by Eva Shepherd
Chapter Eleven
Nellie slowly climbed the stairs at the end of her busy working day. It wasn’t weariness that was causing her to be so sluggish—she enjoyed her work and was energised by it. She was suddenly uncomfortable about having Mr Lockhart in her rooms. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so stubborn. She should have let the valet arrange for a nurse to attend to him while she stayed at a hotel. Then there would be no confusion. The Duke of Ashmore would realise she was merely someone who was helping Mr Lockhart in his time of need and was most definitely not his mistress. And she would also be clear in her own mind. Having him in her rooms, insisting that she alone would nurse him back to health, did suggest that she felt something for Mr Lockhart. Did she feel something for him, other than compassion because of his injuries and guilt because she was the cause of them?
She paused on the stairs. Her feelings might be confused, but one thing she knew for certain. The Duke was wrong. She did not want to be Mr Lockhart’s mistress. She did not want to be any man’s mistress. The Duke was right that men from his class often kept a woman of Nellie’s class as their little bit on the side. But he was wrong about Nellie. She would never become involved in such an arrangement. She would never be some rich man’s plaything.
She continued walking up the stairs. But who cared what the Duke of Ashmore thought? Not her, that was for sure. He meant nothing to her. So, she wasn’t going to change her living arrangements just to prove the Duke wrong. She didn’t want to stay in a hotel. Nor did she want some stranger in her rooms. And she certainly did not want that condescending valet thinking that he could order her around and tell her what to do in her own home. He might be able to boss around the rest of Mr Lockhart’s servants, but he couldn’t boss her around.
She reached the top of the stairs, puffed up with indignation at the very idea that the valet thought he could tell her what to do. Then she paused at the door, gripping the handle and took in a few breaths. Mr Lockhart did not need her self-righteous indignation, nor her offended pride. She would forget all about what the Duke had said, forget that look of disapproval from the valet and put aside her confused emotions. Instead, she would concentrate on the task at hand, making sure Mr Lockhart recovered from his injuries as quickly as possible so he could return home. Opening the door, she put on her sunniest smile.
‘How are you feeling now?’ she asked, her voice sounding overly jolly.
He smiled at her, then winced when given a painful reminder of his split lip. ‘Much better, thank you. The pain is easing so I don’t think I’ve got a broken rib or have any other internal damage. Both doctors said if the pain gets better it’s a good sign.’
Nellie continued to smile, determined not to feel uncomfortable in his company, determined not to think about what the Duke had said. ‘That’s excellent news,’ she trilled. ‘Now, I dare say you’re ready for something to eat. Shall we see what else your valet has sent you?’
Nellie went through to her small kitchen, where the table was piled with wicker baskets.
She opened one, peered in the top and saw an array of pies, cheeses, cartons of tea, bread, slices of cold meat, dried and fresh fruit, and jars of soup. Impressive. She warmed up some soup, poured it into two bowls, cut some slices of bread and carried one of the bowls through to the invalid.
‘Here you go. Fresh vegetable soup, prepared by my own fair hands, or at least prepared by the fair hands of your cook, delivered by the fair hands of your valet and served by me.’
He smiled as she placed the tray on his lap. ‘Are you having something to eat? You must be famished after your busy day.’
‘Yes, your valet brought enough food to feed the entire street. We’re certainly not going to go hungry.’ Nellie went back to the kitchen and returned with her bowl of steaming soup on a tray. She tasted it and sighed with contented approval. How wonderful it must be to have someone on your staff who could create such delicious fare.
‘It was nice of Lady Cecily and the Duke of Ashmore to visit,’ Nellie asked as casually as possible. ‘I hope Lady Cecily wasn’t too upset when she saw the state of you.’
She certainly wasn’t upset when she was having her hair styled, but perhaps that was just the impassive face she put on in front of the lower orders. Nor did she seem to share the concerns of her father. It seemed she saw Nellie as merely a servant performing her duties, and not as a real woman who could possibly pose a threat. Not that Nellie saw herself in those terms either. She blushed slightly and took another sip of her soup to cover her awkwardness.
‘Hmm,’ he said, revealing nothing to Nellie.
‘And I hope the Duke didn’t think it strange that you were recuperating here?’ she probed, looking at him carefully to see his reaction.
His lips tightened slightly, but he made no other reaction. ‘No, the Duke didn’t think it strange.’ It was another response that revealed little to Nellie.
She took another spoonful of soup. Had the Duke said anything to Mr Lockhart about Nellie being his mistress and, if he had, how had Mr Lockhart responded? They were questions Nellie was longing to ask, but couldn’t. Usually she had no qualms about discussing anything with anyone. But this was different. Nellie didn’t know why, but it was.
He lowered his spoon and stared at her. She braced herself, determined that she would not be embarrassed by the conversation to come. If he was going to discuss the Duke’s preposterous assumptions, she would respond sensibly and not be unnerved in the slightest. After all, she had nothing to feel embarrassed about.
‘How did you know what Lady Cecily and I looked like when we were dancing together?’
‘What?’ Nellie shook her head, taken by surprise. It was not the question she was expecting from him.
