by Robyn Carr
Agnes threw back her head with a furious toss of brass curls and a cackle that did not indicate true amusement. “Oh no, milady, ’tis mostly the other way around. We must watch you and learn to do much better by ourselves.”
And then with a swing of her skirts, she bustled quickly out of the room, leaving Jocelyn to pinken in shame and Glynnis to shake her head in disapproval.
Standing in the center of the room, hands behind her back and staring at her feet, Jocelyn felt tears gather in her eyes and her vision begin to blur. It had been a very long time since she was given to tears and feelings of shame; it was something she had hardened herself to when living in her father’s house. But Agnes’s remark had hit its target, and she knew that her reputation and deed had spun their way through the halls of Braeswood and that there was hatred among the servants for being forced to work side by side with a woman of such low standards.
Earlier in the day, with the night barely behind her, she had been terribly relieved not to have to seek out another place to get a meal and lay her head so soon. But now she could see that she would be anxious to leave soon, for working for her sustenance here would be forever tinged with her ill-concealed lost virtue.
She reminded herself that she had chosen this path and that she was strong and silently begged her emotions to relent. “If I weep now, I’ll simply die,” she thought passionately.
Glynnis stood still and silent while Jocelyn made an effort to collect herself. She found, when she could look up, that Glynnis neither chided nor ridiculed her. She looked with some compassion toward Jocelyn. “Agnes is jealous and spiteful, Jocelyn. You’ll have to find a way to deal with her, and until you do, stay clear of her. The back of her hand is quick and mean.”
“Jealous?” Jocelyn choked. “Of me?”
“Aye, you’ve won his lordship’s favor, and that comes as an envied thing here.”
“Oh, Glynnis,” Jocelyn sighed, a catch in her throat. “I believe if Agnes truly had a choice, she would not choose to be me.”
Again the look of pity came over Glynnis’s face. “But the choice is not hers, Jocelyn. And she covets what you have.”
“But I would trade my life with hers on the moment,” Jocelyn insisted.
And to that Glynnis laughed with amusement. “If you’d think to trade with Agnes to regain your lost maidenhead, put it forever from your mind. Aye, you’re not alone in that, only that you were robbed in a fine bedchamber and Agnes lost hers in a haystack.” Jocelyn’s eyes widened and Glynnis giggled conspiratorially. “And don’t bemoan your dire straits too loudly, lamb, for certain there’s not a woman here wouldn’t kill to have your wretched lot.”
“But not you, Glynnis,” Jocelyn quickly replied, shaking her head.
“No, not me. But I’ve a life of plenty with my William, and no man, not even his lordship, could tempt me away.” She rocked slightly on her heels. “And I’m breedin’ now,” she added, glowing at the announcement.
“That’s wonderful, Glynnis,” Jocelyn said quietly, filled with a strange mixture of emotions at any talk of pregnancy. It was not a prospect she could even lightly consider now.
“Wait here. I’ll fetch my grandmother and tell her we’ve finished with everything.”
As Glynnis left, Jocelyn began to feel a certain comfort that only moments before she thought could never be hers in this house, with these people. Enid proved a comfort sometimes, and it seemed as though Glynnis might even one day be a friend. If there was that much, she decided, she could make do very nicely working in this manor.
At the same moment, she found herself possessed of a sudden shiver at the mere thought of her more personal duties to his lordship. Much to her shame, the thought of having his hands on her again did not seem so loathsome.
When Glynnis returned, she was not alone. Avery directed two men who carried a tub into the room and Enid was close at hand with arms full of bundles. The tub was placed near the hearth and two boys with buckets entered quickly to fill it with water. They all seemed completely occupied and Jocelyn was again awaiting her orders.
“You’re certain it meets with no disfavor?” Enid was asking her granddaughter.
“I don’t suppose.” Glynnis shrugged. “The strain is less on me, and I can think of no other would be willing.”
“Aye, that’s true enough. And you’ll be getting too clumsy for your chores. I won’t be having you hauling pots up the stairs when your time comes near.”
