Wentworth Hall

by Abby Grahame

  Chapter Five

  YOUR HORSE, M’LADY,” MICHAEL SAID. He handed Maggie the reins of the bay mare he’d saddled for her. Michael hoped she heard the ironic formality in his tone. It wasn’t so long ago that Michael used to lift Maggie to her horse with his hands on her waist. How far they’d grown. Teddy and Jessica Fitzhugh stood waiting for their horses by the stable door but they were engaged in polite conversation and he felt confident that neither of them would notice the private look that darted between the two of them. It was only a flicker, because in a twinkling Maggie averted those fathomless brown eyes he adored.

  “Look at me,” he murmured urgently. “For God’s sake!” This was the first time he’d seen her since her return. Who knew when he’d have the chance to be this close to her again? He had to know what had happened during her year away. What had changed her like this? Why had she grown so cold toward him? She hadn’t even given him a chance to apologize.…

  When Maggie returned her gaze to him, her eyes were blank slates, devoid not only of feeling but even recognition. “Thank you, Michael,” she said in a neutral tone loud enough to be heard by everyone. “Thank you for remembering I like the D-ring bridle.”

  “Of course I know which—”

  “Have you saddled the other three horses?” Maggie cut him off.

  “Stop it, would you?” Michael implored, his tone low but becoming increasingly agitated. This made no sense. What was wrong with her?

  Maggie’s eyes bore into him now, shading into a stormy gray warning. Tilting her chin to gaze over his shoulder, she called to the Fitzhugh twins. “The groom will have your horses for you right away.”

  “The groom?” Michael echoed, his voice an angry rumble.

  “That’s what you are,” Maggie said with a patrician nod, “or am I mistaken about that?”

  Michael felt caught between the urges to shake her for her detached denigration or to sweep her in his arms to remind her of what had once been between them. Instead, he masked the hurt with a clipped civility. “As you wish, Lady Margaret,” he said with just the merest bow and turned toward the stable.

  Fuming, he led out two chestnut geldings for Jessica and Teddy Fitzhugh and then brought the delicate black Arabian mare he knew Lila favored. In minutes all four of them were mounted. “I heard you were quite the rider, Lady Margaret,” Teddy said. “Now that I see you astride the horse I can see you are, indeed, a natural horsewoman.”

  “I used to be an avid rider,” Maggie agreed. “But not as much of late.”

  “Will you come with us, Michael?” Lila invited him. “There’s a trail that borders Cotswall Manor that I’ve been dying to try.”

  “Yes, it’s an old trail, but the gardeners cleared the brush from it just a few weeks ago,”

  “Oh, good, you know it, then,” Lila enthused. “I don’t want to trespass on Cotswall property, though. Will you come and make sure we don’t stray onto the duke’s property?”

  Michael hesitated, torn about whether or not to go with them. On the one hand he couldn’t stand to see Maggie around that fawning Teddy Fitzhugh. Teddy was so clearly smitten with Maggie that it was almost comical. Though Michael could hardly blame Teddy. He knew too well how it felt to be under Maggie’s spell. Still, Teddy irked him with his preening overconfidence and smug air of entitlement. On the other hand, if he accompanied them he might get another opportunity to speak to Maggie alone.

  “Will you come?” Lila urged again.

  “Lila, Michael has chores to do, I’m sure,” Maggie chided her sister in a superior tone.

  Michael’s eyes darted between the sisters as he tried to understand what was really happening. Why was Lila so intent on his accompanying them?

  “Look at Maggie on that horse, Jessica,” Teddy spoke to his sister. “Doesn’t she just look so right there? I’ve noticed that other English riders are rigid in the saddle, but not Maggie.”

  Michael glanced at Teddy, unable to disguise his dislike. The fawning fool! Preening fop! Couldn’t he see that Maggie was only toying with him?

