“Your papa believes otherwise.”
“Oh, he is utterly blind,” Georgina said dismissively. “Do you realize how close Bordesley Green is? It’s less than ten miles away! For heaven’s sake, I could walk there.”
Bordesley Green? What was that? Sarah racked her brain, knowing she’d heard the name somewhere before.
“It is quite a private place. Extremely discreet. And Bertram goes by a different surname. There is nothing to connect him to us. Nothing whatsoever.”
Miss Stanley gave an unladylike snort. “Smith. Right. I remember.”
“Now, Georgina,” Lady Stanley said soothingly. “Nothing will be exposed. You know how important this is to your father, and to me as well. We have kept him hidden from the public eye for this long. After all this time, surely we are all safe.”
“I’d just rather he was farther away.” Miss Stanley’s tone grew surly – a vocal feature Sarah had never heard from her. “In Abyssinia, perhaps.”
“Alas,” Lady Stanley replied, taking her daughter’s suggestion seriously, “I doubt your father would send him so far, and I’m not sure they have such places for people like Bertram in Abyssinia. But I shall ask.”
“Oh, why does Papa insist upon allowing him to remain so close to us? I shall be so very embarrassed if anyone ever finds him.” Now she was whining. “I should simply die.”
“We would all be gravely embarrassed if anyone connected him to us, I am sure,” Lady Stanley said. “I will discuss this with your father, but I am certain he will dismiss our worries. Anyhow, you know your father. He likes Bertram close so he can keep a close eye on him. Now,” she added brightly, “we must dress for dinner. Where is that wretched maid? I told her to come up to help you.”
Sarah stood very still. She was well hidden behind the door of the clothes press, but if someone entered the dressing room… Quickly, she weighed her options and decided to stay put and pray they went away.
Sarah tilted her face to the ceiling, squeezing her eyes shut, and spoke in her head. “Dear Lord…”
Miss Stanley sighed. “I’ve no idea where she is. And I don’t even know what to wear.”
“Wear the yellow silk,” Lady Stanley said distractedly. Then, she added, “Perhaps she is with Esme.”
“Please encourage them to leave,” Sarah beseeched.
Miss Stanley groaned. “She is always with Esme.”
“They needn’t go far,” Sarah continued, and a little devil popped up from somewhere deep inside her and added, “Although they might fare quite splendidly in Abyssinia.”
“Even now. I’d hoped to never see her again,” Miss Stanley added, “as she has so obviously forgotten her place, but Esme is always keeping her close, asking her to do things.”
Yes, that was true. Esme had taken to asking her to perform simple tasks, like ordering and pouring tea, or stoking the fire, to keep her close. It was a simple truth – Sarah had spent more time with Esme than anyone else, and it followed that Esme was easier when Sarah was nearby.
“She certainly does have poor Esme under her spell,” Lady Stanley said, a clear note of censure in her voice.
“I can’t understand it. I have tried so hard with Esme, even though she is perhaps the dullest lady I’ve ever met in my entire life. Have you seen her scribbling her stupid little stories?”
Sarah closed her eyes, picturing Miss Stanley’s lovely little shudder. She pressed her lips together to hold back her defense of Esme’s writing.
“These things take time,” Lady Stanley said. “But I must give you one word of advice: You must never drop your guard with that lady, Georgina. I’ve the feeling she’ll turn on you in an instant.”
“What?” Miss Stanley seemed surprised.
“This Hawkins family – they aren’t quite right. Well, allow me to amend that. The duke has done his best to restore some respectability to the family name. He is quite a proper and decent gentleman. But the rest of them —” She made a little noise of disapproval before continuing. “They all possess a hint of their parents’ insanity, I think.”
“Their papa was insane?” Miss Stanley asked. “I knew their mother was – what kind of mother would encourage a servant girl into the family, for heaven’s sake? But their papa, too?”
“Yes,” Lady Stanley said, her voice very serious. “When I was your age, I was ordered to stay well clear of that man. His horrid reputation and behavior was put forth as an example of debauchery and as a warning to all young ladies of character.”
