“Of course, ma’am,” Stella said, curtsied, and left the room, and went to deliver the message to Angélique in the nursery. “How is she?” she asked about Emma, looking genuinely concerned.
“A little better. The poor thing was very sick.”
“So I hear. Her mother is terrified to catch it now—she says you’re not to come anywhere near the second-floor hall, and keep to the back stairs. You won’t be coming down to the drawing room anytime soon!” She laughed, and Angélique smiled. They both knew their mistress well. Stella went back to Eugenia’s dressing room then, and assured Eugenia she hadn’t touched anyone or anything. And with that, she told Stella to pour a bath for her, and she could do her hair afterward, she had friends coming to dinner. Stella went to get the buckets of warm water from the pantry where they heated them, and Eugenia sat down at her dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if she should try something different with her hair.
Chapter 9
The Fergusons spent most of February in London, and returned to their house in Hampshire in March. Eugenia had brought trunks of new gowns back from London, which were made of beautiful silks, and showed more of her bosom than the gowns she’d had before. Some of them were very daring. And Stella had learned some new styles for her hair. Eugenia was lovelier-looking than ever. She saw her children, for tea on Sunday, for the first time in almost two months, since she had avoided them for weeks after Emma had influenza, and didn’t visit them before she left. She was surprised how much the twins had grown at ten months, and George had just started walking. Emma was deeply attached to Angélique by then, particularly after her illness, which had left her weak for longer than expected, but by March Emma was in good health again.
They were having a house party the week after they came home, and Gilhooley and Mrs. Allbright were busy planning it. The Fergusons had added some new acquaintances to their repertoire of houseguests, notably several handsome bachelors who had courted Eugenia openly, and flirted with her in London. And Harry didn’t seem to mind. He had dalliances of his own, albeit discreetly. And flirting with others had always been somewhat their style, whether innocent or not. They were both good-looking people, and Harry kept her bejeweled and decked out in the latest fashions and denied her nothing. He had achieved the family he’d wanted from her, with six children. She’d been a good sport about it and a willing partner, until the twins, and he was grateful to her for that, and rewarded her handsomely for it.
Angélique had had two more letters from Mrs. White, with tales of what was going on at Belgrave, more remodeling, more decorating, new fabrics everywhere, constant parties and houseguests, and hordes of new staff. It sounded like Elizabeth was in competition with Eugenia, and had a far more important house in which to do it. It made Angélique homesick hearing about it, and long for the way things used to be. Her father had been gone for nearly a year and a half, and it was hard to believe she’d ever had a life other than as a servant on the Fergusons’ staff. Her own days of grandeur, comfort, and ease were over. She was a working person now, unless she found a husband to support her, which seemed unlikely. The only men available to her were footmen, or grooms, or an underbutler, and she somehow couldn’t imagine doing that. She was trapped in a no-man’s-land as a servant, born into a higher social class than the rest of them, which would have made them uncomfortable about her if they’d known that she was in fact a duke’s daughter. But her secret had been kept so far. She couldn’t imagine marrying anyone, or having children of her own, in her new life, which made her charges even more precious to her, and made her more willing to stay in her job, although she thought Eugenia a terrible mother and didn’t respect her. Her children hardly knew her. Even more than the rest of her peers, she spent as little time as possible with them.
Once the house party began, with twenty guests staying at Ferguson Manor, Angélique didn’t expect her employers to see the children, and she devised entertainments for them that would keep them well away from their parents and guests. Visitors always delighted in the complicated maze and the beauties of the park, so she took them walking in the remoter areas, and down to the lake early in the morning to feed the ducks and swans. The weather was fine, so Rupert and Emma had their riding lesson on their ponies. She was pushing Rose back to the house in the pram, since she wasn’t walking yet, and Helen had already gone back with Charles and George, when Angélique encountered a particularly handsome male guest out walking on his own. He looked surprised and pleased when he saw Angélique with Rose in her pram.
