by Sophia James
It did not matter. Nothing mattered.
Surely by now I should have adapted to my new life? One without Mama. Without Papa. Without love.
It was not true. In truth, she might never adapt. Even now, nearly two years since Papa’s death, she still expected him to come riding along this very road, to rescue her from the emptiness of her current existence.
But Papa and Mama were gone, and her chances of marrying were slim. She had never met a man she had the slightest inclination of marrying even before Papa’s death and her loss of status. She was, it seemed, destined for a life without affection or warmth. And today, at the beginning of Christmastide, her unhappiness felt particularly acute. She was eternally downcast, spiritless, empty...
Her ears pricked up. Hoofbeats! A shiver went down her spine. No-one ever took this back road, for it led only to the abandoned cottages at the edge of the copse, and then on through open countryside. No-one but she and Papa, that was. They had walked and ridden this lane together through all the seasons of the year, collecting bluebells in late spring, blackberries in August, and Yuletide greenery in December. This had been their special place. Now she came here alone.
Visitors and tradesmen knew to take the main road linking Wyatt House with the village. Stopping at the edge of the copse, she glanced curiously up the lane. Her breath fogged in front of her in the crisp winter air.
A lone rider sat astride a magnificent black stallion. He had clearly seen her, for he slowed as he approached. They eyed each other, she taking in various details at a glance. Riding boots by Hoby, if she was not mistaken. Pale breeches clinging to muscular thighs. A Weston jacket hugging a well-built figure. A strong jaw, handsome features. Flashing dark eyes currently showing wicked amusement.
‘Oh!’
‘Quite,’ he agreed, pulling up and dismounting smoothly. ‘The surprise, I assure you, is entirely mutual. I did not expect to find—’ his eyes swept over her, making her suddenly conscious that her dress, while demure in cut, was altogether too close-fitting, ‘—a Yuletide damsel in the area!’
Nell ignored this, asking directly, ‘Are you lost? This lane leads only to Wyatt House, though from there you may take the road to the village.’
‘You might say I am lost,’ he replied obscurely, ‘and yet I have found you, so today is already a success.’
She snorted. ‘You would do well to abandon any attempt at flummery, sir, for it has no effect on me!’
‘How refreshing!’ He took her hand and bent over it, then frowned. ‘Your hand is cold.’ Taking both hands in his, he gently chafed them in his large warm ones.
She raised a shocked eyebrow and removed her hands. He is very forward!
‘Now my hands are miraculously warmed,’ she said dryly, ‘you may be on your way.’
Stepping out into the lane, she turned left towards the house.
Gathering up the reins, he walked beside her, his horse following dutifully. ‘It seems as though we are destined to follow the same path.’
‘The difference,’ she offered, ‘is that you have a horse, sir. Might I suggest you ride it—’ she pointed ahead ‘—in that direction? I have things to do.’
‘What things?’
She indicated her basket. ‘The house is to be greened tomorrow, for it will be Christmas Eve—as you must know.’
‘What house is that?’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Why, Wyatt House, of course! It is the only house of any size nearby.’
‘Ah! You work at the house, then?’
I used to just live there. Now I work there too.
‘Yes,’ she replied shortly. ‘Can I offer you assistance, sir, by giving you directions to wherever it is you need to be?’
He slapped a hand to his chest. ‘She wounds me! I am unused to having my attentions spurned in so heartless a manner.’
She raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Again, I shall ask: where is your destination?’
He grinned, then replied in a more natural tone. ‘Very well. I have reserved a room at the inn in Chiddingstone for tonight, but somehow I have found myself here, on this back lane. Cutting across country for a good gallop is refreshing, but it can leave one a little...lost.’
He had abandoned his attempt at charm and, strangely, had become instantly a little more attractive to Nell. His explanation also made sense.
Oh, how I miss riding!
Nell was much too busy these days to indulge in such luxuries. She straightened her spine. No point in dwelling on impossible things.
