The Enigmatic Lady in the Ivory Tower

by Hazel Linwood

  “I am certain that they feel much the same about you, My Lady.”

  “I am certain that you are correct, but I am not going to be the one to change my mind. If anyone is going to change, it is going to have to be them.”

  “Unfortunately, that is not how our society functions. It will be you who is forced to change, My Lady.”

  Diana set her jaw in stubborn determination. “Not bloody likely.”

  Chapter 2

  Gabriel Rowan stood in the paddock nearest the Westwallow stables, working with a new yearling mare, when a carriage that he did not recognize came rolling down the drive toward the manor house. Stephen Combes, the first footman of the household servants, stepped out of the front door to stand watch. The butler, Scott Roberts, soon followed, and they stood together in silence as the carriage rolled steadily toward them.

  From the angle that Gabriel was standing, he had a full, clear view of the front of the house. The carriage was well-crafted, demarking its owner as a man of wealth. The team of horses were also well appointed, and Gabriel silently complimented their mysterious owner’s taste in horseflesh. As the carriage rolled to a halt, Gabriel’s father, James Rowan, the stablemaster, stepped out to take the carriage horses’ heads.

  The footman opened the carriage door and extended his hand to aid the passengers in their descent. The next instant, Gabriel found himself standing slack-jawed in wonder at the beauteous creature who stepped forth. She was stunning to behold, with her light brown hair glistening in the sun. It curled around her face to frame the most soulful amber-colored eyes that he had ever seen. Even from a distance he could see the fire within their depths.

  God in heaven, help me.

  Gabriel’s mouth went dry and his heart began to race. Every fiber of his being wanted instantly to know more about her and it took all of his willpower not to leap over the stone fence that separated them and race to her side to take her hand for himself. For the first time in his entire life, he envied Stephen Combes. He had never once wanted to be a footman, preferring the out of doors to being trapped inside, but he would have traded it all in that moment to be the one holding her hand.

  Shaking his head to clear his mind of such ridiculous thoughts, Gabriel attempted to turn his attention back to the task at hand but found that he could not. He could not help but to look up every few seconds to see if she was still standing there. A diminutive, mousy-looking girl stepped out of the carriage to stand just behind her. He assumed by the second girl’s gown and subservient stance that she was a maid. The first girl turned to the second and said something that caused a smile to spread across her face and she stepped forward to stand next to her mistress.

  Interesting…

  Gabriel continued to watch the girls until they disappeared inside of the manor house. The footman followed, carrying the girls’ belongings. Once everything had been taken from the carriage, Gabriel’s father stepped back and the carriage driver flicked the reins, urging the horses forward.

  Apparently, she has come to stay.

  A thrill of anticipation coursed through his being at the thought.

  She is not for the likes of you, Gabriel Rowan. She is meant for a far greater man than a stable hand.

  Gabriel walked over to meet his father at the paddock wall nearest the stables. “Who was that?” he asked, wasting no time with idle speech.

  His father smiled. “That, my dear boy, is Lady Diana Bexley, second daughter to the Earl of Kilgrave. A pretty young thing, is she not?” He answered Gabriel with a teasing note.

  “She is at that,” Gabriel nodded, pretending not to notice his father’s amusement. “Has she come to stay?”

  “She has,” his father nodded. “Your mother told me that Lady Diana has come to Westwallow for the Dowager Marchioness to teach her in the fine art of social decorum.”

  Gabriel frowned, confused. “Is her own mother dead?”

  “No,” his father shook his head. “I am not privy to the details. I only know what your mother has chosen to share with me. There is a rumor about a possible betrothal to an English nobleman, but I do not believe that it is yet settled between them. If you wish to know more, ask your mother.”

  Gabriel nodded. His mother, Lilly, was the Westwallow cook and was privy to more information about the household’s comings and goings than just about anyone else on the estate, but she respected people’s privacy and only shared with her own husband the things that she learned throughout her day’s duties. Gabriel had always admired his parents, their sense of honor, and their undying love for one another and for him. He had always felt that he could not have asked for better parents.

  I am blessed beyond measure.

  After he put the yearling away, Gabriel walked to the manor house and entered the kitchen through the back servants’ entrance. There, he found his mother working steadily through her day’s duties. When she heard him enter, she looked up and smiled.

  “Gabriel,” she leaned forward over the bread that she was working so that he might kiss her cheek. “Are you hungry?”

  Gabriel kissed her cheek and nodded with a smile. “I am.”

  “Sit yourself down there and I will bring you a bit of something,” his mother instructed, gesturing toward the table and chairs against the wall that were for her own personal use.

  Gabriel obeyed and sat down, contentedly watching the bustling kitchen staff while he waited. He had known most of them for his entire life. It was a comforting sight to him, and everyone greeted him with a smile as they passed. Anyone above stairs would never know just how warm and welcoming the household staff could be. All the nobles ever saw was the distant façade that the servants had to wear at all times as they worked. Below stairs it was a different story.

