by Eva Shepherd
He was also accompanied by a man in a black suit, carrying a black doctor’s bag, who rushed upstairs without greeting Nellie, then a few minutes later walked back downstairs and left, again without exchanging a word with anyone in the shop.
* * *
The valet poked his head into the parlour before he left. He gave Nellie strict instructions on what meals she was to serve and when and informed her he would return the next day to shave Mr Lockhart again and ensure he was comfortable. He also informed her that Mr Lockhart’s private physician had said that Mr Lockhart should not be moved until they were certain he had no internal injuries. He made this statement as if it was something Nellie had been unaware of. Then, with one last disapproving look, he departed.
* * *
Nellie’s day was typically busy, but between each customer she rushed upstairs to check on the now shaven Mr Lockhart, cleanly dressed in his nightshirt, but each time he either said he was fine and needed nothing or he was asleep.
At lunch time she served him a selection of delicacies packed in the hamper by his valet, although he seemed reluctant to eat more than a morsel. She left the food within easy reach and, after an admonition to eat something, returned to her parlour.
Smiling to herself she re-entered the shop. A sudden pain hit her hard in the chest, as if she’d been punched. Her throat closed up, her body froze. She drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled and forced herself to smile in greeting.
‘Hello,’ Lady Cecily said. ‘You must be Nellie Regan. I’m Lady Cecily and this is my father, the Duke of Ashmore.’
‘Your Grace...my lady,’ Nellie said, giving a small curtsy and adopting her most respectful manner. ‘Mr Lockhart is upstairs. I’ll show you where he is.’
‘No need, my dear,’ the Duke said. ‘I’m sure we can find our way. You get on with whatever it is you girls do down here.’ He waved his arm around the room as if what happened in such a shop was a mystery known only to women.
Nellie nodded and pointed the way to the stairs as she fought to control the guilt surging through her. But whether she felt guilty for the harm that had come to Mr Lockhart, or because of the thoughts she had had about this young woman’s fiancé, or even worse, that illicit kiss and that intimate moment they had shared when she was dressing, Nellie couldn’t say. Nor could she say what that other emotion was that was possessing her, although the bile burning up her throat felt uncomfortably like jealousy. An emotion she had absolutely no right to feel.
The two disappeared up the stairs.
Nellie took a step towards the door, curious to know what was being discussed. She was tempted to find an excuse to go up to her rooms, but her next client arrived and she had no option but to escort her through to the parlour.
As she styled her customer’s hair, she couldn’t stop her eyes from straying up to the ceiling, nor her mind from speculating about the conversation that was taking place.
She showed her customer out and was surprised to find Lady Cecily standing in the shop, looking at a display of ostrich feathers. She looked up at Nellie, not smiling, causing Nellie’s mouth to go dry.
‘While I’m here, Miss Regan, would you have time to style my hair? I greatly admired what you had done with the Duchess of Somerfeld’s hair. And it will give us a chance to talk.’
Nellie swallowed down her objections and nodded her agreement. What on earth could Lady Cecily want to talk to her about? Whatever it was, Nellie was sure it was something she did not want to hear.
Chapter Ten
What choice did she have? Nellie had another customer booked in for this time, but she could hardly say no to Lady Cecily. Not when she had caused her fiancé to be injured. Not after she had made fun of Lady Cecily in front of her own servants. And certainly not when she had admired her fiancé’s naked chest, slept snuggled up beside him, and had even stolen a sneaky kiss. She would style Lady Cecily’s hair and for once she would act like the obedient and deferential servant she normally refused to be.
She quickly whispered to Harriet to tell the next customer that the daughter of the Duke of Ashmore was having her hair styled and there would be a delay. Nellie knew her customer would be so thrilled that she was in the same establishment as a high-ranking member of the aristocracy that she would be more than happy to wait.
