A New Life (West Meets East Book 1)

by Merry Farmer

Millie blinked fast, both at the openness of the statement and the half-teasing, half-resentful way it was delivered. She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what she was supposed to say, or if she was supposed to say anything.

  “Now, now, Uncle, I would never be so mercenary,” Lord William said in the same way that those swindlers who had come to Bonnie’s Place would claim they hadn’t intended to sneak out without paying and that it was all just a misunderstanding. “You know I pray for your health and longevity.”

  Lord Dunsford raised one of his dramatic eyebrows, then turned back to Millie. “I’m pleased to be able to offer you a place in my house,” he said with true kindness in his voice. Millie liked him, trusted him, even though she’d only just met him. He gave her even more reason to feel that way when he went on with, “I knew our mutual friend, Theophilus Gunn, during the war in the Crimea. I served alongside his employer, Lord Stephen Leonard. There was a whole group of us who came up through the ranks together.” He smiled, his gaze losing focus for a moment as he remembered.

  Millie knew a very little of the story. Mr. Gunn had been a valet for a British gentleman, Mrs. Elspeth Strong’s uncle. He’d fought in the Crimean War, which was how he knew Lord Dunsford and the other nobles in whose houses some of the other girls from Bonnie’s Place were being given positions. Lord Stephen had been killed in action, but the others had survived.

  “I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity, your lordship.” Millie broke the silence, attempting another curtsy like the one Mrs. Wilson had made. “It means so, so much to me. You can’t imagine.”

  The silence that followed her outpouring of gratitude was thundering. The young man glanced up from his work with a look of surprise and amusement. Mrs. Wilson’s lips flattened to a line. Lord William snorted with laughter.

  “You have your work cut out for you, turning this American chit into a proper servant, Mrs. Wilson,” he said. “What a joke.”

  “That’s enough, William.” Lord Dunsford raised a hand. Millie felt as though she might sink into the ground, though. “We will all do the best we can to ensure that Millie is happy and comfortable in her new position. Isn’t that right, Owen?”

  “Yes, m’lord,” the young man answered, then sent Millie a reassuring smile.

  “After all you have been through—” Lord Dunsford addressed her. “—it is the least we could do to ensure that your new life is a successful one.”

  Millie waited for a flicker of Mrs. Wilson’s eyes and a slight nod before dropping into a curtsy again and saying, “Yes, m’lord,” in imitation of Owen. “Thank you, m’lord.”

  Lord William snorted and scoffed, then stopped and asked, “What was her old life?”

  In seconds, Millie’s face burned even hotter than it had after her misstep. Dread at the thought of a man like Lord William discovering what she had been ran hot and cold through her. He was exactly the kind of man who would take advantage of the truth.

  Fortunately, Lord Dunsford sent her one of his exhausted smiles and said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past now. The future is what you make of it.”

  Those words settled deeply into Millie’s soul. “Yes, your lordship.” She still didn’t know what she was supposed to call him, but for the faith he was so willing to put in her, she would give him every ounce of respect she had.

  “I still want to know what she did,” Lord William pressed on. “Why would a chit like her need to come all the way over to the back end of Cornwall to get a job as a maid.” He said the word as though it were something shameful and lowly instead of the decided step up in the world that Millie knew it to be.

  Lord Dunsford sighed. “We will discuss this some other time.” He sent his nephew a weary look, then turned to Mrs. Wilson. “I depart for London first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Wilson nodded.

  “Please be sure that everything is ready by first light.”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “Owen can help you with the preparations.” He turned to the young man. “I think I can manage from here.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Owen nodded and came forward to join the line that Mrs. Wilson and Millie made.

  Lord Dunsford went on. “While I’m gone, William will be in charge of the estate and all its activities.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Wilson nodded again, but Millie sensed a note of tension and disapproval in her voice. “And when will you be returning, my lord?”

  “I’m not yet certain,” Lord Dunsford said, returning to his desk. “I have a great many things to take care of in town, several issues that need resolving before Parliament sits again. But I will return for a short stay before opening the town house for the winter.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Wilson said.