“Then I’ll stay until something changes here,” Glynnis said, showing some enthusiasm for their discussion. She looked askance at Jocelyn. “I think she’ll approve,” she said, smiling and raising a questioning brow.
Enid dismissed the statement and moved toward the bed to drop her packages. Among them was a gown of great value, from Jocelyn’s point of view. She was quick to notice the beige dress was sewn of a rich linen, smocked about the bodice, and embroidered with a shiny gold thread about the neck, sleeves, and hem. “This was the best I could do with so little time, but it’s good enough for now. Get her out of those and into something decent and tell me what more she’ll need. I may have to send a man to Edgehill or Worcester for the rest.”
Jocelyn frowned at this conversation and edged her way closer to the women to listen.
“There’s a man at the Oxford fair every September with drawings of gowns from London and Paris,” Glynnis offered.
“Humph,” Enid snorted. “I’m too old to pay attention to what’s fashionable.” She looked over her shoulder at Jocelyn, who automatically moved back a step as she was surveyed shrewdly by both women. “I only know what’s decent. A touch of decency here won’t hurt a bit.” Then she sighed and turned back to the articles on the bed and grumbled. “Lord, the things I’m set to do by that sorry pirate …”
Glynnis covered her giggle with her hand, and with an unmistakable frown of displeasure, Enid left the two women alone.
“Well, come now, let’s get you better dressed. I’m to take service to you for the time being.”
“Service? What service?”
“I’m your maid, for the time being.”
“My maid? Glynnis, why would I have a maid?”
Glynnis sighed heavily. “Do you play games with me, girl, or are you so simpleminded you can’t see your own hand before your face?” At Jocelyn’s perplexed expression, Glynnis went on with some exasperation. “Much to my grandmother’s poor temper, his lordship has it in his head that his mistress is to have a room and clothes of some merit, and you’re to stay here and be dressed in a fashion that would please his eye. Don’t worry about the old woman, she won’t defy him—the contrary, she’ll break her back to please him even if his very motion goes against all good breeding. So, out of those clothes and into the tub.”
“He means to openly … he intends to simply … Glynnis, does everyone know everything?”
“Aye.”
“Heaven above,” she sighed. “No wonder they all hate me.”
Glynnis laughed lightly and took it upon herself to draw the patterned skirt over Jocelyn’s head. “Well, think on it now, sweet. It ain’t as though it’s any more decent to put you to emptying chamber pots by day and warming his sheets by night.”
As Jocelyn was lowering herself into the tub, Glynnis chattered on, obviously pleased with her duty and gaining more pleasure from her new friend as the day wore on. “He knows his mind and he well knows his house—there’s no secrets here. The gossip flies fast and swift, and before you’d had your morning bread and honey, most everyone knew he’d taken a maid to his bed.” And as Glynnis toweled her dry she went on, “The others’ll see there’s naught to grieve, once they remember he had no eye for anyone here. Only they fixed their heads that when he did want a woman, he’d bring some fine, noble dame to take a room in his house—and she his wife.”
While she brushed Jocelyn’s wavy black hair and looked at her face fresh and all aglow from scrubbing and her new dress a shimmering jewel on a petite but wo
manly form, Glynnis sighed adoringly. “They’d have but to take a closer look at what the master saw hidden in those rags. Aye, he’s no fool, Sir Trent.”
Jocelyn judged her own reflection a bit more harshly. Perhaps one reason she’d never before considered herself the match for a nobleman was because she’d never owned a mirror. “Rags? Glynnis,” she laughed. “Those were the finest clothes I’ve ever owned.”
Jocelyn toured the room with her eyes and fingers much differently now that she knew she was to reside here. It was all too unusual for her to truly comprehend that she was to live in a fine room, filled with luxurious toilet articles and linens and rich furniture, and wear gowns that surely would pauper any princess. She was speechless as she examined each accoutrement. Glynnis did her part to introduce her to the room. “The bed was made in France, along with the closet and chest. The old master’s wife, Lady Anne, was a fine hand with a needle, and the tapestries she finished were hidden away with her jewels when the war was upon them. This one is her own scene of the brae behind the house. And that one, flowers from her garden.”
