The Misadventures of Miss Adelaide
Maggie Dallen
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter 1
Miss Adelaide Hopewell was no more comfortable with the hustle and bustle of the Earl of Tolston’s giant kitchen now than she had been the day she arrived nearly a fortnight earlier.
“Out of the way, girl,” the head cook said as she brushed past.
“Pardon me,” Addie murmured.
She moved quickly through the workspace which was teeming with servants as the household worked to prepare the townhouse for the arrival of the Earl himself. He was expected two days hence after being abroad these last few months, from what Addie could gather.
Not that anyone told her much. She was merely a maid these days, and maids, she’d soon realized, were rarely privy to much pertinent information regarding the lords and ladies of the house.
Or at least, new maids were not privy. Perhaps once she’d been there for more than a fortnight she might start learning about this Earl other than the whispers and snippets she overheard.
What she heard had not made him seem terribly appealing. Words such as kind, honorable, and noble had never been used. More like firm, demanding, and cynical. She’d once heard one of the stablemen refer to him as grim.
Grim.
That hardly evoked a pleasant image. Was it any wonder she was dreading his arrival? Of course, his impending arrival was the only reason she’d been hired on in the first place. The housekeeper had reckoned that with the Earl in London for the season, they’d require more maids—more maids who might be able to double as ladies’ maids, in particular.
She wouldn’t be surprised if the housekeeper anticipated many female guests. It did not take household gossip for her to know that the ton was expecting the Earl of Tolston to court and marry in the near future.
Addie made her way through the seemingly endless maze of hallways in this grand old house. She’d been raised in a lovely estate up north, and while her father, the Baron of Wrencliff, had indeed taken a good deal of pride in their family home, their estate could not hold a candle to the opulence and elegance of the Earl’s residence.
The memory of her home brought with it a familiar pang that she staunchly ignored. Wallowing never did anyone any good, that was what her father used to say. She’d made her decisions, and now it was time to embrace them. She reached the staircase, freshly folded linens in one hand as she looked up at the high ceilings, fighting a case of vertigo as her gaze followed the spiral staircase up and up and up.
Was it possible a home could be too large? She suspected so. Particularly this one with its single occupant who was rarely in residence.
Once again, a vision rose up, this time unexpected so it nearly swept her off her feet. A memory, to be precise. The morning after her little brother was born—nearly two years ago now. She and her father had celebrated with pastries and tea, toasting one another in the pale glow of dawn as baby Reginald cried his little lungs out with a nursemaid while her mother slept.
She supposed now that morning was the last truly happy memory of her home. Shortly after that, her idyllic life in the country had turned to a nightmare. First her mother died of complications from the birth, and then not long after that, her father had followed with a sickness that moved fast and fierce, turning her healthy and hale Papa to a withered shell of himself in what felt like a heartbeat.
And then he too was gone, and Addie had supposed—rather naively, it turned out—that his death was the last of her turmoil.
But no. She’d soon discovered her hardships were only just beginning.
Her stomach churned, but whether it was from the memories or her hunger, she could not quite say. Maybe it was just exhaustion that made her feel so ill.
She took a deep steadying breath as she prepared herself for another hike up this magnificent staircase. Perhaps it was the fact that her position had her racing up and down the stairs countless times a day, but Addie was certain this house was entirely too big.
And to think, his estate in the country was said to be even more grand. She could hardly imagine.
She walked up three steps and paused with one hand on the bannister. She closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she waited patiently for this wave of dizziness to pass.
She would not faint. Maids did not swoon, everyone knew that.
Gently bred young ladies from the north might, but that was not she. Not any longer.
She pressed her eyes shut tightly as the world seemed to spin around her. Deep breaths. One. And then another. This was the way to get through the falling sensation.
She’d survive it. She always did.
“What are you doing dallying here on the steps?” The housekeeper’s brisk tone had her eyes snapping open once more.
“Sorry, Mrs. Harper.”
The housekeeper grunted in response, her breath coming in loud huffs as she hitched up her skirts and hurried up the steps at a rate that was rather alarming considering her large size and elderly age. “Don’t just stand there, Addie. Get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She followed the older woman, attempting to ignore the way the stairs seemed to shift and dip beneath her feet, and the way the walls around her did not appear to be as solid as one might hope.
Deep breaths. One and then another. That was the way.
Mrs. Harper’s voice seemed to be coming to her through a tunnel. “They’ve sent word ahead that one of the party has suffered an injury,” she said. “I’ve sent Will to fetch the doctor, he should be here shortly...”
Addie nodded, though the words seemed to be fighting their way through a fog. She squinted at Mrs. Harper’s backside as the edges of her vision grew blurry and then dark. She stopped focusing on her breathing to focus on the steps. One step, two steps, three steps—
Floor.
