Rags-to-Riches Wife

by Catherine Tinley

  As the door closed behind her Jane expected a hundred thoughts to come flying through her mind, yet only one did.

  I wonder when Robert will return home?

  She closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Robert pushed Blacklock as hard as he had ever done. Thankfully, the stallion was equal to it. And as they soared through the countryside Robert felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease, the black rage begin to dissipate, and finally he began to think clearly.

  He had spent the first part of his ride cursing aloud in the strongest and most offensive terms possible. His dear departed uncle had come in for particular criticism, along with his aunt and the entire profession of lawyers. Mostly, though, he was angry with himself.

  Damnation! I saw the possibility of this type of complication on the horizon, yet I failed to act.

  He slowed Blacklock to a trot, curving around the edge of the field.

  Robert had thought his uncle would bequeath everything to Jane. Or possibly everything to Robert, with a requirement to look after Jane. He had never anticipated this outrageous nonsense. To force a marriage on his own granddaughter! Why, it was positively medieval!

  He shook his head. He was guilty of arrogance, of blindness, and of extraordinary folly. Of course his aunt would have pleaded with him not to cut Robert out. Yet his uncle, having seen Jane’s true value, had had to act in her interests.

  He began to appreciate his uncle’s dilemma.

  But, dash it all! Why did he not speak to me about it?

  There would be a hundred compromises in terms of splitting the estate. He frowned, thinking it through. The estate generated a decent income precisely because of its scale. To disentangle one part from another would potentially compromise the whole.

  Very well, then, he continued silently, you could have left me the house and lands and made Jane a considerable heiress by giving her your fortune.

  But there were two problems with this. First, the savings in the bank were a safety fund against possible hard times, and second, what would a young serving maid and her widowed mother, a housekeeper, know of such matters?

  Robert understood Mrs Bailey to be a woman of sense, but she could not have had any experience of the world that Jane would be thrust into as an heiress in extremely comfortable circumstances.

  Fortune-hunters.

  His next thought would also have been in his uncle’s consideration. As a lady’s maid, Jane might eventually marry a footman, a groom, or a valet... His gut twisted at the very notion. As a wealthy and beautiful young lady of quality she would instantly be besieged by the worst rakes, bloods and gazetted fortune-hunters.

  Including me, perhaps?

  Ah, but I am different! I truly love her.

  His own thoughts sounded hollow.

  How is she ever to know that?

  Besides, he acknowledged to his unseen uncle in a more subdued tone, you want her to make Beechmount Hall her home, don’t you?

  He recalled his uncle’s pleasure on that day when he had shared the keepsakes from his first wife and his son. That was the day Robert had asked Jane about the possibility of living apart from her mother. Jane had been adamant it was out of the question. Might that now change?

  He shook his head. He had absolutely no notion.

  Finally, he allowed himself to remember her pale, bewildered face after the will had been read. Jane had really had no idea.

  No matter what, her days as a lady’s maid were at an end. Did she understand that? While part of him was delighted that she would never more scrub clothing or wait on someone else, he could not yet see a way through this muddle of his uncle’s creating.

  The irony, of course, was that marrying Jane was his greatest wish. His heart’s desire. And yet if marriage was forced on her it would surely break the fragile connection that had been building between them.

  The entire situation was a complete disaster.

  And he had not the least idea how to mend it.

  * * *

  Nancy had been as good as her word. Jane’s black dress had been freshened and pressed. It now clung to her form perfectly, and there was not a speck of mud on the hem, nor any imperfection elsewhere.

  It makes me look pale, she noted, seeing her own reflection as Nancy dressed her hair. Paler than I feel.

  In truth, she was feeling curiously calm, given the momentous events of the afternoon. Naturally she was gratified that her grandfather had included her in his will. It meant the connection she had felt with him had been present on his part, too. But an altogether different connection was currently occupying her mind.

  Robert.

  At a stroke, her grandfather had removed the remaining distance in their stations. As an heiress she would be accepted everywhere. Money opened doors that character could not.

  She knew enough of Robert to see that he already respected her. Indeed, she had had to remind him on numerous occasions that she was a servant. He had never treated her as inferior to him.

  Yet it was one thing to treat a guest with respect and quite another to marry her! Particularly in a forced marriage that, judging by his heated reaction, was abhorrent to him.

  Her grandfather had probably believed it was for the best.

  Gratitude, affection and annoyance at his high-handedness battled within her. To cut Robert out in such a way! How could he do such a thing? Until a few short weeks ago Robert had had the expectation of being sole heir. How it must grate to lose his place to a near-stranger—and a servant at that!

  Much as her heart danced at the very notion of marrying him, it was impossible to think of him being compelled into doing so. She only wished to marry him if he genuinely wished to marry her.

  Distantly, she heard the dinner gong sound.

  ‘I am late!’

  She allowed Nancy to place one final pin in her coiffure, then descended in some haste.

  The others had already entered the dining room. Breathless, she took her usual seat beside Robert, without looking at him directly. Murmuring a general greeting, she devoted her attention to her food and took a minimal part in the conversation. There was simply too much going on in her mind, and she felt intensely uncomfortable being seated next to the man she had wronged through her very existence.

