Rags-to-Riches Wife

by Catherine Tinley

‘Now, Jane, you be careful.’ Mama hugged her tightly.

  ‘I shall.’

  Tears sprang into Jane’s eyes. Never had she and her mama been apart. Even after the incident with Master Henry, when they had left his employ, they had done so together, following Lady Kingswood to London and then on to Ledbury House. Those were the only long journeys Jane had ever undertaken in her life. The thought of travelling all the way to Yorkshire was daunting, yet strangely exciting.

  Standing in the hallway, awaiting the arrival of Mr Kendal, Jane suddenly shivered. Change had come to her and, while it was exciting, it was also more than a little frightening.

  At her feet was a large trunk, stuffed to the brim with clothing that Miss Marianne had suddenly and inexplicably decided she no longer needed, and which ‘would do Jane very well’.

  Jane had protested to no avail as dresses, stockings and slippers had been thrown in a heap onto Miss Marianne’s bed. She and Jane were of a similar size, which had always assisted Jane when mending Miss Marianne’s dresses, or making new ones. And Jane had stood frozen in stunned silence as she tried to understand that all these beautiful things were now hers.

  This morning, though, she had resolutely donned her maid’s grey gown and white fichu as usual, unwilling to wear finery in front of Miss Marianne, Mama and the other servants.

  I should not wish them to believe I am acting above my station.

  As well as her trunk she had a battered bandbox, containing the essentials for her journey—the main items being a spare grey dress, her hairbrush and some wool stockings. Miss Marianne had also given her a reticule as a present, embroidered with a trail of blue flowers and with a blue silk drawstring ribbon. Inside was a handkerchief, some coins, and a small scrap of paper on which Mama had written a note.

  Go well, my Jane, and never forget who you are.

  Never! Jane had vowed, tucking it back into the reticule and hugging Mama again.

  Mama had warned her to be wary of all—and particularly Mr Kendal. ‘He will no doubt attempt to influence you to be forgiving towards Ned’s father, but you must resist. If Mr Millthorpe has genuinely repented you may discover that for yourself. Until then I advise you to keep your own counsel.’

  Jane had nodded thoughtfully. ‘That is wise advice, Mama. Indeed, I shall endeavour to avoid speaking of anything to do with Papa or Mr Millthorpe.’ She had frowned. ‘Mr Kendal may think it odd, yet it seems to me to be the wisest course of action.’

  Miss Marianne had agreed. ‘Mr Kendal seems perfectly amicable, and yet we know nothing of his motives, nor of Mr Millthorpe’s. I think it best to keep your views on Mr Millthorpe’s treatment of his son to yourself. And the easiest way in which to achieve that is to avoid being drawn into conversation about either of them.’

  ‘Promise me, Jane, you will tell him only what you must. Keep your own counsel until you meet the old man yourself,’ her mama had begged.

  Jane had promised, shivering a little with apprehension.

  Miss Marianne, whose generosity knew no bounds, had then passed her three more coins, equivalent to a full two months’ salary. When she had quailed, Lady Kingswood had hushed her.

  ‘Remember, Jane, that while I was a governess, before my marriage, we were fully friends for a time. This is my gift to you in memory of that friendship.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  Jane’s words had been choked with emotion as the money had been stowed safely deep within Jane’s trunk. And that feeling was strengthened now, as the carriage drew up and Mr Kendal stepped out.

  Jane had been trying, with little success, to ignore how handsome he was in face and form, and how thoughts of him had disturbed her sleep these past two nights. Today he wore fine buckskins, gleaming boots, and a shoulder-hugging claret jacket.

  He would be considered a fine-looking man by anyone who encountered him, Jane knew. And the thought of being alone with him in a carriage for much of the next week sent a shiver through her. Anxiety? Anticipation? Delight? She could not be sure. Nigh on a week travelling, then two weeks in Yorkshire, followed by the journey back...

  The housemaids were agog with interest and envy at Jane’s good fortune.

