With Miss Matthews’s arrival, suddenly all of his family had something to keep them occupied, so they all filed out behind Mama.
He finally had the peace he sought to work on his books and ledgers...but no longer cared. What in bloody hell was he going to do now?
Chapter Three
Cousin Henrietta led Jane through the winding halls of Hardwicke House to what would now be her chamber. “I do hope you’ll be comfortable here. You’re so sweet to allow Sarah to play with Mr. Cuddlesworth. She is already attached to him, I fear.”
“As he seems attached to her. I’m glad he’s made a new friend. Especially since I’ll have to spend some time away from him.” Drat those balls she’d be forced to attend. “Sarah can keep him company.”
The walls lining the hallways were so elaborately decorated and furnished, Jane feared she might trip over herself from gawking—it was all so garish. His Grace felt this was tasteful? Good lord, she would be living in precisely the lavish extravagance she had always so despised about the elite.
The dowager seemed to notice neither her shock nor her disdain. “Yes, they’ll be quite good friends, I believe. Here we are, dear.” She opened a French door into a huge suite of rooms, draped with chocolate and gold fabric over all the furnishings, exquisite oil and watercolor paintings in gilded frames, massive mirrors running from floor to ceiling, and a roaring fire in the hearth. Even more of the gaudy embellishments than she saw in the hall filled what would now be her own private rooms. To one side, a tub sat full of steaming water, beckoning to her. It, at least, was welcome.
“Will this suit? I chose this chamber especially for you. Of course I chose it before I met you. I do think it’s one of the more pleasant rooms though, with a lovely view of the back garden outside your window. When the roses bloom in a few weeks, their scent will waft up to you.”
The main room of the suite was easily as large as half her parents’ home. Perhaps even larger than that. Good Lord, what would any one person need such an expanse for? “Oh, yes, ma’am. This will more than do. I’ll almost feel guilty, staying in such a place with Mother and Father in their tiny house at the vicarage. It’s all quite splendid, isn’t it?” She hoped no sign of her distaste came out in her words.
The dowager admonished her with her eyes, and Jane feared she had been unsuccessful. “I’ll hear nothing of this guilt, young lady. Have your bath and relax, and I’ll send someone to fetch you in time for tea.” Cousin Henrietta left her then.
Somehow during the brief span of her interview with Lord Somerton in his library, servants had moved all of her belongings into the suite of rooms, unpacked her clothing and placed it all in the bureau, and drawn the most luxurious bath she had ever taken, scented with fruity oils.
One of those same servants was even waiting in these mammoth rooms for her arrival. The girl wore a tidy, starched lavender servant’s dress and apron, which caused her soft blue eyes to sparkle against yellow curls. “Hello, miss. My name is Meg. Would you like me to select a clean gown for you to wear after your bath?”
“Ah, hello, Meg. Call me Jane, please.” Her life, clearly, was about to take a drastic turn, if a maid thought to help her with such a simple task as selecting a gown to wear. Not that the choice would be all that complicated. Her options were limited to the drab yellow cotton, the drab sea-foam green cotton, and the drab periwinkle blue cotton.
Everything else Jane owned had been soiled on the journey.
She would need to discover where she could launder her clothes, and the sooner, the better. Cousin Henrietta’s gowns that had been damaged on their journey, as well. Perhaps after her bath and tea, Jane could explore this monstrosity they called a house and find where she could clean her gowns.
More importantly at the moment, however, her bath would grow cold if she didn’t get started with it soon. “I’ll choose my own dress, thank you.” Hopefully the girl would leave her alone now. “I believe I’ll take my bath now.”
But Meg didn’t take the hint and leave. The silly girl tried to assist her in undressing, which was beyond ridiculous. Jane had clothed and unclothed herself since she was a young girl. She could never envision a real need for someone to bother with that, when she was certain many more important things must need the young maid’s attention.