Lady Cecily swept through to the parlour, her skirt rustling as she sat down in front of the mirror. Nellie was suddenly conscious of how she looked in the plain brown skirt and jacket. It was such a contrast to Lady Cecily, dressed in an elegant mauve-and-white-striped gown with an intricate lace collar. When Mr Lockhart saw his fiancée in all her finery, he must have thought how dowdy Nellie looked in comparison. Although his reaction this morning showed he hadn’t thought her dowdy then. Nellie blushed slightly. This morning’s encounter was something that should never have happened and the very reason why Lady Cecily had every right to object to her fiancé sleeping in another woman’s bed.
Nellie unclipped Lady Cecily’s hair and brushed out the long brown strands. ‘I’m sure Mr Lockhart was pleased to see you,’ she said and braced herself for an uncomfortable conversation that was no more than she deserved.
‘Mmm, yes. It’s very good of you to take care of him. Father has quite a lot he wants to discuss so I thought I might as well make good use of the time and get my hair done. Feel free to do it in any style you think suits me, Miss Regan. After all, you’re the expert.’
Nellie nodded her agreement.
She had observed Lady Cecily at the ball and already knew exactly what sort of style would suit her. ‘I’m sure Mr Lockhart will be much better soon and will be able to return home, but the doctor said he shouldn’t move for a few days, so unfortunately, he’s going to have to remain where he is.’ She sent Lady Cecily’s reflection a small reassuring smile.
‘Hmm, yes, that is unfortunate,’ she said, her voice flat as if discussing something of no real importance.
‘But the doctor also said if there are no internal injuries he should heal really quickly as he’s so young, strong and healthy.’ Nellie blushed slightly, remembering his naked chest and just how healthy and strong he was.
‘That’s good.’
Nellie paused in the process of dividing Lady Cecily’s hair into sections and took another quick look at her reflection. Did she not want to hear all about Mr Lockhart’s condition, how it had happened, what the doctor had said, how long he needed to recuperate? If it was Nellie’s fiancé lying beaten and bruised, she would want to know every single detail. And was she not concerned that her fiancé was lying in another woman’s bed? Nellie would be very curious about that as well. More than curious. She would not stand for it. Would be insisting that she took over his care herself. But then perhaps Lady Cecily saw Nellie as just a servant, someone who could tend to her fiancé, but could never be competition for his affections. Something Nellie had to admit was true. Mr Lockhart might have said he wasn’t actually in love with Lady Cecily, but she was the woman he wanted to marry, the woman he wanted to share his life with. The woman he considered suitable to be his bride.
‘I have to say, the Duchess of Somerfeld did look so elegant at my engagement party,’ Lady Cecily continued. ‘You really are very talented. I feel quite lucky to be able to have my hair styled by the same person who did the Duchess’s hair.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’ It seemed that all talk of Mr Lockhart had come to an end. Nellie didn’t know if she was relieved that she had dodged a potentially uncomfortable conversation or shocked at Her Ladyship’s lack of interest. How could she be thinking about her hair at a time like this? Once again Nellie was confounded by the behaviour of the British upper classes.
‘Did you work for the Duchess in America?’ Lady Cecily asked.
Nellie clipped a curl in place and began rolling up another long tress. ‘Yes, I worked for the Duchess in New York when she was still Arabella van Haven. I
came with her to England a year or so ago.’
Lady Cecily sighed. ‘I’d love to go to America. I’ve heard society is much less rigid over there.’
Nellie paused in what she was doing and looked at Lady Cecily’s reflection again in the mirror. She had such a wistful, dreamy look on her face. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
Lady Cecily looked up at Nellie’s reflection. ‘I’d love to hear all about America. I believe people can completely reinvent themselves there, become the people they would like to be.’
Nellie nodded and teased out a series of curls. ‘Well, yes, I suppose that’s true. The Duchess of Somerfeld’s father, Mr van Haven, was born into poverty. His father was a miner, but now he’s at the very top of New York society, attends all the leading social events, is a member of all the best clubs. I don’t imagine that would happen in England.’
