Poor Mrs. Burnham would be left where she had begun: with no lady’s maid in the middle of the London Season.
What I found most intriguing was Mrs. Burnham had sent the letter to Faircroft House. The only way she could have known to do so was if she’d seen the card I had handed to the butler when I’d arrived. If she’d done so, how had she not also seen the name ‘Juliet Sinclair?’
“How odd,” I murmured. What reasoning must she have used to justify that?
My thoughts went to the oldest Burnham daughter, the only one I had been acquainted with on any sort of level. Eugenia was a sweet child when I knew her, and I wondered whether her character had changed in the eight years since I had last spent time with her. She would be grown up and having her first Season this year.
“I feel quite ancient,” I sighed. I wasn’t really, being only three and twenty, but I also wasn’t a bright-eyed young woman, thrilled and excited over the events, dinners, and balls that came with the flurry of activity that was known as the London Season. Merely thinking of it was exhausting!
I didn’t even realize I had the letter back in my hand until I found myself rereading it. There was the barest glimmer of an idea in the back of my mind, one I knew was probably not the best of plans. “Don’t be a fool, Juliet,” I told myself. “There’s nothing you can do.”
I forced myself to set the letter down to finish my repast, but again, found my eyes straying to it. When Carter came back in, I had hardly eaten a bite, and she tutted in disappointment. I didn’t take much notice of her disapproval, though. I was on the verge of doing something impulsive and ill-advised. I’d wanted a new plan to investigate the rumors and now I knew what to do.
“Carter,” I said slowly. “Can you explain to me in detail everything a lady’s maid is required to do?”
Chapter Two
“Juliet, don’t be a hasty-witted gudgeon! You’ll never succeed! You’re not meant for that world!”
The moment I stepped into the kitchen as a servant of the Burnham household, I knew Aunt Beth’s protesting warnings were going to be more accurate than I had anticipated. My hands felt clammy inside my gloves, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Nevertheless, I kept my chin up, determined not to allow any trace of nervousness to show.
Not here.
By my side was Mrs. Wilder, the housekeeper. In front of me, it appeared most of the Burnham servants were engaged in their work. All motion had come to a halt as I, the newcomer, became the object of open stares. It was nothing less than what I had been warned to expect, but still, it was unnerving.
“This is Miss Nelson,” Mrs. Wilder announced. Her tone, oddly enough, was one of annoyance. “She’s the new lady’s maid.”
Her words and tone of voice made it sound as though some great mistake had been made and I was at fault. Perhaps she was trying to discompose me.
Quite honestly, it was working.
Knowing I had to maintain an outward appearance of calm, I met every pair of eyes that openly stared at me. There were two maids, one of whom looked the epitome of shock. The woman at the oven had her arms crossed and a sullen expression.
In fact, I realized no one in the kitchen seemed at all pleased that I was there. My chin came up ever so slightly before I caught myself. While it wasn’t in my job description to make friends with them, I was fairly certain it would make my whole situation slightly more bearable if I were to have at least allies among them.
“I am Wilder, the butler.” This came from the tall, thin man who had allowed me into the house before. Ah, Mrs. Wilder’s husband. I nodded in acknowledgment, not trusting myself to say anything at this point that wouldn’t offend everyone in the room. He continued, “I trust you will serve the Burnham ladies to the best of your abilities.”
For some reason, I had the feeling the words ‘or else’ were meant to be attached to the end of his sentence. I wonder what the ‘or else’ would have been if he had seen fit to add it. In any event, I met his gaze and held myself with as much dignity as I could muster. This was one of the most important things to do at this point. Or so I had been told.
“I shall endeavor not to fall short of the expectations placed upon me,” I said evenly. I couldn’t show weakness, and I could not let their dislike affect me. I maintained eye contact with him, even though deep down inside I was quaking in my boots. I’d never been on this side of a butler before. I had always been a member of the family, someone to be respected without question or hesitation.
