by Sara Freeze
He didn’t hesitate as he flung open the door with a bang. The woman—his future bride if she fit his few but exacting requirements—didn’t even jump. In fact, his first impression of the woman standing before him was of absolute stillness. Her hands were folded in front of her. A dove gray gown, more serviceable than fashionable, outlined the slender lines of her body.
Her face was angular, with arching eyebrows and a pointed chin that gave her the appearance of an inquiring feline. He couldn’t see much of her hair, a rich walnut brown severely pulled back in a neat chignon. Her eyes, a vibrant shade of violet, were the most striking part of her face. Their color reminded him of the heather that blanketed the moors in the spring, washing the hills and dales with a splash of vivid color. Those unblinking eyes regarded him now, and in their depths, he detected a determination that he sensed would prove a match to his own immense resolve.
James had no use for the languishing ladies of the ton who would gracefully faint at the slightest provocation; somehow, he sensed, this was a woman who would scorn such fripperies. If anything, she seemed the sort to shove smelling salts under the fainter’s nose as she prodded her awake. Perhaps, he thought as the tiniest spark of hope lit in his heart, this could be his ideal partner.
First, though, he needed to find out who she was. “How may I help you, ma’am?” he barked out.
Her body tensed as she moved forward a few steps. Those remarkable eyes, framed by lush dark lashes, looked steadily at him as she said, “I am the bride you require, my lord.”
Chapter Two
Two days earlier, becoming a bride was the last thing on Ariadne Alton’s mind. She twisted her fingers together as she considered her dire situation. Today marked her last day of employment with the Partington family. Tomorrow morning, she and her mother were to be turned out of the house, their meager savings their only source of support.
As a lady’s maid, she was well aware that Society was not kind to women without means. She pursed her lips. The work options for women in her position were quite limited. She would either need to find another position as a lady’s maid, which would be almost impossible given Lady Partington’s refusal to provide a letter of reference, or she would be reduced to ghastly circumstances indeed: the workhouse or the streets. Ariadne shuddered. She would rather die than see her mother in a workhouse. And, if she took to the streets, her own sense of self would die.
A cold prickle danced along the back of her neck. How was she to support not just herself but also her aging mother? If only dratted Albert, the earl’s son, had not developed a tendre for her. As soon as the countess discovered Albert’s fixation, she had dismissed Ariadne and sent her son on his Grand Tour.
Ariadne fought the hot sting of tears that burned her eyes. Her mother had served the Partington family for over thirty years, and Ariadne herself had been in service since she was just a child, but their service and loyalty meant nothing to the countess when compared to the stain of an alliance between her son, through whose veins the noble blood of the Partington family coursed, and a servant. As it was, Lady Partington had already expressed her disdain for Ariadne when the latter turned twenty-five. Declaring that a lady’s maid should be young, and that she already granted Ariadne an immense favor in employing her though the current vogue was for French lady’s maids, she began docking Ariadne’s wages. She assumed Ariadne would be grateful for being allowed to retain her position. At the relatively advanced age of seven and twenty, Ariadne knew Lady Partington considered her a relic and was no doubt relieved to find a reason to dismiss her from service.
“I am not nothing,” Ariadne muttered under her breath as she trudged up the stairs to complete her last task as Miss Daisy Partington’s maid. She curtsied to Miss Partington and her two tittering sisters. As usual, Daisy smiled her acknowledgment while her two sisters, who shared their mother’s happy view of the servants as little more than animals, ignored her.
“Can you imagine? The very idea of one of us being sent to such a wretched estate.” Rose, the middle daughter, snickered, her wide set eyes narrowing. “When Mama showed me the letter, I could scarcely breathe from laughing.”
“A fate worse than death,” Violet, the youngest sister, chimed in. She picked up a silver backed brush from her sister’s dressing table and idly ran it through her hair. “How I miss London, la. The routs, the musicales, the shopping—nothing here in wretched Yorkshire compares. And those dreadful gusts of winds on the moors, so terrible for one’s appearance.” She thrust the brush at Ariadne. “Here, do something with my hair. The wind has made me look a fright.”
Ariadne took the brush without comment, though deep down she longed to say that the wind had nothing to do with Violet’s frightful appearance.
“You are right as always, my love,” Rose said. “Why should we sentence ourselves to a dingy corner of Yorkshire? Rumor has it that Lord Holt is quite the curmudgeon. He actually imagines himself a farmer, of all things.” She crumpled the letter in one elegant white hand. “A ghost I would be willing to tolerate from, say, a ducal estate, but death would be preferable to life as a farmer’s wife, and he is only a viscount. Imagine what our friends would say if they found out. With dear Papa’s fortune, we can afford to look higher. I will refuse anything less than a marquess.”
Once her sisters finally left the room, Daisy took the brush from Ariadne’s hand, ignoring her quiet demure. Her eyes gleamed as she asked, “Ariadne, do you believe that the good Lord helps those who help themselves?”
Ariadne nodded, mystified by the question.
“Good, then we have not a moment to waste. You must depart immediately for the viscount’s estate.”
