by Jill Gregory
“No, I suppose not.” Josie took a breath, hesitating. She desperately wanted to ask Mrs. Fielding about the rift that had occurred between Ethan and his father, but she knew it wasn’t the “ladylike” thing to do. Mr. Latherby would have scolded her like a squawking old crow, and Ethan...
Ethan would be mad as hell if he caught her questioning the servants about him behind his back. Still, she was just angry enough with him to go ahead and do it.
She opened her mouth to ask the question, changed her mind, and instead took a gulp of coffee, cursing her own scruples. Before she could make up her mind whether or not to proceed, she was rescued from her dilemma by Mrs. Fielding. The housekeeper recalled herself to her own position, and to her duty toward the mistress of the house.
“Begging your pardon, my lady, for talking your ear off. If you’d like, I’ll see to your breakfast.”
“Don’t bother, Mrs. Fielding, there’s no need to go to all that trouble. I’ll just mosey on down—I mean, go into the kitchen and scramble myself an egg...”
Her voice trailed off. The housekeeper looked as horrified as if she’d suggested going down to the stables and munching on straw and manure.
“My lady, it’s no trouble, none at all,” Mrs. Fielding assured her in faint tones. “If you’ll only care to have a seat here in the dining room you’ll be quite comfortable, and I won’t be but a minute.”
She vanished before Josie could protest. Josie stared after her, realizing she’d made a serious mistake. With a sigh, she set down her cup and went to the window, gazing out at the lovely peaceful lawns and yew-rimmed gardens dappled by sunlight.
The trouble was, she wasn’t accustomed to being useless. She could probably whip up a breakfast every bit as tantalizing as Cook’s, and in less time. But she was expected to steer clear of the kitchen and allow herself to be waited upon.
It shouldn’t be so hard, she thought with a wry shrug. It’s what many people dream of. But she wasn’t used to being idle, to not having a purpose each day, work to do, something to accomplish.
You do have something to accomplish, she reminded herself as she slipped into a chair. You have to see your arrangement with Ethan the Terrible through to the end, send some money off to Mrs. Guntherson at the orphanage for the children—and find Alicia Denby.
A thought occurred to her as the dining room doors swung open and Mrs. Fielding breezed in, followed by John and Rupert bearing trays with silver-covered platters.
“Mrs. Fielding,” Josie said as the footmen busied themselves setting out an enormous breakfast on the sideboard, “I wonder if you happen to know of an acquaintance of mine—I met her when she was in America recently. Her name is Miss Denby. Miss Alicia Denby.”
She held her breath as the housekeeper tilted her head to one side, considering. “No, my lady. I don’t believe so. Lord Stonecliff and Mr. Hugh never did entertain much in this house—except for a hunting party now and again. So we didn’t have many dinners or card parties or such. I’m sorry, my lady.”
“That’s all right. If Ethan still intends to go to London today, I imagine I’ll meet some people—make the acquaintance of some who might know Miss Denby.”
“Aye, my lady, that you might. His lordship has already informed us that he plans to set out early this afternoon.”
Beaming, the housekeeper surveyed the spread upon the sideboard with approval, then took her leave.
Alone once more in the sunlit dining room, Josie shook off a twinge of disappointment. What had she expected, that she would find Miss Denby on the first try?
It would take more luck than she’d ever known to track the girl down. But what she lacked in luck, Josie knew, she made up for in sheer grit and persistence. Now that she had actually taken the first step in trying to find Miss Denby, even while she was still “married” to Ethan Savage, she felt better. She would make it a point to become at least polite acquaintances with several fashionable people in London and continue asking until she found someone who knew of her. That way, when this farce of a marriage ended—if not before—she’d be ready to move forward.
The idea that she might at last be near to tracking down Miss Denby, and to learning something definite about her own parentage and how she came to have the brooch, sent what little appetite Josie had sailing out the window. She nibbled at bread and jam, tasted a forkful of eggs, and sipped half a cup of coffee. Her eyes shone with dreams of the future. But when she shook herself, and glanced at the sideboard, she returned to the present with a jolt. Her breakfast was done—and a mountain of food still remained.
