“Your mother was just telling me about your relaxing summer. How was your journey to the countryside, Lord Swithun?” Lady Darwinkle asked as Dominic seated himself next to her. “Rejuvenating?”
“Yes, very.”
“He came home with all sorts of notions,” Edith chirped. “Ideas about building his own bookcase in his bedroom. Spending all day in the village. He’s had meetings with the vicar twice this week! He only came to London because the vicar needs someone to fix the chapel organ and Dominic said he would speak to some local metalworker. And Watters, his valet, is distraught that all of his jackets need to be tailored because of his new physique.”
“I didn’t know you were so pious or productive,” Lord Felling drawled as he took a slice of cheese from the tea tray. “I recall you didn’t finish university. Or even your tour of the Continent.”
Dominic didn’t rise to the bait. He wasn’t about to defend himself by reminding Felling that his father had died while Dominic attended university and his mother had insisted Dominic immediately assume his family responsibilities. His tour of the Continent had been shortened because of parliamentary duties.
“It’s such a shame that you couldn’t stay longer. But it’s lovely that you have such filial devotion that is so often lacking in our younger generation.” Lady Darwinkle gave an emphatic nod that caused her graying sausage curls to bounce down to her shoulders and back to her ears again. Though she was of an age with Lady Swithun, Lady Darwinkle preferred to dress much like her daughters…pastel gowns baring her narrow shoulders and elaborate hairstyles emphasizing her expansive forehead. “To rush to your mother’s side shows strength of character.”
“Dominic always expected to return in August,” Lady Attwood said coolly, obviously unwilling to allow anyone to insinuate an illness could endanger or even weaken her formidable self.
“Yes, and he came back as brown as a common laborer!” Edith injected again though she quickly hushed when her mother and sisters all sent her quelling looks.
“And whereabout were you residing for the entire summer?” Lord Felling asked.
“Lincolnshire. Near Grantham.”
“Why does that sound familiar? Someone I know was just mentioning Lincolnshire.” After staring at the ceiling thoughtfully, Lady Darwinkle carelessly shrugged and turned to Theo. “But your name doesn’t sound familiar at all, Lord Pritchard. Why haven’t we been introduced before this? Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“Oh, I only recently and unexpectedly inherited my title. Some rather startling events led me to this juncture.” Theo took an uncomfortable sip of tea while Lady Darwinkle turned a calculating eye on his attire.
After giving a girlish laugh indicating she found both his fortune and fashion acceptable, Lady Darwinkle said, “Well, how fortuitous for you!”
“I don’t think so. Obviously, a great deal of his relatives died for him to be sitting here today,” Georgiana said forcefully, her brown eyes flashing in disbelief at Lady Darwinkle ignoring the obvious tragedies that must have befallen Lord Pritchard’s family. “Poor man.”
Theo threw her a grateful glance but didn’t respond.
“Lord Pritchard did attend Harrow with Lord Swithun and myself, Aunt,” Lord Felling said. “Despite not anticipating his elevated status, he won’t embarrass himself at the dinner table by using the wrong fork or wiping his fingers upon the tablecloth. His manners are beyond reproach.”
“I never suggested otherwise!” Lady Darwinkle laughed, smacking her nephew on the sleeve playfully. “But if you have the inclination, Lord Pritchard, you must come to our house party next month. It’s a lovely time with a ball at the end of the sennight. All the Attwoods come as does dear Lord and Lady Bingham. Lord Swithun came every year when he was a boy. Actually, it was only the past few that he declined. But you seem like a much more gregarious sort. And my own two darling daughters will lead the festivities. You must come!”
“I anticipate your invitation,” Theo murmured with a stiff smile, obviously still unwilling to commit to attending.
“And where are Lavinia and Sylvia this afternoon, Lady Darwinkle?” Venetia asked, attempting to change the subject.
“Having a bit of a lie-in,” Lady Darwinkle confessed with a giggle. “But I couldn’t deny them the rest. The season is hardly started but they have so many events to attend. We came home well into the early morning hours today and we have both a musicale and a ball tonight. They are just so well-received.”