“But he was a duke!” Miss Stanley exclaimed, as if being a duke forgave all impropriety.
“That he was.” Lady Stanley sighed. “I admit it is rare, Georgina, but there are times when even a man’s title cannot restore his good name.”
Miss Stanley seemed to mull this over. “And do you think Esme is mad, too?”
“It is quite possible.”
Sarah sent a quick thought up to heaven. “Abyssinia truly might be the best place for them, Lord.”
Lady Stanley continued, “She is young and inexperienced now, and perhaps it is true that the madness has not yet taken hold. We must use that to our advantage. We must do everything possible to insinuate ourselves into her good graces.”
“Honestly, I do not see why,” Georgina argued. “She is only Trent’s sister, and they don’t appear particularly close. He doesn’t listen to her.”
“That is because she doesn’t speak to him,” Lady Stanley said. “She hardly speaks to anyone. But what if she did?”
Miss Stanley hesitated. “Well, in that case he might listen to her,” she conceded.
“I think he might. So do endeavor to become her bosom bow, Georgina. At least until you are married. Then, you will be a duchess, and you may do whatever you wish.”
“Yes, Mama. Oh, I cannot wait until October,” she said wistfully.
“It’ll come soon, I promise. Until then, we shall both be on our best behavior with these peculiar people.”
“It is true that Trent does stand out as the most proper of all of them,” Miss Stanley said.
“You’re very lucky he is the one you will marry, Georgina. Very lucky, indeed.”
“Yes.” Miss Stanley gave a breathy sigh. “I am the luckiest girl in the world.”
“So you see why we mustn’t give Trent any reason whatsoever to change his mind.”
“Oh, he won’t change his mind. He would never jilt me! He is far too honorable.”
Lady Stanley laughed softly as Sarah’s stomach twisted. “Probably true. Still, there is no reason to antagonize him.”
“I know. And in any case, I’ve no wish whatsoever to antagonize him. He’s kind and generous.”
There was a short silence. Then Lady Stanley spoke in a wistful voice. “Ah, my dear. I do envy you the match you have made. I am so very proud that you were able to catch the eye of a duke – although, indeed, I knew all along that you would succeed in doing so. When I was a girl, I always dreamed of making such a match for myself.”
“And you made the match with Papa.”
Miss Stanley said that like it was a positive thing, but Lady Stanley made a low, derisive noise. “Your Papa is not a duke.”
“Too true.” Miss Stanley laughed, and it was a sound that made Sarah’s stomach twist. For it wasn’t a happy laugh, it was a laugh of victory, as if Simon were a conquest she had been fighting with the whole of England for, and she had emerged the victor.
Sadly, there was much truth to that. Sarah had spent years sheltered in Ironwood Park, but she had observed the way ladies behaved toward Simon during the time she’d been in London. Those months had showed her in no uncertain terms that he was considered the premier catch of all the aristocratic bachelors in England.
“Now, let us go find Esme. If that girl is with her, I shall give her a proper set-down for disobeying me.”
They left the room, closing the door behind them.
Sarah sagged against the clothes press for a minute, her eyes sq
ueezed shut to thank the Lord for finally nudging them out.
And then she opened her eyes and studied the now-clean dressing room. After hearing that conversation, any residual hope that she’d ever like Miss Stanley or her mother had evaporated. They’d called Esme’s stories stupid. They’d claimed that madness ran in the Hawkins family.
They were both simply awful.
She deliberately turned her thoughts to the beginning of their conversation. Bordesley Green… where had she heard of that place before? What was it? She’d have to ask Mrs. Hope.
And Bertram Smith, whose last name was counterfeit. Who was he, and why did Georgina wish he were in Abyssinia?
Perhaps it was someone who had compromised Georgina somehow, and the Stanleys had paid him off to disappear… and he’d gone to this Bordesley Green place, and Georgina thought it was too close, that Simon might discover she wasn’t the innocent miss she pretended to be…
Goodness, her mind was running away from her. She had to speak to Mrs. Hope quickly before she invented an entire story, one that would end happily for all – with Georgina Stanley and Bertram Smith eloping to Abyssinia together.