  Mere moments after Gabriel sat down, his mother had a hot bowl of vegetable broth, a crust of bread, and a cup of cider in front of him. He smiled up at her in thanks and kissed her work-worn hand. She smiled back, patted him on the shoulder affectionately, then returned to work. Stephen, the footman, entered the kitchen and sat down across from Gabriel.

  “Did you see her?” he asked, his voice one of awed admiration.

  Gabriel did not have to ask whom the lad was talking about.

  “I did.” He nodded, focusing on his food to appear nonchalant. It was clear that he was not alone in his thoughts upon their guest’s grace and beauty.

  “Is she not the most beautiful thing you have ever laid eyes upon?”

  Before Gabriel could answer, his mother put a stop to the conversation. “She is not for the likes of you, Stephen Combes.”

  “Why not? I am as good as any man?”

  “An Earl’s daughter is not going to choose a footman.”

  “Earl’s daughter?” Stephen asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “I am not talking about the Earl’s daughter. I am speaking of her lady’s maid, Miss Frances Crow.”

  Gabriel almost choked on his cider at hearing Stephen’s words. He started laughing, much to Stephen’s confusion, and could hardly stop himself, stifling the sound in a cloth napkin that his mother had laid upon the table for him. He had thought that Stephen was speaking in admiration of the beautiful lady, not her maid, and found himself to be equally amused and relieved to discover otherwise.

  “You have an eye for the girl, do you?” he finally managed to get out, in order to spare Stephen’s clearly befuddled feelings.

  Before Stephen could answer, the object of his affections entered the kitchen accompanied by the head housekeeper, Mrs. Irene Ross, a woman of stern countenance and ramrod straight posture. She could have been a general or an admiral had she been born a man of station. As it was, she ran the Westwallow household with an iron fist. In true form, Mrs. Ross was giving the new maid orders on how she would and would not behave while residing within the household.

  “Attention everyone,” Mrs. Ross called the staff to order. “This is Miss Frances Crow, lady’s maid to Lady Diana Bexley, second daughter to the Earl of Kilgr
ave. Miss Crow will be provided with everything that is needed for Lady Diana’s care. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Ross,” the staff answered in unison.

  “Very well, now to show you where you will be sleeping.” Mrs. Ross turned and led Miss Crow from the room.

  “Is she not marvelous?” Stephen murmured, staring after her as if the maid was the most beautiful thing to have ever walked the face of the earth.

  Gabriel bit back a laugh. “Indeed, she is.”

  “Do not be getting any ideas, Gabriel,” Stephen warned, frowning.

  “I would never dream of it, my friend,” Gabriel promised. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” He had meant the statement in jest, but his own words came back to reprimand him.

  Lady Diana is rumored to be betrothed to another, a man of more worthy station. I am but a stable hand. There is naught to be done, but to go on as if I had never laid eyes upon her.

  Even as he swore to himself to do so, he knew that it was impossible, for from the first moment that he had seen her smile, his heart had been lost.

  Chapter 3

  Diana stared in a mixture of awe and reservation at the looming stone edifice that was Westwallow Manor. It was no grander than the manor house at Kilgrave and yet it somehow felt more imposing. The carriage rumbled down the drive, carrying her ever closer to her gilded prison.

  “Frances, it is time to awaken. We have arrived.” Diana nudged her maid’s foot with the toe of her shoe.

  “My Lady,” Diana mumbled sleepily as she opened her eyes and sat up to look out of the window. “Oh…” The look on her face matched that of Diana’s own, dread and reservation.

  “Indeed,” Diana murmured, shaking her head in disapproval of the entire situation, “but we will simply have to make the best of it.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” Frances nodded dutifully. “We shall.”

  When the carriage rolled to a stop, a footman walked over and offered Diana his hand, to help her out of the carriage. Diana sighed, taking a deep breath, then stepped out of the conveyance and onto Westwallow estate soil.

  We have arrived, indeed.

  She thought about it silently with such resignation that she resembled a John Foxe martyr being sent to his death.

  The footman next offered his hand to Frances. The look on his face when he first laid eyes upon the maid nearly made Diana laugh out loud, but she managed to hold it back. When Frances came to stand beside her, Diana murmured to her about the footman’s admiration, causing the maid to blush and smile.

  “It would appear that footman is smitten with you, my friend. Perhaps it will make our stay in this gilded prison more palatable.”

  Frances stepped forward to stand beside Diana, smiling at the humorous comment.

  “Perhaps there is a nobleman hiding away within the dark recesses of the attic for you,” Frances teased, to hide her own blushes.

  Diana snorted. “I would have better fortune finding one mucking out the stables,” she jested in return.

  “I hear that the Dowager Marchioness’ son is quite handsome.”

  “And spoken for,” Diana reminded her.

  “Perhaps Lord Appley will be more tolerable than you suspect?”