Josie’s eyes narrowed. She thought of how the children in Mrs. Guntherson’s care would squeal with joy over the repast that had been offered her. And what of the poor people right here in England? According to what Mr. Latherby had told her, there were teeming slums in London filled with men, women, and children living in squalor, most of whom would no doubt sell their souls for such a meal.
She pushed back her chair and went in search of Mrs. Fielding.
“I scarcely touched my breakfast,” she said crisply, as the housekeeper, who had been showing one of the housemaids in the small withdrawing room the correct way to polish the lamps, turned away from the task to give her mistress her full attention.
“And I wish what is left of the meal to be distributed among those who are needy here in the area. There are needy people here in the country, aren’t there?”
“Well, yes, my lady.” The housekeeper looked doubtful. “Many. But—”
“Is there any reason why it can’t be done?”
“No, my lady, of course not. But the late earl never—”
“The late earl is dead. And I am mistress of this house now.” Josie smiled pleasantly, but her tone was firm. She ignored the freckled maid who gaped at her in stupefaction. “I would like Rupert or Charles or one of the grooms to distribute the food to those who need it. And also, Mrs. Fielding—”
“Yes, my lady?” the housekeeper quavered as Josie broke off, thinking.
“Is there an orphanage in the area?”
“Not here in Sussex, my lady. I believe there is one in Kent County. It is more than an hour’s drive from here.”
“I’ll want to visit it when I return from London—to bring some food and blankets and clothing for the children. Will you help me to collect what I need? I would imagine there are probably piles of old but useful things packed away in attics or spare rooms all about this house.”
“Yes, my lady. Of course there are. I’ll be happy to assist you.” There was a newly respectful expression in Mrs. Fielding’s eyes now. Josie smiled.
“Thank you. We’ll do that as soon as I return. I wish I had some idea how long we’re going to be in London.”
But before she had time to ponder this further, Perkins appeared in the doorway.
“Lady Tattersall to see you, my lady.”
And Josie had to set aside her newfound project, and concentrate on remembering her lessons as she walked slowly and sedately to the drawing room to receive her guest.
Lady Tattersall looked none the worse for wear this morning. Her saffron gown was as elegant as ever, and every curl on her head was immaculately arranged beneath a small, feathered hat where silk grapes were clustered together in a tight band of gold satin.
“Dear Ethan came by a short time ago to see Colonel Hamring and I just had to repay his kindness and see how you were faring, Lady Stonecliff.” At Josie’s invitation she seated herself on the pale green sofa and clasped her fan between her gloved hands in a dramatic fashion. “Ah, my dear, do you mind if I call you Josephine?”
“Please do, ma’am,” Josephine managed to utter before Lady Tattersall raced on.
“Well, Josephine, I am mortified, absolutely mortified, that such horrid, unspeakable violence took place in my home and befell my guests. Can you ever forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forg—”
“When I think how close we all came to losing our lives
... well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, now does it? Thank God for Ethan—so amazing the way he subdued those cutthroats, was it not? And, of course, Colonel Hamring behaved with great bravery. And you, my dear! You were positively heroic!”
“Oh, no, not really.”
“Yes, yes. I must say, when I heard that dear Ethan had married a young woman from America, I wondered what kind of a person she might be, because the last girl he took up with was totally unacceptable—though what happened to her was a tragedy, just a tragedy, you know, and—”
“I’ve heard something about this girl,” Josie broke in, but got no further before Lady Tattersall clapped a hand to her own mouth, and then rushed on, her words tumbling like a waterfall.
“Oh. Dear me. I never should have brought it up.”
“Now that you have, Lady Tattersall, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” But there was a shrill wariness to her voice. No doubt she was ready to bite off her tongue for having allowed it to wander so carelessly to this topic. Here was her godson’s new young wife, and she had babbled to the girl about a woman from his past.
“Who was this girl my husband once... loved?” Odd, but the last word stuck in Josie’s throat. Lady Tattersall regarded her knowingly.