‘It’s just occurred to me. You were making fun of me and Lady Cecily, but you had never met either of us before.’
‘Oh, that.’ Nellie laughed in relief. ‘I’d been watching from up on the minstrels’ gallery above the ballroom.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You were spying on us?’ His slight smile told Nellie that he was not criticising her, merely teasing.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, that wasn’t really my intention. I wanted to observe the ladies at the ball, to see what fashions they were wearing and how their lady’s maids had styled their hair.’
‘Oh, I suppose I can forgive you then,’ he said, still smiling.
Nellie smiled at him and took another sip of her soup. ‘Are Lady Cecily and her father going to visit you again tomorrow?’ Nellie was unsure why she had brought the conversation back to Lady Cecily’s and the Duke’s visit. Not when it made her so uncomfortable. It was like prodding a wound just to remind yourself how much it hurt.
‘No, I’ve told them there is no need. I’m perfectly all right.’ He looked up at her and smiled. ‘And that I’m being well cared for.’
Nellie was pleased. She would not have to see the Duke again, but was still surprised that Lady Cecily didn’t insist that she visit her fiancé. Perhaps she was waiting till he returned home. Perhaps she didn’t like visiting Nellie’s rooms, although she’d seemed perfectly comfortable in Nellie’s hairdressing parlour.
‘And I suppose your family will want to visit you as well,’ Nellie asked.
He shook his head. ‘I’ve given my valet instructions to not tell my sisters what happened. I don’t want them worried. Instead he’ll just send them a note to say I’ve been delayed in London for a while.’
Nellie nodded. ‘And your parents?’
He shifted slightly in the bed. ‘My parents are both dead.’
Nellie’s spoon halted, halfway to her mouth. She lowered it to her bowl. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
He shook his head slightly. ‘It was a while ago now.’
‘But it still hurts, doesn’t it?’ Nellie was unsure whether she was speaking about the death of Mr Lockhart�
�s parents or her own.
‘Hmm.’ Once again his response revealed nothing.
She looked over at him, her head inclined, waiting for him to explain further.
He sighed slightly. ‘My mother died in childbirth when I was still at school and my father died not long after I finished my education. He had a recurrence of an illness he’d suffered from when he was a child and it affected his heart.’
He continued eating his soup as if that explained everything, but Nellie suspected that his curt response hid a wealth of pain.
‘My parents also died when I was young,’ she said quietly. ‘It was scarlet fever and it took a lot of other people in my village as well.’ Nellie rarely told people about her parents and was unsure why she was telling Mr Lockhart, but the words were out before she had time to consider her reasoning.
He stopped eating and looked at her, his brow furrowed. ‘I’m so sorry, Nellie... Miss Regan. Did you have brothers, sisters, other family members?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Mam was always poorly and I was her only child. They were both orphans.’ She blinked a few times to brush away some pesky tears.
‘I’m sorry. I was lucky, in that I had my sisters, Amanda, Violet and Emmaline. They’re a responsibility and, as the eldest, I had to be strong when my parents died so I could care for them. Not that I begrudge that for one moment. I adore my sisters and will do anything for them.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘These bruises are proof of that. I’d even take a beating so my eldest sister can have her hair done by the famous Nellie Regan.’
She smiled at him, unshed tears still in her eyes.
‘But it must have been hard for you, Nellie... Miss Regan, left all alone. What did you do? How did you cope?’
She blinked a few times and took in a deep breath. ‘When they died, I knew I’d have to go into service, just as my mam had done before me. Then I heard you could get passage to America as there were wealthy people out there looking for servants. I decided if I was going to have to be someone else’s skivvy I might as well make an adventure out of it, so I booked passage to New York.’
He was staring at her intently, still not eating. ‘All by yourself? How old were you?’
‘Thirteen.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Thirteen? That’s so young. You are very brave.’
She shrugged off his compliment. ‘Well, I’ve had to be, haven’t I?’ She picked up his bowl and piled it up on her tray, the bowls clashing together in her impatience. She wanted this conversation to end, even though she had started it.
He smiled at her, a sympathetic smile.
Nellie strode back into the kitchen. She did not need his sympathy, nor did she want his compliments. She had made her way in the world surviving however she could. It was no more than many other women in her situation had been forced to do and there was no point dwelling on misfortunes that were now in the past.
She looked into the hamper and with food like this on offer she did not feel unfortunate in the slightest. She put together a selection of cheeses, cold meats, fruit and slices of pie.
‘I’ll have to rescue men on a regular basis if I get to eat this well.’ Nellie laughed as she carried through the tray and placed it on the bed. ‘We can have a delicious picnic among the bedcovers.’
She looked over at his bruised face and stopped laughing. ‘Sorry, that was cheeky. I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry for what happened to you.’
He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Not your fault, but a picnic among the bedcovers is some compensation.’ He smiled cautiously, trying to avoid further splitting his lip.
They chatted pleasantly throughout the meal, with Mr Lockhart asking her about her day, her business and her plans for the future.
