An Uncommon Courtship

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  A few clouds drifted across the sky, making shadows dance down the back alley and across the buildings. Occasionally an industrious ray of early sunshine broke through and highlighted a window or lamppost.

  The growling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten much dinner the night before, too focused on keeping the conversation flowing with Trent. As if it were only awaiting the acknowledgment, her stomach cramped in hunger, making her dread having to wait for Rebecca to come and spend the appropriate amount of time preparing her to go downstairs.

  Letting the drape she’d been clutching slip through her fingers, she realized she didn’t have to wait. This was her home, and it was past time she start living like it.

  It didn’t take long to go through her dressing room and find her older dresses. She wasn’t sure they’d be there, since her mother had seen to her packing, but at least three of her favorites were tucked away in the corner. Back home—or in the country, rather, since she needed to remember that this was now her home—she’d grown accustomed to dressing herself in the morning, only requiring her maid for the more elaborate afternoon and evening clothes.

  Her braid from the night before wasn’t as destroyed as she’d expected, given the amount of tossing and turning she’d done through the night. She coiled it into a knot on her head, securing it with more pins than Rebecca would have required, but no one would know that but her.

  A glance in the mirror above her dressing table showed that she was woefully out of fashion, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to see anyone but the servants this morning. Her husband wouldn’t arrive until afternoon, and no one was going to come calling this early. Except maybe her mother. She hadn’t been happy with Adelaide’s lack of agreement in helping Helena and her husband, so she might return for another go at it.

  The thought of her mother stopping by again made Adelaide reconsider leaving the room in her comfortable, worn gown. While it was highly doubtful that the woman had even woken yet, and she wouldn’t dare step out of the house without the full attention of her lady’s maid, her mother was also very adept at catching Adelaide at her absolute worst.

  But this was her home, and if she wanted to walk around in near rags she should be able to.

  Adelaide’s moment of disgruntlement faded into delight. She had a butler. Her own butler. She could ban her mother from entering her home until a more appropriate visiting hour or even a more convenient day. What a freeing realization.

  She threw open the door, sending a whoosh of air to ruffle her skirt. As she skipped down the corridor, the frayed hem of her old morning dress flipped about her ankles in a manner that she could never have gotten away with in front of anyone. Helena had written Adelaide three times since getting married, but never once had she mentioned how wonderful it was to be in control of one’s own home. Adelaide completely understood the point of dowager houses now. If Trent were the duke, she would definitely be grateful that his mother had remarried and lived elsewhere. The more she thought about it, the more grateful she was that Trent wasn’t the duke. A duchess probably didn’t have the luxury of running about in old clothes and banning people from the door.

  Adelaide’s feet hit the floor in the main hall, reveling in the freedom of being able to go downstairs in nothing but her dressing gown, if she was so inclined. That would draw the notice of the servants, of course, but Adelaide had a feeling her staff wasn’t prone to gossiping about their employers the way other servants did.

  With a twirl through the hall and another bout of skipping, Adelaide danced her way to the breakfast room before her joyful scamper came to a stumbling halt in the doorway. Nothing was laid out in the breakfast room yet. Despite the realization that this was her house and she could do whatever she wished, she was still at the mercy of what she told the servants to do. They couldn’t be expected to know that she was going to rise hours earlier than normal today.

  She could, however, go down to the kitchens and get something herself, because they were, after all, her kitchens.

  A giggle escaped, and she felt like a child venturing into places she’d never dared go before, despite the fact that she’d been down to the kitchens already. It had felt like Mrs. Harris’s space then. But now, now it was Adelaide’s. Though she wasn’t quite brave enough to say as much to Mrs. Harris yet. Maybe she’d ask the housekeeper for cooking lessons.

  She paused at the top of the stairs heading down into the servants’ domain, thinking this must be what Evelina felt like in Fanny Burney’s novel before she took those first steps into Society. Once Adelaide crossed that threshold, life would never be the same. There would be no area of her house that she hadn’t claimed. It would be well and truly hers.