Edith and Georgiana’s understanding smiles became a bit forced and Dominic inwardly winced in sympathy. Venetia, the epitome of female perfection, had navigated the social waters with poise. It still baffled Dominic that she had accepted Lord Bingham, a man who was amiable but hardly remarkable, pleasant looking but hardly handsome, after she had rejected twenty other marriage proposals.
Georgiana hadn’t received one offer in six years and Dominic understood why. Compared to Venetia, Georgiana came up lacking. She was a brunette, unlike all her siblings, and had their mother’s stronger hawkish features. She hadn’t her older sister’s shrewd intelligence or grace, but she may have done very well on her own if she hadn’t had to stand in Venetia’s shadow.
Edith had only just begun the social whirl and, while pretty, she didn’t have Venetia’s wit or classic beauty. Georgiana’s failure to catch a husband had made Edith all the more concerned about her own marital prospects.
“I don’t know why Lincolnshire and you, Lord Swithun, are together still niggling at something in my mind.” Lady Darwinkle tapped her chin thoughtfully but then gasped. “It’s the maid! The new one. She has an unusual name. We were thinking of just calling her Jane or Polly, but it seems that’s no longer the thing to do. Hers begins with an M. Miriam? Maureen? No, she’s not Irish.”
Dominic felt himself tensing and took a bite of a biscuit. It promptly became lodged in his dry throat. He motioned his mother to refill his teacup.
“Is this maid at least pretty?” Lawrence Felling drawled as he set his own teacup on the table. “Because you usually have the ugliest maids, Aunt. The one still gives me nightmares.”
“Oh, shush,” Lady Darwinkle said, again swiping at him playfully with her hand and chuckling so that her gray sausage curls bounced madly. “I confess that I don’t recall her features, but our housekeeper is quite pleased with her. Those country misses so often have no grace or decorum. It’s practically like training a wild animal.”
“I’m very interested in the musicale tonight,” Venetia announced in the following silence and her husband nodded eagerly in agreement. “I’ve heard the soprano is splendid and…”
“Mia!” Lady Darwinkle said triumphantly just as Dominic raised the refilled cup to his lips. Dominic snapped the stem from the cup, sending tea down his front and along his trousers.
“Oh, dear!” Edith yelped and Venetia quickly handed Dominic her napkin and motioned for the maid to do something to help the situation, but the others hadn’t seen the mishap and blithely continued the conversation.
“Yes, I distinctly remember that our housekeeper said she was hesitant to hire some nobody from Lincolnshire, but she had such a wonderful reference from you, Lord Swithun. And it has worked out rather well.”
“A personal reference?” Lord Felling repeated, his green eyes alit with interest. “This maid must have truly impressed you.”
“I gave references to all the staff when I left,” Dominic said stiffly, his hand clenched around Venetia’s napkin.
“Dominic told all sorts of stories on the help. Is this the same maid who shrieked at the hedgehog in the front hall?” Georgiana asked. “Or the one who accidently set her skirts on fire?”
“Oh, yes, Lord Swithun.” Theo leaned forward and suddenly appeared to be enjoying the conversation. “I love hearing about country life. Just how many staff did you have in the country? I do hope it wasn’t difficult to employ quality servants for a house that size.”
“What kind of nam
e is Mia?” Lady Swithun sniffed. “Are you certain she’s from Lincolnshire? It sounds like it’s a fabricated name…something an American would do. But what good ever came from Lincolnshire?”
“Sir Isaac Newton,” Georgiana supplied readily. “And the Wesley brothers.”
“Ugh, Methodists.” Lady Swithun sniffed at the thought of an Englishman breaking from the Anglican tradition. Protestantism was such a Germanic thing to do.
“I like the name,” Lord Bingham declared and seemed to mull it about before nodding thoughtfully at Venetia as if asking her opinion. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head in response.
Lawrence ran a finger thoughtfully over his dark mustache. “Mia is Italian for ‘mine.’”
It wasn’t so much his tone but his smirk that immediately infuriated Dominic. Curling his fist together, Dominic barely resisted the urge to leap across the table and pummel Lawrence’s ridiculously curled mustache into the back of his skull.
