Rags-to-Riches Wife Read online

  Jane, too, had done well for herself. After starting as a scullery maid in the same household she had, given her gentle manners, been promoted to the role of upstairs housemaid. At thirteen she had been offered the opportunity to train as Miss Marianne’s personal servant, and had been devoted to her mistress ever since.

  More recently, in the year Miss Marianne had married, Jane and her mama had followed their mistress to Ledbury House, where Jane’s mother was now housekeeper. Apart from a dark few months spent apart, Miss Marianne had been the centre of Jane’s life since she was thirteen.

  ‘Now, Jane. Some French today, I think.’

  ‘Yes, Miss M—I mean, my lady.’

  Miss Marianne, discovering that Jane had, until the age of eight, been raised as a gentleman’s daughter, had decided to continue her education. Over the years Jane had developed a creditable knowledge of French, German and Italian, along with an appreciation of history and philosophy. The Countess was a born tutor, and had used her skills as a governess when she had had to leave her home following the deaths of her parents.

  Jane frowned, remembering that dark time. Miss Marianne’s stepbrother, Henry Grant, had importuned her, causing Miss Marianne to leave her home in the dead of night. Two months later Jane and her mother had been forced to follow, after Master Henry had attempted to violate Jane herself.

  She shuddered. Do not think of it!

  Thankfully Henry had died four years ago, leaving Miss Marianne free to marry the man she loved, and Jane and her mother safe in her employ.

  He no longer has the power to hurt us, she reminded herself as she responded to Miss Marianne’s French conversation.

  And yet Henry was always with her, lurking in the shadows of her heart. Laughing at her.

  We are safe here in Ledbury House.

  But for how long? Ever since that day when the fever had taken Papa, Jane had felt as though the ground beneath her was soft, uncertain. Hunger and insecurity had worked its way into her bones during that year of mourning, of scarcity, of homelessness. Much more had vanished along with her papa—Rose Cottage, a regular income, food, warm clothes...

  But Mama and Jane had worked hard—harder than most of their colleagues—and their industry had been rewarded with long-term positions. Jane had just begun to settle after a few years, begun to believe they had found a new home, when all had shifted again. The master and mistress they had been serving had died in a terrible carriage accident, leaving Miss Marianne orphaned and under the care of her stepbrother.

  Once again the home Jane had come to love had been taken from her, when Master Henry’s evil intent had meant it was not a safe place to live. Once again she and Mama had found themselves homeless and needing to start again.

  But then they had followed Miss Marianne here, to Ledbury House, where they had now been living for almost five years.

  In her heart, though, Jane could not feel fully at ease. Always it seemed to her that some disaster would surely occur, causing her once again to lose her home. She felt as though her life would be ever thus—that she would always be at the whim of others, never the mistress of her own fate. Memories of hunger, of poverty, of homelessness lay buried within her, rising at times to flood her with anxiety.

  When she had voiced her worries to Mama, her mother had not understood. ‘But we are secure here with Lady Kingswood! So long as she remains pleased with us we need not worry.’

  ‘But what if she becomes ill, or—or dies? What if some disaster occurs and Lord Kingswood loses his riches? What if—?’

  ‘Oh, Jane! Do not allow your mind to run away with you. Why, you are lost to all common sense! Why should such things occur? Now, stop thinking of things that are not real and focus on what you can do to keep in favour with Miss Marianne!’

  Mama’s words made sense. Jane knew how close she was to her mistress, and she could not in truth imagine displeasing the Countess so much that she would be let go, but there were so many other possibilities that might lead to them once again being homeless. That fear had never left her.

  For now, though, she would do as she always did: she would work hard and hope to stay as long as possible.

  Having directed the housemaids to make up Miss Marianne’s bed, Jane picked up the Countess’s nightgown and tripped lightly downstairs. No one but her, she had decreed, must deal with milady’s clothing. She washed, ironed and mended everything herself, ensuring Miss Marianne’s personal needs were met.

  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 herse
lf. 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.