She might be a poor relation, Kit thought, but she wasn’t about to be taken to task by the housekeeper like an errant scullery maid. “I went for a walk, Mrs. Farrelly.”
“And your chores are done?” the woman demanded.
With her shoulders back and her chin raised defiantly, Kit met the woman’s disapproving stare boldly. Rather than sharp, her tone was imperious as she delivered a set down that was well beyond her authority and would undoubtedly get her called on the carpet later. “My chores are assigned by my cousin, madam, and not by you… but to answer your impertinent question, yes. I have completed the tasks that were asked of me. I may not enjoy the same stature that I once did, Mrs. Farrelly, but I am not a servant under your domain!”
“Perhaps I shall have a word with the mistress then,” Mrs. Farrelly snapped. “Too much idle time for a girl of your wild and reckless nature can only lead to trouble!”
The reminder of her fall from grace and the loss of her reputation was such a common occurrence that it should not have stung. Yet it did. Every time it was mentioned, every time that she was reminded that her name was irrevocably sullied, she felt the burn of humiliation anew. The maids tittered behind their hands as they cast sly glances in her direction.
“You overstep, Mrs. Farrelly.”
The cold statement was delivered in a low voice, but one that still rang with authority. Chalmers, the butler, had been quietly at war with the housekeeper for as long as she could remember. Kit would never go so far as to think of him as an ally, but at the very least, they did have a common enemy.
The housekeeper stiffened. “The kitchen, where Miss Wexford does most of her chores, is still my domain, Chalmers!”
“But she is a member of the family and that still places her far above you in this household,” he intoned imperiously. “You will apologize to Miss Wexford, Mrs. Farrelly, or I will be forced to speak to Mrs. Hampton about this indiscretion!”
Kit didn’t respond outwardly, but inside, she felt a rush of dread. Being forced to apologize, in full view of her underlings, would only further embitter the housekeeper toward her. Chalmers wasn’t helping her at all. She was simply a pawn in his endless battle with the woman he viewed as his nemesis.
“My apologies, miss.” The words were uttered stiffly and the bitterness in the housekeeper’s voice cut like a blade.
Kit said nothing, merely accepted the less than gracious amends with a nod and quickly left the kitchen. She climbed the stairs to the small chamber on the third floor that she shared with Joseph. Technically, it was not part of the servants ‘quarters, but if she were to be honest, the servants quarters were in better repair. Wind howled through the large cracks around the window casement, the chimney smoked horribly when they even had enough coal for a fire. He was still young enough to share her bed, but soon that would change. Then one of them would be relegated to a thin, cold pallet on the floor. Her only ally in the house, one of the maids, was hiding in the room, waiting for her.
“Kit!” Vera called when she entered. “Are you well? Joseph told me he broke that horrible man’s window!”
“I’m quite all right, Vera… Mrs. Farrelly is another matter altogether. Chalmers just forced her to apologize to me in front of the maids. No doubt we’ll all be paying for that for some time to come.”
Vera clucked her tongue worriedly. “Oh, that isn’t good at all. It’s too much to hope that she choked on the words, isn’t it?”
Kit laughed in spite of their dire situation. “Yes. Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
Crossing the room, Kit picked up the basket of mending that Vera was working on. The pile seemed to be ever growing. “I see you’ve been delivered more linens to work on. What in the world does she expect you to do? There’s more here than one person could complete in a month, much less a day!”
“Earn my keep, I suspect… Mrs. Hampton has no obligation to shelter me, Kit, or even continue my employment here, given what most folks say about me.”
Vera was in much the same boat that Kit herself was in. The loss of a reputation at any social stratum was catastrophic. The maid continued, “It’s a kindness and my skill with a needle is the most valuable thing I can offer. Mending the linens is the very least I can do.”
Kit sank onto on of the two broken down chairs that had been placed in their small chamber for just this kind of work. The seat sagged beneath her weight as she took one of the items from the basket and examined the rent in the fabric. She’d take up her needle and thread to at least lighten Vera’s burden.
