If it were as simple as a man and a woman deciding whether to marry then he would, he knew, be much more assured. The connection between them was undeniable. He felt it deep within his bones. It was a heady mix of desire, admiration and deep friendship—in his view the perfect recipe for a good marriage. Even if she did not yet love him.
No, it was worldly matters that threatened to separate them. Her previous status as a servant and the way she continually referred to it. Her potential separation from her mother, her home at Ledbury House and her much-loved employer. The compulsion that his uncle had laid upon them both.
But none of these things was insurmountable, he believed, and he was determined to persuade her on each of them as needed.
Still rehearsing arguments in his head, he descended to the ground floor—where he was informed of Miss Bailey’s visitors. This halted his progress immediately.
He stood in the hallway, rubbing a thoughtful finger along his jaw. ‘I see... Yes. Thank you, Umpelby...’
The butler coughed discreetly.
‘Yes, Umpelby?’
‘Might Lady Kingswood enjoy refreshments in the salon with Miss Bailey and possibly Mrs Kendal?’
Robert looked at him blankly, then realised what Umpelby meant. ‘An excellent notion! Can you inform my mother?’ He grinned. ‘Now to manage the rest of it!’
Umpelby bowed, a hint of a twinkle in his eye. ‘I have every confidence in you, sir.’
‘Hrrmph!’ Robert marched on towards the Blue Parlour with renewed vigour.
Yes, this could work very well.
* * *
There was a knock on the door. This time it was Robert. In a swift appraisal Jane drank in every inch of his appearance—long muscular legs, flat stomach, broad shoulders, handsome face and damp hair. Today he was wearing buckskin breeches, a silver-grey waistcoat, and a superfine claw-hammer jacket in charcoal-grey. He looked, to her eyes, like a Greek god.
‘Lady Kingswood! And Mrs Bailey! What a pleasure to see you both!’
His face creased in a welcoming smile, he bowed to the ladies. Then, sitting with them in seeming ease, he accepted their condolences, asked about their health, and questioned them a little regarding their journey north.
There was a pause.
‘Mrs Bailey,’ he said with a casual air, ‘there is something I particularly wish to speak to you about. I know my mother is now going to the salon, where she will be serving refreshments. Might I suggest that you, Miss Bailey, accompany Lady Kingswood there and we shall follow you shortly?’
‘Of course.’
Jane’s mind was immediately flooded with possibilities.
Will he speak to Mama of the will? Of Papa or Grandfather? Does he actually intend to make me an offer?
This last thought was so disturbing it threatened to quite overcome her. She barely heard Lady Kingswood’s enthusiastic assent, so focused was she on trying to decipher his intent. But Mama looked perfectly comfortable with the notion of speaking to him.
She led Miss Marianne to the salon, where Mrs Kendal was indeed there to greet them. Tea was served, and cake, and again Jane was reminded of that first day she had met Robert, when she had spilled pastries all over Miss Marianne’s carpet.
The ladies talked, and Jane contributed occasionally, but her mind was in the Blue Parlour, where her mama and the man she loved were discussing matters unknown.
Finally, the door opened to admit Mama.
‘Jane, might I speak with you for a moment?’
Jane agreed with alacrity, and followed Mama out to the corridor. Umpelby was there, standing back at a suitable distance. He must have led Mama to the salon.
But where was Robert?
Mama took both her hands. ‘I have been told about the will. Tell me, daughter, do you want this marriage?’
Jane did not hesitate. ‘With all my heart. But not if Robert is compelled into it against his will.’
‘I think you may be easy on that score,’ Mama replied wryly. ‘We shall speak more later. Go now. He is waiting for you in the room with the portrait.’
Jane could not go without asking the question burning on her lips. ‘When I left Ledbury House you gave me a note. It said—’
‘Never forget who you are. Yes.’
‘So how can I possibly go from lady’s maid to mistress of—’ she gestured ‘—a place like this?’
Mama shook her head. ‘Because neither of those things are who you truly are. They are only what you do, how the world names you. What I wish is for you to be true to who you are. The essential Jane. In that sense it matters not whether we are servants, royals, or anything in between. You have every right to be your papa’s daughter and at the same time to be proud of your achievements when you were a servant. Do you understand?’
‘I think so.’ Jane’s view of her mother became blurred with sudden tears. ‘Oh, Mama, why are you so wise?’
They hugged, and Mama wiped her tears away.
‘Go, child. You have my blessing.’
* * *
Jane’s heart was pounding as she reached the Blue Parlour. Entirely conscious that momentous events were occurring, she took a deep breath, then entered.
There he is!
Her heart skipped as it always did on seeing him. He was not seated, but rather pacing up and down in some agitation.
‘Jane!’ He came straight to her, taking both her hands. ‘I have spoken to your mother about the situation we find ourselves in.’
This was not particularly promising.
‘Yes...?’
‘We have agreed that it is a damnab—a dashed inconvenience that my uncle’s will says what it says.’