In a completely different life.
It seemed I had passed the butler’s inspection, for he turned away to give something else his undivided attention. Or else he had decided I wasn’t worth any more of his time. I really couldn’t be sure, but I imagined I would find out eventually.
The footman—and I only knew his position from the livery he was wearing—kept trying to catch my eye, a wide grin on his face. Him, I decided, I would need to keep my distance from. A flirtation with anyone, let alone a footman who thought too much of himself, was nowhere on my list of objectives. I felt my cheeks flushing red as I thought of it.
Forcing that thought away and barely keeping back a shudder of disgust, I glanced at the only face that held even a hint of kindness, one that belonged to the kitchen maid. The small, frail girl with big eyes tilted her head, studying me with open curiosity.
This wasn’t the entire staff in the house. I knew the grooms would be out in the stable, though I would hopefully not need to cross paths with any of them. And Mr. Burnham’s valet would be somewhere in the house, going about his duties for his master. Overall, it seemed like an average sized household for a well-bred and genteel family like the Burnhams.
In fact, it wasn’t much different from the kind of household I had known as a child. No. I couldn’t think about Faircroft or Westwood Park. It would only lead to homesickness and grief which would get me nowhere.
“Your room will be this way, Miss Nelson,” Mrs. Wilder said, reclaiming my attention. She’d moved back to the doorway without me realizing it. I had allowed myself to get too distracted, trying not to think about my past. “I’m only going to show you once, so you best pay attention now.”
I had known I wasn’t going to be well-liked. I’d been warned over and over it was going to be like this. It would be the height of folly to take such actions and words personally. And yet, it felt highly personal. These people didn’t know me, and they were judging me?
The irony was obvious. Where else had I known of one group of people judging someone by their actions or appearance?
Before I could follow that thought through, though, we passed a junction where the servants’ areas connected with the main house. I glanced that way and spotted two men at the end of the hallway. The older man with graying hair I realized must be Mr. Burnham. However, there was something about the second, younger man that seemed familiar to me for some reason.
Several steps past the doorway, my breath caught in my throat. He was the same man I had passed after my interview with Mrs. Burnham. And he looked familiar because I did, in fact, know him! From over five years previous! “Mr. Harper,” I breathed out, my steps hesitating for only a moment.
What was he doing here? From what little I knew of him, nothing had told me Oswyn Harper, a man who had been one of my brother’s closest friends, had any connection with the Burnham family. If he recognized me, I was done for!
My initial panic subsided. He hadn’t known me before. There was hope our paths wouldn’t cross and he wouldn’t be reminded of who I really was.
“Did you say something, Miss Nelson?” Mrs. Wilder asked over her shoulder, catching my attention. We were now approaching the bottom of a narrow staircase.
“No, Mrs. Wilder,” I lied, struggling to keep a subservient tone to my voice. After a moment, she seemed to accept my words and started up the steps.
The whole situation was not going as smoothly as I had hoped it would. There had been nothing even remotely smooth ab
out my entrance into the household. I was going to have to keep a stricter watch on my tongue. I’d thought I knew what it meant to keep myself in check, but I was a mere novice at the act.
As I followed my escort through the narrow hallway, I shook my head. I couldn’t allow myself to be so sensitive. I had a job to do now, and I had to concentrate my energy on that. Otherwise, this whole charade would have been for nothing.
We reached the very top of the house, yet another unusual place for me to be in. Mrs. Wilder opened the first door to my right and then stepped aside. “This will be where you sleep as long as you remain in this household,” she said, barely glancing over her shoulder. “However long that may be.”
If all of the household servants acted in this same manner all the time, I couldn’t be surprised a new lady’s maid hadn’t lasted more than a month here. I wasn’t about to let myself be scared away, though, and I put on a calm smile. Nothing annoyed people more than the appearance that what they said or did wasn’t having the effect they expected.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wilder,” I said to the housekeeper. I, for one, was determined to display the manners I had been raised with. “I am certain my days here will be most instructive.”
