“There was a stain on one of my gowns. It will need to be sponged.”
“The silver one from last night?”
The woman’s cheeks wobbled a bit as she nodded. “Yes. And I also want you to tell Cook that I didn’t like the way the fish was prepared. Too dry. Tell her never to cook it that way again.”
“I’ll be sure to do so.” Victoria wanted to scream. The fish had been perfect and she doubted there was a spot on the Old Bat’s gown. The Countess just seemed to enjoy making Victoria’s life a living hell.
“Make sure you do.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as if she knew what Victoria had been thinking. At that moment, Victoria wouldn’t have cared had she known. She was getting sick of being a fetch girl, running around, delivering things, making sure Cook got her majesty’s special order for dinner.
Lord, it was insufferable.
Quickly delivering the letter into Mr. Baton’s waiting hands, Victoria raced toward the kitchen to deliver the message.
It was only because she was in such a hurry that she didn’t see Molly coming around the corner, hauling a bucket full of washing water.
Unable to stop their collision, Victoria stood still, watching as the bucket slipped from Molly’s fingers. The water, laced with heavy lye, ran into the thick carpets, pooling on the floors. The soap that she had been carrying in the other hand slipped, dropping to the floor before Molly stepped on it.
Horrified, Victoria watched as the housemaid’s feet flew over her head, toppling her to the ground.
Molly cried out after a sickening thump.
“Are you all right, Molly?”
The maid whimpered, holding a wrist that was already swelling and turning purple.
“Is it broken?”
Molly flinched, but finally shook her head. “I don’t think so. The bone feels intact.”
“Good. You’ll need to rest. I’ll make sure a doctor is sent for. Until then, you need to stay in bed.” Victoria looked down both directions of the hallway. “Is George close by? I could fetch him to have him carry you.”
“Oh no!” Molly jerked upright before her eyes widened. “I mean, that won’t be necessary, Your Grace. I only injured my wrist. I should be able to walk to my room just fine.”
Victoria looked at her skeptically. “If you’re sure.” The maid nodded emphatically. “All right. Well, I’ll need to fetch someone to mop up the water. We can’t have it sit here or the floors will be ruined.” She eyed the sopping carpets. “The carpets might be done in as it is.”
Molly flushed. “There is no one to clean it. Mrs. Waversly is gone and George and Henry are in the village with Lucy and Gwen.” Victoria couldn’t hide the astonishment when she learned the other two housemaids and both footmen were gone.
“How can this be?”
“Mrs. Waversly didn’t see the harm in giving them a few hours off this afternoon.” Molly was sound a bit perturbed. “She thought it would be all right with just me here. And it would have been.”
Hearing the censure in the maid’s voice, Victoria’s lips thinned. “You should probably head to your room and rest, your wrist has already begun to swell.”
“But what will you do, Your Grace? As you said, the water can’t just sit there.”
“Yes, I know. Don’t worry about it, Molly. I’ll take care of it.”
“All right.” The maid stood but looked doubtful before she left, leaving Victoria to stare at the puddles.
Victoria knew what she had to do, but she took no pleasure in it. She wanted to rant and rail at her circumstances, but that wouldn’t change anything. She was here now, stuck for a year if she wanted financial freedom. She would do whatever it took to secure that future.
Looking up and down the empty hallway one last time, she sighed, heading toward the supply cabinet. Gathering up folded toweling, she made her way back to the puddles.
Not bothering to fool herself, she sighed, accepting that she had finally been reduced to a maid. She would normally break something to express her dissatisfaction, but she wanted to laugh. If her acquaintances in London could only see her now. Lady Victoria, an incomparable, sopping up the floor.
Throwing down the towels, she watched as the material absorbed the liquid. There was still some water left over after the first sponge up, lingering around the edges of the walls.
Looking down at her dress, she winced. It would be ruined. Well, what was one dress compared to a fortune? She needed to do this.
With all the dignity she had, she knelt to the floor, reaching out to wipe up the remaining water. As the towel filled up, she didn’t notice how warm the water still was, but she did notice that her eyes were beginning to sting from the lye.
Finished mopping up, Victoria balled up the towels and stacked them in the pail. She would need to take them out to dry. But first, she would need to see to the rugs.
Eyeing them, she thought there might be a possibility of saving them. She might as well try before throwing them out. She couldn’t imagine the Earl would be too happy about losing them.
Fortunately they were smaller pieces instead of the standard runner. Rolling up the two affected carpets, she bent over to pick one up and was shocked by its weight. Full of water, it was heavier than she had expected.
The only way to carry it would be over her shoulder. She had seen servants do it before, and she was certainly capable of it herself.
Taking a deep breath, she heaved out a puff of air as she picked up the wet rug, throwing it over her shoulder.
A quick squeal escaped her lips as warm water saturated her gown, trickling down her back and into the front of her corset.
That was not something she had expected. Gritting her teeth, she cursed the old Duke for dying and making her endure this. Then she cursed the Earl for not being properly staffed.