  If only I could speak to him properly!

  The evening ritual continued. After the meal—which Jane had barely tasted—the ladies retired to the salon, leaving Robert alone with his port. As they rose Jane saw Mrs Millthorpe glance briefly at her grandfather’s empty chair, her eyes suspiciously bright.

  The will was not referred to by any of the ladies, which strengthened the air of unreality about the situation that was now taking hold of Jane’s mind.

  Had it really happened?

  Perhaps the whole thing had been driven by her imaginings!

  But Mrs Millthorpe’s next comment brought her sharply back to reality.

  ‘I shall travel to Knaresborough on the morrow, to discuss my move there. My sister wishes to buy new furniture and re-do the hangings in what will be my chamber, and she has invited a number of merchants to call the day after.’

  The other two ladies then engaged in a comprehensive discussion about closets, curtains, beds and wall-hangings, to which Jane contributed only occasionally.

  Mrs Millthorpe was truly leaving! It would be the end of an epoch here at Beechmount Hall. Although in truth, she realised, with her grandfather’s death that had already come to pass. A new age was about to begin.

  She could sense anxiety among the servants. Were they worried that some of them would be let go under the new master or mistress? Henby and Eliza were to accompany Mrs Millthorpe to live in Knaresborough, but the others—particularly the junior house servants—were awaiting news.

  So many lives depend upon what Robert and I do next.

>   For a moment she allowed herself the indulgence of imagining herself as Robert’s wife—a wife he loved. Her heart skipped as hopeful memories persuaded her to believe that he felt something for her. Their kisses... The way he looked at her sometimes... The friendship they had forged in the carriage during the journey that now seemed a lifetime ago...

  With a sense of shock she reminded herself that it had been just a few short weeks since they had met. Surely she knew enough of the world to understand that young men often indulged in warm flirtations with no thought of love?

  He joined them then, and their eyes met briefly when he entered the salon. His blazed with some unknown emotion before he glanced away, leaving her feeling both deflated and anxious.

  Mrs Millthorpe and Mrs Kendal also shared some unspoken communication, before Mrs Kendal said brightly, ‘Do draw up a chair near the fire, Robert, for it is particularly cold tonight!’

  Her grandfather’s chair had been moved to the wall. Without commenting, Robert lifted a different armchair into the space where her grandfather’s usually stood and sat in it. Jane nodded. There was a sense of rightness about it.

  How could her grandfather allow anyone to supplant Robert as the rightful master of Beechmount Hall? It did not bear thinking about.

  That night, sleep would not come easily, she knew.

  Tomorrow... Tomorrow I shall speak with him and discover whether our fate is entwined or not.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Having lain awake for an age, ruminating on the seemingly unsolvable riddle facing her, Jane had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep. It did her no good, though, and it was almost a relief when Nancy arrived to bring her morning tea and reset the fire.

  Jane was no closer to knowing what she might say to Robert, but her stomach was already churning with the knowledge that the conversation would likely happen this very morning.

  When Nancy pulled back the curtains and opened the shutters Jane discovered the day was bright and clear, with pale March sunlight arrowing its way into her chamber. It reminded her of that similar day last month—the day Robert had arrived at Ledbury House.

  How much has occurred since then! And how much I have been altered by it all.

  As she descended the stairs she felt a strange sense of familiarity, of completeness—as if that day was somehow the mirror of this one.

  Mr Kendal had been out riding, Nancy had informed her, but was now returned.

  Carefully calculating the likely amount of time it would take him to wash and change, she waited in the Blue Parlour. He knew it was her habit to read there in the mornings. Surely he must seek her out? They did, after all, have important topics to discuss.

  A book was in her lap, open, but she could not take in one word. Inside, her heart was racing, her pulse tumultuous, and her mouth was dry.

  The next hour may well decide the course of my life.

  And so, when a scratching came on the door, she sat up straight, took a breath and said, in a reassuringly clear voice, ‘Enter!’

  It was the second footman.

  ‘Visitors for you, miss,’ he said, before announcing, ‘Lady Kingswood and Mrs Bailey.’

  Mama! And Miss Marianne!

  In all the drama she had temporarily forgotten that Mama would be here today. She rose, a glad smile breaking over her face. A moment later she was enveloped in Mama’s warm embrace. And Miss Marianne also gave her a spontaneous hug.

  They both looked wonderful. Miss Marianne was wearing her warm brown pelisse over the green silk day dress, while Mama was attired in her customary dark grey, her lace cap firmly in place.

  They exclaimed, and greeted her, and kissed her, gave their condolences on the death of Mr Millthorpe, and then admired Jane’s new side curls.

  She patted them with more than a little embarrassment. ‘My—my grandfather insisted I accompany the family to a soirée at one of the neighbouring houses...’

  ‘Oh, how delightful!’ Miss Marianne was all smiles at this news. ‘Did you wear the amber silk? Although it is, perhaps, a little plain for such an evening.’

  Just like Miss Marianne—straight to the point.

  ‘No. We—two of the other servants and I—made a dress. Or we remade an old dress that used to belong to my grandmother. The one in that painting, in fact.’