She sniffed again and continued down the hallway, presumably to inspect the other rooms. I stepped into what would be my private area for the duration of my time in the Burnham household. My little trunk had already been placed on the floor by the bed. Without even really thinking about it, my fingers untied the ribbons of my bonnet, and I removed it from my head.
“Well, here I am, for better or for worse,” I said aloud. I turned in a slow circle to take in the whole room. Besides the narrow bed, there was a small washstand at the corner with a straight back chair right next to it. A window devoid of any covering allowed the outside light in.
“Well, that will be the first thing I change,” I said, eyeing the open view with dislike. While I knew it was unlikely anyone would ever be able to look in, I did not like the thought there was no way to block it off.
Setting my bonnet on the bed, I knelt by my trunk. I ran my hands over it, remembering how I had spent so much care and time in packing everything in. Had it only been one day since I’d done so?
How Aunt Beth had fussed over my going! Up until the moment I climbed into the hackney carriage, she had pleaded with me to stop and think about what I was doing. More than a few Shakespearean insults had left her lips.
Shaking my head, I pushed the thought of her sad, teary eyes out of my mind. I had to keep myself busy, or homesickness would be sure to make me cry. Seeing a face from the past had already upset my peace of mind.
I sincerely hoped there was a reasonable explanation for Oswyn Harper being in the house, and that he wouldn’t be back anytime soon. Not that a lady’s maid would cross paths with a guest, but unexpected things happen, more often than not. I couldn’t afford to get exposed so early into my mission.
Setting myself to the task of making the bare space my own with what I had, I opened my trunk and reached in to pull out my belongings. The goal was that, once I had my things arranged, I would begin to feel more at home. My aunt’s words echoed in my mind; her warnings of failure and disaster. “I will succeed,” I whispered with as much determination as I could muster up. “I have to.”
I’D JUST PULLED THE last item out of the trunk–the one book I’d allowed myself for entertainment–when there was a sharp rap on the door and the squeak of the door opening. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the sullen maid standing there. “Yes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. The demeanor I’d seen before was her normal disposition. “Did I give you leave to enter?”
“Mrs. Burnham has requested your presence in her dressing room,” the maid announced, ignoring my question. “I’m to take you there now.”
What? Now? I wasn’t to begin my duties until morning. But, what could I do? Refuse and be dismissed without even having a chance to prove myself? That was entirely out of the question. My hands were, figuratively speaking, tied.
“Of course,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. I was now at the mercy of my mistress’ bidding. With swift fingers, I unbuttoned my pelisse and after I’d shrugged it off, I left it lying on the bed alongside my bonnet. “Let us not waste any time.”
An almost sneer crossed the girl’s face, making what would have been a sweet countenance ugly. I was unable to keep my eyes from widening in surprise. This was going well beyond the disdain I’d been told to expect, and the disagreeableness I had seen earlier.
It was outright hatred.
No one had ever hated me before. There were, as is common enough, people I did not get on with and some I was indifferent to at best. And I know there were a few who did not care for my company. Sarah Weston was a name that came to mind on that account! But it was never hatred; more of an agreed avoidance.
Avoidance would not be possible in this case.
“This way if you’re coming, Miss Nelson,” the maid said, a distinct note of insolence in her voice. She turned her back on me and began walking. “Some of us have work to do at this time of the day.”
Pursing my lips, I walked out to the hallway. I made sure to close the door firmly behind me. Why was she acting in this manner? It made no sense. I had done nothing to her, and we had barely even met. I pushed it to the back of my mind to consider later when I had more time to do so thoroughly.
“What is your name, girl?” I asked as I followed her down to the family’s section of the house. Perhaps the more I became familiar with her, the less her hatred would become? A naive hope, to be sure, but one I had to cling to. I disliked division and conflict, so any attempt on my part to fix the situation would be well worth the effort.
