Aspirations of a Lady's Maid

by Eva Shepherd

  It seemed he was more than just a pompous ass. He was an insufferable pig who deserved his come-uppance and Nellie would really like to be the one to give it to him. But now was neither the time nor the place for her to let him know just what she thought of him and his high-and-mighty behaviour, or which animal, pig or ass his behaviour most resembled.

  He continued staring at her, waiting impatiently for her answer. She refused to be affected by those dark eyes boring into her. She refused to be cowed by his handsome countenance, his perfectly symmetrical face, strong jawline and high cheekbones that looked as if they’d been carved out of granite. She would not be overawed by his full, sensual lips. And she most certainly would not be undermined by his height, his wide shoulders, or the way his masculine presence seemed to fill the room.

  She tilted up her chin and stared back at him. Nothing about this man would affect her or cause her to defer to him in the way he obviously expected. ‘Well, I am far too busy to speak to you at this moment. I’m with a client—’ she gestured over her shoulder towards the curtains that separated the parlour from the shop ‘—and it would be rude to keep her waiting.’

  She could see him stifling a sigh of irritation that she was once again claiming to be too busy for him. When she had left him standing in the Ashmores’ kitchen, nothing had been preventing her from staying and listening to what he had to say. Nothing, that was, except her own refusal to be treated like an insolent servant. But this time it was true. She did have a customer waiting and she would never be rude to a customer. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be rude to this self-important oaf.

  After all, wasn’t he being rude to her? Thinking he could come into her shop and reprimand her in her own premises, in front of her own staff and customer. That was what Nellie would call rude.

  ‘I assure you, Miss Regan, this won’t take more than a minute of your time.’

  Nellie shook her head and stared unflinchingly into those dark brown eyes. She would not look away, even though her body was starting to burn under his gaze and she was forgetting how to breathe properly.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t even spare you one minute.’ Nellie released her held breath, pleased that her voice had come out with sufficient self-assurance.

  Time was not really the issue. It never had been. She simply would not let this impertinent man reprimand her. She wasn’t going to let him do it at Hardgrave Estate and she certainly wasn’t going to let him do it here.

  And that wasn’t just because he had no right to do so. It was also because she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t lose her temper and she certainly didn’t want to do that with her staff and customer listening in. ‘I don’t have even one single second to spare you. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ She took a step towards the curtains, then paused as a wicked thought occurred to her.

  She turned to face him. ‘The parlour closes at six o’clock. If you want to talk to me, it will have to wait till then. Harriet, Matilda and I are going for a drink after work at The Hanged Man public house. If you’ve got something to say to me, you can say it there and I’ll have all the time in the world to listen to what you have to say.’

  She smiled in the direction of Harriet and Matilda, who were looking at her with stunned surprise. Nellie knew exactly what they were thinking. A gentleman like Mr Lockhart wouldn’t be seen dead in a common place like The Hanged Man, a tavern frequented by shop girls, local workers and other people he would consider far beneath him.

  ‘Harriet will give you directions. So, until then, goodbye, Mr Lockhart.’ Smiling to herself, she disappeared behind the curtains.

  * * *

  Dominic stood outside the doors of The Hanged Man and forced himself not to get angry. Nothing would be gained by losing his temper, but it was hard not to. That little Irish madam was still giving him the run around and all he wanted to do was offer her work. But letting her irritating behaviour get under his skin would do no one any good and wouldn’t help his sister.

  He pushed open the door and was met with a fug of tobacco smoke, a cacophony of loud voices and a sea of men in cloth caps. The tavern was packed wall to wall and, as he looked at the attire of the patrons, many had come straight from work. The men were mostly dressed in stained overalls or rough trousers and coats, and some were without jackets, their shirt sleeves rolled up over weather-beaten tattooed arms. He could also see shop girls in their uniform of plain black skirts and white blouses, and a few patrons who looked as if they worked as day servants in the local houses.

  He pushed his way through the jostling crowd and spotted Miss Regan and her assistants sitting at a small round table in front of the window, tankards of ale in front of them, chatting and laughing together.

  How was he supposed to have a sensible conversation with her in this raucous environment? But he suspected that was exactly Miss Regan’s intention, to make things as difficult for him as possible. The woman truly was insufferable. He drew in a deep, irritable breath and edged his way through the jostling crowd.

  When he reached her table, she looked up at him. Her big green eyes grew even wider and he was sure a gasp of surprise escaped her lips, although he couldn’t hear a thing above the racket of a room full of people all talking at once. He would have taken pleasure in her discomposure, but right now it was hard to feel anything except annoyance.

  ‘Miss Regan,’ he shouted down at her, trying to be heard above the noise. ‘Hopefully, now that you have finished work for the day, you finally have time to talk to me.’

  She gestured to a spare chair. ‘Get yourself a drink and join us,’ she called back to him, sending a small smile in the direction of her assistants. She’d obviously thought he wouldn’t want to drink in an establishment such as this. Well, she didn’t know him very well, did she? He had visited rougher drinking dens than this with his father and was not fazed by either the clientele or the surroundings. Despite his father’s change in circumstances and fortune, he still liked to socialise with people he considered the salt of the earth and many a time had taken his young son along with him.