They would hire more servants soon. She didn’t care what she had to do to get them. Just because she was capable of laboring like a servant, didn’t mean she wanted to.
Blowing her hair out of the way as she exited the house, she approached the laundry lines, throwing the rug up and over. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it would dry.
Trudging back into the house, she felt her dress tighten as the wet material rubbed against her body. She couldn’t wait to get it off.
After two more trips to the laundry line, the towels and rugs lightly blowing in the breeze, Victoria raced to her room, quickly stripping off her dress and undergarments.
Not able to move, she stood rooted in front of the mirror, staring at the red angry skin that had been irritated by the lye in the water. Her shoulders, part of her chest, down her back, her knees, and hands were covered with bright red welts. Inspecting them closely, Victoria puzzled over it. She had never handled such harsh chemicals in her life, but was this what happened to all of the maids when they washed?
She thought back in her life and couldn’t remember a time she ever bothered to look. Lacing her fingers together, she winced. Chafed and raw, the skin protested.
Had her servants always hurt like this? A feeling began to creep over her, and she tried to push it away without success. It felt like… guilt.
She had never thought about a servant’s life. Never thought of how they might suffer. Their jobs seemed so menial: wash, clean, serve. How hard could it really be?
Looking at her hands, she believed it might be worse than she had thought. Perhaps she should be a little more grateful for their work. It wouldn’t hurt to give her servants praise now and again. And in the meantime, she could watch more closely. What else had she missed?
Pulling out fresh undergarments, she winced as the buttery soft material scraped across her fingers.
After a few short weeks without a lady’s maid, it still amazed her that she had adjusted so quickly to dressing herself. Before she had arrived at Lynfield Hall, she had never dressed herself in her life. Oh, how different it was here. She could manage fastening most frocks on her own. The exceptions being the few th
at contained trailing buttons down the back, but she had managed to avoid those.
Glancing at the ruined heap of black crepe on the floor, she couldn’t say she was sorry to see the hideous garment go, but she would miss the ease with which she could dress herself in it.
Thinking back on her physical labor, a small surge of satisfaction washed over her. She had no desire to do it again, but the fact that she had, that she could, made her accomplishment sweeter.
She had been independent, acting on her own. And she relished it. It was only a taste of what her future would be like.
Finished dressing herself, she barely bothered to check her appearance in the mirror. With no servants around, she wondered what else she might be required to do. The thought brought a slight curve to her lips as she left her room.
***
Connor grinned a little wider as he shoveled manure out of the wagon. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Lady Victoria, or rather, Her Grace, as was proper, meeting him while he performed such a task amused him. On such short notice, this had been the most revolting task he could imagine doing when she joined him.
He couldn’t wait to see her face.
He wasn’t blind to the fact that she had been making his home run more smoothly than he could remember, but he wasn’t about to praise her for it. She would be waiting for that. If she thought he would fawn over her as other men undoubtedly did, she was in for a nasty shock.
His shoveling manure was just another way of showing her that.
“You asked for me?”
Her silky voice cut through his thoughts, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He didn’t think she would arrive so soon.
Turning slowly, he leaned on the shovel, casually studying her before he spoke. Her dress was more prim than he would have expected of her, but it was by no means demure. While still the color of coal, she filled out the garment in a way that seemed indecent. The fabric was like a second skin, stretching and hugging her curves, and would undoubtedly make most men kneel down in gratitude. Forcing his gaze away, his eyes trailed upward, noticing that her hair was more mussed than usual.
She hadn’t even checked her appearance before seeing him if the small smudge of dirt under her chin was any indication. She looked earthy, more approachable than he was used to seeing her.
She certainly didn’t look the belle of the Ton now.
And why did that please him? She wasn’t someone he was interested in no matter her physical appeal. He would do well to remember that.
The small scrunch of her nose drew his attention and he had to fight back a grin. She may be pretending that the smell didn’t bother her, but she didn’t fool him for a second.
“Yes. However, I wasn’t expecting you to see me so quickly.”
“Obviously,” she said dryly, glancing at the steaming pile of muck.
He shrugged at her discomfort, fighting back the urge to gloat. It wasn’t a feeling he was proud of. He was never one to rejoice in another’s misfortune, but with someone of Lady Victoria’s caliber, he made an exception.
“Yes, well, the work must get done.”
“Right. Everyone must pull their own weight.” An uncertain look crossed her face that had him hesitating. “What is it you wish to speak with me about?”
“Have you hired new servants yet?”
“No. We’ve been unable to locate anyone suitable for the positions. This far away from civilization, I’m not surprised.”
“How unfortunate. I should think that even a menial servant could be found here, even if this is Scotland.”
Her eyes narrowed, but he didn’t feel any triumph in the barb. She was spoiled, felt entitled to a life of privilege and ease. Just like his father.
He tried to push the thought away the moment that it came, but it was too late. The memory of his father’s selfish pursuits spoiled any devious pleasure he extracted out of the meeting with Victoria.