She hesitated. “Mary, Miss Nelson.”
Politeness, at least, and that was the last word I heard out of her. However, it was a start. She paused in front of the door and glanced over her shoulder at me. She nodded toward the door and then continued on her way. I watched until she vanished from sight and shook my head.
Taking a deep breath, I smoothed my dark gray dress and tried to convince myself there was no reason to be nervous about the meeting ahead of me. By all rights, the interview should have been the most nerve-wracking part of it all. I grasped the doorknob and pushed the door open. I stepped in and was immediately overwhelmed with pink.
The walls were pink, the paintings were mostly pink, and the curtains were lacy pink. The rugs on the floor were a darker shade, but pink nonetheless.
It was almost nauseating how pink it was in that small space. I had no words, and I believe I stood in the doorway for nearly a minute, just staring at the room. And then I finally saw my employer, blending in because she was wearing—what else?—pink.
“Oh, there you are, Nelson,” Mrs. Burnham exclaimed, looking up. She was reclining on the chaise longue in the middle of the room. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice my lack of propriety in standing in the doorway. “I’m so glad you have finally come. There are just so many things that need to be done before the dinner tomorrow night.”
A young lady was sitting on a stool next to the lounge, a book on her lap, and she lifted her head to look at me. Instantly, I recognized Eugenia Burnham, part of the reason I had chosen to come to the house. I took a moment to study her.
She was a pretty enough girl. Her eyes were her best feature, I decided. They were a light blue and held an intelligence I couldn’t help but like. Her hair, unfortunately, seemed to be a tangled mess of curls, though arranged in a presentable manner. And her dress did nothing to show her figure off the best advantage.
If I were to be perfectly honest, pink was not the right color for her. And so many ruffles and frills were not flattering. For anyone.
“Eugenia, this is the new lady’s maid I told you about,” Mrs. Burnham said, putting her hand on her daughter’s arm. There was an affectionate tone to the woman’s voice I had quite honestly not expected to hear. “I tried to convince your father we
needed a French maid. Perhaps people will think she is one if we call her Julie? Julie sounds almost French, does it not?”
My jaw clenched at the indignity of being talked about as if I were not in the room. “Mama, I think all we should worry about is whether she is going to stay or not,” Eugenia responded, studying me in return. “I thought Papa was going to consider Mary for the position.”
Oh. That certainly cleared up my confusion. I should have guessed the root of Mary’s animosity towards me. It was no secret that for a maid, advancing to the position of lady’s maid was an important step. If I had been in her shoes, how would I have viewed an interloper coming into the house and taking on the position I had aspired to take on?
I would have been incensed. No wonder she had been so hateful!
“Mary hasn’t the experience to take on the position,” Mrs. Burnham explained, her tone dismissive. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Perhaps, given time, she will become useful. Right now, though, we need you looking your very best, Eugenia. You know how important it is for the family.”
It was as though they had completely forgotten about my presence and I had no idea whether that was good or bad. A servant was supposed to be invisible until they were wanted, but I had been called here so there must have been a reason.
Eugenia shook her head, closing the book she had in her lap. “It’s not fair to put all the family’s hopes on me, Mama,” she protested. “You expect too much from me. I am not the kind of girl that will make the brilliant match that all society will talk of. You know that.”
I couldn’t help but feel sympathy when I heard her say those words. I remembered feeling doubt and concern that I was not the type of girl young men would be interested when I had first faced the London Season. Brilliant, or at least good, marriages were expected of all well-bred young ladies. To fail was the ultimate disgrace, especially when so much was expected.
But I couldn’t express my sympathy. I cleared my throat softly, and they both turned towards me with no little surprise on their faces. “Was there something specific you wanted me to do, ma’am?” I asked. If they said too much and then realized I was there, it could not possibly go well for my future in the household.
Regency Rumors (The Sinclair Society Series, #1) Page 2