by Abby Grahame
Under the beam of the overhead stable lantern, Michael stood talking to Maggie, who looked like a figure out of a romantic painting. The skirt of her gown was caught up over one arm, and her soft blond hair was coming unfurled from its silver combs.
Lila leaned closer to the glass. What were they talking about? Was Maggie smiling? It was a smile Lila remembered from long ago but hadn’t seen in over a year. Michael was leaning toward Maggie.
In the glow of the lanterns, Michael looked devastatingly handsome. In fact, Michael and Maggie made a gorgeous couple. It was a scandalous thought! Lila almost laughed out loud at the idea.
Regardless of what they were talking about, they seemed to be having much more fun than Lila was. Maybe they wouldn’t mind her joining the conversation.
“Where are you going?” Jessica asked, looking up from the writing to which she’d returned.
As Lila dashed across the lawn, she looked over her shoulder at Jessica. “I think I will see what’s happening with that horse,” she said.
Chapter Ten
MICHAEL GAZED INTO MAGGIE’S BROWN eyes and every feeling he had been denying came rushing back. How he’d missed her!
“When I saw you needed some help, releasing the duke’s horse was the only thing I could think of,” Michael told her. “It was a bit drastic, but it worked.”
“Absolutely! It worked like a charm. I can’t thank you enough,” she replied, laughter in those lively eyes. “Are you sure the horse won’t come to harm?”
“Very certain,” Michael assured her. “It will gallop across the fields, enjoy its bit of freedom, and then head back for its stall. It knows the way back. The men know it as well. They’re making a big show of finding it but I think they’re just enjoying a little freedom too.”
This made Maggie laugh hard. The sound of it made Michael’s heart leap. It had been so long.
“So everyone is in this plot together,” she concluded. “It’s just that no one will admit what’s really going on.”
“Something like that,” Michael agreed, the smile fading from his lips. “It’s somewhat like what’s going on with you.”
Maggie also became serious. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
“I mean that you’re angry with me and I don’t know why.”
Maggie turned her back on him. “I was, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Because you’ve moved on?” Michael asked.
“You were right, Michael,” Maggie told him. “I couldn’t accept it at the time but I’ve grown up since then.”
“Don’t do this, Maggie,” Michael urged. Maybe he was being rash, he knew. But the chances to be alone with her were so few and far between. He had to say his piece, especially now when she wasn’t shutting him out. “That night before you left, I only said I didn’t love you because I thought it was impossible between us. I didn’t want to hurt you; I actually thought I was helping you by setting you free from a love that could never be. But since you’ve been gone I’ve realized it was pride and false nobility on my part. I’ve grown too. I know now that we belong together. Whatever it takes.” Michael was surprised to find he meant it. He had fooled himself into believing he could go on without Maggie. Finally being able to talk to her—to tell her all the things he’d meant to the moment she got back, before the weeks she’d spent ignoring him for Teddy—unleashed his true feelings.
“I love you, Maggie Darlington,” Michael continued. “I’ve probably loved you my whole life, before I even knew what it meant to be in love with someone. When we are together, I feel more myself than I have ever felt. I am not Michael the groom, or Michael the gardener’s son, I’m just Michael. And you are not Lady Margaret. You are Maggie. The most beautiful, sweet girl in the world. The girl who can squeeze more happiness and life out of one day than most folks can in a lifetime. Come back to me, Maggie.”
When Maggie turned back toward him, tears brimmed in her eyes. “Then you should have said all that at the time. Before I left for France. It’s too late now, Michael.”
“Listen to me. I have a plan. I’m going to go to the racetrack and find work as a horse trainer.”
“When are you planning to do that?” Maggie asked, looking shocked.
“I’m not sure yet. When the time is right. Soon.”
For a moment he thought Maggie seemed interested, but her face crumpled once more. “Don’t speak any more, Michael. It’s no use. Too much has happened!”
“What? What has happened?” Michael asked passionately. Maggie opened her mouth to speak and then seemed to think better of it. “It’s too late! It’s too late!” she wailed, tears spilling over onto her cheeks.
“Tell me why!” Michael implored.
“It just is,” Maggie insisted. “Things have changed! Changed forever!”
“But what has changed?” he begged to know.
“Life!” Maggie cried, throwing her arms wide.
Even in her pain and misery, this was the Maggie he knew, full of feeling, not the ice queen she was trying so desperately to be. He reached out and held her by the shoulders, wanting to pull her close as he had so many times before, to protect and love her.
Maggie gazed up at him, her tear-stained eyes filled with longing, but then she broke free, running off into the darkness outside their circle of lantern light, her gown rustling as she fled.
Michael took a step forward to go after her but decided against it. Silently he cursed himself for ever telling Maggie he didn’t love her. What a fool he’d been! He had been so certain he was doing the right thing at the time.
How desperately he wished he could take it all back. He should have told her, instead, that he wouldn’t be a horse groom all his life, that he would work hard and do whatever it took to advance his station in life. While he could never reproduce the grandeur of Wentworth Hall, he could promise her a decent life.
If only. If only.