Ariadne’s mouth dropped open. “Miss Partington, what business could I possibly have at his estate?”
“Why, you are to become the viscount’s bride, of course.”
Ariadne stared in complete bewilderment. Daisy had clearly been driven mad by the years of listening to her sisters’ inanity. A lady’s maid didn’t marry a viscount; such a thing was well outside the realm of possibility.
“You are just as much a lady as I am. I know you believe that too.” Daisy crossed her arms and looked directly into Ariadne’s eyes with a commanding stare. “You are as entitled as any other woman to become the viscount’s bride.”
Twisting her hands in her lap, Ariadne said nothing. Even with all the years of being told she was nothing, Ariadne refused to believe in her own insignificance. She had so much to offer, if she could only be given the opportunity. But how could she, a lady’s maid, a nobody, possibly become a viscountess?
“Don’t give me that look.” Daisy gave her a not-so-gentle push toward the door. “We haven’t a moment to waste. You and your mother must gather all your belongings. I have some dresses you can take with you. They are not the most current fashion, but they will serve to prove your status as a lady. Tomorrow, before the moon begins its descent, meet me in the stables, and we will send you on your way.”
Ariadne practically floated out the door. However, as she descended the stairs, she began to have second thoughts. Would it even be possible that a lady’s maid could become a viscountess? Surely there must be some law against it. Since she was ten and first entered service, she was drilled to understand the division between the upstairs and the downstairs’ inhabitants. As she passed the library, she remembered her last encounter with Albert and shuddered. That Thursday afternoon, she had just passed the door while on her way to arrange Daisy’s hair when an arm shot out of nowhere and yanked her into the room.
A fine sheen of sweat covered Albert’s round face as he had said, “Ariadne, my mother is sending me away tomorrow, but before I go, let us make an arrangement. Listen, I can give you fifteen pounds each year if you will grant me your favors.”
Ariadne had not even bothered to respond. She simply drew her hand back and slapped Albert’s sweating face as hard as she could. A small smile crossed her face as she considered that the imprint of her h
and no doubt still marred his face. The smile vanished as she considered Daisy’s scheme. She must be insane to place her fate into the hands of yet another member of the upper class, but what choice did she have?
The next eighteen hours seemed to pass by in a haze. Daisy and the old stablehand, Tom, had worked their magic to produce an older, more unfashionable carriage that the family rarely used. Since Sir Partington was out of town and the viscount’s estate was within half a day’s ride, Daisy estimated that even with her father’s most plodding horses, Ariadne and her mother would arrive at the Holt estate just before night descended.
Now, as Ariadne gazed out at the scenery, watching as the trees and cows rolled by, she wondered what madness had seized her. That she had all the airs and graces of a lady was true; thanks to her mother’s instruction, she was also very well versed in history, literature, and science. Based on her years of observation as a lady’s maid, she also knew all the etiquette and mannerisms of the elite, and she certainly knew how to carry herself as a lady. Yet, would that be enough?
“You must have faith in yourself, Ariadne darling. Your father, God rest his soul, cannot be here to guide and provide for us, so we will do what we must.” Mrs. Alton had dozed most of the way, the swaying of the carriage lulling her to sleep, but now she leveled a calm gaze at her daughter. Ariadne’s mother had initially been shocked by Ariadne’s bold plan and protested she was overreaching herself. Yet, once she remembered their dire situation, her protests had faded away, and she had dived into packing their belongings. Tears had glimmered in her eyes as she declared she would not allow her daughter to enter the poor house. and that desperate times called for desperate measures.
Ariadne perched on the edge of her seat, unable to relax as she contemplated the enormous deception she would be required to produce. Too rattled to speak, she simply nodded to acknowledge her mother’s comment.
Ariadne willed the carriage to keep on rolling, yet before long, it slowed and turned on to a rough road. She and her mother exchanged speaking glances as the carriage bumped along, jostling them with each movement of the wheels. Ariadne clenched her hands and said a silent prayer that the carriage would roll on indefinitely. Just as she finished, the carriage rolled to a halt; so much for a last-minute intervention.
“I will wait for you in the carriage, my dear.” Mrs. Alton folded her hands and eyed her daughter with a serene air. “I know you will make me proud.”
Ariadne tried to prod her mother out of the carriage but to no avail. She stumbled slightly on her way down, and her cheeks flushed as she realized a footman at the front door was silently witnessing her rather undignified descent from the carriage. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and marched toward the front door. As though on cue, an ancient butler glided from the front entrance and arched his eyebrows in silent inquiry.
“I am Miss Ariadne Alton, a friend of Miss Daisy Partington’s.” Ariadne hesitated. What tactful way was there to convey that she was to be the substitute bride for the house’s owner? Well, she had brazened it out thus far; she ought to state her case and leave the rest to chance. “I have come at the request of Lady Holt.” She hesitated, her cheeks flaming. “For her son, Lord Holt.” Good heavens, she sounded like she was picking up a parcel.
If the butler was surprised, he was too well groomed to show it. Stepping back, he gestured for her to follow him to a small sitting room. “If you will wait here, Miss Alton, I will see if Lady Holt is receiving visitors.”
