Benjamin looked about to see if the girl was alone or had brought comrades along for the merry hunt. “Where are your parents?”
“Dead,” she snapped, still struggling.
“I see.” Benjamin’s heart went out to the poor girl. He knew all too well the pain of losing one’s parents. His mother had died in childbirth along with his baby brother, and the pain of the loss of his father was still all too fresh.
“Unhand me, you fiend!” the girl cried, kicking Benjamin in the leg.
“Fiend?” Benjamin chuckled. “You are the fiend. I should have you transported to the Australian penal colonies,” he threatened, making the girl go quiet with fear. “But, I will not. Such places are wholly unsuited to properly guard the virtues of the feminine sex. What is your name may I ask?”
She stopped struggling in favor of seeing what her captor intended to do with her. “Regina Buxton.”
“Benjamin Allen, Duke of Lyndon, at your service,” he introduced himself with a slight bow.
“Your Grace.” She lowered into a mock curtsy; Benjamin shook his head at her hubris. The girl was beautiful in spite of her attire, with long chestnut curls and mismatched amber-green eyes.
Benjamin had never seen anything like her before. He assumed many orphans of common birth turned to thievery to survive. On his trips to London, he would see many such individuals darting in and out of the crowds taking whatever their nimble fingers could extract. He surmised from her lack of prowess that Regina Buxton had not been a thief for very long.
Had she been a man, Benjamin would have turned her over to the authorities without a second thought. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with a woman. He couldn’t countenance such beauty being snuffed out at the end of a rope, but he also could not in all good conscience allow her to continue roaming free to rob any unfortunate wayfarer passing through.
What am I to do with you? He removed the blade from her throat and wished he had taken another route home to avoid the incident altogether. To hand her over to the authorities was not an option his scruples would allow. Sending her to a workhouse was not an ideal alternative as such institutions were little more than deathtraps. There were not any nunneries he could take her to, and he highly doubted that the local minister would be able to handle a girl such as she.
Benjamin examined her from head to toe. She was strong, obviously used to a hard day’s labor.Just before he left for Dutton, he remembered his valet, Jones, mentioning a servant shortage in the kitchens. The shortage had led to his dinner being late, and his valet had been given the task of informing him as to why. He mulled the idea over in his mind. There was no way she could be trusted fully, but given half a chance… I wonder.
Taking a step back, Benjamin put his thoughts into words. “I am of a mind to take you into my service. Being an orphan, I realize you are at a disadvantage in life. Can I assume that you have turned to theft due to this?” Benjamin received a nod in reply. “If I were to bring you on as a servant in my household, would you vow to never participate in any form of skullduggery ever again or at least while under my employ?”
Chapter 3
Regina considered her options. There was nothing for her back home but pain and misery. She had been forced to steal to survive, and every time she did so, she pictured her father’s disappointed face. The worst that could happen by working for him would be failure and I would be forced to run again. It is certainly better than transportation to an Australian penal colony, and if he wished to do me ill, he could have already done so right where we stand.
Regina nodded. “Yes, I vow it.” She had many reservations about the situation, but she knew she could not continue on as she had been. She did not trust easily, but she had been given little choice. It was highly doubtful that living the life of a servant in a grand house would be any more dangerous than the life she now led.
“Very well, I will hold you to your word, but should you violate it in any way, I will have no choice but to hand you over to the authorities.” The Duke mounted his horse and Regina took his hand to assist her up behind him. “I realize this position is a bit indelicate; however, you will need to hold on to me so as not to fall off. We still have some distance to travel before arriving home.”
Regina wrapped her arms around the Duke’s waist and held on for her life. She had never really liked horses. Anything she couldn’t control while riding atop it made her nervous. One could not read the mind of a horse, so one never knew what they were thinking or what they were about to do. She was sure there was some kind of trick or skill to it, but one she had not been born with.