Inconvenience?
‘In what way?’ Her voice sounded remarkably even.
‘Dash it all! I knew I might make a mull of it!’ He took a breath. ‘Before my uncle’s illness I already knew he might make you his heiress, and I was at peace with it. All of this should have come to your father. It was never mine.’
‘But you said yourself that no one ever talked of Papa! And you are known as the Young Master by all the servants. Surely you had expectations?’
His expression turned rueful. ‘It is true that everyone—including my uncle—made lazy assumptions about my taking over after his death. But then his Runner found you, and that changed everything. I have seen the Runner’s report, you know. It was among the papers I am going through with the lawyer. In it you are described as “unmarried, virtuous and handsome”.’ He grimaced. ‘Would my uncle have sent for you otherwise?’
Jane was surprised into laughter. ‘I suspect not!’
‘Indeed. Now, why do you think he insisted I must travel all the way to Bedfordshire to fetch you myself?’
Her eyes widened. ‘He wished for us to spend time together! Why, the sly old—’ She broke off, unwilling to speak ill of the dead.
‘Precisely. I think he had this in mind from the start. And when he saw how superior you are it remained only to test you in public.’
‘The soirée?’ she said.
Robert thinks me superior. That is a good thing.
‘Yes. Deliberately he did not assist you. He did not offer money for a gown, nor lessons in correct behaviour. He simply waited to see how you would do.’
‘I was so nervous.’
‘And yet you were more than capable. In fact, you were a success. But I shall tell you something now. When you sang, I think he knew he loved you.’
‘He did?’ She tried to recall. Remembered her grandfather’s tears. ‘I reminded him of his first wife...’
He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I know my uncle dictated his new will only a few days afterwards. His intention, clearly, was that we should marry and share Beechmount Hall and everything else.’
Here it is...
‘I can
not cut you out of the inheritance that should rightly be yours.’ She lifted her chin, determined to do the right thing.
‘And I shall say exactly the same to you.’
They looked at each other.
‘So we are at an impasse,’ he said.
‘Is there no other way? Some clause? Some option...? I do not like to see you forced into a marriage that you do not want.’
‘Again, I shall mirror that back to you.’
That is true!
‘So what can we do?’
‘Well, we have two options, it seems.’ He led her to the settee and sat beside her. ‘We can ignore the will and walk away, or...’ He lifted her hand. ‘We can marry.’
‘You would marry a former servant girl?’
‘Your father did, and seems not to have regretted it.’ His smile faded. ‘Of course I would marry you, Jane. Why, it has always been you who has kept reminding me of your status. From the start I have thought of you as my equal.’
She nodded. ‘But will they cut you if you marry me?’
‘Who?’
‘Your neighbours. Your friends. Society. Some of them do not yet know that I am—or was—a servant.’
‘You saw the response at the soirée. Some were surprised, but you soon won them over with your gracious manners and your song. I do not anticipate any difficulty.’
She gave him a sceptical look.
‘Truly! I think perhaps you overestimate my own status. I am nothing more than a country gentleman in the north of England. I have no title, and no desire to move among the haut ton of London. Who is to say whom I should marry?’
Strangely, this made sense.
‘Now,’ he continued, ‘there is one objection that I myself must make, and it is an important one.’
Her heart sank. What objection?
‘I have seen first-hand the close affection between you and your mother, and indeed between you and Lady Kingswood. I know you and your mother have never before been apart, and you told me yourself in this very room that you saw your place as being with her. It seems to me that in deciding what we must do we must give strong consideration to this.’
‘Oh, but—’ She stopped.
She had been about to say, But I will leave behind my home, my employer, and even my mother, if only we can have a marriage of love.
‘I therefore took the opportunity for a discussion with your mother just now.’
‘You did?’ Shock made her voice quiver a little.
‘Apparently she and Lady Kingswood had discussed this very possibility during their journey north. They seem to have the impression that you and I had forged a firm friendship.’
‘Oh!’ She felt her cheeks turn a fiery red.
I did not realise my letters had been so revealing.
‘Lady Kingswood has already resigned herself to losing both her maid and her housekeeper.’
‘She—she has?’
He nodded. ‘Your mother has declared that she will leave Ledbury House and move to Yorkshire, should you desire it.’
It was too much. Sudden tears started in her eyes.
That Mama would do such a thing for me!
‘She made it very plain,’ he continued, ‘that you must be content to choose this marriage without compulsion.’
Jane nodded. ‘Very well. I am content.’ Her tone was brisk, businesslike.
This is not how I thought I would be agreeing to marry.
‘Capital!’ He matched her tone. ‘I shall see to it that all the arrangements are made.’
‘Thank you.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘Right. Let us go to the salon and share our news.’
He offered his arm.
She took it, conscious of an air of unreality.
Am I truly going to marry him? My heart’s desire? And yet all I want to do is cry...
Chapter Thirty
They were married a month later, in the chapel at Arkendale. There had been a flurry of interest in the district when the banns had first been read, and Jane and Robert had endured visits from almost every notable family in the area.
