Rules for an Unmarried Lady

by Wilma Counts

  “I should think that would pose no problem,” Quint said, noting even as he said the words Harriet’s raised eyebrows. “But for now, it seems to me that a good dose of sleep is finally in order for our patient. We can discuss this all in further detail tomorrow.”

  “Aunt Harriet, you will tell him about Mr. Knightly, won’t you?” Phillip asked.

  “Yes, dear.”

  Quint and Harriet saw Maria down the hall to her own room, at the door of which the girl hugged them both and said, “Thank you. Thank you for—for trusting us.”

  As they proceeded down the narrow back stairs, Quint behind Harriet asked, “What was that little trick of the raised eyebrows when Maria mentioned occasional lessons with Phillip?”

  She stopped on a step below him and turned to look up at him. God! She was beautiful! And that flowery scent she wore had been tantalizing him for hours, it seemed. “That will have to be handled with a degree of finesse, I should think.”

  “Now what?”

  “I hardly think her grandmother would approve such unladylike conduct.”

  “But her Aunt Harriet does?” He nudged her along.

  “Of course. But then her Aunt Harriet is a notorious bluestocking, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Succumbing to temptation, he moved down to her step, put an arm about her shoulder, and kissed her. It was a quick kiss with a satisfying response. “Hmm,” he mused, “I suppose I had noticed, there are all those other delicious qualities to behold as well.”

  She merely smiled, shook her head, and moved along down the stairs. Soon enough they arrived at her door.

  He leaned close. “You could invite me in to behold those other qualities all the better.”

  She gave him a quick kiss. “Not tonight, sir. Not tonight.” She was through the door and closed it before he remembered he had wanted to ask her about that Mr. Knightly Phillip had mentioned. Ah, well…

  Still—that “no” had not been absolute, had it?

  Chapter 16

  Life at Sedwick Hall the next two weeks continued at a furious pace. Lady Margaret had the staff at sixes and sevens preparing for the influx of guests for her house party, which was to commence during the last week of September and would go on until end of October. Harriet became an unwilling witness to the dowager’s plans late one morning as she sat outside the open patio door of the morning room, reading. Or that had been her intent: find some alone time and revel in a novel. But she must have dozed off, for suddenly she was nudged alert by voices in the room beyond. By then it would have been awkward to announce her presence, so she huddled into her book, hoping to escape notice.

  The dowager was saying, “Be sure every guest room is properly aired and that we have hired sufficient local folk to supplement our domestic staff.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Ames, the housekeeper answered.

  “’Tis already done, milady.” This voice was that of Patterson, the butler. “And we’ve accommodations for your guests’ personal servants.”

  “I have three footmen and as many maids cleaning in the ballroom even as we speak,” Mrs. Ames said. “The chandeliers will sparkle like jewels! We shall move in the potted shrubbery you ordered next week. I must say it will look quite spectacular for your ball.”

  “I do hope so. Besides some thirty or more houseguests, I’ve invited anyone of note in the entire local neighborhood.” Lady Margaret sounded self-satisfied. There was a pause and a faint sound of movement before she continued, “Now. I want you to examine this list of accommodations for our guests. The Earl of Hawthorne and his wife are, as they always do when they visit Sedwick, to have the lake view chamber near Miss Mayfield’s rooms. His son Charles Montieth and his wife are in the one next to that one. That way, poor dear Phillip will have ready access to that side of his family and they to him.”

  “That is very thoughtful of you, milady,” Mrs. Ames said, and Harriet silently agreed.

  “Hawthorne likes being near his grandchildren,” the dowager said, then hurried on. “While you are seeing to the preparation of those rooms, Ames, please do a quick inventory of the furnishings. I am thinking of renovating that entire suite of rooms when Miss Mayfield removes to London with her family after the party. For now, though, I shall simply remove to the countess’s chambers for the duration of the party. After all, those rooms were once mine. They may as well serve again.”

  “Miss Mayfield is leaving Sedwick permanently?” Mrs. Ames asked in what sounded like awed surprise to Harriet.

  “Well, now that we are hiring a proper governess, there is little need to impose on her further,” Lady Margaret explained.

  “Do the children know this yet?” the butler asked.

  “No.”

  “Ah, I thought not.”

  “No,” her ladyship repeated, “nor is there any reason for them—or any of the other staff—to know just yet. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The two servants spoke at once.

  Harriet was stunned. She had always known she was not one of Lady Margaret’s favorite people, but this seemed to show a level of antipathy she had not suspected before. Oh, come now, she chastised herself, you just blithely ignored her hints about “a bachelor household” and so on. The dowager’s voice caught Harriet’s attention again.

  “Lady Barbara Riverton is to be assigned the rose room just around the corner from my son Quinton’s chambers. That is clearly an accommodation for a lady, but you must make sure she is the lady assigned that particular room. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Ames replied, “but, my lady, if she is a special guest, may I suggest that the blue room three doors down is somewhat more elegant?”

  “It is, but it will not do,” the dowager said dismissively. “’Tis a matter of location,” she added airily.

  “As you wish, milady,” Mrs. Ames said.