When horses had been brought in for her father to shoe, she had stayed well clear of them. Her father had found it somewhat humorous, a blacksmith’s daughter with a fear of horses, but he had never forced her to work with the equines that frequented the shop knowing she had more than enough to overcome in life already.
A brave girl like you is allowed at least one unchallenged fear, her father would say while tousling her curls as she hid behind a work bench. Regina had been forced to hire a farrier to deal with the horses and assist around the shop upon her father’s passing.
Galloping through the countryside, Regina wished now she had found the courage to overcome that fear. Bouncing along upon the hindquarters of a steed was not her ideal mode of transportation, but it would have been made considerably better had she not been rigid with fear. If the Duke noticed, he was too gallant to say so, and for this, at least, she was grateful.
In an attempt to distract herself, Regina examined her new employer. He was well built, tall with shoulder length auburn hair quite unlike the shorter styles currently dictated by the ton. His piercing blue eyes appeared to delve into one’s very soul. The man exuded masculine strength.
Upon reaching their destination, Regina’s eyes lit up in wonder and awe.
“Welcome to Lyndon Manor, home to the Dukes and Duchesses of Lyndon for nearly five-hundred years,” the Duke announced as they galloped up the drive, “and now your home as well.”
Regina was speechless. As they approached the manor house, a footman in black livery stepped forward to take the reins. “Welcome home, Your Grace,” he greeted bowing.
He dismounted, then kindly clapped the servant’s shoulder and replied, “Thank you, Arthur.” He reached up, grabbed Regina by the waist and lifted her from the horse’s back to place her gently on firm ground once more.
Regina sighed with relief and took a step back from her dapple-grey nemesis. The Dukes of Lyndon, like many of their neighbors, had built an elegant manor house in accordance with the custom of the age, but had retained the medieval stone from the castle of their forefathers. The grey stone edifice towered overhead blocking out the sun with its high walls.
Entering through the front doors, the Duke greeted his butler, a tall stately fellow who took the riding crop and hat. “Vaughn.”
“Welcome home, Your Grace. Lord Allen awaits you in the library.”
“Yes, thank you, Vaughn,” the Duke responded. “Could you please take Miss Buxton here to the stairs below to confer with Mrs. Harrington about a suitable position for whatever skills she may possess in the kitchen? Jones informed me of the staffing needs in that area.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Vaughn bowed then motioned for Regina to follow him.
“I will come down and see how you are faring presently,” the Duke addressed Regina, bowed slightly and went off in search of his uncle.
Curtseying to the Duke’s retreating back, Regina turned to follow the butler. She didn’t imagine they had need of a blacksmith in the kitchens. She couldn’t cook, evidenced by all the burnt meals along the road during her brief stint as a thief. She couldn’t imagine what kind of employment she could possibly find in a house such as this and hoped this Mrs. Harrington had a better notion. One step into the kitchen and every head turned to take in the newcomer.
“Mrs. Harrington, I have a newcomer for you. A gift from His Grace to use as
you see fit,” Vaughn informed the cook.
“Thank ye, Mr. Vaughn.” Wiping her hands on the apron enwrapping her massive girth, the cook took in Regina from head to toe. “What are ye good at girl? I am in need of a new scullery maid. Mine up and got herself married to the grocer’s son. I should have known better than to allow their flirtation when he made his deliveries. Ah well, isn’t that the way of it, lax attentions now leads to repentance later. Can ye clean and tend fires, girl?”
“Yes, Mrs. Harrington,” If there was one thing Regina knew well, it was tending fires—a crucial element of blacksmithing.
“Excellent.Now let us get ye into something more suitable, shall we? What in heaven’s name are ye wearing?” Mrs. Harrington bustled off motioning for Regina to follow.
Climbing a back set of narrow stairs to what appeared to be the manor’s version of an attic, Regina found herself in a narrow hallway lined with doors. Mrs. Harrington led her to one of the rooms at the very end of the hall. “These are the servants’ quarters,” she explained. “This section is for the female staff. Ye are to never under any circumstances enter any of the male servants’ rooms at the other end of the hall.” She motioned with her hand indicating which end of the hall held the men’s quarters.
