The Housemaid's Scandalous Secret

by Helen Dickson

  As Lisette walked away from him, it was strange, but all the anger had gone from her. There was a coldness in her, an empty coldness. All the strength seemed to be draining out of her. She did not feel the need to cry, but a great need to sleep, to shun this life and dream that she was back in India with her parents, with her days filled with simple happiness and pleasures—before she had ever come across the man called Ross Montague.

  * * *

  There was great excitement and rushing about as more guests began to arrive. The housemaids were given the lowly task of ensuring the fires in the guest bedrooms were kept alight, coal scuttles replenished and hearths kept clean. They were also to ensure that washbasins were emptied and cleaned, water jugs kept filled and hot water carried upstairs for baths. The footmen who weren’t employed doing other duties did the heavy carrying.

  It was a particularly busy time for Lisette. Not only had she Araminta to take care of, she was called on to stand in and wait on some of the other ladies who had come without their maids. Once they left their rooms to partake in the celebrations, her duties became far less onerous.

  Everything was planned and when the first of the guests arrived, a happy feeling of excitement pervaded the house—an unusual feeling nowadays because of the time spent in mourning two of its sons.

  In the domestic quarters the air was heavy with the smells of cooking and there was a din of clattering pans and shouted orders. Monsieur André, his darkly handsome face flushed with heat and hurry and wearing a pristine white apron, was preparing dinner at a huge table with the aid of half a dozen young kitchen maids.

  He was hailed as a genius by everyone upstairs and downstairs. He could cook an egg in fifty different ways. He was considered economical because he could produce an inexhaustible variety of dishes without any waste of ingredients, and the elegance and piquancy of flavours which are necessary to stimulate the appetites of all. His attention was chiefly directed to the stew pan, in the manufacture of stews, fricassées, fricandeaus and the like.

  Overseeing this apparent chaos from a gallery, which was reached by a servants’ corridor from the main part of the house, was Mrs Stratton. She stood watching the frenetic activity with an unperturbed expression, satisfied that everything was in order and perfectly organised to her experienced eye, and that the guests’ meal would be ready on time.

  * * *

  In the servants’ hall Lisette accepted a glass of Madeira from Mrs Stratton. She was seated at the table from which the servants’ evening meal had been cleared away, with her workbox beside her and her sewing in her lap.

  Suddenly the door swung open with a clatter as a couple of young footmen carrying a tray loaded with plates and cutlery marched in. They looked very handsome in livery of knee breeches and silk stockings. Becca, a young scullery maid, took one of the trays and carried it to the sink.

  ‘Are they a pleasant lot?’ she asked, not really interested, for being a scullery maid she never got to see any of the guests.

  ‘They’re all the same to me,’ Sandy, one of the footmen replied. ‘Lady Kate’s just turned up,’ he said, placing an untouched pyramid of grapes on the table and giving Faith a teasing wink. ‘I see she’s still got Miss Fisher in tow. Smithins will be delighted, I don’t think! She breezed in and strode after her mistress as if she owns the place.’

  A pained look crossed Mrs Stratton’s face. ‘Oh, dear! No change there, then.’

  ‘Fat chance,’ Sandy said, popping a succulent green grape into his mouth, which earned him a frown of disapproval from the housekeeper.

  ‘Lady Kate was expected back today or tomorrow so I’ve had a fire lit to warm the room. I’ll go up and see her when she’s settled. I doubt she’ll want to join the guests so I’ll prepare her a tray and have Daisy take it up—unless Miss Fisher comes down for one.’ Getting to her feet she fingered the keys on her belt. ‘Are the ladies in the drawing room?’

  ‘They’ll soon be coming out, Mrs Stratton.’

  She looked at Lisette and Faith. ‘In that case, you two will be needed upstairs by your mistresses.’

  Picking up her workbox, going ahead of Faith, who stopped to have a word with Sandy the footman, who was her beau, Lisette left the kitchen and began the long walk to her mistress’s room. It had been another long day and it wasn’t over yet. The servants were all very tired, but they still had the task to finish clearing up after the guests and the family, and it would be a long time before some of them went to bed.