  Harriet rolled her eyes.

  She wondered if Quint would welcome his mother’s machinations on his behalf. And damn his eyes if he would! Relishing the memory of his kisses, she recognized this thought for its sheer jealousy.

  But she could not let go of what she had heard. So. Lady Margaret, having failed to procure the beautiful Barbara for one son, would try for the other? Did that even make sense? She gave herself a shake. Who was she to try to follow the entangled thinking of the dowager countess?

  Besides, she had other worries. Like how to tell the children she would be leaving them…

  * * * *

  The very day after the accident, Quint knew Harriet had sent word to her grandparents, who had intended to arrive at Sedwick Hall for the dowager’s party early enough to see their great-grandson off to school. His accident added urgency to their trip and they, along with their son Charles and his wife, Elizabeth, would arrive at the Hall a week to the day following the mishap.

  As it would happen, though, these two couples would arrive with an entourage larger than usual even for upper-crust Englishmen. They would be traveling with not only their own personal servants, but they would also be conveying Sedwick’s new tutor and governess to their positions. For Quint, the way this turn of events had come about had been something of a revelation.

  That day following the accident had been an eventful one. First, the doctor had arrived midmorning and marveled at the resilience of youth. He also produced a pair of sturdy wooden crutches that he, Quint, Chet, and a footman or two managed to whittle into size and shape for this patient. Each instrument was a rough T-shaped bit of wood, the broad bar of the T to fit under the arm, with the long shaft having a handle lower down. The crossbars and handles were heavily padded with toweling.

  “Now, it is going to take time to get used to these,” Dr. Babcock warned his patient. “Do not—I repeat: do not—try to run any races with them. At least not this week.”

  “Yes, sir.” Phillip grinned at him
and stood awkwardly on his own after being helped to that position by Quint and the doctor.

  “Best let these fellows haul you about for the most part until the leg heals some, then use the crutches.” The doctor gestured toward a footman.

  Phillip nodded, reluctantly, it seemed to Quint, then gave up the crutches and sat on a chair.

  When the doctor had left, Phillip asked Quint, “Did Aunt Harriet tell you about Mr. Knightly?”

  “No. She did not.”

  “Oh.” Phillip looked embarrassed. “I’d best let her tell you. I’m ready to meet Mr. Boskins now.”

  Because Phillip, at thirteen, was of rather a slight build yet, the large footman simply lifted him in his arms and transported him down to the library, where the Seventh Earl was properly introduced to his solicitor and given a cursory overview of his affairs before his guardian determined that enough was enough. Later, as he was taking his leave, the solicitor commented to the guardian that he had been most impressed by the young man’s grasp of the intricacies of his affairs.

  After the midday meal, which Harriet had taken with Phillip and Maria and the other children in the nursery, she presented herself in the library, where Quint was once again toiling through the dilemma Boskins had left in his wake.

  “I do hope I am not disturbing you,” she said.

  “I welcome any distraction from this,” he said, rising and waving a hand at the desk.

  “I should like to discuss this business of a tutor and a governess, if you do not mind.”

  He grinned. “Now why am I not surprised?” He led her to the wing chairs flanking the fireplace, and she sat after rearranging the small pillow on the seat of hers. “Has this something to do with a Mr. Knightly?” he asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “Call it a lucky guess.”

  She gave him an impatient glare. “Mr. Knightly was—until about a month ago—tutor to Jeremy, Phillip’s—and my—cousin. He has not yet taken another position, but my Uncle Charles considers him a very capable educator, and I, too, have been quite favorably impressed by him.”

  “I see.” His tone was noncommittal.

  She sighed and went on as though she were reading from a resume. Mr. William Knightly is thirty-six or thirty-seven years old, the son of a London barrister, and grandson of a judge of the assize courts. He was educated at Harrow and Cambridge. Injured in a hunting accident, he walks with a cane and a limp, but he nevertheless manages young boys quite well enough.”

  “But you have met him?”

  “Yes. I found him very knowledgeable and amiable. Jeremy quite liked him.”

  “I believe I told you once before, Miss Mayfield, that I respect your judgment. Therefore, if this man is still available, I am willing to give him a chance.”

  “Thank you.” She flashed him that always devastating smile that seemed to awaken certain portions of his anatomy.

  “Have you a similar candidate for the position of governess?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “I meant that as a facetious question,” he said impatiently.

  “I know. But truly, Quint, I do have the perfect candidate for you.”

  “And you know she is perfect because—?”

  “Because she was my governess!”

  He snorted. “We do not need some female in her dotage that that saucy Sarah will run rings around.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said in mock umbrage. “I had but seven years when Miss Clarkson came into my life. Anne and I were her first charges. I think she was—perhaps—nineteen at the time.”

  “Which, as I said, puts her quite in her dotage now, eh?” He looked very serious for a long moment, then slowly grinned.

  She stared at him for that moment, then snatched the pillow from behind her and tossed it at him. “Hmmphf! I think she is not yet forty, though she had talked once of retiring. Her mother left her a small legacy.”