“Well, it’s certainly not an English name,” Lady Swithun declared.
“And Venetia and Dominic are?” Venetia asked, her dark golden eyebrows quirking up so far it nearly touched her fair hairline.
“Your father picked those names. I had no say in the matter,” Lady Attwood snarled back, which effectively ended that conversation.
“Oh, Lord Attwood, you’re hurt quite badly!” Lady Darwinkle shrieked in horror and eight people all stared at him with identical looks of astonishment. Dominic looked down to see that while the conversation had whirled around him, he had closed his hand around the stem of the broken teacup, causing a deep laceration across the center of his palm and he was now dripping blood all over his mother’s fine oriental rug.
Chapter 17
“Remember what Mrs. Greaves said. No followers.”
“Pardon?” Mia wrenched her eyes away from the window to glance at the other upstairs maid, Annie, leaning against the bedpost.
“Followers. Men. Mrs. Greaves doesn’t want them hanging about the servants’ doors, pretending to need warmed up in the kitchen, or charming any of the maids into marriage or into anything else.” Annie joined Mia by the window, the stray hairs that managed to escape her cap as red and bright as fire. “And that goes for any servants who come with the guests. Don’t encourage valets. Always cocky. There might be a footman or two, but the gentry usually leave them at home. And never even think of flirting with a coachman. Always trouble.”
“I never considered it,” Mia assured her. And she hadn’t. She had no interest in men, servants or otherwise. And she had no desire to anger the skeletal housekeeper, Mrs. Greaves, who reminded Mia on a daily basis that she was only taking a chance on her because a good maid was becoming more and more difficult to find.
“That’s what you say, but it’s easy to become smitten. I’ve been here ten years, so I knows a few of them.” Annie pointed out the window at the uniformed men. “They’s the ones that come every year. That’s Charlie and that’s Peter. They’s all right for coachmen. Most of them are all right.”
Despite knowing that Mrs. Greaves would have a fit if she caught them being idle, Annie and Mia both continued to gaze down at the newcomers. Various carriages and wagons had been pulling up all morning; valets ordered the footmen about, trunks and hatboxes hoisted up the stairs, ladies’ maids rushing inside to make certain the accommodations would satisfy their mistresses’ standards.
“And that’s the Swithun carriage,” Annie explained as the newest guests arrived. “You can tell by the crest on the door. Lady Swithun is a bit of a dragon, but the daughters are pleasant enough.”
“Swithun?” Mia wrinkled her nose. “What a terrible name. It sounds like an ancient name for a pig farmer.”
Annie didn’t agree or even laugh.
“Swithun? Swine? Swineherd? ‘Fetch a suckling pig from yon swithun for the Christmas feast?’” When Annie still didn’t laugh at Mia’s Shakespearean accent, Mia shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t care for it.”
It seemed all the visitors were arriving at once because another carriage pulled along behind them, followed by a lone rider on a chestnut mare.
“We should tramp our way down to the kitchens to see what Greaves wants done now. It’s the worst week of the year. While our betters play, we toil away,” Annie said in a sing-song voice as she started to turn towards the bedroom door. When Mia gave a small gasp, she hurried to the window again. “What’s happened?”
“N…nothing,” Mia answered, her hands clenched on the windowsill, her mind refusing to believe what her eyes could see was the truth.
He had climbed out of the carriage, his top hat in hand, looking as golden and sparkling as the first time they had met. He reached out a hand and a woman, blonde and girlishly young, stepped out, her full skirts nearly filling the carriage door. She appeared excited and said something to him. His response to her must have been amusing because the woman peeled with laughter. He held out his hand again, and a brunette stepped out, also laughing at his comment.
It was easy to ascertain the women’s identities. Mia had listened eagerly to his family anecdotes and knew at a glance they were Edith and Georgiana. The third woman alighted the carriage, her dark hair, disapproving expression, and obvious age difference making her identifiable as only Lady Swithun.
An ache pulled in Mia’s chest. Not just because seeing Dominic after all these months, after she thought her heart had nearly mended, was a surprise. But because they were obviously a family. A family that might squabble and sometimes be petty but were still amused by each other after hours in a closed carriage.