  Millie wasn’t entirely certain what they were talking about. She knew almost nothing about government in America, and even less about Parliament in England, but she gathered her new employer was someone important. That filled her with a funny feeling of pride and made her all the more eager to do a good job.

  “That will be all for now,” Lord Dunsford said as he sat. “You may go.”

  Mrs. Wilson curtsied and Owen bowed, so Millie followed their example and made an awkward bob that was something between a bow or a curtsy. As they all turned to leave, she heaved a sigh. She had so much to learn, not only about the house she now found herself in and the other people who lived there, but about how England and its customs worked.

  But no matter how difficult that would end up being, she had a smile on her face as she left the study and stepped into the hall. Her new life had well and truly started.

  CHAPTER 2

  A s they walked back through the house toward the door that lead downstairs, Millie stole another glance at Owen. He was tall and handsome, and had a windswept sort of look, as though he would be more at home outside than trapped in a house, no matter how grand. Millie could easily see him astride a horse, roaming the prairie with the cowpokes from Paradise Ranch. He had a rugged and industrious feel to him in spite of his fine uniform.

  But it was Mrs. Wilson’s unhappy grunt that snagged her attention. “Lord William in charge of us all.” She sniffed. “There will be trouble.”

  “Isn’t there always trouble when Lord William is given free reign?” Owen replied with a sideways grin. He had a funny way of speaking, another accent that Millie had never heard before.

  Mrs. Wilson humphed.

  “What’s the problem with Lord William?” Millie asked, feeling both sheepish for not knowing and too wise for being able to guess simply by the way the arrogant young lord had made her feel.

  “The goings on of our betters is not for us to gossip about,” Mrs. Wilson chided her.

  Owen sent her a wary look, then glanced past her to Millie. “Lord William is his lordship’s nephew and, since his lordship is childless, his heir. And he knows it. He can’t wait to get his grubby little hands on this estate and all of its resources.”

  “That’s enough out of you, young man,” Mrs. Wilson clipped as they turned a corner and passed through the closet-like room to the servant’s stairs.

  “What resources?” Millie asked.

  “Never you mind,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Millie Horner, I’d like to introduce you to Owen Llewellyn, Starcross Castle’s first footman. Owen, this is Miss Millie Horner, who is to be an upstairs maid.”

  They started down the stairs, Mrs. Wilson charging ahead, leaving Millie to walk down by Owen’s side.

  “Please to meet you,” Millie smiled, her face heating.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Owen replied in his musical voice. “American, are you?”

  “Yes.” Millie didn’t know what else to say. Her heart beat faster at the mere sight of Owen, and parts of her tingled in ways that they hadn’t for years.

  “I’m Welsh myself.” That must have explained his accent. “Why’ve you come all the way across the ocean to get a position as a maid in a drafty
old castle like this?”

  “I—” Millie froze at the bottom of the stairs. How could she possibly explain her circumstances, the life she’d come from? And if she did come straight out with the truth, what would Owen think of her? She didn’t think she could bear to have someone as warm and handsome as him see her as the whore she’d been.

  “Her family shipped her back over here to earn some money,” Mrs. Wilson said, gesturing for Millie to come along with her. “Both parents were from London, but tried their luck in America. Now run along and see to the silver before you head up to bed.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wilson.” Owen nodded to the housekeeper, then smiled at Millie. “And I hope to see you tomorrow, Miss Millie Horner.”

  “Me too.” Millie blushed.

  “Of course you’ll see her tomorrow,” Mrs. Wilson sighed, shooing Owen along. “We’ll all see each other tomorrow at servant’s breakfast. Which is at seven o’clock in this house,” she continued for Millie alone as Owen went his way and she and Mrs. Wilson went theirs.

  They continued down the hall, which was still full of activity, even though the sun had set outside and the lanterns had all been lit, to Mrs. Wilson’s office.