Emma Dodsworth had been delighted, the Haws politely cynical, and Mr John Foster teasing.
‘I knew it!’ he declared. ‘I sensed it that night at our soirée!’
Robert had growled some noncommittal response, but Jane had taken some encouragement from Robert’s friend’s assessment.
I did think that night that Robert was developing warm feelings for me. Oh, please let it be so!
As she repeated her vows in the chapel, wearing a modest black silk dress, Jane was struck by the same air of unreality that had smitten her on the day they had agreed to wed.
Who is he? And who am I to be marrying him?
He placed a ring on her trembling finger and gave her a reassuring half-smile. She simply looked at him, incapable of responding. She was lost between hope, anxiety, and somewhere deep inside a glow of happiness that she was marrying the man she truly loved.
Many marriages begin as a family arrangement, she reminded herself. Particularly among the quality. Often they work out just fine.
In truth, her sense of who she was felt distant, unclear. At times she felt as though she was leaving herself behind. As if Jane the serving maid was no more.
At a stroke, she was taking on an entirely new life. Mistress of Beechmount Hall. Wife to the man she loved. Someone who gave instructions rather than followed them. Someone with responsibilities for an entire house and its staff.
From now on she would share Robert’s bed and work on winning his heart. Perhaps they would even have children...
She focused again on the immediate challenge—that of the bed. Tonight she would lie with him.
What if the terror comes upon me? What if I cannot easily fulfil my responsibilities as a wife?
Mama had had no advice for her beyond bidding her enjoy her marital duties.
Ah, but yours was a love-match, Mama. And you had not previously been terrorised by a man.
After trying and failing to reassure herself that all would be well, Jane decided simply to avoid thoughts of what lay ahead tonight.
Robert had been unexpectedly distant with her during the short weeks of their betrothal. He was busy, he’d said, with estate matters—and indeed there was seemingly much to be addressed. But even in the evenings he had remained merely unfailingly civil towards her. Kisses had been limited to salutations on her hand or her cheek. He had made no attempt to share with her any of those passionate, intimate kisses she craved, and which might have reassured her about the mating that was to come.
So now she smiled at the wedding breakfast, and said all that was proper, and hid from the world her quaking anxiety about what lay ahead.
Finally, the wedding night was upon her.
She retired after supper, feeling decidedly awkward and more than a little anxious. Nancy helped her prepare for bed in her new chamber—the one that had been Mrs Millthorpe’s. The adjoining chamber, which she still thought of as belonging to her grandfather, was now occupied by Robert.
With Nancy gone, Jane lay alone in the huge bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and tried to be calm. It was, of course, impossible.
By the time Robert scratched on the door connecting their chambers, she was trembling from head to toe.
‘Come in!’ she managed.
The door opened.
He stood framed in the doorway, taking in the scene. He had removed his boots, jacket and waistcoat, and his cravat was hanging loosely on his chest. Despite her fears, Jane felt a thrill of excitement on seeing his handsome face and strong shape.
My husband!
In his hands he held a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘Come,’ he said, indicating the chairs by the fire. ‘Have a drink wi
th me.’
Yes. I can do that.
Turning back the covers, she slid out of bed and padded closer to the fire. She felt both vulnerable and positively indecent in her thin nightgown.
‘Thank you.’
Her voice was husky as she accepted a full glass from him. They drank, eyes meeting eyes over the top of their wine glasses. With his free hand, Robert slowly and gently trailed one long finger down her cheek, in an echo of that long-ago caress in the carriage. She felt the same thrill she had that day, yet somehow could not move, could not show him she liked it.
Then Robert took her hand and drew her down beside him on to the carpet in front of the fire. There they sat, drinking wine and quietly talking. They discussed the wedding, and who had been there, and the wedding breakfast—a muted affair, considering the household was still in mourning—and the demeanour of the lawyer, who had officiously wished them well and congratulated them both.
Gradually, inevitably, Jane began to relax.
This is Robert! she reminded herself. My Robert! I have nothing to fear from him.
The cravat had been abandoned, and she found herself gazing hungrily at the line of his throat and that part of his strong chest now visible at the neck of his shirt.
He noticed, and she blushed.
‘Jane,’ he said softly. ‘All will be well.’
Lifting her hand, he kissed the knuckles, then turned it over to kiss the palm. Jane gasped as desire instantly and unexpectedly flooded through her. He pressed her hand against his cheek.
Tentatively, and then with increasing confidence, she explored his beloved features—those high, arched brows, the strong cheekbones, the angle of his jaw—then moved her hand downwards. Her fingers gently traced the line of his neck all the way to his breastbone, where she delighted in the feel of the dark hair she had noticed earlier. He seemed to be holding his breath, but at this touch he inhaled raggedly, catching her hand and removing it, before setting down his glass and lifting both his hands to trace her face as she had traced his.
Rags-to-Riches Wife Page 25