  She climbed the narrow flight of carpetless stairs used only by the servants. It came out on the top of the main staircase. Closing the door behind her she paused and looked over the banister to the bottom of the grand staircase. Some of the ladies were taking coffee in the conservatory to the right of the stairs.

  She was about to move on but paused when Ross appeared. She knew she should go about her business but she had never seen such fashionable, glittering ladies and gentleman. Her gaze remained fixed on Ross. As she looked down at his lean, undeniably elegant form, her feet remained glued to the top of the stairs.

  He was talking to Caroline Bennington, who beamed up at him. This young woman Araminta would so like to become romantically involved with her brother was incredibly lovely. Golden haired and with sparkling green eyes, her small and slender form attired in a cream silk gown, any man would have to be blind and insensible not to be drawn to her.

  Ross was holding a glass of champagne in his hand—the same hand that not so long ago had caressed every inch of her body, and his lazy white smile was as devastatingly attractive as ever. Attired in formal black evening clothes with a white waistcoat and frilled white shirt, he looked quite splendid.

  Suddenly, as if he could feel her gaze, he looked up and checked at the sight of her looking down. His eyes looked straight into Lisette’s and she felt a tremor of alarm as he contemplated her. Unaware of the storm that was raging in the young maid’s breast, he inclined his head ever so slightly before placing his hand beneath Lady Caroline’s elbow and steering her into the conservatory.

  Recollecting herself, Lisette melted into the shadows.

  * * *

  Staring fixedly ahead, concentrating on what Caroline was saying proved difficult, because Ross couldn’t stop thinking about Lisette. Whenever she was in a room with him, he had trouble keeping his eyes off her. When she was absent, he couldn’t seem to keep his mind off her. He’d wanted her from the moment she’d jumped in front of his out of control horse.

  No, he thought, he’d felt something for her even before that—from their meeting in India, when he’d thought she was an Indian girl, wearing a star-spangled sari. He loved her intelligence and her unaffected warmth. He loved the way she felt in his arms, and the way her mouth tasted. He loved her spirit and her fire and her sweetness, and her honesty. My God, that he should feel this way about her, that he should love her! After a succession of meaningless affairs, he had finally found a woman he wanted, a woman who wanted only him. He’d known that from the very first and his instinct told him she hadn’t changed, no matter how much she proclaimed otherwise. He was so stricken with the innocence of her, that he could not rouse himself to seek relief in someone else’s bed.

  * * *

  In the days before the wedding, the house party rode and hunted and jaunted off to nearby Castonbury village and further afield to explore the delights and drink the waters at the spa in Buxton. The evenings were filled with sumptuous feasts cooked by Monsieur André, brilliant conversation, cards and for some of the gentlemen a game of billiards.

  It was a beautiful sunny morning for the wedding. The ceremony was conducted in the thirteenth century church which stood in its own grounds at the back of the house. It contained monuments and effigies which reflected the ancient lineage of the Montague family.

  Since it had been impossible to invite some of their friends and omit others, and because the family was only recently out of mourning, the decision had been made to limit the wedding guests
to immediate family only, which avoided offending the sensibilities of friends and made it a quiet, intimate affair. But the villagers had conspired amongst themselves to gather together and waited in the grounds of the church to see the bride and groom as they emerged as man and wife.

  Araminta had insisted that Lisette be among the privileged servants to occupy the back of the church to watch the ceremony. Having straightened the bride’s train and handed her her bouquet of pale pink roses, trying hard not to look at Ross, whose presence was like a tangible force, powerful and magnetic, Lisette hurriedly took her place between Lumsden and Faith, who was craning her neck so she wouldn’t miss the moment when Miss Araminta entered the church beneath the chevron-moulded arch.

