She’s tempted. I can see that. It must have been hell these past weeks, leaving Hannah here, not being certain how she was being treated.
“How could I do that? We could never let the Duchess know that you knew me before this, or that Hannah is your child. She’d take it out on little Hannah.”
“You’re right. She’d make Hannah’s life hell, and yours, too. She can’t be allowed to find out. But how about if you took a job here—nothing too strenuous, just a cover, really, for your being here? It wouldn’t matter if Hannah called you Mama—just so long as the Duchess never found out that it was I who brought you here, or that Hannah is ours.”
Ours. How I love saying that. No human being has ever truly been mine before—and to share her with Joanna—I think I am actually happy, for the first time in eight years.
“I wouldn’t mind working hard. Just if I could see her, keep being part of her life….”
“Of course. Now here’s what I’m thinking—”
They sat down on the bare earth, hidden from view by the overgrown hedgerow, and they proceeded to plan together how Joanna and Hannah could remain at Gresham Manor.
As they talked, he gazed at her. Somehow, despite all she had been through, Joanna was as beautiful as ever. Maybe even more beautiful—the responsibilities of motherhood and the harshness of life had imparted to the woman a serene, wise loveliness that the hot-tempered, quicksilver young tomboy had lacked.
Joanna, Joanna, I love you more than ever. I will not rush this. But I will not fail you or lose you a second time. This time I will find some way to make you and Hannah my own.
* * *
Cook was the most obvious co-conspirator they would need to enlist. Not to learn that Hannah was the Duke’s natural child—that would be too dangerous—but to be told that the Duke had located the mother of Cook’s little pet, who would need employment to stay near her child.
And by virtue of her long employment and indispensability to the Manor, Cook carried significant authority. She would be able to protect Joanna, just as she was protecting Hannah.
Of course, as it turned out, Cook was delighted to assist the Duke in his scheme. She had loved the Duke since he was a little boy, and she would do anything, keep any secret, that he asked of her.
And she wanted whatever was best for Hannah. The Duke had worried that Cook might feel some jealousy of Joanna, the child’s real mother, after all Cook had done to win the child’s affections for herself. But she was not that petty.
“Let’s see…we’re short one parlormaid, since we had a girl leave us over the summer to marry some farm boy. Would that do, d’ ye think?
“She’d answer to me, so it wouldn’t be that bad a job, compared to many. Could I meet with her first, with Yer Grace’s leave?”
“Of course, Cook. You run that side of the household here—you’re in charge. Shall I tell her to stop in to the kitchen tomorrow after teatime?”
* * *
So Joanna stopped by the next day.
Cook was startled when she first saw her. What a beauty! She doesn’t belong below stairs, wiping and polishing things. With that face, that figure…!
And in truth, Cook could see that Hannah had the potential of sharing all her mother’s beauty, when she grew up. It brought a sentimental tear to her eye to think of that.
Joanna stood there a little awkwardly, obviously unused to a noble man’s house and how to behave as a servant there. I’ll have to give her a little help with that—she’ll catch on in no time, I’m sure.
Cook ushered her to a seat near the kitchen fire, over which several roasts were already spitted, in preparation for the evening meal. “Sit down, my dear,” she said kindly. “His Grace tells me ye’re called Joanna?”
“Yes, Madam,” Joanna answered.
“Oh, you don’t have to ‘Madam’ me!” Cook chuckled. “Just plain old ‘Cook’ will do fine. Now, I have need for a new parlormaid. Have you ever done that sort of work before?”
“No, Cook. But I’m a hard worker, I learn fast—”
“I’m sure you do, my dear. I’m sure His Grace wouldn’t recommend ye unless he thought ye’d do the job very well. But I know there’s another reason he’s recommending ye. Hannah is yer little girl? And ye want to be near her to help look after her?”
