by Wilma Counts
Kate was human enough to worry privately about how these matters might affect her and her son. However, there was nothing she could do, was there? Wait and see. But uncertainty was unnerving. She understood all too well the feelings of other staff members. And she recognized an added dimension to her own uncertainty: this chemistry or undercurrent of attraction between her and her employer. She engaged privately in an ongoing argument with herself.
Your feelings are entirely improper!
One does not control feelings easily.
Where do you expect such feelings to take you?
Nowhere.
Oh, really?
They can go nowhere. Once he knows the truth—and he will eventually—his disgust will surely spell finis to what might have been.
So treasure what you have while you have it.
No. I need to put this foolishness out of mind and concentrate on Ned. The possibility of losing my son is very real.
One day at a time, my girl. One day at a time.
Meanwhile, she went about her duties of supervising housemaids in the everyday upkeep of a large house: sweeping, dusting, making beds, cleaning fireplaces, polishing furniture, planning meals. Wilkins and his band of footmen saw to polishing brass and silver, serving at meals, and sundry heavier duties, but Kate also oversaw the laundry, the dairy, and the kitchen. The gardeners and stable hands, who ordinarily answered to a steward, now took orders directly from his lordship.
In addition, Kate continued to make time for Lady Elinor and for both the children now. The two women moved on from Miss Austen to Sir Walter Scott. Determined to instill in her son her own love of literature, Kate had for years read or told stories to Ned at bedtime—fairy tales, Bible stories, myths. Now, Lady Cassandra happily joined this ritual. Kate sat on a couch in the schoolroom with a child, already dressed for bed, curled comfortably under either arm.
That was precisely where Lord Kenrick found them on the evening of his return from the inspection tour with his brother.
As usual when he’d been gone for awhile, Jeremy missed his daughter profoundly. He and Robert had pushed their horses hard to arrive home as darkness was laying claim to the land. Knowing it was already Cassie’s bedtime, he rushed up to his daughter’s bedchamber.
She wasn’t there.
He heard voices from the schoolroom and stood outside and listened for a few minutes. Mrs. Arthur was reading a story apparently about animals, for it was punctuated here and there with appropriate animal sounds and accompanying childish giggles.
“No. No, Mama. Let Cassie do the owl,” Ned said.
“Very well. She does an owl much better than I,” Mrs. Arthur said with a laugh.
“Talks-with-Animals showed me,” Cassie explained and produced a perfect owl hoot. “I can do a squirrel too.” She immediately demonstrated.
Jeremy smiled to himself and just stood there, relishing the freedom and pure joy he heard in his daughter’s voice.
Finally, there was a pause.
He heard Mrs. Arthur say, “All right. Off to bed, you two.”
“Just one more, please?” Ned begged.
“Please?” Cassie added.
“No more stories tonight,” Mrs. Arthur said firmly.
“A rime, then?” Ned suggested.
“The Psalm we’ve been learning,” his mother countered and began, “The Lord is my shepherd . . .” and both children haltingly echoed her.
Jeremy waited until they were finished, then pushed into the room.
“Papa!” Cassie squealed in delight. She disengaged herself from the housekeeper’s arm and ran to her father, who gathered her to him, sweeping her off her feet. He savored the feel of those little arms around his neck and the scent of the soap from her bath.
“I missed you, Papa.”
“And I missed you, Poppet.”
“I rode Toby every day,” she babbled. “An’ Ned learned me the maze an’ Petunia had kittens and Mrs. Jenkins said I could have one for my very own if you said I could. Can I, please? Pleeease?”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said as he saw Mrs. Arthur and her son move toward the door.
“Welcome home, my lord,” the housekeeper said.
“It’s good to be home,” he replied, suddenly aware that the scene he had stumbled upon here gave his comment an undercurrent of meaning he would not have thought possible even an hour ago.
“Good night, Cassie. My lord,” Mrs. Arthur said.
“G’night,” Ned echoed.