‘If you follow this lane for a little more than a mile it will take you to the house. You can find your way to the village easily from there.’
‘I believe I shall walk,’ he announced, ‘as I should not overtire my horse.’
His horse did not look particularly in need of a rest, but she decided not to point this out. He made no attempt to remount and leave her, and, stupidly, part of her was glad. It was a long time since she had been in the company of a good-looking young man. And now that he had decided to speak to her like a sensible being, she discovered she might quite like to share his company on this dreary day. So long as his behaviour remained gentlemanlike.
The implications of his earlier statement began to sink in. He had a room booked for tonight. Presumably he had broken a longer journey by stopping in Chiddingstone. He would, then, be gone on the morrow. She smiled inwardly. What harm would it do to enjoy his company for a short time? There was little pleasure in her life these days. Sparring with a high-handed but undeniably handsome man would lighten the darkness of her day a little.
Oh, Nell! she told herself. Your foolish romantic leanings will bring you trouble some day!
She tossed her head, shaking off the sensible voice in her head, and walked on.
They ambled slowly up the lane, idly debating the weather, the idyllic views, and the antics of a couple of startled rabbits who crossed their path. It took something more than half an hour.
Nell felt strangely at ease with him.
Perhaps it is because here is where I am closest to Papa, even now.
‘We are nearly at the house—it is just around yon bend.’
‘Indeed?’ He had stopped.
She halted, eyeing him with puzzlement.
‘Before we round the bend, then, I should like to thank you for your company today.’
He took her hand again, and this time she did not protest.
I like him!
His dark eyes never leaving hers, he lifted her hand to his lips. His kiss sent shivers of delight racing through her and she caught her breath.
He, too, seemed somewhat stirred, for he stood unmoving, his gaze locked with hers, for a long moment. Then his horse moved, breaking the spell between them.
Confused beyond measure, Nell patted the greenery in her basket as if checking it would not fall. It gave her the chance to adopt a more usual demeanour.
They rounded the final bend in silence, and the house came into view.
‘So this is Wyatt House?’
‘It is.’ Her voice shook a little.
My home. My family’s home for generations. Now in my stepmama’s control.
He was eyeing the building with what seemed like a keen interest.
‘Is it not a fine-looking house, sir?’ She could not help but ask. Here she had been happy for much of her life. Until Mama had passed away and then Papa had become ill...
‘Actually, it is a handsome house indeed!’ He sounded surprised. ‘As someone who has lived mostly in London in recent years, I can appreciate a fine dwelling in an idyllic setting such as this.’
His hand swept wide, indicating the gentle slopes of the Downs in the distance, the woodlands to left and right, and the well-designed gardens in front of the house.
‘The gardens are much prettier in summ
er,’ she offered, leading him to a mounting block.
Why am I seeking his approval?
He mounted his stallion, then looked down at her. ‘I thank you for your company. I assume the drive will take me to the Chiddingstone road?’
‘It will. Turn left at the gate.’
He smiled, his handsome features alive with warmth. ‘Might I ask your name?’
For an instant she considered announcing herself as Miss Eleanor Godwin, daughter, granddaughter and great-granddaughter of the Wyatt family, but then, conscious of her now lowered status, decided against it. ‘I am called Nell.’
‘Nell.’
A thrill went through her at the sound of her name on his lips. They looked at each other for a moment, before she shook herself out of the unaccountable stillness that had settled around them. ‘Good day, sir.’
As she walked towards the house she could sense he was still there, watching. It was only after she had heard him ride away that she realised he had not told her his name.
Chapter Two
Inside, all was chaos. Nell’s stepmother’s guests were expected before dusk, and the servants were busy cleaning, setting fires in unused bedchambers, and preparing a mountain of food for the Christmas feast. Thankfully, they were too busy to notice anything different about her. Some of the servants had known her from babyhood and were altogether too perceptive.