Too nervous to sit down on one of the blue silk settees, Ariadne wandered around the room. She frowned as she noticed smudges on the windows and a fine coating of dust on the candlesticks and table tops. Mrs. Ellis, the Partington housekeeper, would have a fit if she saw the condition of this room. Whatever could the servants be doing?
She ought to leave while an avenue of escape was still open to her. She half turned to the door and stopped. No, she had trusted the fates so far to direct her, and she needed to ensure that her mother would be cared for. If the Holt family was as desperate as the Partington sisters seemed to think they were, this could be her salvation.
Hearing the door bang open, Ariadne clasped her hands to gentle their trembling and turned to face her future. She sucked in her breath as she beheld the dark giant looming in the doorway. For the first time since Lady Partington had dismissed her, she didn’t feel a paralyzing cold fear; instead, a warm glow raced along her arms and chest, as her belly did a strange flip. Power emanated from this man. His broad shoulders filled the doorway. His dark hair was longer than was fashionable, and an unruly curl lay against his forehead. Velvety brown eyes perused her body in the most blatant fashion. With a small shock, Ariadne realized the Partington girls had not exaggerated matters. The man before her seemed as rugged and wild as the moors that surrounded his house. Try as she might, she just could not imagine him in the drawing rooms of the London elite.
So, this was to be her husband, if he would have her; she was decidedly satisfied. If his demeanor and attire were anything to go by, he could not be more different from the careless rakes or spoiled heirs that had routinely passed through the Partington residence. They locked eyes for a minute, neither one speaking.
It was up to her to take the lead. “I am the bride you require, my lord.” When he didn’t speak, she decided to prod him into a response. “Lady Partington thanks you for your message; however, all her daughters have other pressing social engagements right now. She has sent me in their stead.” She gestured to herself. “I am Miss Ariadne Alton, a friend of Miss Daisy Partington.”
Finally, the viscount stirred himself and stepped farther into the room, nudging the door until only a sliver of light could be seen from the hallway. “My mother sent the message, not I.” He scowled down at her, his dark eyebrows drawing together to form a forbidding line. “I am not desperate enough to take any of Lady Partington’s daughters to wed.”
“Miss Partington is not like the rest. She is an educated, caring woman; she is my dearest friend in the world, and I will not have you speak ill of her.” Ariadne snapped her mouth shut. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be coaxing the man, not alienating him. At this rate, she would be dismissed before even being hired as his future wife. She had no romantic illusions about her role here. She was to trade her work as a lady’s maid for that of a wife. Either way, it would ensure her survival, and more importantly to her, that of her mother’s. If, of course, she did not blunder through the rest of their interview.
Lord Holt’s expression had eased, and he now looked at her with an air of bemusement.
“I have a letter of introduction from Lady Partington herself.” Ariadne quailed inwardly at her deception. Daisy had penned the letter, and Ariadne has acquired a new level of appreciation for her benefactor’s resourcefulness. Daisy had not even hesitated as she signed her mother’s name at the bottom of the letter, whereas Ariadne had tensed as the ink splashed across the page. She was not deceitful by nature, and it irked her to no end to be reduced to such a means.
Lord Holt ignored the letter Ariadne held in her outstretched hand. “You realize the estate is haunted.”
“I have heard something to that effect,” Ariadne said cautiously.
“Until the spirit is satisfied that an appropriate union has taken place, some disruption and discomfort may be expected.” He lifted an eyebrow. “It has taken to standing all the furniture upside down each morning.”
“How very droll of it.”
“You will often encounter exceedingly cold drafts in the house.”
“How fortuitous indeed that I packed my pelisse and shawl.” Given the prospect of poverty and starvation that had greeted her yesterday, the Holt ghost seemed quite tame in comparison. “Has the ghost any other accomplishments?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Holt’s stoic face. “It will sometimes hurl religious objects, such as a Bible, across the room.”
Ariadne shook her head. “Such heatheni
sh goings-on. I would have expected a better caliber of ghost lurking around an illustrious estate such as this.”
Holt threw his head back and laughed. “It spooks the horses on occasion. Even my stallion, a fairly stoic chap, has been known to become skittish for no reason.”
“Many animals are fairly high strung by nature. The ghost may not be able to claim credit for their white-livered behavior.”
Holt was silent for a moment, though a smile lingered around his lips. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve laughed like that?” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Why are you here, Miss Alton? You are not unattractive or lacking in intelligence; surely you could find a more propitious suitor.”
Ariadne folded her hands in front of her and directed a prim look his way. “Such flattery, my lord. I am afraid I am becoming quite giddy from your flowery speeches.” She raised an eyebrow and looked down her nose. “I fear I may faint.”
Once again, her tongue was running away from her. She had never had any practice at flirtation; her whole life had been devoted to work. Yet, she thought with some perplexity, he didn’t seem repelled by her lack of finesse; if anything, he looked amused as he gestured for her to sit on a settee then took a seat directly across from her. How very little she knew of what went on between a woman and a man, save what she witnessed as an outsider serving the London elite as they flitted through the halls of the Partington house.