Cassie stiffened in her father’s arms and reached a hand toward the housekeeper. “Wait. Aren’t you going to tuck me in?” There was a note of hurt and longing in Cassie’s voice.
Mrs. Arthur’s look at Jeremy clearly sought his response. Feeling himself a bit of an outsider, he merely nodded. The four of them moved down the hall to Cassie’s room where Jeremy stood at the door with his hand on Ned’s shoulder as Mrs. Arthur tucked the little girl into bed, along with her favorite doll, the Native American–clad figure. Cassie’s arm clung around the woman’s neck as Mrs. Arthur kissed her cheek and murmured, “Sweet dreams, my dear.”
The look she gave her employer was almost apologetic as she stepped away from Cassie’s bed to allow Jeremy to bid his daughter good night. Mother and son left the room and when Jeremy left Cassie’s room, Mrs. Arthur was coming from her son’s room where, Jeremy assumed, she had repeated the “tucking in” ceremony. They both spoke at once.
“Mrs. Arthur—”
“My lord—”
He stopped and gestured for her to continue.
“I—it—it just sort of happened,” she explained, sounding nervous. “Rosie prepares her ladyship for bed as I supervise Ned’s bedtime, then we read a story and the children retire. I—I hope you have no objection.”
“N-no. Why would I? My daughter is well cared for.”
“Yes. She is.”
As they stood there in the hallway, he wanted to prolong this moment alone with her. “What is this about a kitten?”
“Three weeks ago, the kitchen cat had five kittens under the back door stoop. She is now sharing them with the world and Lady Cassandra desperately wants one of them.”
“She does? Why?”
“To love. To have as her own.”
“The pony Toby is her own.”
“She cannot cuddle a pony as she could a kitten.”
“I am in unfamiliar territory here,” Jeremy admitted. “As a mother, what do you think of the idea?”
She answered slowly, thoughtfully. “I think this little girl has been very lonely for quite some time. Perhaps a pet would alleviate her sense of abandonment.”
“My child has hardly been abandoned.” He sounded stuffy even to his own ears.
“I did not mean to imply that she has been, but I think she has felt that way. After all, this past year of her life has been very different from what she experienced in earlier years.”
“True, but perhaps you are reading too much into too little,” he argued, conceding only to himself that his reaction might be prompted by a sense of guilt.
Her lips tightened and she gave a small shrug. “Perhaps I am.” She did not sound as though she believed this. “In any event, both Mrs. Jenkins and I have repeatedly told Lady Cassandra that the decision would be yours and yours alone.” With that, she moved toward the door leading to the back stairs to the kitchen. “I’ll see to some refreshment for you and Captain Chilton,” she added and slipped through the door.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself. She had as much as said he’d neglected his duties as a father!
“You asked the question,” he reminded himself. “She answered it. Had you rather she had dissembled, lied to you?
“Well, perhaps. . . .”
The conversation had certainly changed the tone of his homecoming.
CHAPTER 14
Kate knew her position as housekeeper at Kenrick Hall was most unorthodox, for she had more authority—and more res
ponsibility—than such a position usually entailed. But had the earl not made that clear from the beginning? Many of her duties—planning menus, deciding on household projects—would have been performed by a countess were one in residence, or by Lady Elinor were she less infirm. Occasionally, rumors, raised eyebrows, and snide questions dotted local gossip, especially in the days following Nurse Cranstan’s departure. However, Lady Elinor’s consequence and her friendship with the vicar’s wife helped deflect negative comments. Also, according to gossipy Rosie, servants interacting with friends and relatives over tankards or teacups protested vehemently against scurrilous rumors. Kate herself maintained a professional demeanor with both her employer and her fellow employees.
But it was not easy.
Often of an evening, the staff would gather in the servants’ dining room downstairs to play cards, dominoes, or draughts even as they were on call to serve the family upstairs. On rare occasions, Kate joined the group with her guitar for an informal song fest. At such times, Ned and Cassie frequently joined in as well. The gathering always broke up for an early bedtime, not so much for the sake of the children as for the fact that, in any well-run household, servants were expected to rise long before their masters. Kate treasured her camaraderie with the staff, but took care to preserve an invisible line of decorum.