“My, my, what have we here,” he said, laughing. “A sprite of the forest, and such a lovely one at that.” He could easily see that she was a nanny, given her dress, the cape she wore over it, and her cap, with the baby with her. And she blushed at his comment. “Hello,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Where have you been hiding?” He was very bold in his remarks, and Angélique continued on the path. Rupert and Emma were still at their riding lesson, and the guests weren’t up yet. Or at least they weren’t out walking—the men were probably in the dining room for breakfast. The women were served the first meal of the day on trays in their rooms, which they preferred.
“What’s your name?” he asked, observing her closely. He was very tall, well built, and had dark hair and dark eyes. Angélique looked tiny beside him.
“Nanny Ferguson,” she answered politely, hoping he’d go away before they reached the house. She didn’t want him walking in with her and causing comment.
“Not that name, silly—your real one, your first name. Mary? Jane? Margaret?” He tried guessing, and wouldn’t leave her alone, and they were still a long way from the house. She had strolled farther than she meant to with the pram.
“Angélique,” she said quietly, not wanting to be rude to him, but not wanting to encourage him either. Some of their friends were fairly racy, and all were young, some not much older than she was, but they lived in a different world. And she had never been part of the group that surrounded Eugenia and Harry. They were more like her brothers’ friends than anyone she had known in her father’s home, who were all better behaved, older, and more dignified.
“What a pretty name,” he commented when she told him, albeit reluctantly. “French, I assume. But you sound English.” And something about her told him that she was not an ordinary servant. He knew from the way she walked, and her accent, that she was, or had been, of higher rank. She was more like one of the nannies from genteel families that had lost their money. “Why haven’t I seen you at the house in London?” he questioned her, as she prayed he’d go away, but he showed no sign of it.
“They leave the children in Hampshire most of the time.” The year before they’d spent a month there, but after Emma’s illness, they hadn’t taken them to London again.
“That must be boring for you,” he said sympathetically.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t pretend to me that you like it here, my girl. You’re much too pretty to waste your life in the country.” She didn’t answer, and hastened along, quickening her step, and he had no trouble following her with his long stride. “A girl like you should be in London.”
“I’m very happy here, sir,” she said politely, wishing him to perdition. She wasn’t flattered by his attention, but unnerved by it. No guest had ever been this insistent with her before, or paid as much attention to her, in a way she didn’t welcome or like. Even Eugenia’s brother Maynard hadn’t been as bold.
“I’m going to be coming down here a lot more this spring and summer, to visit”—he hesitated for a second—“your employers. You and I could be great friends, and have some fun.” He was shameless in what he was suggesting. “Think about it,” he said, as she kept her gaze on the pram, and didn’t look at him, nor respond. “You’re a shy one,” he added. “You don’t need to be shy with me. I won’t tell anyone, you know. You can rely on me.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said as the house came mercifully into view, an
d she nearly ran toward it, trying to escape him. He laughed as she hurried away, and he watched her go in through the servants’ entrance into the kitchen. He looked very pleased indeed. She had a waist he could have circled with both hands, a delicate bosom, exquisite white blond hair she wore in a tight knot he longed to loosen, and huge blue eyes. He guessed her to be somewhere between seventeen and twenty, and he had rarely seen a girl as pretty. She had none of the womanliness of Eugenia, nor the hardness, and he loved her modesty and shyness, which only made her more enticing. It gave him something to overcome and conquer. He went in the front door after that, whistling to himself. His visits to Hampshire were going to be much more fun now, and would keep him busy, with two women to amuse him, one upstairs and one down, which was often the way he liked it.
He strolled into the dining room and found Harry having breakfast with half a dozen men, reading the papers, and talking. Harry looked up with a smile as soon as he saw him. They were recent friends.
“Ho, Bertie! What have you been up to?”
“I was out walking. I like getting some exercise before breakfast. Lovely scenery around here, beautiful grounds,” he said, thinking of the young nanny he’d met pushing the pram.