  Her foot looked small as she extended it onto the first step. The rough planked wood, worn smooth in the middle, was unlike any set of steps she’d descended before. Somehow the frayed hem lying against her leg made it seem right though. The worn dress matched the worn steps. She’d clearly dressed appropriately for this morning.

  Easing down the steps, she relished each moment of this freedom, this declaration of ownership. What would she find when she reached the kitchens? Mrs. Harris rolling out more of that splendid cinnamon biscuit dough? Fenton, Lydia, and the others taking their breakfast? What happened in the kitchens before the rest of the house awoke?

  Her mind danced with all the options of what she might find belowstairs. By the time she reached the opening to the kitchens at the bottom of the stairs she was half expecting to find them feeding a tame monkey or spinning each other in an impromptu dance. No matter how fanciful her imagination, however, she’d have never guessed that there would be another lady present amongst the servants.

  Yet there she was, seated at the worktable, cutting out biscuits with an apron thrown over her pink-and-brown morning gown. Her dress was certainly not from a previous Season. In fact, Adelaide remembered seeing that exact dress in an Ackermann’s Repository last month, though not in pink, of course. She didn’t know anyone who bought morning dresses in pink.

  She also didn’t know anyone who visited someone else’s kitchens without being announced to the people who actually lived in the house, so that probably said something about the type of lady that bought pink morning dresses. Assuming, of course, that the woman at the worktable was indeed a lady. She certainly had money and taste, but why would she be up at dawn and in Adelaide’s kitchen? She appeared very comfortable. As if she’d been there many times before.

  Air got trapped in her chest and she had to force it through a throat that was suddenly thick with a heavy heartbeat. A woman. A refined and elegant woman was comfortable in Trent’s kitchen. Why? What was his relation to her? She wasn’t a sister. The brown hair coiled into a neat bun and framed with perfect curls was enough to declare her a nonmember of the Hawthorne family. But what if she’d thought she would become one? Trent had said he wasn’t courting a lady, and Adelaide believed him, but that didn’t mean feelings hadn’t existed for another woman. What if this was her? What if she’d returned to Town and hadn’t yet heard that Trent had gotten married? Worse yet, what if she didn’t care?

  Between the tight, shallow breathing, the slow thudding heartbeats, and the massive race of questions, Adelaide was beginning to lose her steadiness. The room was out of focus, and her legs were threatening to give way at any moment. No one had noticed her yet, so it would be a simple matter to slip back up the stairs and pretend she didn’t know of this woman’s existence. She’d pretended not to notice all kinds of things growing up. Namely anything her mother and sister did. It couldn’t be that much harder to ignore a strange woman who may or may not be connected to her husband.

  With one hand on the plain wooden newel post at the base of the stairs, Adelaide stepped backward, thinking that if she could just keep her eye on everyone, she’d be able to will them into not looking at her.

  She’d forgotten about the buckets of water that had been set near the stairs, ready to be haul
ed up to prepare the house for the day. They’d been conveniently placed for Oswyn to take them upstairs. Which also made them inconvenient for a quick escape by a woman who wasn’t looking at them. Adelaide knocked the bucket sideways, her grip on the newel post making her swing around and land on the stairs instead of splashing into the river of water now gushing across the kitchen floor. If that wasn’t enough to attract everyone’s attention, the bucket rolled into a collection of brooms, sending them crashing down on Adelaide’s head.

  It was safe to assume that everyone was now aware of her presence.

  Several concerned voices called out as a rush of feet clattered over the stone floor of the kitchen. “My lady!” There were several gasps and another crash or two as they slipped in the spilled water. Adelaide squeezed her eyes shut before admitting the brooms weren’t going to hide her existence and she might as well pull herself up from the stair tread jabbing her in the back. As she hauled herself upright, she mumbled a quiet prayer for strength and perhaps a shred of regained dignity. There was no evading it now. She was going to have to be polite to her husband’s . . . someone.

