Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3)

by Kristina Cook

  And then she saw her–a small slip of a girl with tangled blond hair and a dirt-smeared face hidden amongst the drooping branches. Her gaze took in the child’s dress–soiled, but certainly quality. Well cut from fine fabrics. Definitely a gentleman’s daughter.

  “Good afternoon,” she called out. “Are you hurt, child?”

  The girl turned toward her, eyes wide with terror as she shrunk back against the tree.

  “N...no,” she stammered, burying her face in her hands.

  “Are you lost?”

  The girl shook her head, then changed her response to an uncertain nod. “I thought to go to the fishpond but I must have taken a wrong turn,” came her reply, muffled through her hands. “I was angry at Miss Crosley, you see, and...I...I can’t find my way back,” she sobbed.

  “Well, perhaps I can help. My name is Jane. What’s yours?”

  “Madeline.” The child peered out from behind her hands.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Madeline. Now that we are friends, you must tell me who your mama and papa are. Perhaps I can help you home.”

  “I haven’t a mama or a papa.”

  Jane’s heart wrenched. The poor girl. Wherever could she have come from? As far as she knew, there were no homes in walking distance save Richmond Park.

  “Uncle Hayden’s going to be cross with me. I was frightened, you see, when I lost my way. Terribly frightened. Uncle Hayden wishes me to be brave.”

  Uncle Hayden? Lord Westfield? Could she possibly be some relative of Lord Westfield’s, living at Richmond Park? She supposed it was possible although no one had mentioned the child. How odd.

  “It’s all right to be frightened, Madeline. I’m often frightened myself.”

  “Truly?”

  Jane nodded solemnly.

  “But I’m afraid to go home. What if they send me back?”

  “Send you back where?”

  “I don’t know. Wherever it is I came from. I’ve heard the servants whispering about me, miss. They call me a name, something I can’t remember. Something must be terribly wrong with me, and I’m afraid they’ll send me away.”

  Jane knew just she felt, listening to hushed whispers and worrying that something was wrong with you. She knelt before the child and reached for her hands. “Have you asked your Uncle Hayden about this?”

  “No. He’s so very kind to me, always bringing me sweets and such. I don’t want to make him angry.”

  “Your uncle will be happy to have you safely returned, Madeline. I promise you that.”

  “You know my uncle?” Madeline peered down at Jane curiously.

  “I’ve made his acquaintance.” Jane stood and reached for her small, dirty hand. “Will you come with me? I’ll see you home. And please call me Jane. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you, Jane. You’re the nicest lady I know. Well, except for Mrs. Tolland. But you’re almost as nice as her.”

  “Why, thank you. I take that as the highest of compliments.” With a grin, Jane squeezed Madeline’s hand reassuringly. She wasn’t entirely certain, but she thought Richmond Park was beyond the lake, over the hill to her left. If the child had wandered here alone, then Jane felt sure the house must be in easy walking distance. At least if they got lost, they’d get lost together.

  “It’s just over there, beyond that rise,” Jane said, setting off with a smile but feeling less confident than she pretended to be. “And I’ll have you know that the nice Mrs. Tolland is my cousin.”

  The girl rewarded her with a wide, gap-toothed grin that made Jane’s heart soar.

  A half hour later they came to a field directly in front of the lake. Jane stopped short, her mouth agape.

  There, directly ahead on the far side of the lake, the most magnificent house she’d ever seen rose up from the ground in utter splendor, casting its reflection on the mirrored surface of the water. A columned portico rising three stories in height stood in the estate’s center, two dog-leg staircases reaching down to the graveled drive below. Two perfectly symmetrical, two-storied wings stretched on for ages on either side of the portico, the tall, evenly spaced windows crowned with graceful carved arches. The simplicity of the design was stunning, the effect staggering.

  “There it is,” Madeline called out. “Home. You were right, Jane!”

  Jane found herself unable to respond. Instead she stood there, blinking repeatedly as if she were looking at a mirage.

  This was Richmond Park? Oh, she’d known it was reputed to be fine, the finest in the district, but still. She’d enjoyed the hospitality of some of the grandest homes in the districts immediately surrounding London, and none were as magnificent as this. Lord Westfield lived here? It didn’t signify.