“What happened with the gentleman, Kit?” the other woman insisted.
“He was very angry,” Kit answered. Recalling the details of their encounter, she couldn’t help but shiver at the memory of his deep, growling voice or how firm his hand had been as he clasped her wrist. Other details emerged as she replayed the incident in her mind. He’d gentled his touch at the first hint he was causing her pain. He’d also risked injury to himself to keep her from falling. The statement he’d made about no one being able to hear her scream may or may not have been a threat. Her own history had prompted her to interpret it that way. Of course, that wasn’t something she could tell anyone else, even Vera. “He’s an American, also. I can’t imagine what he’s doing at Rosedale Hall. Either the trustees have let the house to him or perhaps he’s simply squatting there.” Squatting, she thought, would be the best option. It would eliminate any repercussions from Joseph’s behavior.
“I’ve heard all the tales about the previous Lord Hadley,” Vera uttered in a stage whisper, and then shivered dramatically. “Vile man. But he did have a younger brother, I think, who took off to for the Colonies from what I hear.”
“America. They like to be called America now,” Kit corrected.
“Perhaps he is the heir, after all.”
How she hoped that Vera was wrong! “Time will tell, I suppose. But in the meantime, I simply need to avoid him and to avoid Rosedale Hall altogether… I may need to go to Birmingham to sell what we have left, though I doubt it would come close to covering the cost of the window.”
Vera sighed. “I’ll borrow my brother’s cart on my half day. It’ll save a bit of money, though that old nag of his is slower than Mrs. Farrelly!”
“If I ever get out of here, Vera, I’m taking you with me!”
“You most certainly are… I’d not stay here otherwise!”
Chapter 4
“Lord Hadley, my lady,” the butler intoned in a deep and sonorous voice.
Malcolm entered the drawing room of a woman he’d been assured was the key to Lofton’s version of high society. Lady Elsingham sat upon a red brocade chair gilded in enough gold that it vied for the title of throne. In her black gown with her nearly white hair pulled back in a low chignon, she was lovely, if austere.
“Good morning, Lady Elsingham,” he offered. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“It is quite presumptuous of you to simply invite yourself to my home, Lord Hadley,” she replied. Her tone was dry, bordering on amused, but not entirely indulgent. “To what do I owe the dubious honor?”
Malcolm imagined that this was a woman who did not like to have her time wasted, so he was as blunt as politeness permitted. “Lady Elsingham, you are the sole hostess of note in Lofton. And I am a bachelor sorely in need of a wife. In short, my lady, I require your assistance in creating an event that will allow me to find one.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You are a bold one, Lord Hadley. I suppose it can be blamed on you’re being an American…they are a rather forward lot.”
“I would not disagree with your assessment, Lady Elsingham,” Malcolm conceded.
“What precisely are you asking for in the way of assistance? I only ask you see, because I’ve grown rather bored of late. It is too difficult to travel to London this late in the winter and Lofton society does leave much to be desired… In fact, I must ask, why are you not seeking a bride in the city? It is the season, after all. You’d be much
more likely to find a suitable match!” she admonished.
“There are conditions upon my inheritance, my lady, that require I marry a girl from this region.”
She laughed. “Well, you’ll be sorely pressed to find one that will be to your liking. We’ve very few young women in the village of marriageable age and suitable station. I can only think of two, in fact, and one simply would not do at all. She’s a scandalous creature!”
And that was precisely what Malcolm had hoped she would say. “I love a good story, my lady. Be kind enough to enlighten me, if you please.”
“Wicked Wexford,” she said in a mock whisper infused with glee. “But you heard none of this from me, my lord! I am not one for gossip!”
Malcolm settled back in his chair and offered her his most charming smile. “Naturally, Lady Elsingham. Naturally!”
For the next hour and a half, Malcolm listened to every juicy and salacious tidbit that Lady Elsingham knew about every single resident of Lofton, including Miss Katherine Wexford. Ruined. Destitute. And ripe for the picking.