  Mrs. Harris reached her first, grasping Adelaide’s arm tightly until it was clear she wasn’t going to do something horrible like topple into the oven or knock down the bread rack.

  Easing one eye open at a time, Adelaide took in the concerned circle of servants, the lady in pink right in the middle of them and not even trying to hide. There was no sense in putting it off. The hope Adelaide had woken with was shattered right along with a bowl the scullery maid, Eve, had dropped when she slipped in the newly installed kitchen brook.

  Adelaide looked straight at the kitchen inhabitant she didn’t employ. The nerve and resolve straightening her back were foreign but not entirely unwelcome. “Who are you?”

  It took a moment for the lady in pink to realize Adelaide was talking to her, and then a blush stole across her cheeks. Now that everyone was standing, Adelaide could see that the other woman was incredibly tiny, with dark brown eyes that matched the perfect curls framing her fine-featured face. There was a delicate grace in the way she moved, even when she’d made her way across the slippery kitchen floor. She probably didn’t trip over buckets or accidentally turn her gloves inside out.

  Mrs. Harris wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh dear, Lord Trent must have forgotten to mention Miss Amelia’s visits. She’s only just arrived in Town, you know.”

  No, she didn’t know. The last shred of hope that this woman wasn’t connected to Trent froze into a lump of ice that dropped into the pit of Adelaide’s stomach and radiated cold down her legs until she thought her knees might give way. Again.

  “Yes, he must have forgotten.” Even though they’d talked for hours last night, and he’d had more than one opportunity to mention this Miss Amelia.

  With an exasperated glance at the housekeeper, the woman in pink pushed through to the front of the group. “I’m afraid I didn’t realize that Trent had gotten married until Mrs. Harris told me a few moments ago. Had I known, I would never have presumed to visit without speaking with you first. I’m Lady Raebourne.”

  Adelaide blinked. She was fairly certain her mouth was hanging open. As all her emotions shifted into a massive, undefinable pile, her brain struggled to comprehend this new information. This tiny, smiling woman was Lady Raebourne? This was the harridan her mother and sister claimed had ruined Helena’s chance at an advantageous marriage? For the past two years Adelaide’s ears had been filled with so many vile diatribes against this woman that Adelaide had expected Lady Raebourne to be nothing short of an utter virago. Instead she looked rather like a woodland fairy.

  Adelaide curtsied. “H-how do you do?”

  Lady Raebourne’s smile was wide and caused her eyes to crinkle at the corners. “I am well. I hope you don’t mind if I come visit the kitchens. Trent told me to come whenever I wished as long as I didn’t venture upstairs without someone warning him first. Since I was coming to visit the servants, that wasn’t a problem.”

  Placing her feet carefully on the slick stones, Lady Raebourne made her way back to the worktable. Slowly everyone else followed suit, returning to the jobs they’d been doing before Adelaide’s inelegant arrival.

  “No, no, I don’t mind.” Adelaide stumbled over to a stool. There was a marchioness cutting out biscuits in her kitchen. She was wearing an apron and everything. Why was a marchioness visiting Adelaide’s servants? What sort of person did something like that?

  “Good.” Lady Raebourne began placing rows of dough on the pan. “I can’t believe Trent got married and didn’t tell us. Where did you meet?”

  “In Hertfordshire.” Adelaide took a deep breath and plunged on. Despite Lord Raebourne’s country seat being in Hertfordshire and, in fact, bordering Lord Crampton’s estate, Adelaide’s family had nothing to do with him. Or rather the women didn’t. Her father still went over to visit, and on a couple occasions Adelaide had seen the marquis as he was leaving her father’s study, but given Mother and Helena’s animosity toward the man’s wife, they never saw the family socially. “I’m Lord Crampton’s daughter.”

  Lady Raebourne’s brows scrunched together while she tried to place Adelaide. It wasn’t a surprise when she failed. No one ever remembered Adelaide.