“Yes, Ma’am—I mean, yes, Cook. And I will be grateful to my dying day for how you took her in and saved her life when I could do nothing for her—”
“Now, now, no need to say any more about that. I was glad to do what I could. And it must have been very hard for ye, as a mother, to leave yer child like that. But ye did the right thing. And now, if ye want the job, ye’re welcome to come work here and be near yer little girl again.”
“Oh, thank you, Cook!”
“Now I have a surprise for ye that will be sure to put a smile on yer face. Hannah! Come in here, child!”
The door opened and a healthy, cheerful Hannah burst in. She stood stock still for a moment when she saw Joanna.
Then she yelled, “Mama!!!” and raced across the room, hurling herself into her mother’s open arms.
Joanna was crying, Cook was crying, and all the kitchen maids who had been spying on the scene came running in to introduce themselves to Joanna. They were crying, too.
That was Joanna’s happy introduction to Gresham Manor.
* * *
The weeks passed quickly after that. It was nearly time for the gypsies to leave Gresham. Joanna, on her afternoon off, went back to the Travellers’ camp and made her farewells. She let it be known she had taken a servant’s job at the Manor, so she could be near little Hannah as the child’s health hopefully continued to improve through the winter.
Her fellow Travellers understood. Motherhood was a sacred tie. Even if the price of it was to be imprisoned under another man’s roof, performing servile tasks, instead of enjoying the free, wandering life of the roads.
“Come back to us as soon as ye can, lass. We’re yer people, remember,” said Maggie Mae.
She tied an amulet around Joanna’s neck, a little packet of odd-smelling herbs. “Picked in darkness when the moon was at its wane,” Maggie Mae explained. “‘Twill keep ye safe from harm. And the Spirit protect ye.”
In truth, there was more than one spell contained in the amulet.
A few hours before, when Maggie Mae was making it, Cormac stopped by. She explained the herbs’ powers to him. “To keep her safe,” she said.
“Up at yon Manor House?” Cormac chuckled. “If I were ye, Mag, I’d toss in some powerful love spells as well, for our girl Joanna to keep on her person there.”
“Whatever d’ ye mean, Mac?”
He smiled mysteriously and took a pull on his pipe. “I might be right. Or I might be wrong. But that’s all I’ll say. ‘Him as has ears to hear, let him hear,’ as the Good Book says.”
So Maggie Mae, puzzled as she was, threw in her strongest love charm among the protective herbs. And Joanna, unknowing, wore the amulet back to Gresham Manor, next to her heart.
* * *
Days and evenings at the Manor fell into an easy routine. Joanna learned her tasks quickly. She followed the other parlormaids around, helping them, until she could do each of their jobs comfortably.
In the mornings she helped to clean out the fireplace grates in the main rooms of the house, before the gentry awoke. She arranged the food on breakfast trays, to be carried and delivered to the Duke and Duchess, and whatever guests might be visiting, by maids and footmen higher up the servants’s hierarchy.
Much to her joy, she spent a lot of her working hours with Hannah. When possible, Cook sent her along to “help her mother” with chores. In truth, at eight and a half, Hannah was too young for any real responsibilities. So leaving her in Joanna’s care increased no one’s workload.
She was as careful as she could be not to draw the Duchess’s attention to her or her daughter. While Cook never spoke of this outright, it seemed as if she, too, were being
cautious, giving Joanna and Hannah assignments well out of sight of the Duchess.
This could not go on forever.
* * *
The Duke and Duchess had postponed going to London for the Season that autumn. Influenza had broken out, and the crowded, unsanitary conditions in the capital caused the frightening illness to spread rapidly, even into the fine houses of the gentry.
With her annual trip to London postponed, the Duchess was worse-tempered than ever. She seemed to think the influenza had been invited to personally try her patience.
Before long, the disease broke out at Gresham Manor, too. Several maids and footmen were confined to bed in a makeshift quarantine, with the good doctor stopping by often to do what little he could for the patients.