  Mama was frowning. What did she truly think about the Millthorpes? About being here at all?

  ‘I was pleased to learn a little of Papa’s history while I was here,’ she offered tentatively.

  ‘It is strange being here in Beechmount Hall,’ Mama mused. ‘Your papa was raised a gentleman, and he might have inherited all of this if he had not married me.’

  How do I explain about the will?

  ‘It was not something I fully understood when I was young and he was courting me,’ Mama went on, looking pensive. ‘He under-spoke, I think, when he talked of his home and his family. I had not expected anything so grand.’

  No one mentioned money, but it was clear to all of them that there was wealth here.

  ‘Later,’ Mama continued, ‘I felt guilty about the break with his family, but he always reassured me.’

  She glanced around, taking in the Aubusson rug, the paintings, the exquisite furniture and the air of care and cleanliness about the room.

  She looked again at the portrait. ‘So that is my Ned as a child? I can see the likeness.’

  ‘It is. Apparently he spent many hours in this room during his childhood. It was his mother’s favourite parlour.’

  They sat together on the long settee, talking for a while about Papa, and the discoveries Jane had made about his life here.

  ‘I can see exactly how the estrangement happened,’ she concluded. ‘My grandfather was extremely strong-willed, and tended to state his opinions in animated terms. I believe,’ she reflected, ‘he had regrets about what happened.’

  Mama sorted. ‘Regrets are all very well. Where was he when your papa was dying? When you were being raised a servant?’

  Jane knew better than to try to persuade her. ‘I know. It seems he did not know that Papa had changed his name. And at least he brought me here before he died.’

  ‘I am sorry, Jane.’ Miss Marianne patted her hand. ‘I know you only knew him for a short time, but in a sense he was part of you.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he was.’ Jane sent an anxious glance towards Mama. ‘But it does not make me any less your daughter, Mama.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Mama hugged her. ‘I saw the hurt your papa carried with him always. I think he would be pleased you came here and that the enmity was put to an end.’

  ‘Your letters were most informative, Jane,’ said Lady Kingswood, sharing an intent look with Mama.

  What?

  ‘Indeed they were,’ Mama echoed. ‘We feel we know so much about your life here. Your letters were full of your grandfather and his second wife, and Mr Kendal and his mother. Your sorrow at Mr Millthorpe’s death came through very clearly, too, along with...with other things. Tell me, are the family at home?’

  ‘Mrs Millthorpe has left for Knaresborough, to visit her sister. The others are here, though.’

  ‘Good.’ Again, they exchanged a glance. ‘Tell me truly, daughter, were you welcomed here? Did anyone treat you badly because you were raised a servant?’

  Memories flashed through her mind.

  Mrs Millthorpe speaking French and commenting on my hands.

  Eliza refusing to serve me.

  Marmaduke Haw and his treatment of me.

  Then came other recollections.

  Mrs Millthorpe later.

  Nancy’s kindness.

  Umpelby’s welcome.

  Miss Dodsworth.

  Grandfather.

  Mrs Kendal.

  Robert.

  ‘I have been made most welcome an
d treated with warm kindness.’

  They were watching her closely. ‘I am glad of it,’ said Mama simply.

  Jane smiled. ‘But what has made you travel all the way here? When I got your letter I was astounded.’ She addressed Lady Kingswood. ‘And I did not know you were also coming!’

  ‘I have never before visited the north,’ said Miss Marianne. ‘I aim to see some notable places and scenic beauty while I am here. I thought it a good opportunity to travel with Mrs Bailey now spring is coming.’

  This seemed unlikely, but Jane had no choice but to accept Miss Marianne’s statement. At least they would not be in a hurry to return to Ledbury House.

  ‘I simply wanted to see you,’ said Mama. ‘In your last letter you talked of your grandfather’s illness. Such conditions might last for years, and I wanted to be here when you decided for how long you were going to stay—or indeed whether you would return at all.’

  Jane gasped. So the possibility was already in her mind! Could she then tell her that she dearly wished to stay without hurting her feelings?

  She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

  Nothing is settled with Robert. He may or may not want this marriage. No, I cannot yet speak about this.

  Instead she said simply, ‘Yes, but my grandfather survived only a few days after the stroke. He would not have wished to live as an invalid, I think.’

  ‘No, indeed. From what I know of him, he was a proud man.’

  ‘He was.’

  Wistfully, Jane remembered her grandfather’s eyes—always assessing, judging, watching, occasionally revealing the quick thoughts flying through his animated mind.

  ‘He had a good death, if such a thing is possible.’

  ‘It is—and I am glad.’

  Jane smiled gratefully and on they sat, exchanging news of Ledbury House and the latest doings of the family, as well as tales of their journey north. It was so good to see them both again.

  But she still needed to speak to Robert.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Robert had ordered a bath after his ride. Although he was desperate to speak to Jane, part of him was focused on delaying, in case an inspiring form of words should come to him. He dressed with care, feeling nervous and unaccustomedly unsure. He had never made an offer of marriage before. Any man would be nervous on such an occasion. And, thanks to his uncle’s meddling, he could not be sure of her feelings on the matter.