  “And she is willing to come out of retirement now?”

  “For me, according to my grandmother. And for these children—whom she has met—when we visited London in the spring. I do believe you would find her most satisfactory.”

  He sat in silent contemplation for a few moments. Finally, he sat straighter, his hands on his knees, and held her gaze. “Fine. At the risk of repeating myself, I shall accept your recommendation on Miss Clarkson as well as Mr. Knightly on a trial basis at least. While I readily admit that this saves me a good deal of botheration in advertising these positions and interviewing God knows how many candidates, I cannot ignore a nagging suspicion that I have been had.”

  “Sir?”

  “Do not go all formal on me at this point, Harriet. I have a distinct feeling that you and those two lovable brats upstairs have put one over on me.…”

  “Certainly that was no one’s intent,” she said.

  “Nevertheless, I have to wonder what other surprises you may have lurking in my future.”

  Harriet looked away, but did not respond to this sally. When she had left and he returned to the mess on his desk, he paused and wiped his forehead, as it occurred to him to anticipate just how his mother was going to take this bit of news.

  The very next morning his mother pounced on the issue of a tutor and governess. Quint had known he would have to discuss it with her sooner or later, but he had been hoping for later. This was one of those overcast mornings when, foregoing her customary ride, Harriet took breakfast from a tray in her room or with the children later. Thus she was absent from the dining room this morning, and Quint half suspected that she deliberately sought to avoid excessive contact with his mother. So, at the breakfast table that morning, there were just Quint and his mother, along with Sylvia Hartley and Chet Gibbons, both of whom the dowager occasionally seemed to regard as merely pieces of furniture.

  She greeted them all collectively as she entered the room, filled her plate at the sideboard, signaled the footman for coffee, seated herself next to Quint, and opened fire. “Well, Quinton, if we are to have a tutor and a governess on hand in time for my house party, we really must act quickly!” She paused to sip her coffee and perhaps let her general distaste sink in before going on. “Very few of my friends will prove of much help. Those who still employ such persons would not relinquish good ones.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “We shall have to deal with one of those horrid agencies that take in just anybody. Oh, good heavens! Shall we have to go all the way to London to find decent help? I do not know whether such is available in Derby. Certainly not in Hendley!”

  “Derby may have such an agency, Lady Margaret,” Mrs. Hartley said soothingly. “I do believe the squire’s wife obtained her new housekeeper from an agency in Derby.”

  “Still, we’ve very little time,” her ladyship said impatiently. “This is just one more worry before my party—one we did not need at all, I might add.”

  Quint reached to pat her briefly on the shoulder. “Not to worry, Mother. It is being handled.”

  “Being—? What? Already? But how can that be?”

  “Harriet—Miss Mayfield—knows of two eligible parties that may be exactly what we need.”

  “Harriet? Harriet? What does she know of rearing children? I should think you would have at least had the courtesy to consult your own mother on such an important matter.”

  Quint glanced at Chet and rolled his eyes slightly. Striving for a patient tone, he said, “As you pointed out, Mother, time is a factor here. It occurred to me that you would have little objection to persons who come with recommendations from the Earl and Countess of Hawthorne and thus we might well employ them at least on a trial basis. Do you, indeed, have such objections at this point?”

  She was flustered. “Well—uh—that is—no, I suppose not. It is just that I do not like having some—some stranger making decisions regarding persons to be employed in my househ
old.”

  “Mother,” he said gently, “first of all there are no ‘strangers’ involved here. And, secondly, Sedwick is Phillip’s household. At best, you and I are but caretakers.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said hastily, but Quint wondered if she had listened to what he had said, especially as he heard her go on to Mrs. Hartley, “It is just that no woman should have to tolerate another—an outsider—having intimate knowledge of her household affairs.”

  “I understand perfectly, dear lady,” Mrs. Hartley sympathized.

  Quint was sure this was not the last of it, but he let the matter drop for now.

  * * * *

  Ever since the visit to the mills and her acquaintance with Mrs. Reed, Harriet had been working furiously on a series of articles on the working conditions of England’s laboring folk. She had talked at length with many Sedwick workers who told her of their experiences elsewhere. While both she and they saw much room for improvement at Sedwick Mills, they also agreed that matters were often worse elsewhere. A twelve-hour work day was the norm, but it was often exceeded by as much as two hours or more; accidents were generally deemed the fault and responsibility of the workers regardless of maintenance of equipment; and standards of cleanliness varied radically from questionable to deplorably unhealthy. Writing as the Lady Senator, she ended one article by asking how many owners—many of whom were respected members of the House of Lords—would invite members of their own families even to visit some of these facilities they themselves owned.

  This brought a rash of angry letters to the editor, whose private note to Harriet was “At least we know they are reading!” But he printed only the mildest of such missives.

  The Lady Senator then turned her attention to living conditions and daily life of mill workers initially, but soon found her concern broadening as she became more and more aware of the plight of other types of workers as well. One whole article was devoted to the shame of the nation’s forgotten veterans—soldiers left to wander the highways and byways seeking work now that their usefulness to England had been used up on foreign battlefields.