“Thank you for your assistance, Meg, but I’m quite capable of managing this task on my own. You may leave now and see to whatever other chores you must have waiting. I’ll be perfectly fine.” She waved a hand, shooing the girl along.
Meg didn’t take the dismissal lightly. Actually, she looked rather taken aback. “But I’m to be your lady’s maid, ma’am.” Lady’s maid? Good God. What on earth did they think she would need a personal servant for? Meg kept talking. “My only chores are those which you assign to me. My job, for the duration of your stay at Hardwicke House, is to help you in whatever ways you need assistance.”
Jane’s jaw dropped. This was going to require far more adjustment than she’d anticipated. At her parents’ home, she’d always done quite a bit for herself. She’d never allowed herself to imagine a life with someone waiting around to do her bidding at every turn. It seemed so frivolous. She frowned at the girl, as fiercely as she could muster, hoping to give the impression that she wouldn’t need any assistance so that Meg would scurry along on her way.
The impertinent girl frowned back, just as ferociously as she had done. “Her Grace will be most displeased with me, miss, if I should neglect my duties.” Meg didn’t lift a single foot to move.
Jane sighed. “Oh.” She couldn’t very well be responsible for having the girl sacked. Somehow, the dowager would have to come to the understanding that Jane would not be waited upon by anyone. “I suppose I’ll have to take the matter up with Cousin Henrietta then. I’m certain, in a household as large as this, there are plenty of better ways of using your skills. Please, run along, and I promise to visit with her as soon as I’ve finished with my bath.” It wouldn’t do to let herself grow accustomed to such extravagances, when she surely wouldn’t be able to afford them as a modiste.
Finally, Meg left her alone. But she only went as far as the dressing room, after making certain that soaps, oils, scents, and ample towels were at her disposal, and even then, only after informing Jane that she need only pull the bell, and she would rush back to her side to assist her in any way possible.
That was not likely to occur.
Even after Jane agreed to Meg’s terms, the servant snuck into the chamber again, once Jane was good and wet, in order to remove her stained gown.
“Meg, do be a dear and retrieve Cousin Henrietta’s soiled garments as well. I might as well launder them all at once.” She chose to believe the servant’s scandalized gasp was due to the fact that the dowager had a soiled garment, and not because she intended to handle her own laundry. Good Lord, she had started washing her own clothes when she was only a girl.
Once she was finally alone, she settled in to the steamy tub and tried to relax. Her mind, however, would not cooperate.
The journey to London, while full of traumatic moments with Mr. Cuddlesworth, had provided her with far too much to contemplate—and her arrival at Hardwicke House had given her even more fodder to mull over.
She’d agreed to the journey to set Mother’s mind at ease. Yes, she was five-and-twenty, and yes, she had already squandered the one and only chance at marriage she had been offered. But a marriage to Mr. Thornhill was the last thing Jane could imagine providing her with a lifetime of contentment. She could never love the man. He bored her.
The entire time he’d courted her (a full three years ago, and not one man had even hinted at the possibility of an attachment since), he’d made it abundantly clear the kind of relationship they would have should she accept him.
They would live in Cornwall, somewhere near the sea and far from her family. There would be no affection, no tenderness—not even any friendship. He would expect her to stay at his home and care for his childr
en (which she must also provide), and never leave, never visit with friends, never do anything of which he didn’t approve, since he was to be a vicar and must maintain appearances within the village.
What kind of life would that have been?
Mr. Thornhill was not wealthy, which her parents seemed to think might be the true reason Jane had refused him. How very wrong they were. Money did not matter one whit to her. She’d always been a hard worker, and more than willing to do her share—and a good bit more on top of it. Why, she’d even earned a modest income for herself for well over a decade through her sewing.
Mother and Father had allowed her to use her earnings to pay for the education which they’d never been able to provide her with. And after she’d completed her schooling, she had stowed her money away.