She hit the second-floor landing with a thud and a jolt of nausea and that was the last thing she knew before blackness overtook her vision and she felt herself pulled under into unconsciousness.
When she woke she was on her back, still on the floor.
No, that wasn’t quite right. There was something hard against her back, propping her up. When she blinked her eyes open, she found herself staring into the warmest, darkest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.
She was so dazzled by their warmth that she forgot she was supposed to think.
Or breathe.
Or move.
Perhaps she was not quite back in her right mind because she felt as though she might be dreaming. If she were, she hoped it would not end. She wouldn’t mind lying here forever, gazing up dreamily into those warm brown eyes.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Harper interrupted the moment. “Addie. Addie, dear, are you all right?” The housekeeper’s voice beside her had her tearing her eyes away long enough to see the older woman hovering over her, her wrinkled brow furrowed in concern.
Addie wanted to tell her yes, she was fine, but her voice wouldn’t seem to work. Her throat was closing in, and her mouth went dry.
Reality was starting to creep in, and she was remembering it all.
Everything.
She was remembering too much all at once.
All her careful maneuvers to compartmentalize and focus on one probl
em at a time went out the window as her brain rushed to fill in every gaping hole at once.
She was a maid. She was friendless. She had no family, except for a little brother who was utterly dependent on her and her alone.
Her eyes widened with horror, not merely at her situation but at the fact that tears were beginning to sting the back of her eyes.
She never cried.
Well, not unless she was grieving. But she refused to wallow over her situation.
She couldn’t afford to lose control, not now when Reggie needed her to be strong.
She found herself looking up into those eyes again, clinging to the connection like an anchor, seeking out that warmth. That little bit of human kindness.
He was handsome. Strikingly so. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead, and lovely lush lips softened what was otherwise a stern set of features. But she didn’t mind the sternness, nor the way his brows were a rather harsh slant as he frowned down at her. Because his eyes gave him away, what with all that warmth he could not hide.
She could gaze up at him for ages.
“What is wrong with her?” Mrs. Harper asked the gentleman who was holding her in his laps.
The doctor. Of course. Mrs. Harper had sent for a doctor.
This stranger must be the doctor who’d been sent for. Sure enough, his tone was all assured confidence as he rattled off instructions to Mrs. Harper. “Go fetch her some water, a cool cloth…” His eyes roamed over her face like he was taking a tally of her every freckle. “And some food, I think. She is far too pale.”
Mrs. Harper hurried off, and Addie found herself alone. With a strange man.
And she found that she could not quite muster any embarrassment. She was too busy trying to shove her problems back in the pigeonholed recesses of her mind where they belonged. She could stew and worry to her heart’s content later when she was asleep in her bed in the servants’ quarters.
“Have they been working you so very hard?” The gentleman’s voice was little more than a murmur. Low and soft, she quite liked listening to him.
He shifted, and she realized then that his arms were wrapped around her as she lay nestled on his lap. It was wildly inappropriate but also…rather lovely. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt safe and coddled and protected.
It could not last, of course. Even in her addled state, she knew that. And yet, she could not quite bring herself to stir.
Even if she wanted to, she was not quite certain she was able. Her limbs felt like they were being held down with chains, and her head had that fuzzy feeling going on, along with a dull, persistent ache.
She must have winced as she took note of the headache, which was growing fast because the doctor shifted again to rest a hand against her forehead. “Some water and food should help. I don’t feel any bumps, and it doesn’t appear that anything is broken.”
She gave her head a slight shake. No. Nothing broken…just her heart, and her dreams, and her future.
But no bones, and she supposed that was what he’d meant.
His hand on her forehead moved so he was smoothing her hair back. “Tell me, little one, have they been treating you so terribly here? You look as though you’re starving and exhausted.”
She blinked up at him. She supposed she was starving, but not because they did not feed her. Only because her food was needed by another. And she was indeed tired, but that was because her nights were sleepless with worry.
“They do not treat me poorly.” It was the first time she’d spoken since waking, and she was horrified by how breathy she sounded.
How weak.
Concern tinged his eyes, making their dark shade even darker. From this angle it was difficult to say whether they were dark brown, gray, or just black as midnight. She almost asked him, but then he did the unthinkable. He moved his gaze and his hands to her body.
She tensed, but even as she went rigid at a stranger’s touch, she knew that she had nothing to fear. He was a doctor, after all, and his touch spoke to his profession. His hands roamed over her briskly like he was straightening his cravat or tugging at his cuffs. The touch was impersonal as he ran a hand down her arms, her sides. “Does anything hurt?” His frown made her want to smile, oddly enough. It had been a long time since someone had been so concerned about her welfare. “There’s a chance you’ve bruised a rib, or done some other damage that we cannot see.”