She continued tidying up the dressing room, and when the door to Miss Stanley’s room opened again, she hurried out of the small room, her hands full of clothing, and made her voice innocent and bright. “Oh, Miss Stanley. Good afternoon! I’ve been sent up to help you dress for dinner.”
Miss Stanley frowned at her. “Where have you been?”
“Why, waiting for you. Your lady mother told me to come up to wait for you, and I did right away… well, as soon as I’d run a quick errand for Mrs. Hope. I was just tidying your dressing room as I waited.” She held out the armful of pantalettes as evidence.
Miss Stanley puffed out a breath and strode past her into the dressing room, yanking open the clothes press. “Mama said I should wear the yellow silk.”
“Excellent choice, miss,” Sarah said quietly. The yellow silk was the dress she’d set aside before the ladies had first entered the bedchamber.
Another puff of a sigh.
Standing in the center of the little room, Miss Stanley held her arms out straight from her sides. Taking this as a cue to begin undressing her, Sarah approached.
She removed Miss Stanley’s clothes wordlessly, touching the younger woman as little as possible. First, her green striped muslin came off, followed by two petticoats, her stays, and last of all, her chemise. Sarah went to one of the drawers and pulled out a clean silk chemise, holding it up for the lady’s approval.
“No, not that one.”
“Which one would you prefer, miss?”
“There is only one other silk, of course. The one with the lace trim around the bottom.”
Sarah searched the drawer while Miss Stanley watched her, but she could find no such chemise. Finally, she looked up, empty-handed. “Do you know when you last wore it, miss?”
“No, of course not. I never remember such things.”
“Perhaps it is downstairs being laundered. Shall I check for you?”
“For heaven’s sake, no! We are already late, you know, due to your silly task for the housekeeper.” Miss Stanley heaved a disgusted sigh. “Very well. The other silk will have to do. Although Missy could have found it for me.”
Missy was the lady’s maid who’d taken to her bed this afternoon. It was suddenly very clear to Sarah why Missy suffered from headaches.
She finished dressing Miss Stanley with two additional bursts of temper – the first when she tied the lady’s short stays “too tightly,” although Sarah had been tying stays her entire life and was sure she knew exactly to what level of tension to adjust the ties. But she said nothing and loosened them until Miss Stanley voiced her grudging acceptance. And then, the dress. There was a tiny smudge of something – dust, perhaps, on the sleeve.
“Oh, no,” Miss Stanley cried. “My dress is ruined!”
Sarah tried brushing out the light smudge, and she’d thought she’d done a good job of it, but Miss Stanley outlined the shape of it with her fingers, her eyes welling with tears.
“What will Trent think if I come to dinner looking like a common ragamuffin?” she wailed, and Sarah was forced to call in a very busy Mrs. Hope for assistance.
But, finally, it was done. The “horrid defect” had been taken care of, and now it was time to do Miss Stanley’s hair.
Sarah didn’t want to touch those shining golden locks. She really, really didn’t want to.
So, when Miss Stanley sat at the dressing table and looked expectantly up at Sarah in the mirror, Sarah hesitated. Then she said in a low voice, “Miss, I must admit, arranging coiffures is not my forte.”
Miss Stanley’s blue eyes narrowed as she shook her head.
“Of course. I am not surprised. What is your forte, may I ask? What did you learn in the nursery – sorry, not in the nursery, but wherever it was the family governess taught you as you scampered about inside the duchess’s skirts? French? Drawing? Playing on the pianoforte? Of what use are those skills to a housemaid?”
Sarah wasn’t sure how to answer. True, she had been taught French – which she was good at, and drawing – which she could do with passable skill if she never used a person as a subject. Miss Farnshaw had given up on teaching her music as soon as Sarah had opened her mouth to belt out a note and the governess had deemed her tone deaf. But Mrs. Hope had taught her many skills as well, and Sarah prided herself on her housekeeping abilities.