“Oh!” Lady Elsingham exclaimed, clapping her hands like an excited child. “I’ll host an assembly! Not here of course, since some of the people would be too common to invite into one’s home… but at the local Assembly Rooms. It’ll be divine. And I can introduce you to Miss Croft! She’s not much to look at, my lord, but she does meet all your requirements.”
“And Miss Wexford? Will you invite her?”
Lady Elsingham drew back. “Absolutely not! I’ll not have her corrupting my party. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”
Recalling Lytton’s suggestion that comparing anything to a London party was bound to strike her competitive spirit, Malcolm smiled. “While I was in London, I was able to attend a few parties. One of the hostesses commented to me that she makes it a point to invite at least one scandalous person to every party so that her other guests will have a ready topic of conversation.”
Lady Elsingham’s eyes widened in surprise, but then her mouth curved in wicked glee. “Oh what a deliciously naughty idea! You are a scoundrel, Lord Hadley, in the best possible way!”
“I do try, my lady.”
“We’ll see you wed and your inheritance secured! Oh, I haven’t had such fun in a very long time! Wicked Wexford will set Lofton on its ears!”
It was exhausting to live on tenterhooks, and for nearly a week, that was precisely what Kit had done. She’d been waiting every day for the magistrate to come knocking on the door and demand her arrest for a broken window.
Pausing in her task of dusting the various knickknacks that dotted every surface of her cousin’s sitting room, Kit brushed back the strands of hair that had escaped the simple chignon she had come to favor out of necessity. Her cousin’s house was not grand, but it housed grand things that often looked out of place or were simply too large for their surroundings. Patrice loved things far more than she loved people and the room made it clearly evident. As she placed another spotless Staffordshire shepherdess back onto the small table, she felt an overwhelming sense of doom. It had been nearly a week since the incident at Rosedale Hall and while nothing untoward had happened, the local gossips had begun to talk about Him.
Malcolm Bryant, Lord Hadley. He was, in fact, a descendent and was planning to remain at Rosedale Hall and restore it to its former glory. Of course, gossip about him had stirred gossip about the former Lord Hadley and his young wife whom he’d reportedly murdered. It had taken him nearly a decade to have her declared dead after she went missing. But before he could remarry and beget an heir, he’d suffered a fatal heart seizure. Servants had fled, leaving the dowager to live there alone until she died, abandoned in that house to decay with it. It was a gruesome tale, and she shuddered in spite of herself.
As a general rule, Kit despised gossip, mostly because she was normally the topic of it. But under the circumstances she was grateful for it. It had allowed her to learn that he was the great-nephew of the late Lord Hadley and that he’d come from Boston, of all places, to claim his inheritance.
The door flew open and Patrice entered, leaning heavily on her cane. Though only forty, the woman’s hair was a dull gray and always scraped back into a tight knot that did not flatter her at all. Thin as a rail and with an eternally sour disposition, the black and gray gowns that she favored did nothing to alleviate her stern appearance.
“Enough of that! We’ve been invited to an assembly and you’ll need to bathe and dress accordingly!”
“Certainly, cousin,” Kit replied evenly. Mentally, she had to wonder what on earth she’d wear as she didn’t own a single gown that wasn’t years out of date or inches too small.
“And I suppose we’ll need to find you something to wear,” Patrice commented, eyeing her with disdain.
The dress Kit had donned that morning was only a few washes away from the rag bin, but she hadn’t the option to be choosy. “I have no wish to attend, cousin. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll simply remain behind while you socialize.”
Patrice stopped then, an icy glare and cruel frown further hardening her features. “Your wishes do not signify, Kit. I’ll not leave you here in this house without a proper chaperone just so that you can bring the same kind of scandal and ruin to my door that you brought to your father’s! I utter a grateful prayer every day that your mother passed before witnessing what has become of you!”