  And then he saw it. It was written all over Lila’s face. It was almost embarrassingly clear in the way she gazed at Teddy with nearly unabashed adoration. Lila hoped Maggie would be distracted with Michael joining them, giving her more opportunity to talk to Teddy. Michael would be happy to oblige. Maybe he could melt Maggie’s frosty demeanor.

  “Yes, I should come,” Michael said. “The path is a bit difficult to follow up there and you might wander into Cotswall Manor by mistake.”

  “I’m sure the Duke of Cotswall wouldn’t be too put out to see Maggie riding on his land,” Lila said with a shrewd grin.

  After what Michael had heard in the kitchen he understood what she was getting at. If Lila was trying to show Teddy that Maggie had other suitors, her plan was bound to backfire. It would only serve to make Teddy jealous. Michael was sure of that. He himself felt the jealousy rising within him.

  “The Duke of Cotswall is old enough to be my grandfather,” Maggie scoffed.

  “Surely he’s not much older than Father,” Lila countered.

  Maggie laughed. “Is that any better?”

  “No better,” Teddy put in emphatically.

  “Isn’t he terribly wealthy, though?” Jessica asked.

  “Nora hears that he’s positively loaded,” Lila answered, using the exact slang Nora had.

  “Lila!” Maggie scolded. “It doesn’t matter to me how rich he is. I would never consider marrying the duke.”

  “Of course not!” Teddy agreed. “There are other men, younger men with just as much wealth who are sure to fall in love with you; a man you could have a real life with, not some antiquated codger.”

  Michael schooled his features to reveal no emotion, but inwardly glowered at Teddy. He was so sure of himself, so confident that he was the one who would capture Maggie’s heart, so certain that his wealth and shallow charm would make him the winner in the end.

  Maggie sat forward in her saddle, signaling that she was eager to get going. “All this talk of marriage is giving me a headache,” she announced. “I want to ride and forget about old dukes and wealthy young men. Let’s go.”

  With a flick of her reins, and a sharp click to her horse, Maggie was off. Not wanting to be left behind, the others took off after her.

  Michael shook his head woefully, watching them thunder across the lawn toward the wooded trail. Everyone was talking about how France had changed Maggie, but deep down she was the same, headstrong and determined to have her own way. She hadn’t wanted Michael to join them and she’d found a way to leave before he could saddle up.

  For a moment, Michael considered going after them, certain he could easily overtake them, but decided against it. No good could come of him being in the presence of that strutting Teddy Fitzhugh. Michael would eventually do or say something to make his feelings known, and he couldn’t risk losing his job.

  A knot constructed of anger, jealousy, and frustration twisted in his gut. By a mere accident of birth—his own low station in life—he was denied the person he loved most in the world. The woman he would always love and long for. The woman he believed loved him still, no matter how much she pretended not to.

  “You have very delicate hands,” Nora observed, speaking to Therese that night as they cleared their own dishes from the servants’ table. As the last to finish eating, what was left of the cleanup had fallen to them. She’d noticed Therese’s hands for the first time as the young woman lifted a platter that had been heaped with mutton chops and potatoes.

  Therese spread her hands wide and observed them as if assessing their delicacy for the first time ever. “Oui, perhaps they are. My hands are strong, though.”

  Nora gazed at her own solid fingers and ragged nails and decided she should take better care of them. They certainly marked her as someone who worked hard for a living. “People judge you by your hands,” she remarked, piling dishes in the sink.

  “I will give you some of
my hand cream. I need to have soft hands to work with the baby.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Nora remarked in a tone that was a bit guarded. She hadn’t yet made up her mind about Therese. “Is it French hand cream?”

  “It is,” Therese said, scraping the remaining food from a plate into the garbage. “My mother always used it.”

  “Were you in service as a child?” Nora probed. “I’ve been in service since I was a child because my mother was employed here. When she died, the Darlingtons kept me on. I’d have been an orphan if they hadn’t been kind to me in that way.”

  “It must have been lonely for you,” Therese sympathized.