  The duke and Mrs Landes-Fraser, Lily Seagrove and the bride’s cousins, Lady Phaedra and Lady Kate, occupied the box pews in the chancel to watch the proceedings. The groom and his best man faced Reverend Seagrove, waiting patiently for the bride to appear.

  ‘Here comes the bride,’ Faith whispered when the music soared.

  Like everyone else, Lisette was caught up in the moment. Every head turned to look at Araminta as she walked slowly down the knave, her hand tucked into her brother’s arm.

  ‘Oh, isn’t she simply beautiful?’ A woman sighed.

  ‘Exquisite. And did you ever see such a gown?’ whispered another as the bride passed the south transept which housed an alabaster tomb chest with lifesize figures of a knight and his lady. ‘All ivory gauze and silver lace... Oh, and just look at her bouquet.’

  Lisette paid little attention to the comments of those around her—had she not dressed the bride in her finery? She was staring at Ross as he walked his sister slowly down the aisle, his tall, muscular frame moving with that easy, natural elegance already so familiar to her. His attire was simple but beautifully cut—light grey trousers, a plum-coloured cut-away coat, black satin waistcoat and crisp white neck linen. As he walked, smiling and bowing his dark head to those he passed, for one unwelcome instant Lisette felt the barbs of envy pricking her heart when his eyes seemed to linger for an exceedingly long moment on Lady Caroline Bennington.

  But for the whims of fate, Lisette thought bitterly, she might have been the one to receive his admiring gaze. It was almost as if she had suddenly and cruelly been made aware that the prize to which her own soul had secretly aspired had just been handed over to someone else.

  The ceremony went smoothly, and when Reverend Seagrove announced Araminta and Antony were now man and wife, a collective sigh went through those present, joyous smiles dawned brightly and eyes misted with tears.

  * * *

  When the wedding breakfast had been cleared away, the company rested and readied themselves for the evening’s festivities, a steady stream of luxurious conveyances, mostly containing local gentry, began to arrive at the house, waiting to pull up before the brightly lit facade to unload their passengers.

  ‘It looks like a Grecian temple,’ one female guest was heard to remark as she was led by her escort up the immense stone steps and entered the house through the great north portico to be confronted by the marble hall designed to be no less impressive than the exterior. Pinks and greens had been chosen for the ceiling, with panels of military trophies and arabesques.

  The gown of duck-egg blue trimmed with lace slithered over Araminta’s head. The neckline was extremely low, showing off the tops of her small white breasts. Lisette stood back to cast a critical eye over her handiwork. Then she smiled and stood back to admire her mistress.

  ‘You look a picture, my lady. Your husband will be quite dazzled by the sight of you. I doubt he’ll allow anyone else a dance.’

  ‘Oh, I do hope so, Lisette. I’m so excited,’ she said, dancing to the door but hurrying back when she remembered her reticule. ‘Wish me luck,’ she breathed before whirling about and rushing off to find her new husband.

  Watching her go, a pang of envy wrenched Lisette’s heart. Lisette was just twenty years old—her birthday had come and gone. She was young. How she wished she could go to the ball, to laugh and have fun—to dance in Ross’s arms.

  But it was not for her.

  When the dancing was under way, several of the servants found their way to the salon to take a peek at the gentry enjoying themselves. It was a beautiful room, a high-domed rotunda, contained behind the triumphal arch of the south front. Like the marble hall it rose to the full height of the house with rosettes carved on the dome. Lisette stood on her tiptoes among the jostling press in riveted curiosity, trying to peer over Daisy’s head to see through the crack in the door to the brilliantly lit salon. What she saw took her breath.

  ‘Heavens,’ she breathed, never having seen the like.

  Splendidly dressed couples were dancing the waltz on the wooden sprung floor, and urns and plinths were placed in alcoves. Red silk damask chairs and settees were designed to echo the curves of the walls, ringed just now by a colourful array of local belles and beaux.