  “Come now, Jane. I’ll show you the way.” Madeline tugged on her hand, her confidence obviously restored now that she was on familiar terrain.

  Jane hurried after the girl. In less than a quarter hour they accomplished the front gates, the house looming larger and larger still as they approached. As they climbed the wide front stairs, Jane glanced down at her frock and for a moment allowed herself to wish she’d worn something–anything–but this dowdy, printed muslin morning gown. Worse yet, her boots were surely covered in mud. She looked down, her scowl deepening. Even the hem of her gown was soiled. Please, she pleaded silently, let the master be away today.

  “Madeline!” Jane looked up as the enormous door swung open, a slight but pretty young woman standing framed in the doorway. “Oh, thank God.” The woman knelt and Madeline hurried into her arms.

  “Oh, Miss Crosley,” the child sobbed. “I’m so very sorry. Please don’t be angry.”

  “Miss Madeline?” another feminine voice shrieked, and a reed-thin older woman appeared, pushing spectacles up on the bridge of a thin, aquiline nose. “Dear Lord, it is her. Oh, the master will be so relieved! You naughty, naughty child,” she scolded, even as tears appeared in the corners of her faded eyes. She retrieved a handkerchief from her apron’s pocket and dabbed at her eyes as Madeline hurried to her side, wrapping her arms about the woman’s legs. “Oh, Mrs. Pierce, I was so very frightened.”

  “There, child,” the woman cooed, patting the top of Madeline’s head. “There’s nothing to fear. You’re home now.”

  At last the women noticed Jane’s presence there on the threshold.

  “I’m Miss Jane Rosemoor,” she offered. “Mrs. Tolland’s cousin. I ventured out to the woods today for a walk and stumbled upon the poor child, lost and frightened. We managed to find our way here together.”

  “Then we owe you our thanks, Miss Rosemoor. We’ve been out of our minds with worry. I am Mrs. Pierce, Lord Westfield’s housekeeper, and this is Miss Crosley, Madeline’s governess. Welcome to Richmond Park. Won’t you come in? I’ll arrange for tea.”

  Jane hesitated before replying.

  “Oh, Jane, you must,” Madeline pleaded, tugging on her hand. “Please! I’ll show you my pony.”

  “Well,” Jane said with a laugh, “who could resist such an enticement as that?”

  “Come, then, Miss Rosemoor. I’ll show you to the salon and arrange for a tray of tea and biscuits. And you, young lady, shall explain yourself.”

  Madeline bowed her head, looking penitent.

  “Miss Crosley, ring for Robards at once and inform him that your charge has been located at last,” Mrs. Pierce said, her voice cool, as she reached for Madeline’s hand.

  The younger woman briefly cast a scathing glare at the housekeeper before nodding and disappearing from sight.

  Jane stepped into the cavernous front hall and looked around in fascination as she untied and removed her bonnet. She couldn’t help but gape at her surroundings, grand yet tasteful. The floor was inlaid marble, pale pink veins showing beneath the gleaming surface. Deep-blue velvet drapes framed floor-to-ceiling windows along the hall’s front wall, looking out onto the manicured drive. Matching velvet settees lined the far wall, placed at perfectly symmetrical intervals. A pedest
al crowned the center of the hall on which an enormous floral arrangement sat. The rich, fragrant scents–hothouse flowers, no doubt–perfumed the air, and Jane inhaled deeply.

  As she followed Mrs. Pierce and Madeline across the hall and under the intricately carved archway leading out, Jane’s eyes skimmed over the two portraits flanking the arch–one a formal portrait of Lord Westfield himself, looking as arrogant and imposing as ever in fawn breeches and dark blue riding jacket, a pair of hounds sitting at his heels; and the other depicting an older gentleman in red jacket and powdered wig, no doubt the previous Lord Westfield.

  “Look at your face, Miss Madeline,” Mrs. Pierce scolded as they entered the yellow and gilt salon. She retrieved her handkerchief and vigorously scrubbed the grime from the girl’s flushed cheeks. “Why, if the Master were to see you now, what would he think? You’re a fright. Tea first, and then the nursemaid will draw you a bath. Sit, Miss Rosemoor.” She gestured to a sofa the color of the midday sun. “I’ll fetch the tea at once.”