  But that did not mean he had any intention of staying any longer than was entirely necessary to talk to Miss Regan, even if that was proving to be a near impossibility. As soon as he had engaged her services for his sister he would be leaving.

  He pushed his way back through the crowd to the bar, ordered an ale and another round of drinks for Miss Regan and her staff. The man poured four drinks into pewter tankards and Dominic carefully elbowed his way back through the crowd, angling himself around the heaving mass so he would not spill a drop.

  ‘Now, Miss Regan, I would appreciate it if I could talk to you,’ he called out to her as he seated himself at the table and handed tankards to the two smiling assistants.

  She put her hand to her ear, feigning an inability to hear.

  Dominic bit down his irritation. ‘I said I would appreciate it if I could talk to you now,’ he repeated, raising his voice. And he would also appreciate it if they could leave this infernal place and go somewhere where he didn’t have to shout so loud it was straining his throat.

  ‘All right. What do you want to say to me?’ she called back to him, leaning over the small table.

  ‘Can we go somewhere quieter where we can talk?’

  He looked around to see if there was a less crowded area in the packed bar where they could retire to, but the tavern seemed to consist of just this one small, low-ceilinged room. This was hopeless. And to make matters worse, he saw a man approach the small upright piano and raise the cover.

  The moment he started playing the entire room erupted into loud, boisterous singing. Dominic’s jaw clenched tightly. This was an absurd situation. Surely even Miss Regan could see that she had gone far enough now. She had made her point, whatever her point might be, and she should now do the decent thing and leave with him so they could have a proper conversation.

 
He turned back to face her, and to his intense irritation saw that she, too, was singing along, while waving her tankard happily in the air. And what was worse, she had what could only be described as a triumphant smile on her face, suggesting she felt she had won a decisive victory over him, even though he had no idea what they were fighting about.

  Chapter Five

  Nellie smiled with satisfaction. She had made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. Good. It was as if she had won a small victory over every toff who had ever looked down his nose at her, her family or her friends. He appeared so out of place she wanted to laugh out loud. Dressed in his expensive grey suit, with a dark grey waistcoat embroidered with black thread and maroon silk cravat, he couldn’t look more different from the working men who frequented this bar if he had tried.

  Although Nellie suspected Mr Lockhart would stand out wherever he went and however he was dressed, and not just because of his superior mannerisms and his haughty demeanour. He was so manly it was breathtaking and when Nellie had first seen him enter the public house it had literally taken her breath away. She hadn’t been the only woman in the room who had been unable to stop staring at him, drawn to his aura of virile masculinity. Some of the women might have been interested in his obvious wealth, but she was sure many more were drawn to that elusive quality of manliness that was undeniably attractive.

  Not that such things had any effect on her, not really. He might be extremely handsome, but he was still a wealthy man here to throw his weight around and put her in her place. And that was a goal she would do everything in her power to stop him from reaching.

  She continued singing, louder and with more enthusiasm, causing his dark eyebrows to draw deeper together, his jaw to clench tighter, much to Nellie’s immense pleasure.

  She had been certain he would not turn up. Or, if he did, that he would take one look inside The Hanged Man and turn tail, back to the richer, more genteel side of London. She would never have expected a man of his class to enter an establishment such as this, or to remain for as long as he had. He was persistent, she would give him that. Either that, or he was so determined to confront her over her unflattering impersonation of him that he would even endure an evening singing and drinking with people he wouldn’t normally give the time of day.

  He tried to say something to her. She sung even louder, spurred on by the look of frustration on his face.

  She smiled as he raked an impatient hand through his glossy black hair, causing his carefully groomed appearance to become disordered. Nellie was tempted to lean over the table, to run her hands along his head and smooth his thick black hair back into place. That must be the hairdresser in her. She could see no other reason why her fingers were itching to touch him, to run themselves through that tousled hair.

  The song came to an end and the noise in the room settled down from raucous to simply loud. He tried again to shout something at her.

  ‘Please, Miss Regan. I must talk to you. My sis...’

  Whatever he was trying to say it was drowned out when Patrick Kelly staggered over to their table. ‘Nellie, m’darling, are you going to honour us with a tune?’ he slurred, weaving on the spot and showing he was slightly the worse for drink.

  Nellie rarely consented to playing the piano in public, it brought back too many painful memories, but the chance to further annoy Mr Lockhart was too good an opportunity to miss.

  She excused herself and smiled when she saw the look on his face move from frustrated to exasperated. It wouldn’t be long now. He would soon reach the limit of his endurance and would depart, completely defeated. Although that would put an end to Nellie’s fun, which she had to admit would be a shame. There was so much fun to be gained by tormenting Mr Dominic Lockhart.

  With Patrick’s help she pushed her way through the crowd and over to the piano. Nellie had been taught to play by her mother when she was a young girl, but she was a bit out of practice. Although it hardly mattered. The crowd was so boisterous she doubted anyone would notice the occasional missed note. She began playing her mam’s favourite Irish ballad. As the rest of the room burst into song, tears sprang to Nellie’s eyes. It was the sound of her home, of the fire warming the small front parlour. Of Nellie playing the piano while her mam sang in her sweet voice, her da looking on with love in his eyes.