Something moved off in the darkness and Michael turned sharply toward the sound.
Lila! How long had she been standing there?
“Lila!” he called, but she was gone.
Nora sat at the big round kitchen table, hemming a velvet ball gown, still in her maid’s uniform. After all the excitement of preparing the girls for the quadrille she was wide-awake and couldn’t sleep. The red fabric she was working with was luscious but difficult to get a needle through. The satin and crinoline hems underneath it would be easier.
Despite the challenges of the fabric, she was happy for the job. She’d charge for three hems separately. And all because the wearer of the gown insisted on wearing flat satin slippers so she wouldn’t be taller than the young gentleman she’d set her sights on.
Nora was so pleased to think of the money her side jobs were bringing in. Eventually, she might have enough to leave service and work for herself! Maybe even before she was let go for lack of funds at Wentworth Hall. That destiny seemed to be encroaching at a rapid rate.
“Oh, you’re up!” Therese entered the kitchen looking sleepy-eyed and wrapped in her robe, her blond hair braided down the back.
“Always up,” Nora confirmed. “I’m not a big sleeper.”
“Is that household mending?” Therese asked. “Do they work you so hard that you must sew through the night?”
Nora smiled. “No, this is my escape plan. I’m saving extra money to buy my own tearoom someday. But you mustn’t tell. It’s against the rules and I could get sacked for doing it.”
Therese put her finger to her lip. “Not a word,” she assured Nora.
“Why are you up?” Nora inquired as she snapped a piece of thread with her teeth.
“Oh, the poor baby will not settle. It is his teeth, I am sure. I have come to get the frozen bread for James and a cup of warm milk for her ladyship who was awakened by the crying and can not fall back to sleep,” Therese explained as she took the bread from the icebox.
“You bring the baby
the soother,” Nora said, laying aside her mending. “The poor tyke must be in agony. He shouldn’t be made to wait. I’ll bring her ladyship the milk.”
“Thank you so much, Nora,” Therese said, hurrying off with the frozen bread.
After heating the milk and pouring it into a silver teapot along with a white bone china cup and saucer, Nora arranged a teaspoon and a lace-trimmed white linen napkin on a silver tray and headed up to Lady Darlington’s third-floor bedroom, balancing it all on the tray. As she neared the bedroom door, she hesitated because she heard Lord Darlington speaking within, and his voice was decidedly agitated.
“What good is having a nanny if she can’t keep the child quiet at night?” Lord Darlington complained. “I am exhausted after this evening’s commotion and I do not need to be awakened by the wail of a peevish child.”
“I’m so sorry, dear,” Lady Darlington apologized sleepily. “Go back to bed. Therese is in with the baby now and I don’t hear him anymore. You shan’t be disturbed again, I hope.”
“‘I hope’?” Lord Darlington barked.
“Well, one can’t be one hundred percent sure with a baby, can one?”
“How you ever got pregnant at your age, I can’t imagine,” Lord Darlington went on.
“Nor can I, but it happened just the same,” Lady Darlington said blandly. “And he’s a dear little fellow.”
“I already have one son, I really didn’t need another,” Lord Darlington grumbled.
“Arthur!” Lady Darlington scolded, shocked at his coldness.
“I’m only saying what’s true. Another baby is another mouth to feed and child to clothe, another boy who has to be educated. And a nanny to feed and clothe along with him.”
“I don’t understand your dislike of Therese,” Lady Darlington replied. “You didn’t seem to mind her at first. I can’t help but feel she’s done something to upset you.”
“She can’t keep the damn baby quiet for one!” Lord Darlington snapped.
Lady Darlington sighed. “It’s late, we can talk about this another time.”
“You have put me off before, Beatrice. I’d like you to let Therese go. Send her back to France.”
Still listening at the door, Nora set down her tray so she could lean closer to hear better. “I don’t understand why,” Lady Darlington said, sounding aghast at the request. Nora felt the same. Why was Lord Darlington getting involved in an issue traditionally left to his wife?
“I would prefer an English nanny.”
Nora twisted her mouth skeptically. She didn’t believe him. The stiffness of his tone made her feel he was lying.
“You’ve said that before. But we’ve enlisted Therese to teach French to the girls,” Lady Darlington reminded him.
“A useless language, if you ask me,” Lord Darlington insisted.
“Knowledge of French is considered a sign of good breeding in a wife,” Lady Darlington replied. “In fact, isn’t Maggie’s time spent abroad part of what sparked the duke’s interest in her?”
“Interest means nothing without a proper offer for her hand. And regardless, I prefer an English nanny for my son. Do you want James sounding like an affected and foppish lad with a French accent?”
“He won’t have a French accent, but he will be bilingual. Which is an asset in business endeavors, as you know.”
“What, you expect a son of mine to engage in trading? He will have plenty of work on his hands helping his elder brother manage Wentworth Hall. And please don’t change the subject. I said I want her gone and I will not be trifled with!” Lord Darlington exploded. With that he stormed from the room, not even noticing Nora, who was flattened against the wall. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
A sob caught in Lady Darlington’s throat. Gathering up her tray, Nora rushed in.