“We’ll go for a ride after breakfast.” Harry had some new horses he wanted to show off, and had invited his guests to join him.
“I’d like that very much,” Bertie said with a broad smile. “Will the women ride with us?” he asked with interest.
“Probably not—most of them don’t stir before noon. At least Eugenia doesn’t. She likes to stay up late, and moves slowly in the morning.” Bertie helped himself to some eggs and fruit, and a footman poured him a cup of coffee. He picked up one of the newspapers that had been left there for the guests, and looked perfectly content as he glanced around the table at his new friends. It was going to be a very pleasant spring and summer, with a bit of a dalliance to spice things up.
The men went riding while the women dressed, and they all got together for a sumptuous dinner in the dining room, at one o’clock. Eugenia had organized a game of croquet for them afterward, and everyone was in good spirits. Three of the guests were flirting with her, with Bertie the least obvious one. He liked being the dark horse, and he was still cultivating his friendship with Harry, and wanted to gain his trust before he made any serious moves with Eugenia. And he knew he had time. Because he appeared the least interested in her, of her many suitors, he was the one she most desired, and did everything in her power to charm him and catch his attention. It was a game he played well, and often. He had never married and had no wish to—he had much too much fun sleeping with the women who were willing, particularly other people’s wives.
After croquet, they played cards until teatime, and a huge tea was laid out in the library. They all sat chatting until it was time to go upstairs to dress for supper.
The women came down in beautiful evening gowns, some of them wearing delicate tiaras. Women liked to show off at the Fergusons’, although Eugenia’s gowns were the richest and finest and her jewels the biggest. Harry was a grateful and generous man, and everyone lingered after the meal, long past midnight. Harry and Bertie were the last to go upstairs, just after Eugenia, who had stayed to talk to Bertie. He had told her in a sensuous whisper that she was enchanting and he was falling in love with her. She had blushed, but didn’t deter him. She was wondering how to lure him to her room, without causing Harry to suspect it. She and her husband had separate rooms, so she was alone. That had begun the first time she got pregnant, and he’d never moved back to her room again, which was just as well since she’d been pregnant constantly for five years. She was adamant now about not letting it happen again, which was even more reason not to sleep with him. And it suited him too. He was no longer excited by Eugenia after all their babies, and he had other interests as well. And with some caution, Eugenia was more than willing to dally with others.
“There’s no hurry,” Bertie whispered to her. “I’ll come back as often as you want me…the next time he goes to town.” And after saying it, he got up and walked across the room to Harry, and Eugenia curtsied to both of them and retired, drunk on the words Bertie had just said to her, and the anticipation of what was in store for them. She still looked dreamy as Stella helped her undress.
“Did you have a nice evening, madame?” she asked her, as Eugenia beamed at her.
“Wonderful. We have such lovely guests this time.” Stella had heard downstairs about the handsome men staying there that weekend. Her mistress had several to choose from, and Stella wondered which of them would be back again. Eugenia seemed ready for mischief these days and bored with her husband. Stella had seen situations like that before and nothing surprised her.
Angélique had said nothing to anyone about meeting Bertie that morning. She had been profoundly unnerved by it, and had found it very unpleasant. It reminded her of Eugenia’s brother, except this one was far more direct and seemed more ominous. He hadn’t hesitated to offer her “a bit of fun,” and to suggest that it was what she really wanted, but didn’t have the courage to admit. In fact, he was far off the mark. And she was grateful she hadn’t run into him again.