“It doesn’t matter, my dear. He loves you now—can there be any doubt? Look how ferociously he defended you last night.”
“Oh, I’m in no doubt of my husband’s feelings for me.” Josie summoned a smile. “But you see, Mr. Winthrop mentioned her, too. And Ethan has told me some of the story,” she lied, steadily watching Lady Tattersall’s face. “I didn’t want to press him for details because it seemed quite painful.”
That much at least was true. The painful part. He’d knocked Winthrop across the room and inflicted a good deal of pain on him. She held her breath, waiting to see if Lady Tattersall would fill in the story. If she refused again, Josie would have no choice but to let the matter drop. She could push only so far. But to her relief, Lady Tattersall must have been eager to discuss it beneath her show of reluctance, for she needed no more urging than this before she fluttered her fan and began to speak in a low, rushing voice like that of a gurgling stream.
“Her name was Molly Flanagan. She was a shopgirl. Poor as a mouse. Lived with an aunt and an uncle who toiled in one of the factories. I believe poor Ethan met her when he went into Madame Fanchon’s, a very exclusive milliner’s shop, to purchase a hat for... for...”
“Yes?” Josie wasn’t about to let Lady Tattersall back away from the tale now. “For who?”
“For his mistress,” the older woman burst out, then fanned herself frantically. “But all it took was one glance at this Molly—she was lovely, I heard—and Ethan forgot about... that other woman whom he had no intention of marrying, of course, and began actually courting this girl, this nobody.”
Lady Tattersall shook her head sadly, then stared at Josie in alarm.
“I hope I haven’t lessened your respect for your husband by telling you this,” she said in dawning horror. “Any man is susceptible to a pretty face, even a common one, and I’m sure Ethan simply lost his head—”
“You haven’t changed my feelings toward him in the least,” Josie interrupted impatiently. “But what happened to Molly? Did they become betrothed?”
“No. Yes. Well, I’m not certain. You see, that’s when all the trouble began, when it became known.” She sighed. “Molly Flanagan was scarcely someone the old earl would ever have countenanced as a wife for his son, even his younger son, as Ethan was. He forbade Ethan ever to see the chit again.”
“And then?”
“And then, oh, it’s quite dreadful, my dear.”
A knock sounded on the drawing room door and Lady Tattersall clamped her lips together as the butler entered. “My lady, Miss Perry and Miss Crenshaw have come to call.”
Josie could have screamed at the interruption. Just as she was about to find out what happened to Molly! It took all of her self-control to keep from grinding her teeth in frustration.
But both Lady Tattersall and Perkins were watching her, waiting for the correct response. She had no choice but to give it. “Show them in, Perkins,” she managed with a most ladylike little nod.
Though Josie was glad to have the chance to see Miss Perry again, she didn’t feel nearly as warmly toward Rosamund Crenshaw. During the next half an hour she forced herself to listen politely to the black-haired girl’s shrill recounting of the previous night’s events, to her exclamations of how terrified and shaken she’d been, of how thankful she was that her jewels had been restored to her, and of her admiration for Lord Stonecliff s heroism.
“Lady Stonecliff showed herself to be equally brave,” Miss Perry pointed out with her gentle smile. At this Miss Crenshaw’s beautiful pale face seemed to grow cold as marble, and she raised her brows at her chaperon.
“Brave? Perhaps.” Miss Crenshaw gave a shrug, then turned to Josie with a slight smile. “Forgive me, Lady Stonecliff, I don’t wish to appear rude, but I think your actions were foolhardy. For a lady to actually swing a candlestick at a man...”
She shuddered. “You invited attack upon yourself by behaving as a common hooligan. And you suffered for it. One should remember that violence is hardly appropriate behavior for a lady, no matter the circumstances.”
“My dear, she was trying to aid her husband!” Miss Perry exclaimed, and Lady Tattersall echoed this, but Miss Crenshaw’s fair skin flushed an unbecoming mottled red.