* * *
When they’d finished eating Nellie returned their plates to the kitchen and boiled some water for the dishes. It almost felt like a comfortable domestic situation and Nellie found herself singing as she washed and dried the dishes and put away the plates.
She returned to the room and made up her bed for the evening. ‘You must be getting a bit bored. Would you like some books to read?’
He pointed to his eyes. One was badly swollen, the other horribly bloodshot. ‘Thank you, but it will be a bit hard to read with these eyes.’
Nellie nodded. ‘Would you like me to read to you?’
‘Yes, very much.’
Nellie picked up her collection of Sherlock Holmes stories and settled down to read ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’. As he listened, Nellie smiled to herself. She could think of no better way to end her day than this cosy domestic scene, although it would be nicer if the man in her bed was there from choice and not because of Patrick Kelly’s big fists.
* * *
Dominic lay back on the pillows and let her gentle Irish voice wash over him as she recounted the antics of the fictional consulting detective and his trusty companion, Dr Watson. He missed much of the story as he was too occupied looking at the reader. She was obviously enjoying reading to him. Her brow furrowed during the serious bits, a small smile alighted her lips during the humorous events, and every so often she looked up at him, so they could share a particularly interesting part.
It had been years since anyone had read to him. Not since his mother had died, ten years ago, giving birth to his youngest sister. Since then it had been his role to read to his sisters when they were young, a task that Amanda later took over from him.
If the Duke of Ashmore could see them now it would put paid to his assumption that he was having a torrid affair with Nellie Regan. The Duke had jumped to conclusions, although he had expressed no objections to the idea that Miss Regan was Dominic’s mistress. The only time he’d shown any objections to anything during their visit was when Cecily had said she wanted to go downstairs and have her hair styled. The Duke had been adamant that she should remain in the room with them. It wasn’t until Dominic assured him that it would be all right that the Duke had relented. He had assumed Dominic was informing him that Miss Regan knew how to be discreet, rather than letting him know that she was not his mistress.
And he’d been happy to see Cecily’s departure. She had stood by his bed, looking uncomfortable, as if unsure what she was supposed to do or say. Visiting an injured fiancé was obviously not something she expected to be one of her duties as an engaged woman.
Once Cecily had left, the Duke had made it perfectly clear that he all but expected Dominic to have a mistress and that it would have no effect on his marriage to his daughter. The Duke had said he had no delusions about what the relationship between a husband and a wife was. It was an arrangement for the mutual benefit of both families. He’d even said he envied Dominic for having such an attractive mistress.
And that was one thing the Duke was right about. She certainly was attractive. Although he doubted Nellie Regan would consent to be any man’s kept woman—she was too feisty and independent for that.
Although there was no denying it was a tempting proposition. Despite his injuries, spending time in her humble room, chatting to her, had been an enjoyable experience. The most pleasure he’d had for as long as he could remember. And their picnic among the bedclothes had been fun. It would have been even more fun if she really was his mistress and it had occurred after they had made love.
Visions of how she looked this morning, with the sun streaming through her nightgown, once again invaded his mind. He remembered her shapely body, her full breasts, her tiny waist, her rounded hips and the curve of her bottom, and groaned quietly.
She stopped reading and stood up, her face pinched with worry. ‘Are you in pain? Your valet packed some laudanum. Do you need some?’
Dominic waved her away. Laudanum was not what he needed, being able to feel those luscious curves, to have her in his bed, writhing beneath him, that would relieve the ache that was consuming his body. But that was out of the que
stion. ‘I don’t need laudanum. Please, just continue reading.’ And don’t come so close to me that I can smell your tempting scent of fresh roses, so close I could reach out and caress those curves I so long to touch.
What was wrong with him?
Nellie Regan was helping him. Without her he would have been left bleeding in the street, vulnerable to further attack. She had given up her bed for him and he was repaying that debt by lusting after her. That was something he had to get under control. Perhaps he should ask for some laudanum after all, to block out these wild, inappropriate thoughts.
He forced himself to concentrate on the story she was reading, only to realise it was the tale of an engaged man who had an affair with another woman, whom he was in love with but couldn’t marry because she was of the wrong class. Of all the stories she could have picked, why on earth did she choose that one?
When it was finished Nellie looked up at him, a slight blush on her face. ‘It’s all a bit of nonsense really, but Arthur Conan Doyle definitely tells an exciting yarn.’
He nodded his agreement. Of course, it was a bit of nonsense. Falling in love with the wrong person, wasn’t that exactly what his parents had done? They had let passions rule their lives and look where it had got them. Fortunately, Dominic was not like them. He had made a sensible arrangement with Cecily. He just had to remember that and stop these ludicrous images and thoughts from invading his mind.
She closed the book and put it on the bedside table. ‘Well, you must be tired. I certainly am.’ She looked over at the small bed.
‘I’m sorry you had to sleep in your armchair last night and that I’m still taking your bed. I did ask Burgess to move me to the smaller bed but, most unlike him, he refused.’
For some reason her blushing cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. ‘I was perfectly comfortable last night. And your valet was quite right. Until we know for certain that you haven’t broken a rib you mustn’t move. Doctor’s orders. That bed will be comfortable enough, I’m sure.’