She doubted he’d be foolish enough to come upstairs, particularly if he was one of the guests pursuing Eugenia, which she had heard downstairs as well. The lady of the house had been openly encouraging several of them, and Mr. Ferguson didn’t seem to care, from what the footmen said. He had been equally intent talking to one of the women, a German baroness, a young widow they had recently met as well. The Fergusons were a well-suited pair. And with all of that going on, Angélique felt she was safe. The man on the path that morning would be much too busy pursuing the women in the bedrooms on the second floor, to bother coming upstairs to seduce her. She tidied up the parlor, blew out the candle, and walked into her bedroom. The nurserymaid and the children were sound asleep, and she went to get a drink of water before she went to bed. She was in her nightgown in bare feet, with her long hair in a braid down her back, as she saw a vision walk into the darkened room in white tie and tails. He looked spectacularly handsome as he smiled at her in the moonlight, and she could feel her heart beat in fear.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a whisper, trying to sound stern instead of frightened.
“I thought we’d get to know each other better, after everyone went to bed,” he whispered to her, as he took two steps, stood next to her, and grabbed her waist hard in his hands, and then ran one hand over her belly, and slipped it down between her legs. She wrenched free of him and ran across the room, to the door of Helen’s room. She didn’t want to scream and wake the children, but she had never been so terrified in her life. No man had ever done to her what he just did. He walked toward her quickly and grabbed her again, crushing his mouth down on hers, as he grabbed her breast. He tasted of strong drink, and she knew he had to be drunk to act like this. “Come on,” he said roughly, “don’t pretend to be shy. You know you want it too.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, pulling away and circling the room. She wanted to run out the door and down the stairs but didn’t want to leave him loose in the nursery. She didn’t know what he would do, and she was responsible for the children. “I want you to leave,” she said clearly. “I’m not going to do anything with you.” He laughed at what she said.
“Yes, you are. If I want you to. Your mistress begged me to come to her bed. I’d rather be in yours.” She was younger and prettier and fresher, and her resistance titillated him more. Eugenia was too willing, but he knew that in time he would take her too. This was what he did for sport—pursue other men’s wives, or shy young girls.
“Please go away,” Angélique said, pleading with her eyes, and they were still speaking in soft voices, so as not to wake anyone up.
“And if I won’t?” he said, reaching out to grab her, and this time, he wouldn’t let her go as he pulled her close to him and held her tight. “What will you do then?”
; “Scream,” she said in a tiny voice, as he kissed her again and shoved his tongue down her throat, while pressing her buttocks with both hands. And knowing she had to do something then, before he went even further, she bit him hard on the mouth and shoved him away from her, and he fell hard into one of the chairs, as blood dripped on his immaculately starched shirt and vest and he let out a cry of pain.
“You bitch!” he said, grabbing at her again, but she opened the nursery door, and stood shaking beside it.
“I’ll scream,” she said firmly, “and tomorrow I’ll tell Mr. Ferguson. All of it,” she said with an intent look, and she looked like she meant what she said. She was more trouble than she was worth. He had misjudged her, she was not the easy piece he had thought.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Bertie said, as he faced her in the doorway, but he didn’t touch her again. He liked resistance, but not a brawl, and his lip was bleeding a lot, as he held a handkerchief to it, but his shirt was already covered in blood.
“I would,” Angélique assured him, “if you ever come near me again.”
“You’re not worth the trouble,” he spat at her, “and you’ll be sorry if you mess with me, Miss Prim and Proper. Who are you giving it to here? One of the stable hands, so you don’t want to give it up to me? Who do you think you are?”
“Not your whore,” she said to him, as he walked through, and before he could turn or slap her, she slammed the door and locked it behind him. She was faster than he was, and she heard him go down the stairs a moment later. She was shaking from head to foot, and sat down in the chair where he had fallen. She saw that there was blood on it, and she wiped it off with a damp towel. It took her ten minutes to calm down and go back to her bedroom. She lay awake for hours thinking of what he had said, and tried to do to her. She had been terrified of him, but thank God, nothing had happened, and she had no intention of reporting it to her employers. He wouldn’t be back again, of that she was sure. And if Mrs. Ferguson wanted him to come to her bedroom, she wouldn’t like the idea of his trying to seduce the nanny. She had nothing to win by telling them.
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