Such a line was not so easily maintained on the other end of the spectrum. The history—and now the secret—she shared with Robert precluded treating him privately as anything but what he was: a valued friend. Robert continued to press her to tell Kenrick the truth, but Kate demurred, partly from fear of the unknown. What action would Lord Kenrick feel compelled to take? And what would he think of her? Had he not at their first meeting made a point of telling her how he valued honesty and integrity?
Lately, though, her concerns had extended to Kenrick himself. She had overheard him mention to Robert that he expected to take his seat in the House of Lords when Parliament met in the new year, for he had decided views on reform measures being bandied about in the highest circles. A scandal involving a connection of the powerful Duke of Wynstan and a not-so-well-known earl would render the earl’s political views meaningless before he uttered them. Her very presence in his life offered a potential hazard.
Maintaining stiff formality with Lord Kenrick was proving very difficult indeed. Her mind would not let go of that kiss, the waltz, his occasional gentle teasing, the kindness he extended to Ned, and—most of all—the sheer magnetism of a fine masculine form and compelling blue eyes.
“Oh, good heavens,” she admonished herself. “Robert has fine eyes and a fine physique as well. You are not daydreaming about him like some green girl!” The truth was that with each passing day, her feelings for Lord Kenrick grew stronger. She found herself even thinking of him as Jeremy instead of the title his position—and hers—required. She was sure that he was attracted to her to some degree. There had been that kiss, after all....
But there was tension as well. She occasionally caught him looking at her with speculation and curiosity. Did he suspect that she was not the person she purported to be? She was tempted to tell him the truth. She wanted to share the problem—as she had often shared issues with Arthur. But no. Such a move would change—destroy—the status quo. Best leave things alone. The unknown was too frightening. Eventually she and Ned would have to leave. She could explain then—maybe write a letter.
The morning after his return from surveying Kenrick holdings with Robert, Jeremy went to the stables with a handful of carrots, thinking he would accompany Cassie and Ned on their morning ride. Perhaps Ned’s mother would be there too, and he could smooth over any awkwardness of last night. Cassie and Jack, the stable hand who usually oversaw the riding lessons, were alone.
“Where is Ned?” Jeremy asked.
“He can’t come today,” Cassie said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Can’t come? Why? Is he ill? He seemed perfectly fine last night.”
“He’s not allowed for three days,” Cassie explained.
“Who does not allow him?” Jeremy looked from Cassie to Jack.
“His mama,” Cassie said with the same all-knowing frankness of children.
“You know anything about this?” Jeremy asked of Jack.
“Yes, my lord.” But Jack seemed reluctant to elaborate and glanced at Cassie.
Jeremy handed Cassie the carrots. “See if Toby would like these.”
“Oh, I know he will.” She scampered out of hearing of the two men.
“So—why is Ned not allowed to ride?” Jeremy demanded of Jack.
Jack drew circles in the dust with the toe of his boot. “Well, my lord, you know how boys can be at times. The lad were just feelin’ his oats. But he made the mistake of letting his ma hear him.”
“ ‘Feeling his oats’? Explain that, Jack.”
Jack sighed. “We come back from a sort of long ride couple days ago. He were tired an’ it was rainin’ an’ he didn’t wanta put the horse up proper-like. I told him as how you’d made that part of their ridin’ lessons.”
“And?” Jeremy prodded.
“Well, he got real uppity an’ told me to do it myself since I was a stable hand an’ it were my job an’ all.”
“Ned said that?”
“Yep. You know how young folks gotta try the fences now an’ then. He added some other choice words you might hear around a stable. What he didn’t know—me, neither—was his ma was just inside the stable door. Come down to wait for ’em.”
“What happened then?”
