Wentworth Hall

by Abby Grahame

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Nora said. “I believe you are the one writing these awful satires about the Darlingtons.”

  “Why do you think that?” Therese asked. “I thought you suspected Miss Fitzhugh?”

  “I still don’t like that snooty Miss Fitzhugh, but it just doesn’t make sense that she would go through the trouble. And your trying to pin it on me and my tearoom makes me suspicious of you. I think you came all the way from France hoping that the Darlingtons would offer you a lavish life with hardly any work involved. That hasn’t turned out to be the case, and now you’re trying to get some fast cash to return to France.”

  “What about you?” Therese countered. “You told me you have hopes to leave service.”

  “But I’ll earn the money by sewing. You have no other skills to offer.”

  “I could teach French,” Therese argued.

  “How would you manage it in your spare time?” Nora insisted. “No, your only chance was to write these wicked satires. You admitted to me that you don’t like the Darlingtons.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t nice to say what I said about them, but they haven’t been so nice to me, either.”

  “Why? What have you got against them?” Nora challenged.

  “For one thing, Lord Darlington unjustly despises me,” Therese spit out. “He wants me sent back to France.”

  Nora looked suddenly pale. “How do you know that?”

  “How do you know it?” Therese shot back. It was clear that this news had come as no surprise to Nora.

  “I heard them talking.”

  “So did I,” Therese told her. “When Lord Darlington gets agitated, he forgets to keep his voice down. The entire staff probably knows how he feels by now.”

  “That still doesn’t give you the right to destroy good people,” Nora said, but her voice was calmer. “I knew from the start you weren’t to be trusted,” Nora added.

  Nora’s dart hit its spot in Therese’s heart. She liked Nora and didn’t want her to think ill of her. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said sincerely, feeling very misunderstood and more alone than ever. “Just because I don’t like the Darlingtons doesn’t mean I wrote those satires.”

  From his crib, James fussed. Getting up, Therese went to the crib and stroked his belly, trying to soothe him back to sleep, but his eyes opened. “Once his eyes open, he’s done sleeping,” Therese told Nora. “I need to feed him now.”

  “I should get back to work too,” Nora said, ducking out of the room.

  “Oui,” Therese said, unbuttoning James’s romper to check his diaper.

  Once she had changed the baby, Therese brought him to his high chair in the empty dining room. She found a dish of warmed peas set on the chair’s tray along with James’s tiny silver spoon.

  Therese sat beside James, feeding him, her mind replaying the events of the day, especially her concerns about whether or not to tell Michael of what she was certain was the truth. She was so lost in thought that when Mrs. Howard spoke to her, she startled, dropping the spoon.

  “You were a thousand miles away, weren’t you, Therese?” the head housekeeper observed. “I’d advise you to keep your mind on your work, especially when tending to a baby.”

  “Yes, madame,” Therese answered, stooping to retrieve the spoon and cleaning it on a linen napkin. She had to stifle the urge to defend herself, to say that she did her job very well and she was entitled to think her own thoughts while doing so. But what would be the sense in arguing? It would only make Mrs. Howard dislike her even more than she apparently already did.

  “I realized the other day while I was addressing the staff why you look so familiar to me,” Mrs. Howard said, and her voice was mildly accusing. “I knew your mother.”

  “You did?” Therese asked. “She worked for Lord Darlington’s sister a long time ago.”

  “Nineteen years ago,” Mrs. Howard supplied the exact time frame, her eyes boring into Therese as if searching for something. “That’s how old you are, isn’t it?”

  “Oui, Madame,” Therese agreed, getting up to wipe mashed peas from James’s cheeks. She was glad for the reason to turn away from Mrs. Howard’s piercing inspection.

  “Why have you come here?” Mrs. Howard demanded sternly.

  Therese’s heart banged in her chest. All along, she had been afraid this would happen—that someone might make the connection between her and her mother. Just when she’d begun to relax and trust that her secret was safe, it had happened. What was she to do now?

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Therese claimed, lifting James from his chair.

  “I believe you do,” Mrs. Howard insisted.

  Therese faced her and hoped her expression gave away nothing. “No, I do not,” she said, working to keep her gaze level and her voice even.

  The two women faced each other, their eyes locked in a combative stare. James broke the stalemate with a whimper that forced Therese to turn her attention to his food-covered face. “What a messy boy you are,” Therese said with a smile, lifting him from the high chair. “We’d better get you cleaned and changed.”

  Although Mrs. Howard was still scrutinizing her, Therese pretended not to notice as she left the room with James in her arms. “Bonjour, Mrs. Howard,” she said in the lightest tone she could muster, as though there were no tension between them.

  The tension was real enough, however, she thought as she headed back to the nursery with the baby. It explained the harsh looks Mrs. Howard had been sending her way. When she came to Wentworth Hall, she had worried someone on the staff might recall her mother. Still, it didn’t really mean anything. It could just be a coincidence. Couldn’t it?

  “Hey, there!”

  Therese turned and saw Wesley hurrying to catch up to her on the staircase. “How’s my new baby brother doing today?” he asked with a bright-eyed smile.