Her stepmama, in an attempt to make economies, had let go two scullery maids, a housemaid and a footman this year, so everyone else—including Nell—had to work doubly hard to make up for it.
‘Ah, there you are, Miss Nell!’ It was Mrs Hussey, the housekeeper. ‘Did you get some greenery?’
Nell nodded. ‘I did!’
‘Well, I hope you did not bring it inside the house! We have had quite enough bad luck already!’
‘Never worry. I left it outside the kitchen door, ready for tomorrow. I see others have been gathering too, for there is quite a substantial pile ready to be used.’
The housekeeper nodded. ‘All I can say is I hope Christmastide brings us all a change in fortunes.’ She paused. ‘Oh—the mistress has asked to speak to you, me, and Jemett when you arrive back. We are to go to her drawing room.’
Nell’s heart sank, but she kept her features neutral. ‘Very well.’
Beatrice, Nell’s stepmother, was idly studying some fashion plates in a periodical when Nell and Mrs Hussey, along with Jemett the butler, entered the drawing room.
‘Finally!’ she declared, frowning. ‘Where on earth have you been, Nell?’
‘Gathering greenery for tomorrow.’ Nell felt her heart flip a little at being with Beatrice. Sometimes her stepmama was perfectly cordial. At other times she was decidedly uncordial.
Beatrice snorted. ‘Avoiding work as usual, no doubt.’
Nell bit her lip against protesting at the injustice of this. Beatrice might behave rudely in front of the servants; she herself would not.
Beatrice brandished a piece of paper in front of them. ‘Mrs Hussey, here is the final list of guests for the house party.’ She handed it to the housekeeper, who ran an eye over it.
‘I see, madam,’ she offered tentatively, ‘that there is a new addition to the list.’
Beatrice gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘Indeed. A gentleman will join us who is a darling of the ton, brother to an earl, and one of the most sought-after persons in society.’
Mrs Hussey, Jemett and Nell exchanged worried looks. Nell, knowing it was up to her to speak up, did so.
‘Beatrice,’ she began. ‘As you know, we have been preparing for this party for nigh on a month. Mrs Hussey has been organising bedrooms, sheets, cleaning and supplies, while Jemett has been polishing the silverware and bottling wines, and Cook has been preparing enough food to feed an army.’
Mrs Hussey sniffed, and bravely intervened. ‘Never have I had so much to do with so little information!’ She drew herself up, clasping her hands under her ample bosom. ‘At least last year we knew who was coming in good time! And we had enough staff to manage it!’
Beatrice frowned. ‘I am sure you will cope. You always do. Besides, these are mostly the same people who come to all my parties. It is the first time they have brought their children, it is true, but Nell tells me you have prepared the nursery on the top floor. There are plenty of beds for all the children and their nursemaids there.’
Mrs Hussey seemed unable to speak. Jemett paused, then pointed to the last name on the list. ‘This extra guest, The Honourable Thomas Beresford...?’
The name meant nothing to Nell.
Beatrice smiled. ‘His letter came only this morning. He will join us tomorrow—a day late, but it is quite the accomplishment for me to have attracted him!’ Her brow creased. ‘I do not know why I am seeing all these frowning faces. Why should one more guest matter so much?’
‘Because we have nowhere to put him! Nowhere at all!’ The words erupted from the housekeeper, in a tone of angry indignation.
Beatrice’s brow cleared. ‘Is that all? But that is easily solved.’ They all looked at her, perplexity in their expressions. ‘Nell will move out of her chamber during the house party and then you will have an extra bedchamber to work with. Nell, you can sleep with the servants.’
Nell could not believe what she was hearing. There was a roaring in her ears, spots before her eyes, and for a moment she worried that she might faint. The shame, the intended insult, the sheer humiliation was clear to all of them.
‘Indeed she will not!’ Mrs Hussey was outraged. ‘As if she has not suffered enough indignities since—’ She stopped abruptly.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes. ‘You were saying, Mrs Hussey?’