“In any case, I’m sure you will be able to find suitable replacements soon. There should be a hiring fair within a few weeks where you will be able to find what you’re looking for. That is, if you haven’t already filled the positions by then.”
“All right.” Picking up her skirts, she turned to leave, obviously assuming that the conversation had ended.
“I have another task for you.”
Her shoulders stiffened, but she turned to face him.
Picking up his shovel, he turned his attention back to his work, speaking as he unloaded the fertilizer. “It has been awhile since baskets were brought to the poor and sick in the village. I haven’t had the time, and there has been no one else to do it. I want you to see to it.”
He could hear her mouth opening and closing, but he didn’t bother to raise his eyes.
“You want me to enter the homes of the sick? What if I catch something?”
He shrugged. “I doubt that there is anything worse than a runny nose or upset stomach. You should be safe enough.”
“And if I refuse?”
Leveling her with a look, it was enough to have her swallow and nod. No words were needed. If she didn’t do as he asked, she would be forced out, her inheritance lost to her. “Fine. I’ll do it because I want to stay. Not for any other reason.”
“That’s as much as I expected.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her voice rose.
“You know exactly what it means. I didn’t, even for one moment, believe that you would be willing to deliver those items for the benefit of anyone but yourself.” He finally stopped shoveling long enough to face her as he finished his impassioned words.
“I see,” she said quietly. “And that’s what you think of me? That I am only motivated by selfish desires, and have not the ability to help another?”
“Have I seen differently?”
Biting her lip, she visibly struggled to control her emotions before taking a deep breath, leveling her gaze at him. The absence of emotion knocked the wind out of him. There was no resignation, no anger, no disappointment, no indignation. Just nothing.
“Well, I guess you have me completely figured out. If there is nothing else, I will have baskets prepared.”
Regally, she turned on her heel, and made it a few steps before he spoke. “One more thing. I’ll be joining you. Be ready to leave in three hours’ time.” Her only answer was a slight pause in her gait.
Watching her leave, he couldn’t believe he offered to go with her. He had every intention of making her do it alone, making her see that there were people out there suffering with so much less than what she had.
Why then, had he offered to go and to keep her company?
The chill he felt course through him at her dead gaze had disturbed him more deeply than anything he could remember.
What caused a person to develop such an ability as to mask every single emotion? She had them, surely. He had seen her struggle to rein her feelings in.
But what had she experienced in her life that would require such a skill?
The question seemed to drive him mad as he finished his task. Tossing the shovel aside, he made for the house, ready to bathe off the stench that he had endured for Victoria’s sake. But with their parting words, his plan had been sent askew. He didn’t find the pleasure in her discomfort that he should have.
In fact, he almost felt as if he owed her an apology.
Cursing, he slammed the door into his room, ripping off the stained shirt and breeches before climbing into the steaming water.
Usually one of his favorite indulgences, he took little enjoyment in the soothing heat. One thought, and one thought only, possessed him.
What had she been through? And with that question lingering in his mind, he promised himself that before her time was up, he would know.
Chapter 5
Fastening the long row of buttons on her jet glove, Victoria maintained a numbness that others usually found disturbing. Whenever an unpleasant feeling arose, whether from someone else’s
spite, or her own dissatisfaction, she turned it off.
It had come in handy after so many years of bitter disappointment from her father. Repeated time and again, the words rose unbidden into her mind. You are nothing more than a bartering tool, Victoria. You will marry a duke or be worth nothing at all. You are only as valuable as the connection you can procure. Her father had said the words so often that she could see his facial expression, hard, unyielding. Nothing had ever been good enough for him. No accomplishment had ever drawn his praise. But he would have praised her for marrying the Duke regardless of his age, his personality, or how unhappy she, his daughter, would have been as his wife.
But what did that matter now? Her father was dead, had been for two years. He hadn’t been there to gloat, to finally take her into his arms and tell her how proud he was.
She cursed as the last button slipped twice, stubborn in its desire not to latch. Her father was gone, dead. And she had sold herself for the one thing he had wanted. Now, neither of them were happy. She was without friends, stuck in a country manor in Scotland that looked more like the home of a black knight in ancient times than an Earl.
An Earl that was as determined as his mother to make her life a living hell.
Take baskets to the poor? Never in her life had she done such a task, and had been grateful for it. Servants hated her, as did most other people.
With so little practice with the lower class, Victoria didn’t know how to see to their needs. In all likelihood, she would make them feel worse.
She could handle their scorn, because there was no doubt in her mind that they would loathe her presence. She had been bred for that. Bred to endure the solitude, the loneliness that came with pursuing a duke.
It just wasn’t something she wanted to deal with now. She was tired. Never in her life had she done so much physical labor. Never had she been forced to care about servants or tenants or, for that matter, anyone but herself. Never had she performed so much thankless work. There was always more dust, more dirty laundry, more meals to be planned, prepared, and cleaned up after. Now she was going out to take baskets to strangers, would struggle as she tried to think of comforting things to say to them during their time of need. That task alone exhausted her more than all the physical labor she’d been doing.
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