“Yes, Mrs. Harrington.” That would be easy enough. She had no desire to enter said rooms under any circumstances.
“This will be your room,” Mrs. Harrington informed as she opened the door and motioned Regina to enter. “Ye will share it with Joceline, one of the housemaids. Ye will have to borrow one of her uniforms until we can find one in your size. Normally, such staffing issues would be dealt with by the head housekeeper, Mrs. Carr, but she is away just now on a family matter.”
“Yes, Mrs. Harrington,” Regina responded, once more taking in her surroundings.
She wasn’t keen on having to share a room with another person; low-level servants were not allowed the luxury of privacy. The room consisted of two narrow beds, a plain wooden armoire, and a washstand with a pitcher and bowl. The walls were plain, without decoration, as were the wooden floors beneath her feet.
Except for one lone stem of dried bluebells in a chipped white vase on the corner of the washstand the room lacked joy or personality of any kind. She could almost feel the effervescent hopes of the young housemaid who had placed it there emanating from that one tiny speck of color in an otherwise drab world.
“Hurry, now. There is much to be done if we are to serve His Grace’s supper on time,” Mrs. Harrington ordered as she bustled from the room as fast as her short, round legs would carry her.
Regina smiled. Her father had always said you could tell a good cook by their shape. A plump chef is a good chef.
Changing out of her clothes, Regina bathed at the washstand, then donned the borrowed garment Mrs. Harrington had laid out for her. The sleeves and length were a bit short, and it was a little tight in the chest, but it would do until something else could be procured. Whoever owned this dress was a tiny lass indeed. Unable to fit into the house maid’s shoes, Regina donned her boots and returned to the kitchen.
When Mrs. Harrington laid eyes on her once more, she clucked her tongue in dismay. “Needs must,” she responded to the scene before her, shaking her head in disapproval. “We will need to remedy the issue as soon as possible. I will set one of the maids to it after supper. Now see to peeling those potatoes.” She gestured to a brown sack of spuds, handing Regina a knife.
Regina was feeling a bit numb from the swiftly changing course her life was taking. A myriad of possible scenarios had passed through her mind in the days following her escape from Catherine, but becoming part of the Duke’s service certainly hadn’t been among them. If anything, she had counted on spending the rest of her life pretending to be a man.
She knew all too well from past experience working in her father’s shop that few people would hire a woman blacksmith regardless of her skill. She had never considered becoming a scullery maid. Her independent spirit made her ill-suited to a life of servitude, but necessity had demanded otherwise. I should be thankful.I could have been arrested for attempting to steal from a Duke. Or worse…
She absently lifted a potato from the sack and set to work wielding the knife along the dirt covered surface of each tuber preparing it to be boiled. Knife work was akin to breathing for Regina and required very little of her mental capacity to accomplish. Her mind wandered as she peeled taking in her new surroundings and the people who inhabited them.
The kitchen was rather large in size with all the accoutrements required for the preparation of many lavish dishes. Mrs. Harrington wielded her authority like the captain of a ship, brisk and unyielding in its absolutism. Whomever she directed her attentions toward, they would scurry about to obey as if their very souls depended upon the outcome of her good grace.
When she had finished peeling the potatoes, Mrs. Harrington set Regina to peeling and cutting up an assortment of other vegetables varying in shape, texture, and size. “When His Grace has been out hunting and riding, he likes to come home to a good, warm soup,” Mrs. Harrington stated as she stirred the soup stock on the stove. “A good, nourishing soup warms the bones and lifts the spirits.”
“Right you are, Mrs. Harrington,” the Duke’s deep voice agreed from the doorway behind them startling the cook.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Harrington curtsied deeply, motioning for Regina to do the same. “How can we be of service?”