  “He’s a little messy after his lunch, I’m afraid,” Therese answered. “I am on my way to clean him up.”

  “Might I tag along?” Wesley requested.

  “Of course, monsieur,” Therese replied. After her encounter with Mrs. Howard, she welcomed his friendly manner.

  “Please, call me Wes.”

  “I could not,” she demurred.

  “Of course you can—at least when we’re alone.”

  Therese’s stomach dropped. Alone? Was he flirting with her? She had the distinct impression that he was. She could never allow that.

  “I’ve never been to France, but I’m dying to see it,” Wesley said as he trailed her down the hall toward the nursery. “Are you planning any visits home?”

  “I may be going home sooner than I planned,” Therese said evasively.

  “Why would that be?” Wesley asked.

  “I believe I am under suspicion as the author of those terrible articles about your family,” she admitted, seeing no harm in being frank.

  He grew serious. “They’re terrible, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe no one really reads them,” Therese said.

  “I think you might be right,” Wesley allowed. “At least no one that Mother and Father socialize with. Besides, since I’ve returned, there haven’t been any more printed. I gave the newspaper management a strict talking-to. I hated to use such tactics, but I would do anything to protect my family. And the Darlington name is revered enough to have an effect on people.”

  “I’m sure,” Therese replied, with a hint of bitterness that Wesley did not catch.

  In the nursery, she laid James on his bassinet and began unbuttoning his little romper while he cooed. “He’s a sweet little guy, isn’t he?” Wesley observed, coming alongside Therese.

  Wesley was charming. Of course he would be. She imagined his father had been much the same way when he was younger.

  “I apologize, Monsieur Wesley. Can I ask you to leave me to my work? Your mother will not approve of you being in here with me.”

  “Oh, she won’t mind,” Wesley disagreed.

  �
�Please!” Therese insisted with more heat than she had intended. “I am asking you to leave.”

  Wesley’s face clouded over and Therese regretted it. She’d made herself a challenge. And men like the Wesleys and Lord Darlingtons of the world loved nothing more than a challenge.

  Wesley backed out of the room, his expression somehow a mask of both slighted dignity and stubborn interest. “Sorry that I’ve taken up so much of your time,” he said.

  “Not at all,” Therese said politely. The odd thing was, she had the distinct feeling that, under different circumstances, she and Wesley could have been good friends. But the current circumstances were not her doing. And it would serve her well to remember that.

  “Swear to me, Nora,” Michael demanded, waving the Sussex Courier in front of her. “Swear to me that you had nothing to do with this.” He tossed the newspaper into the slop bucket next to the horses’ stalls to demonstrate his contempt for the paper.

  “Michael! How dare you even think it!” Nora replied indignantly, scraping her boot on a stall door to rid it of the droppings she’d accidentally stepped into. “How could you even suspect me of such a thing?”

  “I know you’re dying for that tearoom you’re dreaming about. The newspaper must pay a good deal for this. And you’re the only one who knows about Maggie and me.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Nora insisted, pouting. “I’m both hurt and flattered that you think I might be the author.”

  “Why would you be flattered?” Michael asked.

  “They’re rather clever.”

  “Clever!” Michael thundered. “How can you say that? Do you know how disastrous it would be for Maggie and for me if anyone realized there was ever anything between us?”

  “Didn’t I warn you at the time that you were playing with fire?” Nora came back at him. “I told you to leave that girl alone, but you wouldn’t listen. So don’t complain to me now that you’ve gone and had your own way.”

  “You were right, Nora, I admit it.”

  “Honestly, you underestimate me. You know how much I love gossip, but I have never mentioned a thing to a living soul—not about you and Maggie nor about the baby.”

  “The baby? What does Lord James have to do with any of this?”

  Nora stared at him in disbelief. She had always looked up to Michael, never thought of him as stupid. Then again, where Maggie was concerned… “Can you possibly be so blind?”

  Michael’s face went through a range of emotions in a matter of moments. Starting with confusion, then disbelief, then sheer shock. He staggered back into the stall door as the impact of Nora’s words struck him. “Are you saying that Maggie… That… James?”

  Nora nodded. He really hadn’t known. How could Maggie have kept this from him?

  “And I’m the father?”

  “No one else, Michael,” Nora said softly.

  “Did she tell you so herself?”

  “She didn’t have to.”

  Michael’s hands flew to his head. “What an idiot I’ve been! How could she do this?”

  “I thought she must have told you. I thought you’d come to this decision together—for Lady Darlington to claim James as her own. It can’t have been easy for her,” Nora pointed out. “She could have given the baby up while she was in France, but she didn’t. At least she brought him home to be raised as a Darlington.”

  Still clutching his head, his expression stunned, Michael sank to the stable floor. “What am I to do, Nora? What should I do about this?”

  “I don’t see what you can do,” Nora answered. “The best thing in my opinion is to do nothing.”

  “If I do nothing, how can I live with myself?”

  “You’re going to have to find a way,” Nora insisted, “even if it’s the hardest thing you ever do.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  YOU’RE A VERY GOOD RIDER,” IAN PRAISED Lila as he cantered alongside her.