Jocelyn touched the tapestry with reverence. She noticed the dark-haired woman in the scene sitting on a stool placed on a grassy river bank, a lordly gentleman standing, and children playing. There was a small boat on the stream and the hills rose behind them in green splendor. It was clearly made with love, and the family must have been the Wescotts at their leisure on their grounds. “This was her ladyship’s room,” Glynnis told her, lightly stroking Jocelyn’s hair from behind.
Jocelyn moved to the window to look at the riverbank below as if to compare it to the tapestry on the wall. The sun was lowering and the warm summer air held a sweetness that was pure and new. Jocelyn pushed open the heavy glass and leaned well out to look down at the land that belonged to Sir Trent.
She pulled back slightly when she saw him emerge from the stables, his crop in his hand and a quick pace toward the house occupying him. He was not dressed in his dark coat but was more casually garbed in a linen shirt and tan trousers. He wore brown leather boots and a leather jerkin with a heavy belt and appeared more the gentleman farmer than lordly knight. His fearful whip was not in evidence, but he wore a stout knife about his waist. He swept off his hat as he neared the house and looked up toward the windows.
He stopped short in obvious shock when he saw Jocelyn. He stared at her, completely motionless. She could not judge his expression, for the distance and dim light of day played against her. When Glynnis moved to stand behind her at the window, Trent lowered his gaze and moved again toward the house.
“Aye, she’s set the devil loose,” Glynnis whispered.
“Who, Glynnis?”
“Enid. She dares much.” Glynnis moved hastily toward the door to the chamber. “Stay here while I see about your dinner. And stay quiet. There’s going to be trouble now, I warrant.”
Jocelyn made no sense of the warning, but her heart raced nonetheless. She found the chair near the cold hearth and sat resolutely still, wondering if she trembled because of Glynnis’s ominous warning or the sound of his boots on the stairs. The footfalls paused outside her door and slowly that portal opened and he looked within.
She thought she would suffocate, her breath caught in her throat. She made to rise as he looked within, but with an impatient gesture of one hand, he bade her keep her seat. His dark eyes smouldered as he surveyed the room and a tic in his cheek jumped nervously. Now and again his eyes would pass over her as he reacquainted himself with this chamber, and each time he looked her way, his frown deepened. Finally, with a slow movement, he pulled the door closed again, without saying a word.
Jocelyn let out her breath and relaxed into the chair, not sure what had just transpired, but certainly not the same after his scrutiny. With a panicked catch in her chest, she quickly surmised that having her moved into his mother’s room was not by his order but Enid’s. And he had not approved. Her fate, from moment to moment, seemed as precarious as any pheasant’s facing an arrow.
She heard the swift click of the housekeeper’s heels in the hall outside her door and listened with rapt attention to the exchange between master and servant.
“Aye,” he said, his voice rough and low. “I’ve seen what you’ve done. A man of lesser temperament would have you horsewhipped.”
“Shall I have the lass moved, milord?” she questioned, her voice strong and unafraid. Jocelyn couldn’t believe that Enid didn’t quiver in his fierce presence but faced him more boldly than she would ever dare.
“And have you considered that you’ve found a simple way to haunt me? Blast you, old woman, you undermine my every request and seek to name this hall yours. I thought you had been warned.”
“You bade me make the girl’s presence decent … and I knew no better way.” There was a stony silence without as Jocelyn imagined the two staring each other down.
“That was not your intention,” he accused.
“Any other I would not have seen, she in her servant’s rags and bruised face. My plot was not so deep. And if it does not please you, I’ll move her. It’ll be a minor chore to—”
“Leave her be. I’ll accustom myself to her accommodations, and she is at least conveniently placed. But you wear my patience thin, Enid, and henceforth, when you make decisions for the girl, you will discuss them with me.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I think you’ve done the girl a cruel turn, Enid, not to mention what you seek to do to me. You remember only my father’s custom and his rote. But I’ve been away a long time, and my fancy is my own. Don’t seek to mold me again into my sire. It will only cause more trouble than you can handle.”