“She come chargin’ out that door like a whirlwind, grabbed that boy by his ear an’ told ’im to apologize to me immediately and then laid into ’im somethin’ fierce. Told ’im his behavior was totally unacceptable, how could he hope to take his proper place in society if he had no respect for the animals an’ people who made his life easier—an’ on an’ on. Made ’im apologize to Lady Cassandra too, ’cause no gentleman would ever use such language in front of a lady.”
Jeremy shook his head, pondering this.
Jack went on. “She ended by telling him—an’ me—that he was not to come near the stables for three days. An’ you know how that boy does love horses.”
“Did he apologize?”
“Most definitely. He knew he done wrong. I think he was real sorry—not just for his careless words to me, but that his ma was shamed by what he done.”
“What did she mean, ‘take his place in society’?”
“I got no idea, my lord. But she were mad as hops!”
Jeremy was still mulling over this information and only half listening to his daughter chatter as the two of them set off on a leisurely ride, Jeremy holding his mount back to match the pace of Cassie’s pony.
“Is that true, Papa?”
“Is what true?”
“What I just said. Weren’t you listening, Papa?”
“I guess I wasn’t, sweetheart. What was it?”
“Is a duke more higher than an earl?”
“Higher, not ‘more higher,’ ” he corrected. “Yes. In the grand scheme of English society, a duke outranks an earl.”
“Oh.” She sounded deflated.
“Why do you ask?”
“Ned said when he grows up he will be a duke like Welgundon and then I’ll have to curtsy to him. Is that true, Papa?”
Jeremy chuckled. “You mean Wellington, love. But yes, if he managed to become a duke, you might. Of course, you could marry a prince, and then Ned would have to bend his knee to you.”
“Then that is what I shall do,” she said, lifting her chin for emphasis. She abruptly changed the subject. “This is tomorrow, Papa. Can I please have one of Petunia’s kittens? Pleeease?”
“When we get back, you may show them to me,” he said, already knowing he would give in on this issue, not only to make his daughter happy, but also to prove to Mrs. Arthur that he was not as heartless as she might think.
As they continued the outing, his mind reverted again
to his housekeeper. More pieces to the puzzle. A place in society? A housekeeper’s son a member of the aristocracy? But how did these pieces fit the picture? Could be a mother’s natural ambition for her child, on the one hand, and childish babble based on soldiers’ gossip when Parliament elevated Wellington, on the other hand. Perhaps he would ask Robert—assuming Robert could answer without betraying a confidence.
Meanwhile, there was still the matter of the kitten. As he accompanied Cassie to the back entrance of the hall, they found the mama cat and her babies cavorting near the stoop. Jeremy could not help smiling at their antics, jumping over plants and each other, chasing shadows.
“They are having such fun!” Cassie said with a giggle.
“They are that,” he agreed. “So which one has stolen the Lady Cassandra’s heart?”
“This one!” She snagged a ball of fur sporting splashes of brown, white, amber, and black, and hugged it close.
“Why that one? Why not this little yellow one with white stripes?”
“I like this one.” She hugged it closer. “She makes me think of Running Fox.”
“She does?” Jeremy was mystified by the connection between this small feline and Cassie’s erstwhile Arapaho playmate.
“His pony, Lobo. ’Member all the patches? I am going to call her Lady Lobo. Can I keep her? Please, Papa?”
“Yes, you may,” said, sure his correcting her grammar went entirely unheeded.
She nuzzled the kitten. “Did you hear that, Lady Lobo? Papa said yes!”
Jeremy’s idea of asking his brother about Mrs. Arthur was overshadowed by Robert’s greeting when the two met in the library later.
“Jeremy! You must have a guardian angel looking out for you!”
“Oh?”
“The market for that wool you are sitting on is up this week. Up! And just when we need that space to store hay!”
Robert’s excitement was contagious.
“Maybe luck is swinging our way,” Jeremy said. “I stopped by the home farm to speak with Porter this morning. He said we should start cutting hay tomorrow. When we finish we can have the cutters load the wool on the wagons to haul it to market in York.”