  Diana shook her head. “Tolerable or not, I will not be pressed into a loveless marriage.” Sighing, she squared her shoulders and readied herself to meet her jailer. “Shall we?” she asked, offering her friend her arm.

  Frances, who had more respect for the rules, touched Diana’s arm in reassurance, but quickly let it go for propriety’s sake.

  “We shall,” she nodded firmly, then they stepped through the doors into Westwallow Manor together.

  The butler, Roberts, led them into the house and introduced them to the head housekeeper, Mrs. Ross, who took Frances below stairs. He then led Diana into the drawing room to meet the Dowager Marchioness. Diana was not certain what she had expected, but the diminutive, round, grey-haired, icy-blue-eyed, sixty-year-old woman before her was not it. The way people spoke of her, Diana had honestly thought the Dowager Marchioness would have looked more like Mrs. Ross, her head housekeeper—tall and stately—rather than the lady she saw before her now.

  “My Lady,” the butler began the introductions. “May I present Lady Diana Bexley, daughter to the Earl of Kilgrave. Lady Diana, allow me to introduce Theodora Jenson, Dowager Marchioness of Westwallow.”

  “Marchioness,” Diana curtsied, in a respectful greeting.

  The Dowager studied Diana in silence for a moment.

  “Diana,” she greeted at last. “You remind me of your grandmother.”

  Diana smiled. “I believe that she would be pleased that I am here.”

  “I doubt that is true. I do not believe that she would be pleased at all to learn that her granddaughter is so rebellious that she must be sent away to learn the proper decorum of a lady.”

  The Dowager Marchioness’ words struck right at Diana’s heart. The shame that she had felt when her mother had spoken to her before leaving home resurfaced. She was not certain what to say, so she said nothing at all. The Dowager looked to the butler and gave the slightest of nods.

  “Roberts will show you to your room. We will begin your instruction tomorrow. In the meantime, you will settle into your new life here with as little disruption to the household as possible.”

  The Dowager waved her away as if she were little more than a servant.

  Roberts stepped forward. “My Lady, if you would be so kind as to follow me.”

  Diana turned, too stunned at the Dowager Marchioness’ rudeness to do anything but obey.

  This is the lady who is to teach me to be a gentler lady of standing? I think not.

  Diana followed the butler out of the drawing room and up the stairs to her awaiting bedchamber. She stood in the middle of the room looking all around her. It was well appointed, comfortable even. She was surprised because considering the lady of the house, she had half-expected a dungeon awaiting her.

  “This will do. Thank you, Roberts.” She nodded her head in assent for him to leave her.

  “My Lady,” the butler bowed, then left the room.

  A short time later, Frances came scurrying like a frightened mouse through the door. The look on the maid’s face told Diana that she was less than pleased to be at Westwallow Manor.

  “What has happened? You look as if you have been to war.”

  “Not quite. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Ross, is a frightful woman.”

  “Servant like mistress,” Diana murmured, sitting down on the bed and patting the space beside her for Frances to join her. “The Dowager Marchioness was terribly rude during our introduction. All due respect to my father and mother, but thus far, I am not at all convinced that coming here was the right decision.”

  “I am inclined to agree with you, My Lady, but unfortunately we do not have a say in the matter,” Frances gently reminded her mistress, coming to sit down beside her as bidden. “In that way, we are very much alike.”

  “I suppose that you could turn in your notice and find another position elsewhere, but I would rather that you did not. I would miss you too dearly.”

  “I would never dream of leaving you, My Lady.” Frances firmly shook her head in refusal of the idea.

  “I am glad to hear it, but if it becomes unbearable for you, do not hesitate to tell me.”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  Diana sighed. “I wish that you did not insist on formalities when we are alone, Frances. No one but I am here to hear it if you were to use my Christian name.”

  “We cannot take that chance, My Lady. You remember what happened when we were children and I listened to you on the matter.”

  “I remember.” Diana nodded. “I was not allowed to see you for a week, and you were forced to work in the scullery. I love our household staff at Kilgrave, but they are quite traditional about such things, to be certain.”

  “I have no desire to work in the scullery ever again.”


  “No, I would not want that for you, either.” Diana shook her head. “It pains me that such things must be.”

  “But they must.” Frances, practical as always, arose and began to unpack Diana’s things. Diana arose to aid her but was shooed away. “Go and explore your new home. You do not know when you will have the opportunity again once your lessons begin.”

  Diana smiled. “Propriety may keep you from using my given name, but it does not keep you from telling me what to do.”

  Frances smiled mischievously and curtsied without a word, then turned back to unpacking. Shaking her head in amusement, Diana left her appointed bedchamber and meandered through the manor, peering through doorways and acquainting herself with the house. Her favorite room was the library. It was a much more welcoming room than the rest of the house and had a decidedly masculine element to it. Diana assumed that the room must be the domain and refuge of the current Marquess of Westwallow.