They thought she’d saved it to provide herself with a dowry. How little they truly knew their own daughter. A dowry? Having a dowry would mean a having a marriage. What woman really wanted to be married to a man—to become his property, there to sate his needs and fill his nursery—but who cared nothing of her own wants and needs?
And now—now, Jane might actually be able to put her money to use. Much better use, if one should ask her. She could open a shop and earn her own livelihood! She’d never need to marry at all, nor would she be forced to rely on her parents for the remainder of her life as a (blessed) spinster.
Keeping her plans a secret was of the utmost importance, however. If Cousin Henrietta learned of Jane’s plan or suspected anything was amiss, she would surely alert Mother. And if Mother found out what she was planning, she would throw a fit and order Jane to return to Whitstable immediately.
In order to keep the dowager from discovering anything, she had to be sure none of the Hardwickes knew what she was doing. For that matter, none of the servants could learn of her intentions either. Which was yet another reason, Jane brooded, that she would much prefer to have Meg settled into a different position within the household.
No, Jane would have to be cautious about finding a place to set up her business, so as not to alert anyone. But now she had a plan, a goal, a dream—and she was so very close to making it all become a reality.
She would become a modiste. She would achieve her independence. There could be no doubts now. There was simply no room for it.
But now, too, there was the new hindrance of Peter. The Duke of Somerton. And quite the hindrance he was.
The man was extraordinarily tall and muscular. Why, he absolutely towered over her, and she had never been short, even for a woman. His auburn waves were cropped impeccably close to his head. She was not entirely sure, because there had been so many new things for her to look upon, but she believed his eyes to be two different shades. Still, she was quite certain she couldn’t tell anyone precisely which colors they might be.
For all his aristocratic hauteur, he was a sight, to be sure. If only he had Greek looks like the dark hair and olive skin, instead of his fair, slightly freckled skin, she would swear he were one of the gods of ancient mythology.
Not only that, but the boor seemed intent upon intimidating her. Such a bully! The duke would likely have insisted Mr. Cuddlesworth stay in the stables, too, if not for his daughter falling head over ears in love with the cat.
If that had happened—if he had banished her sweet cat to spend their visit in such dreadful circumstances—Jane would have stayed in the stables with him, whether His Grace ordered it or not. The bloody man would not separate her from her sweet boy, no matter how naughty the silly thing could be at times. But really. His suggestion that she do just that was beyond lowering, despite the fact that she would have done it for Mr. Cuddlesworth without it being ordered.
The nerve of him. She knew herself to be quite beneath him as far as society was concerned—there was no question of that. It seemed he adhered to all of the dictates of society.
She should’ve expected as much. His Grace was, after all, one of those very members of the elite who had placed such impositions upon the world to begin with. Why shouldn’t he meet all of her ideas of what was wrong with the world, when one was considered to be better than another, simply due to the privilege of one’s birth?
Jane abhorred the fact that she must stay in the man’s house. What odious dreadful fate. If not for the fact that she would need far too many baths, she just might decide to move out to the stables anyway, just to spite the pigheaded man.
She refused to let him see that he did intimidate her. He could try as much as he liked, but she wouldn’t concede and cower in fear of him. Oh, why must she suffer from such an affliction?
As though her life were not complicated enough from the fact that she feared horses, God thought he would amuse Himself by giving her the fear of large men, too.
This would all be so much easier if the duke were old and balding, short and pudgy. Then she could think of him as the lazy, profligate aristocrat she assumed all aristocrats to be.
No, instead he was a demi-god...a pugilistic, brutish, abominably rude demi-god, it was true, but a demi-god nonetheless. All right, fine. She had never seen the man come to fisticuffs, nor anything remotely resembling such a thing, so pugilistic might be a bit more than he deserved. Just a touch.
A knock at the door Meg had left through had her splashing the water out of the tub from the force of her jump. Drat, she must have been woolgathering while she bathed for far longer than she intended. The water had gone from steaming to icy while she sat and planned. “Just a moment.” She jumped from the frigid water and darted to the stack of clean towels. After wrapping one about her body, she sidled up next to the fire in the hearth. “Come in, please.”