The staff was short-handed. Servants had to cover for each other and pitch in on tasks they usually did not do. So Joanna found herself in the ivory-and-gilt parlor one afternoon, helping other maids serve tea to guests of the Duchess.
The visitors were minor gentry from around Gresham—the wives of knights and minor baronets, gossipy sycophants who flattered the Duchess as to her social superiority, her style and elegance. Her Grace enjoyed their company.
“You,” one long-nosed guest called to Joanna. “A fresh cup of tea.”
Joanna dutifully poured more tea into a little china cup, adding a small amount of fresh cream. The lady shrieked as Joanna handed her the cup. “You idiot! You’ve poisoned it! How can I add lemon, now that you’ve clogged it up with that cream? Take it back, take it back!”
She flung the cup of hot liquid at Joanna, who backed away from the scalding splatter. The cup fell on the rug and shattered.
“Clumsy girl! Your Grace, did you see that?”
“Oh, Mother-in-Law, dear, it was just an accident,” said one of the other guests, a younger woman perhaps Joanna’s own age. “What a fuss you do make about things!”
Her daughter-in-law’s intervention only made the older woman more shrill. “Your Grace! Who trains these girls for you? I declare, they take advantage of your kindness, my dear Duchess! You should be stricter with them!”
The Duchess turned to look at Joanna. There was icy anger in her bulbous blue eyes. Anything that seemed like criticism of her ability to run the Manor like a true Duchess struck a nerve with her.
“Get this cleaned up. Instantly. And then consider yourself dismissed. Without a reference. I want you off these premises before nightfall.”
Joanna left the room, her head held high.
“Your Grace, did you see how haughtily she looked at you?” asked the author of the entire incident. “My goodness, if looks could kill—! If I were you, I wouldn’t feel safe in my bed at night until she leaves the household.”
“She’s going, believe me,” said the Duchess.
“Not a moment too soon,” another guest commented. “She’s not just haughty and insolent—she’s also far too beautiful. That black hair, those oddly colored eyes. If I had a handsome young husband like you do, Duchess, I wouldn’t want a maid with those looks within ten miles of the Manor. She probably has the morals of an alley cat. They usually do.”
Ready to shriek with frustration and humiliation, the Duchess wrapped her tea party up as quickly as courtesy would allow. The guests all gone, she rang a little silver bell.
“Send Cook to see me. Immediately.”
* * *
What followed was a heated battle between Cook and her young mistress. The Duchess’s shouts could be heard throughout Gresham Manor. Cook was quieter, but equally determined.
Cook knew of her own indispensability to the Manor—they wouldn’t find a cook and housekeeper like her for fifty miles, at any price! And she knew the Duke especially wanted this young woman, Joanna, on staff, together with Hannah.
Cook wasn’t entirely certain why the Duke wanted this, but she had her suspicions. She was not a stupid woman. She had watched her master’s face when he spoke of Joanna or Hannah, and she privately drew her own conclusions. But that was no business of hers. She wanted the kind Duke to have some small happiness in his life.
So she held her ground. She refused to fire Joanna or “that impertinent little guttersnipe” who, according to the Duchess, was, by her resemblance, quite obviously Joanna’s illegitimate child.
Cook went further than that. If Joanna and Hannah went, then Cook would leave, too. Good luck to Her Grace then in finding a replacement for Cook, with the formal dinners and lavish parties the Duchess had already planned for the Christmas holidays!
It was a matter of principle, Cook explained. In any proper noble household—this was a jibe at the Duchess’s common origins, of course—it was understood the Cook was ruler of her own domain below stairs. She had the authority to hire and fire her own staff. No mistress who wanted a well-run household would dream of interfering.
Cook had served this family for too long, she said, to have her authority stripped from her. She would make the hiring decisions, or she would leave.
* * *
Flabbergasted at having her commands gainsaid by a common cook, the Duchess went to her husband for support.