“I fail to understand! You have all the sympathy in the world for her and none for me.” She turned wrathful olive-green eyes on Miss Perry. “May I remind you, Cousin Clara, that it is my mama who gives you a home and the bread that you eat and the clothes that you wear. Not Lady Stonecliff. And last night, while I was terrified and hiding out-of-doors all alone, you were concerned only with helping Colonel Hamring and tending to Lady Stonecliff. You gave me no thought—no thought whatsoever.”
“That’s not true, dearest,” Miss Perry protested. Though her voice was calm, Josie saw the pallor of her cheeks, the frightened dismay that entered her eyes.
“I believe it is.”
“But no—I was most terribly concerned for you, for all of us, only Lady Stonecliff was injured and—”
“I wish to go home. To London. Now, today.” Miss Crenshaw swept suddenly to her feet. “I believe Mama will have something to say to you about your conduct during this holiday, dearest.”
Observing the black-haired girl’s rising indignation, and Miss Perry’s distress, Lady Tattersall hastened to intervene. “Now, Rosamund, my love, you’re still distraught over all that happened last night and who can wonder at it? But, please, don’t make any rash decisions while you’re so upset—why don’t you come to tea this afternoon and we can have a nice quiet chat? It is the country air that will settle your nerves in a day or so, not the frantic pace of London.”
“I’ve decided. I’m going home!” the girl announced, and nodded curtly toward her hostess.
“Good day, Lady Stonecliff.”
She started toward the door, obviously expecting Miss Perry to follow meekly, which she did.
But Josie moved more quickly, dodging into Miss Perry’s path and waylaying her.
Josie had begun to realize during this interchange that Clara Perry, like herself, must be alone in the world. A poor relation, who lived with the Crenshaw family and was made to feel like a burden and a servant as she endured the “kindness” of their generosity. Josie had lived in many places where she’d been made to feel unwanted and unworthy, and fury rose in her like a swift summer storm as she saw Miss Perry’s eyes brim with tears.
She put a detaining hand on the auburn-haired woman’s arm. “I want you to know that my husband and I will be driving up to London today as well. You’re welcome to visit us—I believe the house is in Mayfair.”
She looked to Lady Tattersall for confirmation. Ethan’s godmother nodded.
“And if you
would care to stay, for as long a visit as you want—er, wish—you would be most welcome.”
Miss Crenshaw whirled and glowered at her. Josie ignored it. Miss Perry squeezed her hand gratefully, but only said in her quiet way, “You’re very kind, but I believe the Crenshaws have need of me.” She looked uncertainly toward Rosamund, who just stared at her without any softening of expression.
“They are my family, you know.” Miss Perry took a shaky breath. “But I’m certain Miss Crenshaw and her mama and I will look forward to calling on you, Lady Stonecliff.”
“Hah.” Miss Crenshaw gave a most unladylike snort.
Josie turned toward her. But Rosamund immediately swept toward the door once again.
“Miss Crenshaw!”
The cool imperative of her tone forced the other woman to stop and turn. Josie came forward and smiled tightly.
“Miss Perry is welcome to visit me in Mayfair at any time, but if your mama is anything like you, I hope she’ll stay away. As for you,” she continued in a low pleasant tone, “don’t bother to pay me a call in London or anywhere else unless you can keep that spoiled, sneering expression from your face and behave with civility. I’m sure you didn’t learn your manners—or lack of them—from Miss Perry.”
For a moment there was a shocked, white-hot silence. The very air in the sunny green drawing room seemed to quiver. Then Josie heard Lady Tattersall’s strangled gasp.
I guess I’ve done something awful, she thought, and knew she ought to be sorry. But she wasn’t. She decided to finish the business with a flourish. “You may go now,” she said in the same dismissive tone Latherby had taught her to use with the servants.
Miss Crenshaw blanched. Miss Perry turned ashen. And from the sofa, Lady Tattersall gave a gasping, choking cough.
Miss Crenshaw didn’t answer. At least not in words. But the icy fury in her eyes spoke volumes as she drew herself up very straight and marched from the room.