  Nora shrugged. “I missed my mother, of course, but the rest of the staff were a kind of family. Maggie and Lila are like family to me.”

  Therese looked away and Nora couldn’t read the expression that washed over her face. “What is it?” Nora asked.

  “How can you have family who live such a completely different life from you? Didn’t you resent that you were their servant? It’s as though you were Cinderella and they were your wicked stepsisters.”

  Nora considered this for a moment before speaking. Did she resent Lila and Maggie? She didn’t think it was fair, being born into privilege or poverty. But she didn’t blame the girls for that. “It’s just how it’s always been,” Nora explained.

  “And that’s all right with you?” Therese challenged.

  “I have my plans for bettering myself,” Nora insisted. “But it’s not the Darlingtons’ fault that my mother was a maid and my father was also a servant who died young. What were they supposed to do, share their wealth with us? That was not about to happen. And besides, if they hadn’t given my parents jobs we’d have been poorer still.”

  Therese fell silent, pensive. Nora thought the line of conversation was odd, but perhaps this was also down to Therese’s “Frenchness.” The French were a philosophical bunch, after all.

  When the kitchen was cleared and the table cleaned, Nora took out some of Lady Darlington’s dresses that she’d laid aside to mend. Taking her sewing kit from a cabinet, she sat down at the table to attend to it before retiring for the night.

  “I can help you with that,” Therese offered. “Give me that one with the ripped lace collar. I’m good with lace. My mother taught me to tat.”

  Nora shifted the lace-collared dress over to Therese. “Tatting is lace making?”

  Therese nodded. “My mother was also a maid but she saved enough to open a flower shop eventually.”

  “That’s very inspiring,” Nora said sincerely. She loved stories of servants who had gotten out of the service and done well. It was what she wanted for herself.

  “She was a maid for Lord Darlington’s sister in France.”

  “The aunt they stayed with in Paris,” Nora recalled.

  “Yes. After my mother died and the shop closed I went back there to see if I could find some work to support myself. That’s when I met Lady Maggie and her mother and they hired me to take care of the baby.”

  “That worked out well, then,” Nora remarked as she began to stitch a dropped hem on a green taffeta gown.

  “I’m not so sure,” Therese commented.

  “What do you mean? Don’t you like it here?”

  Therese shirked her slim shoulders in a gesture of ambivalence. “I mean no offense, but I find the English to be cold.”

  The right side of Nora’s lip kicked up in a bemused grin. “You have to get to know us.”

  “Most of the staff has been kind but I find the Darlingtons to be snobbish, especially Lord Darlington, and his daughter Lady Maggie is also.”

  “Maggie didn’t used to be,” Nora said. “Something changed her while she was away. She used to be a wild spitfire, always full of fun. I remember once when her family hosted a fox hunt. She felt so sorry for the fox that she led Michael, me, and Lila out to catch the fox before it had gone very far. We hid it and ourselves in the old abandoned caretaker’s cottage. We were turning red from trying not to laugh when all the hounds were outside barking and no one could figure out why.” Nora put down her work and laughed at the childhood memory. “Even though we helped, it was all Maggie’s idea.”

  Therese smiled, amused by the story. “Good for you. I think fox hunting is barbaric.”

  Nora shook her head, still laughing. “What fun we had! Maggie was always the one coming up with the mischief and we were all for it.”

  Therese lifted her chin and listened attentively to some sound that had caught her attention. One of the many call bells that lined the wall near the doorway was jingling. “It’s coming from the nursery,” Therese realized, rising from her chair. “Little James must have awakened. I have to go.”

  “Good luck.”

  Therese crossed to the icebox and extracted one of the frozen bagels Rose had prepared for the teething baby. “I’ll return if he falls back to sleep quickly,” she promised.

  “Thanks,” Nora said as Therese left.

  Resuming her sewing, Nora assessed her new opinion of Therese. She’d changed since she first arrived, had become more friendly, more like one of the staff. Maybe she was simply starting to relax. Or had something happened to sour her on the Darlingtons? “Hmm,” Nora hummed pensively. If Therese was having trouble with her position in the Darlington household, Nora would just have to get to the bottom of it.