  Catching sight of Ross dancing with Lady Caroline Bennington, Lisette’s heart sank. His dark head was bent close to the lady’s beautiful face—whispering pretty compliments, no doubt—and she was simpering and pouting and fluttering her eyelashes with all the vivacity of a born flirt. Lisette felt the pain in her chest where her heart lay—the bitter pain caused by the malevolent pangs of jealousy. He doesn’t even know I’m here, she thought. Abruptly she closed the door and gave her attention to finding her way back to the kitchen and ignoring her sinking heart.

  Chapter Nine

  The servants had their own special celebration. Several bottles of sherry had been brought up from the cellar to toast the happy couple. When Lord Giles and Colonel Ross Montague strode into the kitchen, they could see that already several glasses had been drunk. Normally the household staff conformed to a rigid, centuries-old hierarchy, with the head butler and the housekeeper at the pinnacle of it, but it was obvious to the two gentlemen that the consummation of liquor had been something of an equaliser.

  Their appearance in the servants’ hall caused quite a stir. Lisette’s gaze riveted on Ross the instant he came into view, and the sight of him had the devastating impact of a boulder crashing into her chest. She had not expected him to appear among them and wondered what all this was about. Of late she had made sure he only saw her from a distance—she had learned the art of disappearing when he was about and in a house the size of Castonbury with its hidden corridors used by the servants to remain invisible, it wasn’t difficult.

  Standing across the room between a chambermaid and a laundress, with servants in their various household uniforms in front of her, gave her a chance to study him. The overall expression of his masculine face was one of intensity and precision. Looking at him now—and she could see she was not the only one—with his thick black hair, deep blue eyes and tall, athletic physique, Ross Montague was magnificent. Lisette seemed to forget all about telling him to leave her alone, and she found herself falling under his unfathomable spell much as she had experienced before.

  ‘We are not here to disrupt your festivities,’ Ross intoned, ‘in fact, quite the opposite.’ As his gaze swept the room, as though his brooding eyes and deep velvety voice could mesmerise any unsuspecting victim, he was like a snake charmer Lisette had once seen in the bazaar in Delhi. ‘We hope you are all enjoying yourselves.’ He turned to Lumsden. ‘Have some champagne opened for everyone to toast the happy couple, will you, Lumsden? Carry on.’

  When the fiddler began scraping a sprightly tune, becoming caught up in the moment, Giles laughingly gathered a surprised Mrs Stratton in his arms and began waltzing her around the floor to the amused delight of everyone present. Joining in the spirit of the occasion, footmen and maids alike grabbed a partner and joined them.

  The company neatly under his control, Ross glanced oh-so-casually at Lisette, a discreet glimmer of devilry in his eyes. Lisette shook her head at him in bewilderment, wishing she could melt into the background and slip through the door into the
passage beyond, but he was not going to let her escape. His wicked smile in answer to her thoughts and his slight, private nod merely seemed to say to her, Oh, no, Lisette, you’re not going to escape me now.

  Obviously he’d decided that both he and she were wasting their time on differences, and he was playing an amusing game designed to either divert her or discomfit her entirely, she wasn’t certain which. He deftly steered his way towards her. Watching him, Lisette could not help admiring his bold, confident walk, as if he could march through fire and not get burned.

  When he finally stood in front of her, the subtle scent of his tangy cologne wafting over her, her nerves had wound taut, coiled tight in her stomach. She was deeply and embarrassingly conscious of every eye in the room focused on her. She wanted to say something but she now found herself tongue-tied.

  ‘Miss Napier. My sister would like to share her happiness with everyone at Castonbury, which is why we came down. She also insisted that I dance with you.’

  He stood very still. Lisette lowered her eyes. Had she not done so she might have seen the flicker of victory in his eyes and then the sly satisfaction that curved his lips. Knowing she could not possibly refuse, she allowed him to lead her into the dance, where he swept her up into his arms.

  ‘You should not have done this,’ she whispered.

  ‘No?’ he murmured, both raven eyebrows arching high now. ‘And why not, pray? I could think of no other way of getting you to come to me.’