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Charles Bentley rolledhis eyes towards the ceiling. He would never completely understand this woman. Worse, his own feelings toward her perplexed him. Approaching forty, she was an attractive woman. At least,hethought so. When she smiled—admittedly a rarity of late—he found himself transported to memories of that ball so long ago.
Lately, for reasons he failed to understand, she refused to update her wardrobe like the other women he saw in town, preferring to wear the dresses she had before the earl died, which had been over five years ago.
Mrs. Spencer, the village’s new modiste, had visited and invited her to see her newest fabrics and fashion plates, offering to bring all the dresses to the home for fittings.
Yet, she only allowed the seamstress to update her existing wardrobe and turned down all pleas to update her wardrobe without even a kind word.
Her niece’s marriage had set her temper on edge. Her ladyship would be this way until she worked it out of her system. He wished he could distract her, but there would be nothing for it. Her mood would run his course. He only hoped no one would leave because of it.
Charles constantly had to hire new people as Lady Agatha Wendt could not keep them, particularly women, in her employ. He had hired a housekeeper, a maid, and a lady’s maid just this week. Thank goodness the footmen seemed to stay, and he felt fortunate that she had agreed to promote one to under butler. It gave him the chance to take care of the extra duties she constantly required. This afternoon she had ordered all the silver be counted—as she had every Christmas season since the earl’s death, and she required that he do it alone. His best hope was that she did not lose more staff.
The estate was reputed to be quite rolled up; however, since she now controlled the purse-strings, she gave the impression of being quite purse-pinched. He shook his head in bafflement. More upsetting was the way she treated the female staff.
How was it he saw a different side of her? Most of the staff—old and new—feared and hated her.
Still, shecouldbe generouswhen she wished. Her cat was a fine case in point, he thought to himself. The footman, Harris, had told him it had been laying on the side of the road, starving and badly injured when she demanded they stop the carriage. Her ladyship had stepped out of the conveyance and picked the half-frozen animal up herself. She had brought it back into the carriage and wrapped it in her fur and velvet pelisse, ignoring her own comfort. It was clear that she cared, he thought, smiling to himself. That had been a month ago, and the cat still clung to her like a shadow. Her ladyship treated Pretty like a child. Charles smiled to himself. He could think of dozens of examples like this over the years—things perhaps onlyhenoticed.
Mr. Hanson had waited in the anteroom just off the front. Charles knew him by sight. The poor man appeared at their door collecting for the orphanage every year. Sometimes he asked for things like old clothes, garments that could be repurposed for the children. Their biggest need was money.
Charles had known what her ladyship’s answer would be—a firmno,wrapped in mumbled justifications on why she detested “beggars.” The man was not a beggar. He worked with the orphanage and without enough benefactors, they were frequently reduced toaskingfor sustenance to keep the doors open. The oddity was that Lady Wendt’s husband had been a benefactor, so it was no wonder that the man persisted in returning every year, despite her attitude. Only Mr. Hanson did not know her attitude.
The butler pivoted toward his small office behind the kitchen area. He walked into the small room and opened the drawer to the small corner desk and pulled out a box from the bottom drawer. Extracting half of the contents, he placed it in a small velvet pouch and pocketed it, replacing the rest in the box and securing it once again in the bottom drawer. The headmaster would not leave empty-handed this Christmastide.
On his way to the anteroom, his hand squeezed the velvet bag. Ten pounds was a lot to part with, but this was a good cause. He handed the man the coins he had taken from his savings.
“Sir, her ladyship has already retired for the evening,” he said, not missing the look of frustration which escaped Mr. Hanson. “However, having expected your visit, she left word that this be given to you,” Charles said, tucking the money into the man’s hands.
“Thank you, kind sir. Please thank Lady Wendt for her generosity,” the man replied, pocketing the money.
Charles nodded. “I bid you a good evening,” he said, walking the man back to the front door. Lady Wendt would anger if she discovered he had donated money every year in her name, as she made it clear she did not encourage begging. In his mind, this was charitable work, not begging. The children needed food and a toy for Christmas. He hoped the ten pounds would provide ample funds. He had been lucky to not have unexpected expenses this year.I can never resist the children’s causes. Mayhap, it is because at one time, I was one of them. He never regretted the use of his money.
Three days hence would be Christmas Day, but Lady Wendt rarely acknowledged the holiday anymore. What had changed her attitude towards the feast?