He was murmuring again, and the sound of his voice had her closing her eyes as though he were singing a lullaby and not muttering to himself about her health.
“Open your eyes, little one.” His thumb brushed her cheek, and she had to work to flutter her eyes open.
“Little one.” She repeated the endearment like a dolt, rolling the words on her tongue like he’d spoken a foreign language. Indeed, it was only surprise that had her repeating it, because it was something one might say to a child. At nineteen she was hardly a child, though she supposed she looked younger than her years thanks to wideset eyes and a narrow chin. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a simple knot, and she imagined how she must look to him in this serviceable, yet decidedly ugly frock.
She shut her eyes tightly once more, this time out of embarrassment at her current state. She was a servant. She should not be lying here, lounging about when there was work to be done. She made a valiant effort to stir, and it was humiliation all over again when he restrained her with the gentlest touch to her shoulder. “Easy now, child.”
“I am not a child,” she managed. But again—too breathy. Too weak.
She sounded like… Well, she sounded like a child.
This would not do.
“Please, sir, allow me to sit upright,” she said.
One of his brows hitched up ever so slightly. “I’d rather not have you fainting again, Miss…”
She opened her mouth to say Hopewell but caught herself just in time. This episode had so thoroughly rattled her brain that her mind when blank when she tried to recall her new, fictitious name. She stared at him with wide, panicked eyes for a moment before blurting out her first name. “Adelaide.”
Something like amusement flickered in those captivating eyes as he considered her. “Miss Adelaide…what?” He prompted her for her surname, and she swallowed hard.
“Just Miss Adelaide.”
There was definitely a glint of laughter in his eyes now, and more than a hint of curiosity as he glanced meaningfully from her to the spot where Mrs. Harper had disappeared. “I see,” he said slowly. “So you are Miss Addie Adelaide?”
She pressed her lips together in annoyance with herself for getting flustered. With him for seeing through her stupid lies. And, oddly enough, with Mrs. Harper for so loudly shouting at her by the informal nickname she used below stairs, Addie.
Tillman! Of course, now the fictitious surname came to her—too little too late. “I, uh…that is, you see…” She found herself babbling incoherently as she scrambled to think of an explanation, something to excuse her fainting and a reason for why she was acting like an addle-brained ninny—but she was cut short when he reached for her hand.
She couldn’t breathe let alone speak as he held her bare hand in his, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then again, maybe for a doctor it was.
His brow furrowed in concentration as he studied her palm and then her fingers, his own hand sliding over hers as if he were studying some new specimen. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest at the gentle touch that belied his intense scrutiny.
“What are you—” Her protest was cut short when his eyes shot up to meet hers.
She gasped at what she saw there. Gone was the warmth, the tenderness. Instead those dark eyes blazed with accusation. “You are not a servant.”
She blinked rapidly in surprise before understanding dawned. Her hands were soft and creamy white—the hands of a lady, minus the newfound burns and scratches that were a brilliant red against her pale skin. She jerked her hand out of his
grasp, scrambling to sit upright despite the sick feeling that weighed on her.
He did not try to stop her, but his fierce gaze followed her every movement as she scrambled backwards. “Who are you?” he asked.
She glared at him. Anger was so much nicer than fear. Or worry. Or panic. She clung to that anger stubbornly. “I already told you, sir—”
“Ah yes,” he said, his voice a sarcastic drawl. “Miss Addie Adelaide, how could I forget?”
She clamped her mouth shut and settled for the cold stare that her guardian had been so fond of employing with the servants.
To her annoyance, the stare only seemed to amuse him further. He was outright smirking at her, the irksome man. What sort of doctor smirked at his patient like that?
The thought had her looking around for Mrs. Harper. Surely she’d be back soon, and Addie could make her escape. Or the doctor would tell the housekeeper of his suspicions and…oh dear, what then? Panic struck her like a blow to the head. Her breathing grew shallow as she fought against this dreadful drowning sensation.
It ought to feel familiar by now, but it didn’t. Panic and fear were just as overwhelming and crippling now as they were three weeks ago when she’d snatched Reggie from the nursery and run away from home.
“Be easy, child.” The doctor’s voice was once more low, gentle, and kind. “No one will hurt you here. I only mean to help.”
Help. Ha! No one could help her, and certainly not this man.
“I am not a child,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
Which wasn’t all that much, really, considering she was being strangled by a fit of fear.
Fear that she’d have to flee again, that she’d be forced to start all over again, and this time with even less options because she could not ask her second-cousin Emmaline to lie and give her a false reference again.
The Misadventures of Miss Adelaide Page 1