  Her parents had both lost their own parents in the Irish potato famine. They’d been driven off their land by the wealthy landowner because the crop failures meant they had been unable to pay their rent. When her mother’s parents had died in poverty, Nellie’s mother had been placed in a workhouse, where she remained until she was old enough to go into service as a maid for the same landowner who had driven her family off their land. That’s where she had met Nellie’s father. He had also returned to the same land and worked as a tenant farmer. Her parents had been happy together, but childhoods spent in poverty and the resulting ill health had shortened their lives, leaving Nellie an orphan at a young age.

  Through her tears she looked around the room. Everyone was singing and waving their tankards of beer in the air. She wasn’t the only one who was remembering their home back in Ireland, their family and a time before poverty and misfortune had made them leave their homeland.

  Her gaze moved to Dominic Lockhart. He was the only one not singing. Instead he was looking round the room and scowling. Nellie played the wrong note and her voice quivered. How dare he scowl at her people. Yes, they were poor and, yes, they had perhaps drowned their sorrows in a bit too much drink, but a wealthy, privileged man like him had no right to disapprove of them.

  It was time to put an end to this charade. It was time to tell him to sling his hook and take his disapproval, his snobbery and his reprimands with him.

  Nellie finished the song early, slammed shut the piano lid and pushed her way back through the crowd. This game she was playing with Dominic Lockhart had lost all appeal. She wanted him and his disapproving scowl gone and out of her life. Despite the noise of the crowd, despite the fact that her assistants would hear her, Nellie would let him know in no uncertain terms to leave this public house and never bother her again.

  ‘Nellie, m’dear, that was wonderful as always. You’re a talented wee thing, that you are.’ Patrick Kelly grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him.

  Nellie gritted her teeth in annoyance. Dealing with the antics of a drunken man was the last thing she needed right now. ‘For goodness sake, man, let me go, or you’ll be feeling my knee so hard between your legs you won’t be able to walk for a week.’

  Patrick laughed and tightened his grip on her waist. ‘Come on, girl, give us a little kiss.’ His rough, unshaven face came towards her, his wet lips parting, his breath smelling of beer and pipe smoke.

  Nellie put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. He flew back, crashing against a nearby table, and fell in a drunken heap on the floor, overturning several tankards on the way down, much to the patrons’ disgust. It seemed Nellie was stronger than she thought. She’d only given the man a small shove to let him know he was wasting his time.

  She looked up from the startled Patrick Kelly to see Dominic Lockhart, glowering down at the prone man, his fists clenched tightly, his face rigid, his feet planted wide apart as if he was ready for a fight.

  He had jumped to her defence. Who would have thought it? After a lifetime of fighting her own battles Nellie was unsure what to make of this apparent gallantry. All she knew was her heart seemed to be swelling in her chest and warmth had flooded her body. He looked so manly standing over the prone Patrick. This strong, red-blooded man was acting as her champion, ready to defend her honour. Nellie had to admit it was rather nice and decidedly flattering.

  Behind him she saw a row of angry faces, faces that did not think Mr Lockhart’s defence of Nellie was anything to be impressed by. ‘There weren’t no need for that,’ one angry voice said.

  This was not good.
Not good at all. Patrick might be a bit of a lecher who had trouble keeping his hands to himself, but he was well liked by the other men in the bar and Dominic Lockhart was an obvious stranger. A wealthy, well-dressed stranger who certainly did not belong here. His gallant behaviour had put him in imminent danger.

  Conversation had died and everyone in the now silent bar had turned to face them.

  ‘You had better leave. Now,’ Nellie whispered.

  ‘Not until this man apologises for treating a lady in such a disrespectful manner.’ Mr Lockhart’s voice sounded loud in the suddenly quiet room as he continued to glare down at Patrick.

  She took hold of his arm. ‘No, the best thing you can do is leave.’

  He stood his ground.

  ‘Come on.’ She pulled at his arm. Several men helped Patrick to his feet, then, as one, they turned towards Dominic, their faces belligerent, their bodies tense as if itching for a fight.

  Nellie tried to laugh it off. ‘No harm done, lads. It was just a bit of fun between me and Patrick.’ She turned to Mr Lockhart and lowered her voice to a whisper again. ‘We need to leave. Right now.’

  He didn’t budge.

  ‘If it’s people not respecting me that you’re worried about, then you’ll respect my wishes and leave with me, now. I don’t want any more trouble here. These are my neighbours, people I have to live with.’

  He looked down at her, looked over at Patrick and, to Nellie’s immense relief, nodded his agreement. They crossed the crowded public house, watched by a roomful of silent, angry men.

  Nellie breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung shut behind them and they walked out into the night air. The street was dark and cool, and the cobblestones glistened from recent rain that had fallen unheard while they were inside. It was a stark contrast to the noise and heat of the busy public house.