Meg ducked through the doorway from the dressing room, carrying Jane’s periwinkle dress. “You are expected downstairs for tea, ma’am. I didn’t find an afternoon gown in your belongings, so I thought this one would suit the best.”
Had she not told the girl she would choose her own gown? She would definitely need to talk with Cousin Henrietta about this. Sooner, rather than later. No one had ever served her in such a manner in her life, so why should they start now? But arguing with Meg would serve no purpose, though. She was merely doing as she’d been instructed by her employer.
Jane forced a smile. “Thank you. That will do just fine, I’m certain.” She allowed the girl to help her dress, more because she couldn’t stop her than anything, before another knock sounded at the outer door.
The dowager appeared there when Meg opened it. “Jane, are you ready? I feel very much better now that I’m clean. Do you as well?” She swept inside the room with the elegance of a queen, wearing a gown in a peacock blue silk that was far more fashionable in its styling than anything Jane had ever owned. She could sew elegant gowns—but what would be the point, with the way Mr. Cuddlesworth always damaged them? “Oh dear, don’t you have anything more suitable than that? Never mind that, we aren’t expecting any guests today. It’s only family, and we’ll rush you off to the modiste to have them begin work on your wardrobe first thing tomorrow. My girls and I also need to visit with Miss Jenkins, so we can make a day of it.”
Why on earth would Jane need someone else to sew her garments for her? Surely, after looking through some fashion plates and seeing more of the styles in fashion, she could manage to do the work as well as, if not better than, any seamstress in London. “Oh, no, Cousin Henrietta. It won’t be necessary to have someone else make clothing for me. I am more than capable—”
The older woman stopped her with a simple, raised hand. “You are my guest, Jane. You’ll allow me to spoil you rotten while I have you here, and that’s all there is to that. You are quite competent at your sewing. Your mother showed me some of the gowns you had just finished for your friends Lady Rhoades and Mrs. Slaughter. They are just as well made as any you would find here in London. But, I don’t wish to have you work while you stay with me. You are to be treated as one of my daughters. No more arguments.”
“Well, if you won’t allo
w me to make them, I can at least pay for them myself.” The expense would eat through her funds—money that she’d already spent in her mind on other pursuits. Still, she would not accept any more of the woman’s charity, irrespective of the spirit in which it was intended. Charity felt like pity—something Jane most abhorred.
Why, they were housing and feeding her for months on end, and taking her to countless balls, routs, and other entertainments. She simply couldn’t stand for allowing the woman to pay for anything more.
“I’ll hear of no such thing, young lady. You are my guest. Your mother and father sent you here to be under my guidance. You will indulge me on this.” With that pronouncement, the dowager spun on her heels and fled the room, indicating with a very brief nod of her head that Jane should follow.
And Jane hadn’t even managed to discuss her appointed lady’s maid.
Drat, drat, drat.
Nothing was turning out the way she’d expected.
Jane refused to think about what would happen to her business if that trend continued.
~ * ~
Peter strode through his home, attempting to ignore the gnawing ache settled deep in his belly. Two days ago, on Tuesday, he had a prior engagement with Lord Harbridge. The earl was kind enough to offer to share his meal while they talked.
At least he ate that day.
On Wednesday, he took his tea and dinner in his library, thereby avoiding the newest addition to his household, alongside the rest of the inevitable female chatter that seemed to dog his steps at every turn, thanks to his sisters. It was handy to have business matters that could impede his ability to perform unpleasant familial duties, at times.
However, he’d neglected to order today’s meal delivered to his library as well, and couldn’t bring himself to put Cook out in such a way on short notice. He also couldn’t convince himself to eat with the women.
So he would suffer through the morning’s meeting with Yeats—where he hoped they could collaborate on the Carreg Mawr problems—on an empty stomach. Blast the woman for upsetting the normal order of his life.
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