  Chapter Six

  The Sussex Courier

  MISFORTUNE MANOR!

  The most coveted houseguests have arrived at Faded Glory Manor, and not a moment too soon!

  The moneyed Sterling twins are in a bit of a pickle: Their mounds of cash are tied up due to their deceased father’s strict rules on their inheritance. With three months until their eighteenth birthday, and no relatives to speak of, Richard and Richina Sterling have no choice but to hole up in Faded Glory Manor, home of their late father’s wartime comrade, Lord Worthless.

  But Faded Glory Manor is not quite the lap of luxury the Sterling twins have come to expect. The drafty old home once knew greatness, but can barely afford a maid for each lady of the house these days! Fallen on hard times, indeed.

  The twins were in for a rude awakening the moment they arrive.

  The entire staff was assembled inside to greet them, watching as Richie leapt over the side of the car, heels clicking together, and gold coins dropping from his pocket. He saw them but couldn’t be bothered to pick them up as he hurried to open Richina’s door. “It’s definitely the right address. This is Faded Glory Manor, Sister dear,” he said. “It certainly has seen better days, but we’ve been invited to stay and it would be poor form not to, so let’s make the best of it, shall we?”

  Richina extended a hand dripping in diamond rings and bracelets. “If you insist.”

  “Don’t worry,” Richie assured her. “I’ll have a tennis court installed over the weekend.”

  At the twenty-foot-high front door, Richie banged on the enormous brass knocker and the twins were instantly engulfed in a swirling dust storm. “It seems no one has been here for a while,” Richie observed while Richina coughed spasmodically against the door. She was nearly toppled as, with a deafening creak, the door opened.

  A skeleton in filthy butler attire greeted them. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  Exchanging a dubious and wary look, the twins followed him into the rotted and decaying hall, a spectacle of past glory in desperate need of upkeep. A sad-looking maid and seemingly senile valet stood in the hall. “This can’t be the entire staff!” stage-whispered Richina to her equally horrified brother. Richina wiped the grime from her forehead, setting off another deafening clatter of jewelry.

  A woman’s voice trilled from the dayroom. “Diamonds? Do I hear diamonds?” The lady of the estate, Lady Worthless, stumbled out, intoxicated by the sound. “I once had diamonds. Where is that beautiful music coming from?”

  “Do you mean these?” Richina asked and shimmied with arms outstretched, her many diamonds, bra
celets, necklaces, and brooches creating such a commotion that a large chunk of plaster falls from the ceiling.

  Alerted by the sound of the rattling diamonds, Lord Worthless walked in. Stepping over the hunk of fallen plaster, he shook Richie Sterling’s hand. “How do you do?” he asked.

  “We’re not quite sure,” Richie admitted, eyeing the plaster under the Lord’s feet. “Do things like this often happen here?”

  “Things like what?” Lord Worthless inquired.

  “That plaster on the floor,” Richie said, pointing.

  “I say, I don’t have the foggiest idea what you mean,” Lord Worthless said, his expression vague. “Have you met my daughters yet?”

  “I’m here, father.” The twins heard the voice but saw no one.

  “Stop fooling, Doodles, and show yourself,” Lord Worthless demanded.

  “But I’m right here,” Doodles Worthless insisted.

  Lord Worthless turned to his wife for help but she had become completely bedazzled by Richina’s jewelry and could only stare at it, her eyes two saucers of yearning. He clapped his hands sharply. “Come off it!” he demanded. “Why can’t we see Doodles?”

  Lady Worthless roused from her dazed state. “Doodles? Oh, she must have blended in with the wallpaper again.” She smiled apologetically at Richie and Richina as she walked over to the floral-patterned wall and reached in. Doodles Worthless suddenly emerged. “What have I told you about standing so close to the wall?” her mother scolded.