“I won’t be underfoot for long. I simply wished to ensure our newest arrival had settled in,” he inquired lifting his eyebrows in Regina’s direction.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Regina curtsied. “Mrs. Harrington has been most accommodating,” she replied, taking in Mrs. Harrington’s gape-mouthed expression somewhat resembling the salmon she had been stuffing earlier. Apparently, His Grace did not make frequent appearances belowstairs.
“Excellent! I will leave you to your duties then.” Nodding his head at Regina and Mrs. Harrington in turn, the Duke left the kitchen.
“Well, I never.” Mrs. Harrington turned to gawk at Regina before recovering her senses and returning to her usual authoritarian manner. “Hurry up girl! Those vegetables will not cut themselves,” she admonished.
That night, as Regina climbed the stairs to bed, she was exhausted beyond all measure. She was overwhelmed by the path her life had so abruptly taken.
She had received many suspicious looks from the other servants for her sudden appearance in their household. Their suspicions seemed to grow as Regina had remained silent and distrustful herself throughout the evening’s tasks. By end of day, she had grown surly from tamping down the myriad of emotions she was feeling.
A scullery maid’s duties meant that they were frequently the last to bed and the first to rise. She was not looking forward to the morning. She found herself resenting the fact that a single person could own so much land and property, while the majority of people barely managed to scrape together an existence. On one hand, she was grateful to the Duke for taking her in, on the other, she despised him for his opulent heritage.
As she entered her room, she noted that her roommate had left a lamp burning for her on the washstand. She examined the delicate feminine features of the girl Mrs. Harrington had called Joceline.
The girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen years of age. She slept peacefully with the tiniest hint of a smile turning up the corners of her lips. Regina wondered if she were dreaming or if she were one of those people that was always happy, no matter the circumstances.
How could anyone be happy in service to another human being? she thought as she disrobed. First opportunity, once I have saved enough money from my earnings, I will be leaving here to pursue a better life. A life that will be all my own, where no one will dictate my fate—no one. Blowing out the lamp, Regina crawled into bed.
The next morning, Regina was awakened by the most cheerful whistling she had ever heard. Pulling the pillow over her head, she attempted to block
out the sound. “Ugh, how can you be so bloody cheerful?” she inquired of her roommate. In her frustration, Regina had abandoned all sense of decorum and slid into her highwayman’s vernacular.
“What is there not to be cheerful about?” Joceline asked from her position at the washstand. Walking over to Regina’s bedside, she curtsied in greeting, “My name is Joceline Sinclair.”
“Regina Buxton,” Regina responded removing the pillow to peer at her roommate through shuttered lids. The sun had not yet made its appearance outside the room’s one tiny window.
“Best not to be late on your first full day of duties,” Joceline encouraged her to rise by pulling the blankets down to Regina’s feet. “Here, I altered a dress for you last eve knowing you would need it this morn.” She handed over the garment. “See you belowstairs,” she chirped, then practically skipped out the door.
Groaning, Regina rolled out of bed and readied herself for the day. As per Mrs. Harrington’s instructions last night, the fireplaces would need to be cleaned and laid before the Duke and Lord Allen arose. The last thing Regina needed was to be turned out before she had a chance to earn some much-needed funds.
Slipping quietly from room to room, Regina tended to her assigned duties. Being a maid was a far cry from blacksmithing. She missed the feel of the hammer in her hand and the orange glow of heated metal. Most of all she missed the satisfaction that creating a superb piece of weaponry endowed.
She did not, however, miss Mistress Smith’s cruelty. Regina would do whatever it took, including debasing herself to the level of scullery maid, to keep from going back. She supposed she should be scared of starting a new life in unknown environs such as she found herself, but she had lived through much worse and anything was better than what she had thus far endured.
While tending the fire in the library, she was startled by the voice of the Duke behind her. “I see you are off to a good start,” he stated coming around his desk to stand beside her. “You lay an excellent fire, Miss Buxton.”
The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 31