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‘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.
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.