  “I didn’t know Lady Helena had a sister.” The confusion cleared from her face, replaced once again by the sweet, welcoming smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  She handed the filled pan to Mrs. Harris and took off the apron. “Why don’t we go upstairs and get to know one another?”

  Adelaide pressed a hand over her stomach, afraid it was going to loudly protest the prolonged wait for food. “Well, I came down to ask about breakfast.”

  Mrs. Harris herded the two women toward the stairs. “I’ll have Oswyn bring some up to you. Go on now. Coffee and chocolate will be following you up to the breakfast room.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Harris.” Lady Raebourne kissed the old housekeeper’s cheek before climbing the stairs without a bit of the hesitation Adelaide had felt on her way down. Her familiarity with the house disturbed Adelaide, who had only yesterday tracked down where they kept the flint in the drawing room.

  They settled into the breakfast room, the promised beverages sending fragrant steam up from their cups, Adelaide’s bitter while Lady Raebourne’s was sweet. Adelaide truly hoped there wasn’t anything symbolic in that. Lady Raebourne’s marriage had been a love match by all accounts so Adelaide was no longer worried about the woman’s connection to Trent, but that didn’t stop her from thinking about all the other things that could go wrong given the bad feelings between the lady and Adelaide’s family.

  “I grew up in this house.” Lady Raebourne looked fondly around the shabby breakfast room. “Mrs. Harris and Fenton practically raised me.”

  “Here?” Adelaide choked on her coffee. She remembered the story, or at least Helena’s version of it, where the eligible Marquis of Raebourne had fallen in love with the Duke of Riverton’s newly acquired ward. She just hadn’t realized that prior to the duke’s patronage Lady Raebourne had been left in the care of servants. It made the story much more romantic than Helena’s rantings made it sound.

  Lady Raebourne nodded. “For ten years. Then everything changed quite suddenly.”

  Adelaide couldn’t even begin to imagine how different being married to a marquis would be than living in a home with only the servants for company. It must have been like family if Lady Raebourne still visited. More like a family than Adelaide’s. It had taken her mother nearly a week to visit her, and here Lady Raebourne was visiting the housekeeper who had raised her after being in Town a mere day.

  “You’re welcome any time. I didn’t mean to cut your visit short.” Adelaide fiddled with the handle of her cup before lifting it to take a long drink of coffee. She’d nearly finished the cup but didn’t think it would be enough to help her gain any equilibrium. There’d been too many ups and downs already this morning.

&nb
sp; “Thank you, but I’ll try to arrange a more regular schedule now. When it was only Trent here it didn’t matter much, as he left the running of the house to Mrs. Harris.” Lady Raebourne took a delicate sip of her chocolate. “Will Trent be joining us soon?”

  Heat flushed across Adelaide’s chest and up her neck. She hadn’t wanted anyone to find out that Trent wasn’t living with her, yet there was no hiding the fact that he wasn’t home from Lady Raebourne. “He’s not here.”

  “Has he gone riding already, then? Would you like to wait and eat when he returns?”

  Adelaide forced herself to look unworried, though she wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. A choked laugh and a flip of her hand would have to do. “Oh, no. We don’t need to wait on him. It could be hours before he returns.”

  Oswyn entered and set a plate piled high with all of her favorite breakfast foods in front of Adelaide. A similar plate was set in front of Lady Raebourne. As they ate, they talked.

  It was surprisingly easy to talk to Lady Raebourne. They discussed the village of Riverton, comparing thoughts on which of the two teahouses served better cakes. The topic of books came up and they chatted about their favorites until both women were contemplating the crumbs on their plates. Finally the conversation rolled around to social engagements.

  “Have you been out anywhere yet? Anthony and I only arrived into Town yesterday morning and wanted to take the day to settle in, but I would be happy to suggest a few things. You simply must see the opera. I’ve heard the new one is fabulous. What else have you put on your agenda?” Lady Raebourne leaned back in her seat, abandoning the proper ladylike posture she’d held while she was eating. She closed her eyes and inhaled the steam off the cup of chocolate that had just been poured.