  ‘Why could it not be me?’ Sarah had wondered aloud. ‘I should love to spend five days locked in a carriage with the delightful Mr Kendal!’

  There had been something earthy and raw in her laugh that had left Jane feeling both uncomfortable and yet strangely in harmony with the sentiment.

  Miss Marianne arrived in the hall to greet her guest. The footmen picked up Jane’s trunk and carried it out to the carriage, where Mr Kendal’s postilion strapped it on. Jane took a breath, then donned her cloak and bonnet.

  Her action caught Mr Kendal’s eye. He looked from Lady Kingswood to Jane, and for an instant his gaze blazed into hers.

  ‘Are we to take a maid with us to accompany Miss Bailey after all?’ he asked Lady Kingswood.

  Miss Marianne did not respond directly. Instead she looked at Jane.

  The moment had arrived. She must speak.

  She stepped forward, looking him in the eye. ‘I am Jane Bailey.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘I am Jane Bailey.’

  For a moment, Robert could not take it in. Already distracted by the sight of the beautiful maid putting on a cloak, he had felt his spirits raised at the prospect of her accompanying them. To discover that she was, in fact, Jane Bailey herself, seemed impossible.

  ‘Pardon me?’ he managed.

  Lady Kingswood intervened. ‘Now, Jane, I trust you will enjoy your time in Yorkshire and return to me safe and sound. I shall be lost without my personal maid for an entire month.’ She turned to Robert. ‘I do hope, Mr Kendal, you realise just how much of a sacrifice we are making. Jane will be greatly missed here at Ledbury House.’

  She is personal maid to the Countess!

  Robert, conscious of the interested gaze of his hired postilion, two footmen, and a disapproving older servant, decided his best option was to take the situation as he found it.

  ‘Indeed. In that case I shall be sure to return her to you as soon as I may.’ He addressed the maid directly. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bailey.’

  He bowed politely, feeling deeply uncomfortable. He never liked public attention at the best of times. The pressure of saying the right thing in such a delicate situation was even more fraught.

  ‘And I you,’ she replied.

  Her voice was soft and pleasant, and sent an unexpected jolt through him.

  The older servant embraced her, as did Lady Kingswood, and a few moments later he handed her up into the carriage. She wore no gloves, and the warmth of her hand in his discomposed him somewhat.

  Lord! This is a complication I had not counted on.

  He sat opposite her, in the small backwards-facing seat. His post-chaise was larger than many, and fairly comfortable, yet after his long journey down he had come to hate it. Now five more days on the road lay ahead. Five days backwards-facing. Five days in the company of—he stole a glance at her—truly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

  She kept on waving at the Ledbury House ladies until they were out of view, so he took the chance to study her. Her dark hair was just visible under the simple straw bonnet which framed quite the prettiest face he had seen in a long, long time. Her eyes were blue, and trimmed with long dark lashes. A straight little nose, tempting pink lips and a rosy complexion completed the vision.

  He tried to assemble his disordered thoughts. The mysterious Jane Bailey was a young woman—a lady’s maid working as a servant in Ledbury House. Surely too young to be his uncle’s by-blow. Who, then, was she?

  They had turned out of the Ledbury House drive now, and he was disconcerted to see that Miss Bailey was a little emotional. Wordlessly, he offered her a clean lawn handkerchief.
r />   ‘Oh! Thank you, but I have...’ She rummaged in her reticule, pulled out her own rather dainty handkerchief, then blew her nose with a no-nonsense air that impressed him a little.

  ‘Forgive me, but you have not been away from home before?’

  The fact that she was a servant made it easier for him to converse with her. Particularly when the servant was as beautiful and as intriguing as this one!

  Social gatherings generally bored him. He still remembered the ordeal of having to perform like an actor on a stage any time he was brought into his aunt and uncle’s presence. He had suffered it many times as a child, and echoes of it still sometimes came to him in empty gatherings.

  She shook her head. ‘Never! Well, that is to say I have never before left my mother behind.’

  It only took him a moment to work it out. ‘The other lady you embraced just now?’