  “Breakfast for the servants is at seven,” Mrs. Wilson continued as they walked, brushing Millie into her office, then shutting the door behind them as she spoke. “Luncheon is at one, and supper at seven in the evening, unless Lord Dunsford is hosting a party. Which he rarely did before her ladyship’s death and will probably do even less now.” She paused, gesturing for Millie to take a seat opposite her desk. “Unless he remarries.”

  “Will he?” Millie asked.

  Mrs. Wilson shrugged as she took her seat. “I don’t see why not. He’s only fifty, in his prime still, despite the look of him, and still quite capable of producing an heir.”

  “To take the place of his nephew?”

  Mrs. Wilson met Millie’s comment with a stern look. “As I said, Millie, the lives of our betters are not for us to gossip about.”

  Millie itched to point out that Mrs. Wilson had just been talking about their betters herself, but decided that wouldn’t be a good idea. There was a sort of formality, a kind of system of ranking, where she was now, in England, that hadn’t existed back home in Wyoming. And since this was her life now, she would do well to abide by it, even if it didn’t make sense. Instead, she brought the conversation back around to herself.

  “Mrs. Wilson? Um, my parents were not from London. They didn’t send me back here to work.”

  Mrs. Wilson let out an impatient breath. “I know that, child.” She sounded stern, but there was something soft behind her gaze, and Millie got the feeling that calling her “child” was an endearment of sorts. “Lord Dunsford has informed both myself and Mr. Snyder all about your past.”

  “Oh.” Millie flushed and looked down.

  “Not to worry,” she brushed on. “We’ve all agreed that the truth should be kept a closely-guarded secret. All anyone else in the house will be told is that your parents emigrated to America from London, that you were born there, and that you have been sent back to the land of their birth to earn a living.”

  “Will people believe that?” Millie chewed her lip in uncertainty.

  Mrs. Wilson gave her a wry smile. “My dear, it is my experience that people will believe just about anything you tell them as long as you say it convincingly and give them no reason to doubt you.” Her motherly look turned stern once more. “Which includes flirting with handsome footmen when you should be working.”

  “Oh, of course.” Millie glanced down, heating even more. Had Mrs. Wilson seen the way she looked at Owen, or seen her thoughts before?

  Mrs. Wilson shifted in her chair, leaning closer to Millie across her desk. “Owen is a good lad. Enterprising to a fault. He wants more for himself than a life in service. But youth has its follies. If you are serious about turning over a new leaf, then you will not—” She cleared her throat. “—fall back on old habits where Owen, or any other male member of staff, is concerned. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wilson.” Millie nodded solemnly. “And I can assure you that those days are far behind me.” She paused, wondering how much she should tell. In the end, she took a breath and forged ahead. “I did not enter the sad and sorry life I lived back in Wyoming willingly, ma’am. I was forced into it by a cruel and heartless father who would have rather sold his fourteen-year-old daughter for money to buy whiskey than take an honest job.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s expression pinched with horror and sympathy.

  “I thought it was too late for me to be saved, once Papa died. But then I fell in with Miss Bonnie. She showed me that I had worth, that I could do more than lie down for money. She gave me this new chance, and I refuse to let her down.” She stopped, checking herself as her emotions overcame her. “I won’t let you or Mr. Snyder or Lord Dunsford down either, ma’am.”

  “Good,” Mrs. Wilson answered, her voice wavering just a bit. She cleared her throat, whatever sympathy she felt for Millie switching back to business. “You’ll find that your life here will be very different from the one you lived in America. Service is an ancient and noble profession, but the hours are long, the work can be difficult, and the responsibility is great. But you’ll find that Lord Dunsford is an easy master, and one that rewards loyalty and hard work.”

  “But not Lord William?”

  Mrs. Wilson’s lips flattened to a line. “Perhaps it’s best if you stay out of Lord William’s sight completely as long as Lord Dunsford is away.”