Lady Cecily shook her head, her eyes glowing with interest. ‘No, indeed not. Imagine that. The granddaughter of a miner is now the Duchess of Somerfeld and she’s also an actress. It sounds like a country where you can do whatever you want, become whoever you want.’
‘Hmm.’ Nellie decided there was little point informing Lady Cecily that not everyone in America became a millionaire. Many of the Irish immigrants who had travelled to America on the same ship as Nellie ended up living in the overcrowded, crime-ridden and disease-infested Five Points area of New York. They were not much better off than they would have been if they’d remained in Ireland. But that was not the sort of polite conversation one made with a member of the aristocracy when you were styling their hair, so Nellie kept quiet on that unfortunate detail.
‘And it’s such a big country, isn’t it?’
On that subject Nellie could be completely honest. ‘Oh, yes, it’s definitely a big country. Lots of wide, open spaces, that’s for sure.’
‘I would imagine in a big country like that a person could lose themselves, become whoever they want to and no one would be any the wiser.’ She looked up at Nellie’s reflection again, her eyebrows raised in expectation.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘I’m surprised the Duchess of Somerfeld left such a wonderful place where she had so much freedom.’
‘Hmm.’ Nellie was not sure how much of the Duchess’s private life she should reveal. She wouldn’t be telling Lady Cecily that the Duchess was forced to come to England by her father. Nor would she be saying that the Duchess was tricked into marrying the Duke of Somerfeld. ‘Well, the Duchess is happy to be in England now. She’s married to a man she loves and working as an actress, which she also loves.’
‘Love.’ Lady Cecily nodded. ‘Yes, love changes everything, doesn’t it?’ She looked up at Nellie for confirmation. Nellie chose to give a non-committal smile. She had discussed love with Mr Lockhart that morning. That had been an uncomfortable conversation which she should never have had. She wasn’t about to repeat her mistake by discussing love with his fiancée. Not when the mere mention of that word had set off a burning deep within her, a burning that had risen up her throat and was making her feel decidedly uncomfortable.
‘It changes how you see your surroundings, the decisions you make, the actions you take,’ Lady Cecily continued, oblivious to Nellie’s fumbling. ‘It makes you question everything. Sometimes I think we’re all just slaves to that wonderful, devastating emotion.’
Nellie paused, a lock of hair in her hand, and looked at Lady Cecily’s reflection. Her expression had changed from expectant when she had been talking about America to a more melancholy demeanour. She really was the most enigmatic of women. She professed to being in love, to being a slave to that emotion, yet she’d rather have her hair done than spend time with the man she loved, a man who had suffered a terrible beating and was at this very moment lying upstairs in pain.
Lady Cecily looked up, her face still wistful. ‘Have you ever been in love, Miss Regan?’
The question caused fire to explode on to Nellie’s cheeks. She dropped the lock of hair she was holding, then with fumbling fingers re-rolled the tress.
‘Me, no, no, never.’ Why Nellie should be embarrassed she had no idea. She had answered honestly. She had never been truly in love. She’d had flings that she’d enjoyed, but there’d never been anyone who she could say she loved. She’d certainly never met anyone who caused her to question everything, the decisions she made, the actions she took, or made her see her surroundings differently, as Lady Cecily claimed love made you do.
Lady Cecily inclined her head and raised her eyebrows. ‘That blush makes me think there is someone special in your life. You’re very lucky and I hope he loves you back.’
‘No, no, there’s no one, honestly.’ Why did Mr Lockhart’s handsome face enter her mind when she made that denial? Nellie shook her head slightly to drive out that unwanted image. She was most emphatically not falling in love with Mr Lockhart. The mere thought of it was ludicrous. And she should not even be having such a thought, particularly in the presence of his fiancée.
She put down the hairclip she was clasping, which had somehow become bent out of shape, and picked up another one.
But if she was having these ludicrous thoughts about Mr Lockhart, perhaps she should find a nurse to tend to him, if his presence in her bed was causing her to become so disorientated and to act so strangely, especially in front of his fiancée.
She looked at the new hairclip, which had also strangely become bent out of shape.