  She nodded. ‘My mama is housekeeper at Ledbury House.’

  The pride in her tone was unmistakable.

  ‘Indeed? I should tell you I was impressed by Ledbury House. A well-run household, I think.’

  He was rewarded with a slight smile for this.

  ‘My mother is an excellent housekeeper, and we are fortunate to serve at Ledbury House.’

  ‘Have you always lived there?’

  ‘No.’ Her brow creased slightly. ‘I grew up in Cambridgeshire, in service to Miss Marianne’s—Lady Kingswood’s—own family. After Miss Marianne’s marriage my mother and I—er—we followed her here.’

  Abruptly, she closed her mouth, as if reluctant to say more.

  There is some story there. Too soon to press for more information now, though.

  ‘And have you ever been to Yorkshire, Miss Bailey?’

  ‘Never.’

  Her face closed. She clearly did not wish to discuss her connections with the north, whatever they were.

  Too many questions too soon, Robert. You have five full days to discover whatever she might tell you.

  ‘Today we shall travel as far as Market Harborough. I have written to the King’s Head to reserve rooms for us there. I trust that is satisfactory?’

  She nodded, and then sat back to look out of the window. He took the opportunity to watch her surreptitiously and to review what he knew about her. A servant...the daughter of a servant. Already lady’s maid to a countess at a young age—which indicated both capability and dedication. Lady Kingswood thought highly of her...that much was also clear.

  What had she to do with his uncle? From what he had seen Miss Bailey’s mother had been a good-looking girl in her youth. Could his uncle have had a liaison with the mother only twenty or twenty-five years ago?

  Robert tried to calculate Miss Bailey’s age and his uncle’s likely age when she had been born. He frowned. It was possible, though unlikely.

  He glanced at her again.

  My, she is beautiful!

  He shifted slightly in his seat. As a servant, she needed no chaperone to accompany her. Not that she should need one. As a gentleman he had vowed to protect her and he would do so. He must. Honour required it.

  He frowned. He had not brought a footman on the journey, preferring to make his own travel arrangements, so they would be alone apart from the various postilions who would steer the horses as they journeyed.

  In blithely assuring Lady Kingswood of his good behaviour he had not known the temptation which was to follow. The temptation currently sitting opposite him, wearing a fine grey dress that hugged her form.

  Some gentlemen, he knew, entered into liaisons with willing servants and ensured they did not suffer afterwards. This generally amounted to ensuring they gained another suitable post and that any children resulting from the association were brought up in suitable safety and comfort.

  He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Viewing Miss Bailey’s innocent face—currently she was gazing at the passing landscape—he could not imagine anyone being so lacking in principle as to pursue her for an irregular relationship. Despite her possible origins she had clearly been raised by good people with strong moral values. Everything about her—her demeanour, her demure clothing, her reserved conversation and the complete absence of anything resembling flirtation—confirmed it.

  Shockingly, he found himself wishing she was otherwise...

  * * *

  ‘I am sorry, sir. Nuthin’ I can do about it.’

  The innkeeper’s face was twisted with concern—as well it might be. Mr Kendal’s expression was thunderous.

  This is all about me.

  Jane, used to remaining unseen and unnoticed, was deeply uncomfortable at this unwarranted attention.

  ‘I specifically requested two bedchambers,’ Mr Kendal repeated.

  ‘That you did, sir,’ the landlord acknowledged. ‘But I got your letter just this afternoon and I only have the one room free.’ He glanced at Jane’s servant garb. ‘Your servant may share a room with our chambermaids, if you like. We have three of them in the one room, with a spare bed free.’

  A perfectly suitable arrangement! Jane breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mr Kendal, however, was not to be diverted so easily.

  ‘Or Miss Bailey could have the bedchamber and I could sleep somewhere else.’

  Jane gasped. ‘I am quite content with the innkeeper’s suggestion, sir. I am well used to sharing a bedchamber with other female servants.’

  His gaze swivelled towards her, grey eyes meeting blue. ‘But...’ He frowned. ‘It does not seem right.’