  Millie knew too much about men like Lord William to ask why. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Wilson stood, gesturing for Millie to do the same. “Come along now. Gather your things, and I’ll show you up to your room. “You’ve had a long day, no doubt, so you may retire now. Ginny is likely still hard at work, but she’ll show you everything you need to do on the morrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Millie picked up her trunk and followed Mrs. Wilson out of her office and down the hall to the stairs. The climb up to the floor with her bedroom seemed to take forever. In stories, castles and their towers were always things of magic and mystery, but walking up all the stairs to the top of the tower was far from romantic. Millie was breathing heavily by the time Mrs. Wilson turned a corner and took her down a short hall.

  “This is the women’s hall,” she explained. “The men are one floor down, and they are not to come up to this floor. Any woman caught with a male visitor on this floor will be instantly dismissed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Millie curtsied as best she could with her trunk in hand to let the housekeeper know she understood fully.

  “Fortunately, the men know good and well they’re not permitted up here, and they obey those strictures.” Mrs. Wilson continued down the hall, opening the third door on the right. “This is the room you will share with Ginny. As you can see, she already has her things arranged.”

  As Millie stepped into the small room, her breath caught in her throat. It was lovely. Two small beds stood on either side of a window that looked out over the darkened Cornwall countryside. It would have been nice to have a room that faced the sea, but Millie was sure that, come morning, she would fall in love with the view she had. Two wardrobes stood on either side of the room, one for her and one already belonging to Ginny, she presumed. A sampler with a blessing hung on the wall above a simple washstand with a plain porcelain bowl and pitcher. The room was plain and simple too, but it was clean, and it had a cozy feel to it.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson,” Millie said, turning to the housekeeper. “Thank you ever so much.”

  Mrs. Wilson smiled as though she weren’t quite sure what to do with the outpouring of gratitude. She nodded, then turned to go. “Rest up. Tomorrow will be a busy and taxing day for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Millie bobbed one last curtsy—she liked the formality of curtsying, and the fact that it was so far from the way she used to deport herself—then
moved to the wardrobe to put her things away as Mrs. Wilson left.

  Of course, she didn’t have much that needed putting away. Just a few old clothes, her hairbrush, and the book of verse that Bonnie had given her as a going away present. She was delighted to find that her wardrobe was already stocked with the same uniform dresses and aprons that she’d seen other maids in the house wearing, along with a crisp, white cap. It gave Millie a thrill as she touched it.

  “This truly is a new life,” she sighed, happier than she’d been in a long time.

  Exhaustion overtook her as soon as she put her things away, and she crawled into bed and fell deeply asleep before her new roommate—and hopefully new friend—returned to the room. But as the first, dim rays of dawn seeped through the window the next morning, Millie found herself being shaken awake.

  “Rise and shine,” a lilting, cheerful voice bid her. “Time to get up and greet the day.”

  As exhausted as she’d been the night before, Millie awoke with a start to find a petite, blonde woman sitting on the bed beside her. She was already dressed in the house’s dove-grey uniform, but to Millie’s eyes, she looked like some sort of magical wood nymph.

  “Am I dreaming?” she asked, pushing herself to sit with her back against her pillows.

  The wood nymph laughed. “I should say not. Not with all the work we have to do today. I’m Ginny.” The woman held out her slim hand, and Millie shook it.

  “Millie Horner,” Millie introduced herself. “I’m the new maid.”

  “So I gathered,” Ginny said, standing and pulling back Millie’s blanket. “And you’d better get up, Miss Millie, before Mrs. Wilson storms up here to find out what’s taking you so long.”

  Millie scrambled out of bed, rubbing her eyes and looking out the window. “It’s hardly dawn yet.”

  Ginny laughed. “You’ll find we maids get up long before dawn, if we want to be sure to get everything done in a day. At least we’re not scullery maids. Lord bless her, sometimes I don’t know when Dot sleeps at all.”

  Millie rushed to the wardrobe to dress as Ginny talked. She felt terrible for sleeping late, but her journey across southern England the day before had been exhausting. At least the uniforms that were given to her fit well enough, at least in her estimation. Ginny wasn’t so sure.