‘No, I am not in love,’ Nellie stated emphatically. She met eyes with Lady Cecily in the mirror and was itching to ask her if she was in love with Mr Lockhart. If she was, why had she danced with him as if she had no desire to even touch him? Why was she sitting down here, having her hair done, instead of upstairs with the man she was engaged to be married to? But they were questions she could not possibly ask and ones she suspected she wouldn’t want to hear the answers to.
Instead she put the finishing touches to Lady Cecily’s hair in silence. When she had finished, she stood back to assess her work. Despite her fumbling fingers she was pleased with the result and looked at Lady Cecily to see if she liked it.
She patted the voluminous rolls on her head and nodded her approval. ‘Oh, Miss Regan, that’s wonderful. I’m so pleased.’ She stood up, admired her reflection one more time, then walked out to the shop front.
‘Thank you so much and I did so enjoy our little chat about America. It sounds like a wonderful country.’ She gave a little laugh, which sounded forced. ‘Perhaps we should all emigrate there and improve our position in life.’
Nellie responded with a small, polite smile. For a woman who was the daughter of a duke and about to marry a man who was fabulously wealthy Lady Cecily hardly needed to emigrate to America to improve her position in society—she already was as high as she could possibly go.
Nellie expected her to go upstairs and show off her new look to Mr Lockhart, but she seemed content to examine the beauty products and accessories on display while she waited for her father.
Nellie’s next customer also seemed more interested in observing Lady Cecily than moving through to the parlour, so Nellie just let her be.
Before long a man’s boots sounded on the wooden stairs and the Duke of Ashmore appeared in the shop, causing the awestruck client to simper and smile with delight.
‘Looks like you’re doing a fine job looking after that young man,’ the Duke said. ‘He couldn’t be in better hands, could he, my dear?’ The Duke approached Harriet with the intention of paying for his daughter’s hair styling, but Nellie waved her hand to let him know there was no charge.
‘Right kind of you, my dear, but I suppose the cost is already being covered.’ The Duke gave a curious laugh and sent Nellie a quick wink.
Lady Cecily put back the combs she had been observing and turned to the Duke. ‘If you’re finished, Father, shall we depart? I want to do some shopping before w
e leave London.’
It seemed this was to be their only visit to Mr Lockhart. Nellie would have expected Lady Cecily to want to stay in town, visit him every day, even keep vigil by his bed until he was better. Wasn’t that what you should do for the man you intend to marry? It would appear not.
The Duke of Ashmore opened the door for his daughter and Nellie accompanied them out of the shop. Lady Cecily took the footman’s hand and entered the waiting carriage. Once she was inside the Duke turned to Nellie.
‘I just want to let you know I have no objection to Dominic keeping a mistress—after all, what man doesn’t?’ he whispered. ‘And I thank you for your discretion in front of my daughter. But if my daughter ever finds out, then I’ll ruin Dominic, and that won’t be good for you either, so bear that in mind, my dear.’ With that he walked off briskly to the carriage and drove off down the street, leaving a disorientated Nellie standing at the open door of her shop wondering whether she had heard correctly.
‘Nellie, are you all right?’ Harriet asked.
Nellie retreated into the shop and tried to make sense of what the Duke had just said. He thought she was Mr Lockhart’s mistress. What’s more, he didn’t care, as long as his daughter didn’t know. She looked at her two assistants and the smiling customer. It seemed no one had heard the Duke’s outrageous words, but that didn’t diminish Nellie’s shock.
But she had to pull herself together, she still had work to do. She ushered her customer into the parlour and, as expected, the woman seem to take it as a personal compliment that she’d had to wait for someone as esteemed as the daughter of the Duke of Ashmore and that was all she wanted to talk about.
Nellie let her prattle on, while her mind tried to make sense of the Duke’s shocking accusation. He didn’t care if Dominic had a mistress. Did Lady Cecily care? Did Dominic? She had no idea. The only thing she knew for certain was it was something about which she cared very much.