  Has he forgotten I am a serving maid?

  ‘It is entirely reasonable, sir.’

  He looked confused, then nodded slowly. ‘I suppose you have the right of it.’ He turned back to the landlord. ‘Very well. I should also like a private parlour for dinner.’

  ‘Yes, sir. That I have got.’

  The innkeeper’s relief was palpable. Taking a key from a cupboard behind him, and a lighted candlestick from the table, he led Mr Kendal up a twisting narrow staircase to the upper floor. Jane trailed behind, hovering on the narrow landing as Mr Kendal followed the innkeeper into his allocated bedchamber.

  The landlord lit a branch of tall wax candles from his single one, casting warm light around the room. Moving to the fireplace, he lit the fire that had been set there. From her position in the dark corridor Jane glanced around. The chamber looked spacious, comfortable and clean.

  ‘Would it please you to dine in one hour, sir?’ The innkeeper paused, awaiting his guest’s response.

  Mr Kendal consulted his pocket watch. ‘Very well. Er... Miss Bailey?’

  Jane started. She moved to the doorway. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I shall expect you to dine with me.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Kendal.’

  He frowned. ‘That is to say I should like to request that you dine with me.’

  Jane’s brow creased in bewilderment. What was the difference? ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘But, no, I...’ He glanced at the landlord, whose puzzled expression mirrored Jane’s own. ‘Never mind.’

  Jane considered the matter as she followed the landlord to the servants’ quarters, but was unable to fathom Mr Kendal’s meaning.

  ‘Here you go, miss.’ The innkeeper opened the door at the top of the attic stairs and stepped inside.

  Jane followed, shivering as a blast of icy air hit her.

  ‘A bit draughty in here, mind, but once all the others are in here with you it will soon warm up. They are all busy below, and shall be until around ten o’clock.’ He lit a small tallow candle, which sputtered in the draught. ‘This bed is free.’ He pointed to a slightly stained pallet—the second in a row of four to Jane’s left. ‘I shall send up a sheet and a blanket for you later.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The door closed behind him and Jane sank down onto the thin pallet. Oh, how she ache
d from being stuck in the jolting carriage for most of the day! The pallet was nothing to her comfortable bed at Ledbury House, but was typical of servants’ accommodation in less wholesome establishments.

  Reaching for the tallow candle, she carefully inspected the pallet for lice and fleas. There were none visible, which gave her some hope. They might not survive in a room this cold.

  She shivered again. Nor might I!

  Carefully she searched in her bandbox for her woollen stockings and put them on, on top of the thin pair she was already wearing. Keeping her cloak on, she wrapped it tightly about her, but decided to remove her bonnet as the straw was beginning to scratch at her scalp.

  Drawing the hood of her cloak up, she concentrated on watching her breath fog the air in front of her and, despite the cold, on enjoying not being in a moving carriage.

  Finally—thankfully—she judged that almost an hour had passed, based on the tallow candle having shrunk to half its length. She unfolded her legs and stood up slowly. Since sunset the temperature had kept on dropping. There would be a sharp frost in the morning.

  With some regret, she removed her cloak, folded it, and left it on the pallet.

  The thought of seeing Mr Kendal again made her heart skip momentarily. She could not quite divine why it was behaving so erratically.

  As she descended she could feel the air getting warmer. By the time she had reached the ground floor there was a welcome warmth which danced on her skin and heated the air in her lungs.

  One of the chambermaids showed her to Mr Kendal’s private parlour. He had not yet arrived. Jane made straight for the fireplace, which boasted a small but cheerful fire. Hurrying across the room, she held her frozen hands out towards it. It surely was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen!

  The door opened and closed behind her, sending a puff of smoke billowing out into the room. It must be him! Briefly, the heat reached all the way to her elbows, then subsided again.

  She turned. ‘Good evening, sir.’ Her voice sounded normal. Good. At least her stuttering heart had not revealed itself in her tone.

  Mr Kendal had changed his clothing for dinner. She could not resist running her eyes over his fine figure.