The butler placed a calming hand on his colleague’s arm. ‘It would not be seemly for Miss Godwin to sleep with the servants,’ he said.
The housekeeper clamped her lips together and gave a tight nod.
Seemingly satisfied that the housekeeper would not forget herself again, Jemett asked carefully, ‘Is there no other solution?’
Everyone knew what he meant. Mrs Godwin occupied a large suite of rooms. She could easily have a bed set up for Nell in the corner of her own room, or in the smaller antechamber.
Beatrice, her expression carefully blank, feigned ignorance. ‘Well, I am sure I have no idea what you mean. Nell, you will sleep with the servants and I shall hear no more of it.’ She laughed. ‘It is not as if I am telling you to sleep in the stables, after all!’
They stood in stony silence. Nell was incapable of speech.
Beatrice picked up her periodical. ‘You may go,’ she said absentmindedly.
They went.
Tom climbed the creaking stairway to his chamber in the Chiddingstone inn. The evening had been most enlightening. He had wondered if it would be useful to travel into Kent a day early, to explore the village and the area around Wyatt House, and his ploy had been amply rewarded. He had been free with his purse in the taproom tonight too, and had gained some useful information from the locals about the place.
They were proud of Wyatt House, and of the long connection between the Tudor village and the Wyatt family, but had no particular attachment, it seemed, for the Godwins.
Tom had pieced together what he thought was the true tale. Mr Godwin had married the last Wyatt descendant—a daughter—over twenty years ago, and then remarried after her death.
‘They say,’ a local farmer had confessed, his tongue loosened by the fine ale Tom had been purchasing in copious amounts, ‘that he married her—the second Mrs Godwin, that is—because he knew he would soon cock up his toes and he wanted her to look after the lass.’
Godwin had died only months after his second wedding—as Tom already knew—but it was helpful to know that Mrs Godwin had no particular connection to the house or the area, and that the villagers had no particular connection to her.
So much the better!
Mrs Godwin, along with her husband’s child from his first marriage, could start again elsewhere once she had sold Wyatt House to him and paid off her debts. If she had responsibility for a child then he might even use that to pressure her, if things became difficult. A life released from debt would certainly be better for anyone who had guardianship of a child.
In truth, he did not anticipate any difficulty. He had made it his business to cultivate Mrs Godwin’s acquaintance, encountering her many times in London in recent weeks, and had already ascertained her type. Young and silly—although at five and thirty she was his senior by quite seven years—she had flirted desperately with him.
She will always be young and silly, he thought, should she live to fourscore years and ten!
Naturally he had easily managed to secure an invitation to her Yuletide house party. He had shown her a little charm and the merest hint of ennui at the thought of spending Christmas with his brother at the family estate and she had issued the invitation. He had written to say he would arrive on Christmas Eve, but had travelled here a day early to see what he might discover.
For a number of years after their father’s death Tom and his brother Jack had, through financial necessity, done without the services of a valet—until their hard work in turning around the family fortunes had begun to bear fruit. Tom, having developed a taste for independence, still tended to dispense with the services of his man when he could.
When asked, Mrs Godwin had assured him that others among her guests would bring their personal servants, and she would ensure there would be someone to serve him at Wyatt House during the house party. So, as a consequence, Tom had given his astonished and grateful valet a full fortnight’s paid holiday and travelled to Kent by himself. His trunk would arrive tomorrow, carried by John Coachman.
So now there was no valet in his chamber to greet him. The landlord, who had accompanied him upstairs, helped him out of his boots and jacket, then bade him goodnight. The man had lit a small but cheerful fire in the grate, and the sheets seemed dry and clean.
Tom began to disrobe, reflecting on his earlier ride. He had seen Wyatt House itself, and been impressed. Well proportioned, in a good state of repair, and elegant in design and setting, it would make the perfect backdrop to his business-focused entertaining.