“Cook is correct, Duchess. This is how it is done in noble households.”
She railed at him for failing to stand up for his wife, like a proper man. This argument did not seem to faze him. He remained adamant; the parlormaid and her daughter would stay, if that was Cook’s wish.
* * *
She took the case to the court of final appeal in the Gresham household, her doting father. She sobbed piteously about how mistreated she was. Disrespected and robbed of authority in front of the lowest of the servants—and the Duke didn’t even care enough to stand up for her.
“He just prattles that this falls within the Cook’s authority in noble households, and implies I’m not lofty enough to know about how such things are conducted among the nobility.”
“The cad. I guess my money is lofty enough for him, but my daughter isn’t? I’ll soon straighten him out, Dorothy, never you mind.”
“And the worst of it, Father, is that other ladies who visit are commenting on how beautiful this parlormaid is—how she has the morals of an alley cat, and the Duke can’t be trusted around her!”
“Aha.” Mr. Coleman was a man of the world, and now, suddenly, the fierce resistance to dismissing the beautiful, promiscuous parlormaid began to make some sense. Apparently, orders to keep her on staff came from much higher up than the Cook.
“My dear, I will look into this. I think there’s a lot more going on here than an old Cook protecting her territory. Trust me to ferret it out. Meanwhile, forget about staffing decisions. As I’ve told you, we have much bigger problems. Has the Duke been coming regularly to your bed at night? And doing his, uh, husbandly duty?”
“Yes. Most nights. But I hate it, Father.”
“Well-bred women do, my dear, that’s natural. Once you bear that son, you’ll never have to go near the Duke again.”
But Mr. Coleman worried all the same. Apparently the marriage bed was regularly being made use of, but still there was no child on the way. And now it seemed the Duke had his own little doxy on the premises, which meant he’d have even less interest in sleeping with his wife than ever.
A more drastic course of action must be taken, and soon. That much was clear.
Chapter 31
Drastic Acts and Measures
The Duke popped in to the Manor kitchen, as he had been doing since he was a boy. The evening meal had been served and cleared above stairs, and the kitchen staff were wrapping up the day’s tasks.
“How is she?” he asked the Cook. They had no need to clarify whom he meant.
“Upset, Yer Grace. I promised her she wouldn’t be leaving here, no matter what some have been saying to her.” Cooked sniffed, deeply annoyed at the Duchess’s treatment of Cook’s staff.
“But she’s frightened, Yer Grace. She keeps asking where she can go, where she can take the child, if she’s forced out
. Seems her own people aren’t living near here.”
“No, they aren’t. Where is she, Cook? I’ll talk to her.”
“She’s up in her little room on the garrett level. Third room on the left side of the hallway.”
* * *
Christopher made his way up the darkened staircase to the Manor’s uppermost story. Third room on the left.
“Joanna,” he whispered from outside her door. “Joanna, it’s me. I just want to talk with you.”
The door opened slowly, and she beckoned him into the small, plain room. A single candle burned on a table.
Joanna wore a simple white nightgown. Her lovely black hair tumbled loose about her shoulders. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and tears streaked her face. She looked as young as little Hannah, fast asleep on a palette in the corner, shaded from view by an old blanket Joanna must have hung to provide some privacy.
“Christopher, I’m so scared,” she whispered. “For myself, I don’t care. But if the Duchess kicks us out, where will I take Hannah? The Travellers have gone west. I’m completely stranded here.”
“You’re not going anywhere. I won’t permit it. The Duchess does not rule this Dukedom, no matter what she may think.” He felt a new strength come to life within him as he said this. He should have said it—loudly—from the outset of his marriage.
“Your home, and Hannah’s home, is wherever I am. Didn’t I promise to take care of both of you?”
Joanna began to sob piteously. He pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair like a child. “Joanna, love, you’ve carried this burden for too long by yourself. Give it to me, now.”
Tamed By The Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 21