“Aye, sir.”
“When you can bear my bad habits on your honorable nature no longer, I will settle your pension and you may take your leave. Pressure me no further with your rigid manners.”
“Aye, sir,” she said again, her voice calm and firm in the face of his lecture. There were no further words and his footfalls were the first to depart. The housekeeper apparently stood in her place until his chamber door was stoutly closed, then walked slowly away from Jocelyn’s door.
London was besieged with daily rains that would not give way to pedestrians, noble or otherwise. It was a foul weather that soaked the ground and made travel weary even for the highest born. Julian Kerr reached London after great difficulty; his coach was buried in mud more than once, thus his journey was lengthened and, by all accounts, miserable. It was made more so by his company, his complaining, high-strung niece.
Adrienne had originally been anxious to inspect the court and judge the pomp and glitter with her own eyes, and although she was of sturdy stock, she had barely lifted a finger for herself in some time and hated the inconvenience of the journey. A trip that in good conditions might be accomplished in two full days had dragged out to cover seven, and most of her frocks were damp or dirty.
On the morning of their first day in the city, occupying rented apartments off Shriver Square—where a decidedly upper level of society lived—Adrienne burst in upon her uncle’s breakfast to demand the use of a tailor to outfit her properly.
“I cannot be seen in spoiled gowns,” she fussed. “Uncle Julian, how am I to do you any honor at court if I’m not suitably dressed?”
The surly gentleman found his appetite instantly diminished. “Not this morning, Adrienne. I have business, and then we shall discuss your wardrobe.”
“But I can see this done without bothering you again,” she argued.
“I must see about making an appointment with the king. It is not an easy task during these busy times. Everyone wants to see the king. I’ve no time to procure a tailor. Now go along, and stay out of mischief.”
“But Uncle, if I’m to make an impression on the men—”
“That is a secondary consideration of mine. That you make an impression is advantageous, certainly, to getting you with a decent husband, but I brought you along only as a last-minute decision that I might hea
r some satsifying offers for your hand. My actual business has nothing to do with your marriage.”
Adrienne stomped her small foot and clenched her fists. “If it were left up to you, it would make no difference how old and foolish a man asks, only that he has a heavy purse. I intend at least to catch the eye of a man who is not nearly dead.”
Julian sighed heavily. He had become more and more convinced she was not worth all this trouble. “I may take special care to get the wedding set for Michaelmas and be done with it. Then some other poor soul can listen to your constant complaints.”
She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “Simply let me have the dresses made and we shan’t speak on it again.”
“Damn, child, I’ve greater matters on my mind. Your rank of suitor occupies me when I am bored and seeking greater profit. Your disdainful behavior will no doubt get us no decent prospects, and I’ve been thinking of sending you to a convent and putting my energy into a civil trading ship.” He cleared his throat and sought to address his tea. “They ofttimes sink, but they seldom talk back.”
“Ha,” she ejaculated. “Since you are in such shaky favor with His Majesty as it stands, will you have abandoning the needs of your ward as an added offense?”
He looked at her with strained old eyes. “Would that I had never accepted you when you landed on my stoop. Then we should hear nothing of it.”
She pressed her face toward his. “Ah, but you thought to sell my maidenhead to an old relic with money, and look what it’s got you. Now you’ll have to see it through. And with new dresses.”
It was clear the maid liked money at least as well as Julian did, for not once did she strain against these future ties but flowed with them quite politically. If the gentleman were either terribly rich or terribly handsome, she displayed quite seductive charms for a mere child. And likewise, she would not be disposed to be civil if money were drastically lacking. It had occurred to Julian more than once to let her get herself married and simply collect the booty. With her buoyancy and obvious attraction to the opposite sex, she would get herself caught relatively early, if not suitably matched.