  “But I promised to show Miss Rosemoor my pony,” Madeline wailed.

  “Another time, dear. Have a seat, child, and entertain Miss Rosemoor while I see to the tea.”

  As Mrs. Pierce bustled out, Madeline launched into happy chatter–a far cry from the frightened girl Jane first encountered. Not ten minutes later, Mrs. Pierce reappeared, pushing a heavily laden tea cart.

  “Mmmm, apple tarts.” Madeline reached for one with a smile as Mrs. Pierce poured the tea into delicate bone-china patterned in blue toile. Jane reached for a biscuit and nibbled distractedly.

  “Mary Ann’s the prettiest ever,” Madeline exclaimed, brushing pastry crumbs from her lap. “You’ll see.”

  “Mary Ann?”

  “My pony. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “How could she not, Miss Madeline, with you going on as you are? Shush, now, child. Give poor Miss Rosemoor a bit of peace.”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Pierce. It’s quite all right. Why, Madeline reminds me of a dear friend of mine, Lady Mandeville. Lady Mandeville could go on all day about horses. So you’ve already learned to ride, then?”

  “Oh, you should see young mistress ride,” Mrs. Pierce interjected, her eyes shining with pride. “The master taught her himself, he did, to ride and jump.”

  “Did he?” Jane asked, surprised that a man like Lord Westfield would take such interest in his young ward.

  “I want him to teach me to shoot, too, but he says I’m too young. Perhaps when I’m older–”

  “Shoot, indeed. He most certainly will not teach you to shoot. It’s not at all appropriate for young ladies. Simply scandalous.” Mrs. Pierce shook her head, her lips pursed in censure.

  Madeline looked crestfallen, and Jane almost laughed aloud.

  Suddenly a door slammed and heavy footsteps in the hallway jolted Jane from her quiet enjoyment.

  “Damn it to hell,” a deep voice boomed, reverberating off the walls. “I’ve searched every inch of the property with no sign–”

  “Master,” Mrs. Pierce interrupted, dashing out toward the hall. “She’s home. Right here in the salon.”

  “Thank God,” came the familiar voice, moving closer.

  Jane found herself shrinking back into the cushions as Lord Westfield hastily strode into the room. Madeline flung herself into his arms as he knelt to one knee. His coat was half buttoned, his cravat askew. His dark hair was mussed as he doffed his hat. Jane watched in rapt fascination as he pressed the small child to him, eyes closed, his face buried in her hair.

  “Don’t ever do that again, poppet,” he said hoarsely. “You’ve no idea how worried I was, how–”

  He opened his eyes at last and his gaze met Jane’s over the top of Madeline’s fair head. His shock was evident. He released Madeline and stood, straightening his coat as he did so. Then his usual mask of cool indifference took its rightful place upon his features.

  “Miss Rosemoor,” he said levelly, with a curt nod in her direction. “I see you’ve met my niece.”

  “I have, indeed,” she replied, rising from her seat.

  “Madeline is my ward.” He placed one hand on the top of the girl’s head. Something about the protective gesture touched Jane deeply.

  She swallowed hard and attempted a polite smile, tried to make her tone light. “I was out walking Cecil’s park this afternoon and I fear I strayed a bit onto your property where I stumbled upon Madeline. We found our way here together.”

  “Oh, and she’s the nicest lady, Uncle Hayden,” Madeline added enthusiastically. “Please, can she stay for dinner?”

  “Yes, I’m sure–”

  “No, I’m afraid I cannot–”

  Both spoke at once, and Madeline looked curiously from one to the other with wide eyes.

  “Madeline, as much as I’d love to, I’m afraid I must get back to Mrs. Tolland. She’s feeling poorly today, and besides, I’m taking a trip to Clifton tomorrow and must be up early in the morn.”

  “Is Mrs. Tolland unwell?” His brow creased, a frown suddenly darkening his face.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary for a woman in her...ahem, current state.” Jane’s cheeks burned. She was astonished at her own candor, yet his obvious concern had moved her to such an admission.

  “Ah, I see. Very well.” The worried creases smoothed from his brow. “And what of Tolland and his ankle?”