“That’s Lady Swithun. Lord Swithun. Lady Georgiana has brown hair and Lady Edith is the pretty blonde. The oldest daughter is married now. And she likely wouldn’t fit in the carriage anyhow. Not with all them petticoats they wear. They don’t travel like we do. Won’t see them sitting ten in a stagecoach,” Annie said, with a twist of her lip.
A stern voice in Mia’s head told her to turn away; it reminded her that staring at Dominic, even from a distance, was pitiful and, furthermore, embarrassing. Her eyes ignored the voice and greedily drank in every detail – how he had trimmed his hair short again, how his skin had lightened, how his clothes remained remarkably unrumpled despite the carriage ride.
“Stay away from that one. He’s a wolf in a wool coat,” Annie said darkly.
“Mr. A…? The gentleman?” Mia hoped her voice remained steady though she couldn’t imagine Dominic having such a reputation.
“He’s a trickster. Like the devil. He’s kind and polite in company but don’t let him get you in a corner. Don’t ever go into his bedchamber alone. There’s a rule that Mrs. Greaves implemented – only footmen mind his room but he’s sly.” Annie nodded grimly, her watery gray eyes widening to assure Mia that she was telling the truth.
“I…I’m just surprised,” Mia murmured lamely, unable to equate the Dominic she thought she knew with the guileful monster Annie was describing.
“I’ve ne’er had a run-in with him. Likely because of this.” Annie indicated the dark red birthmark that covered the right side of her face. “Never thought the bane of my existence would keep me safe from the likes of that. Mrs. Greaves only hires us homely girls now, so I don’t know what she was thinking with you. Maybe because you’re nearly a spinster, she thinks you’ll be wiser. But now you’re warned.”
“Annie, you’re very pretty,” Mia protested, her own concerns forgotten as she tried to reassure the girl. And Mia was being truthful. Annie was a few years her junior but had a fine figure and a very pleasant face. Her coloring was a bit startling, her eyes and skin so pale against her flame-colored hair and dark birthmark.
“I’ve lived with this my whole life and it doesn’t bother me none. I’m just glad Mrs. Greaves promoted me. I thought I’d be in the scullery forever with this face.” Annie did seem to be fairly content with her life. They shared a room and Mia had learned that she had been a foundling in Poplar and had become a maid on the Darwi
nkle estate at the age of twelve. She had no interest in anything beyond the estate’s borders and thought herself fortunate to have landed an upstairs maid position by the age of twenty-two.
“Once, Dolly knocked on his door and then came in and he was there with his trousers about his ankles. Pretended he didn’t hear the knock. Dolly was right shaken but after a few days, she could laugh about it. Said she didn’t know why he was so desperate to show it off when twern’t anything to be proud of. Just don’t be alone with him. And if he causes you any trouble, pull out his mustache. Harry says he’s very vain about it.” Annie laughed as she headed for the door. “Greaves will murder us if we don’t show our faces soon.”
“His mustache?” Mia squinted through the glass, still unable to associate the Dominic she knew, the one who wrapped himself from head to toe in a sheet when he thought there was an intruder, with a man who gleefully exposed himself to shock the maids. “I didn’t notice he had one now.”
“Now?” Annie repeated as she again returned to the window to peer down at the courtyard. “Him. Right there. The one telling Jonny about his horse. The one with the black mustache.”
“Oh, him!” Mia’s knees almost sagged with relief when she realized Annie was referring to the rider of the chestnut horse.
“Did you think I meant the one with the yellow hair?” Annie said with a laugh. “No, that’s Lord Swithun. He’s all right. Bit of a snoot, they say. No worries about him chasing you around the bed post.”
∞∞∞
Reaching for his wine glass for what could have been the thousandth time, Dominic again wondered why he was suffering through a country party with the Darwinkles without something much stronger to drink. He had not had a drop of wine or even strong liquor the whole summer, nor did he miss it, but it seemed he currently couldn’t get through an afternoon without it.
“We appear lethargic, lounging about while everyone else is walking down to the village.” Edith didn’t appear the least bit chagrined as she bit a forkful of her Victoria sponge.
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