleep. ‘He is gone. Papa is gone.’

  They held each other, crying together for an eternity. The doctor quietly closed the door.

  In the days that followed Jane gradually understood that losing Papa had more implications than simply being the cause of untold grief. Without Papa’s earnings as clerk to Mr Simmons—the best lawyer in Duxford—they would no longer be able to stay in Rose Cottage, their little rented home.

  Jane was old enough to understand a little of how things worked.

  ‘But Mama, where shall we live? And how shall we get money for food?’

  ‘Hush, child. We shall manage.’

  Yet Mama looked worried, as if she was not entirely sure just how they would manage.

  Jane thought about it carefully. ‘What of Papa’s family? He spoke to me of my grandfather and told me they had become estranged. Could we not write to him? Perhaps—’

  ‘Out of the question!’ Mama’s tone was sharp. ‘Your father’s family wanted nothing to do with him. That has not changed—in fact it is even less likely now Papa is gone. Your grandfather’s cruelty towards my Ned was implacable. There is no way back. Do not speak of it again!’

  Jane gulped. ‘Yes, Mama.’

  Mama’s face softened. ‘When I met your papa I was a servant—and a very good one. I shall find us a situation and we will both work hard so we can be comfortable.’

  Without Papa? Jane thought. I shall never be comfortable again.

  Chapter One

  January 1815, Beechmount Hall, Yorkshire

  Robert strode along the hallway to his uncle
’s library. He entered without knocking, his mind still half-lost in the ledgers he had been reviewing with the steward. The estate’s finances were in good shape, so perhaps this would be a good year to build a few new cottages in the lane beside the east field...

  ‘What kept you?’

  His uncle’s barking tone immediately made Robert’s hackles rise. Biting back the retort that came to mind, instead he said simply, ‘I was with the steward.’

  ‘When I send for you I expect you to come immediately!’

  His uncle was sitting ramrod-stiff in his armchair, the fire in his eyes contrasting sharply with the signs of his advanced age. His walking stick rested by the fireplace, just within reach, and his valet had provided plump cushions at his uncle’s back. The old man’s morning brandy rested on the table beside him, along with his hand bell. It was no longer easy for him to walk to the bell-pull, so his valet had come up with this solution. The valet would be working within earshot, ready to attend to his master’s needs instantly.

  Good.

  Robert sat in the facing armchair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘And here I am.’ Robert took a deep breath and reminded himself that nothing was achieved by arguing with his uncle.

  ‘Pah! Do not indulge me! I am no child!’

  Robert ignored this, instead asking mildly, ‘Why did you send for me?’

  ‘I have an errand for you.’ His uncle picked up the sheaf of papers that had been resting in his lap. ‘I have just received an interesting intelligence and I must... But no, it would not do to speak of it... The report is well written and yet I cannot be certain—No, not until I see her...’

  Robert waited patiently. In recent months his elderly uncle had become increasingly introspective, without losing any of his fire and cantankerousness.

  Refocusing, his uncle looked at him directly. ‘Last autumn I hired a Bow Street Runner.’

  Robert lifted an astonished eyebrow.

  A Runner? What on earth is he up to?

  ‘I paid him in coin, so you and that officious new steward would not find me out.’ His uncle cackled with glee at his own ingenuity.

  ‘But, Uncle, you may spend your money on anything you wish. You are master here.’ He forbore to point out that the ‘new’ steward had been there almost ten years.

  For this impertinence he received a glare. ‘Your saying so is the surest proof that I am no longer any such thing!’

  Robert frowned. ‘Now, that is unfair. I have taken some of the burdens from your shoulders these past years only to assist you, never to undermine you.’

  His uncle waved this away. ‘Make no mistake, I would not wish to have them back again. What care I now about the concerns of the steward or the tenants or my fortune? My days are ending and I have other fish to fry.’

  ‘Nonsense! Why, you will outlive us all—just to spite us!’

  This earned a brief guffaw. ‘Nevertheless, there are things I must do.’ His eyes dropped to the papers in his lap, then back to meet Robert’s gaze. ‘I need you to fetch someone. A visitor.’

  Robert’s senses were suddenly fully awake. ‘What visitor?’

  ‘Her name is Miss Bailey—Jane Bailey—and she may be found at or near...’ He consulted the report, ‘Ledbury House, near the village of Netherton in Bedfordshire.’

  ‘Bedfordshire! Wait—you wish for me to travel all the way to Bedfordshire and back again? Can’t you send a servant?’

  He nodded. ‘That’s it. And, no, it must be you.’ A sly look flitted briefly across his face.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Good question. In truth, I do not know for certain...the Bow Street Runner has hit upon her as a possibility, but I cannot be sure until I see her, assess her...’

  What is he talking about?

  ‘What can you tell me? Why did you commission a Bow Street Runner?’ Robert was struggling to comprehend the situation.

  Has he finally run mad?

  The old man pondered for a moment, then nodded to himself. ‘I can tell you I mean her no harm. As for the rest,—it is best if you do not know. You might say something to her that may complicate the situation.’

  Unacceptable.

  ‘Then I cannot go. You are not asking me to travel a few miles, to Knaresborough or Harrogate. You are asking me to go all the way to Bedfordshire and back—four or five days each way. Before I agree to such a thing I need to understand the reasons behind it.’