  “Still smarting, I suppose, though he’s made no mention of it. But he limps when he thinks no one is watching.” When Jane had gone to his study and asked him about visiting The Orchards, he had been overly generous and accommodating, promising to make the necessary arrangements himself. Yet his eyes had never once met hers.

  “Some escort he was, the fool.”

  Jane felt the heat rise again in her cheeks. She’d blushed more in Lord Westfield’s presence these past few days than she had in her entire life, no doubt.

  “Anyway,” he said with a wave of one hand, as if he were shooing away a pesky fly. “Perhaps you can join us for dinner another evening.”

  “Of course,” Jane replied.

  Madeline, obviously feeling forgotten, tugged on Lord Westfield’s sleeve. His niece, he’d called her. Jane’s brows rose suspiciously, for one only had to glance at the pair, standing beside one another with the same green eyes and the same strong, proud chin, to suspect a different relationship altogether. Perhaps she was his daughter.

  His bastard daughter.

  Just then Miss Crosley stepped into the room, interrupting Jane’s musings on the child’s parentage. The governess entreated her charge to go upstairs at once for her bath.

  “I won’t leave without saying good-bye, I give you my word,” Jane promised.

  With one reluctant glance back at Jane, Madeline obeyed. Jane listened as the pair’s footsteps faded and then disappeared altogether, and then she and Lord Westfield faced one another, silent, for what felt like an eternity.

  After a beat, he reached down and buttoned his coat with sharp, precise movements. “I apologize for my current state. I’m afraid I left in a bit of haste.”

  “No need to apologize,” she answered as he straightened his cravat.

  “Will you sit?” he asked, his tone decidedly polite.

  “Of course.” On shaky legs, Jane returned to her previous seat on the sofa. “I believe the tea is still warm. Shall I pour?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” He reached for the cup she offered.

  “She’s delightful, my lord.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Madeline. Such a lovely child. Her liveliness must brighten your household.”

  “Liveliness? Oh. Yes. An orphan, my niece. She had nowhere to go and I, ahem...” He took a sip of tea. “She’s been with us since infancy. Miss Crosley does a fine job. Madeline’s a terribly bright child, but, I fear, in desperate need of a woman’s influence. Your cousin is very kind to her. Madeline is usually timid among strangers. I’ve never seen her take to someone as quickly as she has to you. You must
have made quite an impression on her.”

  “I...suppose so.” A feeling of unease settled in her stomach. It was not prudent for her to remain alone in his company. “I’m sorry, my lord. I must go.”

  “Call me ‘Hayden.’”

  “An unusual name,” she replied, stalling.

  “My mother’s maiden name. Lady Caroline Hayden of Kent, before marriage. Her father was the Duke of Umberton.”

  “I see.” Jane fidgeted in her seat. She couldn’t possibly call him by his given name. Despite their indiscretion, she’d only made his acquaintance what, two, three days ago?

  “And perhaps I should call you Jane,” he added.

  “Perhaps not,” Jane replied.

  “Tell me, how do you find Richmond Park?”

  “Extraordinary.” She brightened at once, her mood lightened a measure. “I’ve never in all my life seen a house so pleasingly situated, nor so elegantly appointed.”

  “I agree, but then I’m prejudiced. I’m glad it pleases you.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed her closely. “I think perhaps it could use a woman’s touch,” he said.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Jane’s heart began to thump noisily against her ribs.

  “Richmond Park. It has been many years since the estate has seen a mistress.”

  “I must say, it certainly does not seem to suffer for the lack of one.”

  He shrugged. “I do my best. You said you were leaving tomorrow for Clifton?”

  “Yes, to visit my great-aunt and grandmother at The Orchards. I haven’t seen them in quite some time.”

  “When will you return?”

  “It depends upon my grandmother’s health. She’s...unwell. A sennight at most, I suppose.”

  “When you return, you must fulfill your promise to Madeline or she will be sorely disappointed. You must join us for dinner.”

  “Of course.” Where had the gruff, acerbic Lord Westfield gone, and who was this new, polite man in his stead? Her heart leapt in her breast as it suddenly made sense–she saw the truth with startling clarity. Appraising her like a brood mare at Tattersall’s; assessing her accomplishments; and now, measuring her affection for his ward and her approval of his home. ‘She won’t do,’ he’d said on first meeting her.