So she didn’t answer Miss Stanley, just bowed her head.
And then, although Sarah thought her heart couldn’t be shattered any further, Georgina Stanley pushed the dagger deeper and then drove it home.
“A maid incapable of arranging hair,” she spat. “Really, it is beyond bearing. When I am the duchess, I shall not tolerate such ridiculousness from my staff.” Miss Stanley turned around fully in her chair, and a sticky sweetness overtook the venom in her voice. “That is in two months’ time, Sarah Osborne. I do hope you are already looking for another position, because in two months, you shall be leaving Ironwood Park forever.”
Sarah lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep was elusive – had been elusive since that last night she’d spent with Simon in London.
Her future was so uncertain. So… bleak.
She was a cheerful, happy person – had been her entire life. She always saw the positives in a given situation or a person.
Now she stood on the verge of losing everything that was dear to her. Simon and the Hawkins family as a whole. Ironwood Park and everyone who lived here… including her father.
For the past sixteen years, those things had composed her entire sphere of existence. And now Georgina Stanley threatened to take them all away.
The ceiling was dark, its details obscured by the black velvet of night, but she continued to stare up at it, unmoving.
There was no way to escape this mire, she realized now. No way to prevent the loss. The only thing that she could do was face it with her head held high.
She would do that, if nothing else.
She would.
She should have known this was coming. She had been stupid to think that she’d remain at Ironwood Park forever. Impossible, given her feelings for Simon. In fact, it was best she left. She could find a good position elsewhere. Any member of the Hawkins family would provide her with a good reference, as would Mrs. Hope.
Unlike some girls who found themselves in similar situations, she had the luxury of options. She could probably find a position anywhere in the United Kingdom. Perhaps even for a British family in the West Indies or India.
She closed her eyes to the daydream of sailing away from England on some elegant ship.
Something at her window rattled, and Sarah froze.
It rattled again, and she took a deep breath. There was nothing to be afraid of. For goodness’ sake, she had freely traipsed about Ironwood Park at night for most of her life.
She slipped out of bed
and went to the window. She reached out to part the curtains, and jumped back, gasping, as she saw the dark form hovering outside. She blinked hard, and the figure came into clearer focus.
Simon, his face pale in the moonlight.
She stared at him in shock for a moment. It was unlike Simon to skulk about late at night. Before, whenever he’d wanted to speak to her, he’d simply knock on her door or approach her during the day. Or meet her at their bench.
She hastened to open the window. “Your Grace, what is it?” she asked in concern, and then she remembered the night they’d found his brother at the back door in London. “Is something wrong? Is it Lord Lukas? Your mother?”
The expression on his face, which had been taut with tension, softened. “Nothing’s the matter,” he said, then he flinched. “Well, nothing of that nature, anyhow. I just need to speak with you.”
She took a small step backward, feeling the frown deepen between her brows.
“Please,” he said quietly. “It is nothing untoward.”
“Of course. Will you give me a moment to dress? I’ll meet you at the front door.”
“Yes. Thank you.” He stepped back from the window.
She pulled on her cloak hurriedly, trying not to confuse her mind with what he could possibly want from her. He waited by the door as she exited. She closed the door behind her as she stepped out into the cool evening air. “What is it, Your Grace?”
He held out his arm. “Let’s walk.”
She looked pointedly at his arm, then up at his face. She didn’t want to torture herself by touching him.
He dropped his arm, regret flashing over his features. “Right.”
He began to walk. She stayed at his side as he led her toward the stream, not stopping or speaking until they reached their bench. He stopped there, at the edge of the bank, but didn’t sit. “I looked for you here earlier,” he said. “But you weren’t here. I realized how odd it was that every time I used to feel the need to speak with you, I’d find you here.”
“Sometimes I knew when you’d come,” she murmured. She’d seen it in his expression as they’d passed each other in the corridor or when she’d served him tea.
The Duchess Hunt Page 22