  ‘You seek to bargain with me, boy? How dare you!’ His ire raised, the old man’s eyes flashed fire at Robert. ‘You shall do this because I order you to!’

  ‘Indeed?’ Robert sat back, adopting a languid pose. ‘It seems to me that it will be my decision, not yours.’ Just occasionally, Robert felt the need to stand up to his uncle.

  His uncle half rose from his chair, his face mottled with anger. ‘You—’ The papers slid from his lap and dispersed onto the richly coloured carpet. His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, the knuckles white. Then he sank down again.

  After a brief pause, Robert bent to pick up the papers. Resisting the temptation to read, his eye nevertheless caught sight of a name—Lord Kingswood. As far as he knew, there was no connection between his uncle and Lord Kingswood. His curiosity increased further.

  He glanced at his uncle as he handed him back the papers. The old man looked smaller, defeated.

  I should not have pushed him so far.

  ‘Robert.’ A claw-like hand gripped his. ‘This is important to me. I cannot tell you why—not yet, leastways.’ He swallowed. ‘I am making a request. Please grant me this.’

  Five days there. Five days back. In winter. Inns and a jolting carriage and endless inconvenience.

  ‘Very well,’ he heard himself say. ‘I shall fetch her for you.’

  Two weeks later, Ledbury House, Netherton,

  Bedfordshire

  The day Jane’s life changed began just like any other. It was one of those early February mornings that could not decide whether to wallow in winter or look forward to spring. The pale blue sky teased with the promise of sunshine, but the blustery wind argued in favour of warm shawls and smoking chimneys.

  As personal maid to Marianne Ashington, Lady Kingswood, it was Jane’s responsibility to anticipate her mistress’s needs, and weather predicting was part of it. Miss Marianne might wish to walk in the garden today, or visit friends, or she might be content to read or embroider inside the house. Jane, therefore, needed to prepare both a fine silk day dress and a stouter wool walking gown.

  Normally the Countess spent much of her time with her young son, John, and Jane’s life was complicated by the impact of grubby hand marks and food spills on her mistress’s fine gowns. Still, one could forgive little John almost anything, she thought, picturing the child’s angelic smile.

  ‘Good morning, my lady,’ she said cheerfully, entering the Countess’s room a little after nine, as usual.

  She pulled back the heavy curtains, allowing the pale winter sunshine to spill into the chamber. One of the scullery maids came behind her, immediately beginning to clean out the fireplace. Jane eyed her mistress closely. The Countess yawned and stretched, mumbling a sleepy greeting.

  ‘I hope you have slept well, my lady.’ Jane picked up the chamber pot and passed it to Aggie, the scullery maid, who disappeared with it. Everyone in the household knew their place and their tasks.

  ‘I slept very well, thank you.’ The Countess eased herself into a sitting position. ‘Even though I had company.’ She indicated the small tousled head beside her.

  The Earl was in London, dealing with matters of business, so Master John had, it seemed, undertaken to keep his mama company in his papa’s absence.

  Jane smiled. ‘Good morning, Master John.’

  The child was awake, eyeing her with solemnity. Within minutes, Jane knew, he would
be up and running around like a spinning top. At nearly two years of age he was the undoubted darling of Ledbury House. His parents adored him, as did all the servants, yet he was in no danger of being spoiled. His mama was not over-indulgent, and neither was—

  ‘There you are, my lambkin!’ Nurse bustled into the room, all starched white cotton and kind efficiency. She scooped little John up into her arms and he nestled into her ample bosom. ‘I shall change those damp linens immediately, my lamb!’

  The Countess, smiling indulgently at her offspring as he disappeared, accepted a cup of tea from Jane with a murmur of thanks.

  ‘Would you like a bath today?’ asked Jane. Miss Marianne had talked of it yesterday.

  The Countess shivered. ‘Perhaps later, when the chamber is warm. For now—’ she threw back the covers ‘—I shall get up.’

  After her mistress had washed, Jane helped her dress in a clean shift and, following some debate, a stout walking dress of fine russet merino. Lady Kingswood’s favourite nightgown was in need of a wash, so she folded it to take downstairs.

  Aggie had returned, and lit a fire in the Countess’s fireplace. As the morning chill began slowly to ease a little the Countess took her seat before the mirror, sipping a dish of tea and allowing Jane to dress her hair.

  Jane smiled inwardly. She loved this part of the day. The Countess’s hair was long, dark and lustrous, and Jane adored brushing and styling it. She had cared for Lady Kingswood for almost ten years—since she was plain Miss Marianne Grant and Jane, then thirteen, had been assigned to serve her. Inwardly, and sometimes aloud, she still called her Miss Marianne.

  After Papa had died, Jane had had to adapt quickly from the carefree life she had lived while he was alive to one where she earned her keep. The first year after Papa’s death had been particularly harrowing. Once their meagre savings had run out, Mama and Jane had left their little cottage and sought temporary work in a series of taverns. They had frequently gone hungry that winter, and their clothes had become decidedly ragged. Thankfully Mama had secured a position in Miss Marianne’s home the following summer, and had risen eventually to the exalted position of housekeeper.