Lady Darlington sat at her vanity in her lavender satin robe, her long salt-and-pepper hair loose to her shoulders, with her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she cried silent tears.
“I have your warm milk, your ladyship,” Nora spoke tenderly. In spite of Lady Darlington’s pretense and occasional haughtiness, Nora liked the woman and hated to see her so upset. “Have some. You’ll feel better.”
Lady Darlington looked up, surprised to see Nora. “Why are you up so late, Nora?” she asked, wiping away her tears.
“I couldn’t sleep after the excitement of the ball,” Nora told a half-truth.
“I see.” Lady Darlington poured herself some milk, which Nora was relieved to see continued to steam slightly.
There was an awkward pause as Nora waited, hoping Lady Darlington would engage her in discussion regarding what had just passed with her husband. “Thank you, Nora, and good night” was all she said.
“Good night, your ladyship,” Nora replied, dipping into a quick curtsy.
Nora burst from the room, dying to tell someone what she had just heard. The only one possibly awake, though, was Therese. Should she tell Therese? Maybe it would blow over and she would be upsetting her needlessly. On the other hand, if she was about to get the sack, she should be warned.
When Nora entered the kitchen, Therese was there, sitting at the table, yawning but awake. Her half-closed eyes widened at the sight of Nora. “What happened?” she asked, seeing Nora’s excited expression.
“Oh…” Nora hesitated, making up her mind what to do. “Lady Darlington was having a heated discussion with his lordship,” she reported, gathering up the gown she’d been hemming.
“So he was up,” Therese surmised. “That’s when he must have dropped this.” She took an opened envelope from the pocket of her robe and placed it on the table. It was addressed to Lord Arthur Darlington from his solicitor in London.
“What is it?” Nora asked. “You didn’t read it, did you?”
A mischievous sparkle came into Therese’s eyes. “Of course I did. Wouldn’t you?”
Nora had to grin. “Naturally.”
Therese took the paper from the envelope and handed it to Nora.
Nora scanned the letter and quickly gleaned the meaning of its contents. Lord Darlington had contacted his lawyer in London about selling off not only large tracts of land on his estate—including the stable and its horses—but also many of the family’s most prized heirlooms.
After reading the letter, Nora looked at Therese with a stunned expression. “I had no idea things were this bad,” she remarked honestly. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“Do you think our positions here are at risk?” Therese asked in a worried tone.
Nora nodded her head. There was no sense warning Therese about what she had just overheard. This was warning enough. And Therese might not be the only one who would soon be hunting for a position, it seemed. It was possible that before long the entire staff of Wentworth Hall might be seeking new employment.
Chapter Eleven
The Sussex Courier
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF… THE WORTHLESS SAGA
Presenting part two of the popular
ongoing new series …
“Pack My Jewels. We’re Moving to the Poorhouse.”
It was quite the scene at our favorite broken-down palace earlier this week.
“Sell! Sell! Sell!” cried Lord Worthless as he stood in the immense front foyer of Faded Glory Manor, his family’s once grand estate. “Everything must go!”
Moving men carried out furniture and racks of gowns, jewels, and fur coats, all to be sold at an auction in London. Lady Worthless hurried out with a wailing baby slung over her shoulder. Ignoring the baby’s cries, she tugged at a fox stole at the top of a pile the mover is carrying out. “Not Foxie!” she cried. As she pulled, dust rises in the air. “He once belonged to Mumsie and her Mumsie before her. You simply can’t take Foxie.”
“Sorry, lady. His Nibs over there told us to take everything,” the moving man said.
The baby crawled to the top of Lady Worthless’s upswept hair and sat there crying. Lady Worthless bawled just as
loudly over the loss of her beloved Foxie. The baby finally stopped crying and sucked his thumb. Lady Worthless followed suit.
A mover came out with one of the maids slung over his shoulder. She beat on his shoulders, bellowing. “You can’t take me! I’m not a possession!”
“That’s not what Lord Worthless told us,” the mover replied. Accepting the truth of this, the maid drooped over the mover’s back, arms hanging limply, and allowed herself to be carried out.
Richie and Richina Sterling strolled in, glancing around dispassionately. “I told you this would happen,” Richie said to his sister. “I’m sure we could buy the place for a song but, frankly… who would want it?”
“The tennis court is nice,” Richina pointed out.
“That was built with our money,” Richie reminded her. “So that’s already ours.”
“So it is!” Richina said with a jaunty laugh. As she threw her head back to chortle, her earrings ring and her many bracelets tinkling like a crystal chandelier falling from the ceiling.
Oh, wait, that had been a crystal chandelier falling from the ceiling.
“Sell it! Sell it!” Lord Worthless shouted, pointing at the fallen chandelier. “Everything must go,” he said to the moving men, who dashed here and there, picking up everything that they could find to sell at the auction.
Doodles Worthless trailed in, dressed in her mother’s too-big gown and heeled shoes that are three sizes too large for her. On her head was an elaborate feathered hat that is so big it falls below her eyes. “Richina, look, I’m a big girl like you now. Let’s be friends.”