The heat of anger and embarrassment flooded her, but Kit said nothing. She wanted to rail at her, to scream and smash her cousin’s treasured figurines. There were moments, such as that one, when even the threat of the workhouse seemed small in comparison to the misery of continuing her life at her cousin’s home. But for Joseph, she could not and would not risk it. Instead, she forced a blank expression and inclined her head meekly. “Of course, cousin. I understand.”
Patrice walked to her wardrobe and reached to the back for one of her older gowns. It wasn’t gray, but an unlikely shade of blue. She thrust it at her. “This one was made up in the wrong fabric but that shrew of a dressmaker refused to take it back! It’ll do, though you’ll have to let it out in the bosom. Go and be quick about it. I’ll not arrive late and have the whole village whispering about us and wondering what wickedness of yours was the cause!”
Kit accepted the gown and managed to stay her overwhelming desire to toss the dress to the ground and stomp on it. “Yes, Cousin. I will work as quickly as I can.”
“You don’t fool me, Katherine. I know you despise me,” Patrice said, a cool and superior note in her voice. “But it was your own recklessness and inability to adhere to the rules of polite society that has denied you a life of comfort and ease. I house you, offering you food and shelter. I am all that stands between you and the streets… or worse, the workhouse. You’d do well to remember that, cousin.”
“I am unable to forget it,” Kit replied. As not a day went by when it wasn’t uttered by someone in the house, there had been no opportunity to put it from her mind.
“Don’t be cheeky with me!”
Kit took a deep breath. “I did not mean to be, cousin. I am aware of your charity to both myself and Joseph and I am humbled by it. Thank you.”
That seemed to mollify the woman. She waved a dismissive hand in Kit’s direction, indicating that she was ready for Kit to be out of her sight. As she was eager to be far away from her cousin, Kit did not hesitate to make her escape. She’s swallowed so much of her pride that she feared choking on it.
Kit retreated to their small room and began working on the gown. It fit, but only barely. It was so tight she could scarcely breathe. The night would be a misery and that was undoubtedly all part of Patrice’s plan. There was no other reason the woman would have given her anything. The door opened and Vera entered. She carried her small sewing box with her.
“I thought I’d try to help,” the maid offered.
“Mrs. Farrelly will eat you alive,” Kit responded.
“No, she will not. I’ve taken ill and
gone to bed… the last thing she wants is me casting up my breakfast in her kitchen!” Vera offered with a conspiratorial grin. “I was quite convincing when I began to retch and heave. You should have seen her face!”
Kit shuddered. “I’ve heard you before when I knew you were faking it and still wasn’t certain! You should be on the stage, Vera!”
“Maybe one day I will,” the maid said with a shrug. “But for now, I’ll be backstage… working as costumer and dresser. We need to get you ready for this assembly tonight. Maybe you’ll snag a rich husband and save us both from this place!”
Men didn’t marry women like her, Kit thought bitterly. Ruined, her reputation soiled beyond repair and not a penny to her name, there would be offers aplenty, but none of them would be for marriage. If she thought it would help her to help Joseph, she might consider it. But there was little point in ruining Vera’s fantasy. It was all either of them had, after all. “One never knows,” Kit finally uttered.
“That new Lord Hadley will be there,” Vera offered in a conspiratorial whisper as she helped Kit into the gown that her cousin had thrust at her.
It was finer fabric than she’d worn in some time, but the gown was hopelessly ill-fitting. Too big in some places and entirely too small in others, there was no chance of making it flattering. Given a week, Vera might have been able to work her magic, but with only hours before the assembly, it would be a disaster. Of course, that had undoubtedly been Patrice’s desire all along.
“Don’t lose hope just yet,” Vera said with forced cheer. “I could make something of this yet!”
“A cake… that’s what I’ll make,” Kit said. “I’ll look like a fool and that is precisely what Patrice intended all along. This is impossible, Vera, and we both know it!”
Vera clucked her tongue. “Difficult, but not impossible. I can make this work, and I will, but you must keep you cloak on until you reach the assembly. If the mistress sees you in it before you leave here, she won’t let you go!”
A Heart So Wicked (The Dark Regency Series Book 6) Page 3