  “Maggie’s the horsewoman of the family,” Lila said modestly though she was thrilled that he’d noticed her ability with a horse. She was used to being thoroughly in Maggie’s shadow in equitation, as in most things, but since Ian had arrived, he’d paid attention only to Lila and she was glad that, at least, she’d worn Maggie’s cast-off riding outfit with the cute high hat and the short nipped waist jacket. Although it was a hand-me-down, Ian had never seen it before, and Lila felt it showed her figure to good effect.

  She had never felt more grown-up.

  They were at the far end of the estate and Edmund Marlborough’s massive home was in view. Drawing to a halt, Ian emitted a long, low whistle of awed admiration. “What a place!” he remarked, gazing at the immense building.

  “It’s something, all right,” Lila agreed, slowing beside him.

  “Is your sister seriously thinking about marrying that guy?” Ian asked.

  “I’m not sure. We’re not as close as we were when we were younger. She no longer confides her thoughts on things like that to me. I can’t believe she would be happy marrying someone so old, but it’s possible she would sacrifice herself for the good of the family.”

  “And to go live in a place like that,” Ian suggested. “Can you imagine? That place is grander than the White House.”

  “The where?” Lila asked.

  “The capitol building in Washington,” Ian explained.

  “I should have realized,” Lila said with an embarrassed laugh. It thrilled her that Ian never talked down to her and treated her as an equal. Since his return home, Wesley had been busy taking an informal inventory of Wentworth Hall and its surroundings, no doubt to make suggestions to their father about what should be sold and what kept. This left Ian with a lot of time to spend with Lila, and she was loving every second of his attention. “I’d very much like to visit America some day. Wes told me he had a great visit with you.”

  “Perhaps you’ll visit next,” Ian suggested.

  His words sent a thrill through her. Did he mean it? He seemed sincere. “That sounds wonderful,” she replied.

  “You’ll love Newport,” Ian went on. “The Astors have their summer place right near ours.”

  “That’s so tragic about Mr. Astor dying on the Titanic,” Lila commented, glad to have something knowledgeable to contribute.

  “It is. I used to see him during yachting season. It’s somehow fitting that he died at sea, since he was quite the sailor.”

  “I would love to learn to sail someday,” Lila said, although the notion had only just come upon her at the moment.

  Delight danced its way up her spine as Ian smiled at her. “I think it would be great fun to teach you how,” he said, and she returned his smile. Apparently she had said exactly the right thing.

  “Then you promise to teach me when I come to visit,” Lila dared to press her luck.

  “It’s a promise,” Ian replied.

  As Lila and Ian sat on their horses, smiling at each other, Lila felt happier than she could remember feeling in a long time.

  Maggie tried to block out the sound of the baby crying. But no matter how far down the hall she retreated, she couldn’t block it. Where was Therese?

  Why didn’t someone go to James?

  Unable to stand it another second, Maggie wheeled around and headed for the nursery. She found the baby kicking as he wailed in his crib. “There, there,” she soothed as she bent to him. “I’m here.” Instantly he calmed, turning toward her breast, even though the milk had dried in it months ago. Unexpected tears leaped to her eyes, one spilling down her cheek. He looked so much like Michael. It hurt to look at James just as it hurt to look at his father. It was exactly why she’d vowed to have nothing to do with him. It seemed like the right thing to do, but it was just so difficult.

  “You’re so beautiful, you look just like your daddy, don’t you, sweetheart?” she whispered to the baby, rocking him in her arms.

  Maggie brushed her wet eyes as her mother appeared in the doorway. “Why are you in here?” she asked.

  �
�He’s been left here to cry!” Maggie explained her presence. “Where is Therese?”

  “Running down to the kitchen to get his infant formula, most likely.” Lady Darlington shut the door behind her. “Maggie, we need to talk.”

  Lady Darlington spoke in an agitated whisper. “Quite clearly whomever wrote that last newspaper satire is implying that there has been some involvement between you and a gentleman. You’ve never told me who the father is, and I’ve taken your word that he is not someone who will make claims on James, who is now clearly a Darlington. But you must tell me who else might know about your… indescretion!”

  Maggie knew she owed her mother a great deal. She’d helped Maggie through her secret pregnancy, had agreed to raise James as her own. Her mother had even lied to Lord Darlington about it. Not that her mother’s motives had been entirely unselfish. If it came out that Maggie had had a child out of wedlock, the family name would be forever tarnished. All hope of her making a lucrative marriage would be dashed forever.

  “Maggie, I feel forced to press you now that you’ve turned away both Teddy and the Duke. I must know who James’s father is,” Lady Darlington spoke in a whisper.

  “It’s as you assumed,” Maggie lied, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “It was… someone I met during my come-out in London.”

  “Are you sure he doesn’t know?”

  “He has no idea.”

  “Is he a person you might consider marrying? Or… is he already married?”

  “No! Absolutely not! But things are better as they are,” Maggie replied. “Besides, I don’t love him and he knows it.”

  Lady Darlington shook her head woefully. “If you don’t love him, how did you let this happen?”

  Maggie’s mind raced. She needed a quick story and her mother had taken her off guard with this line of questioning. “It was the champagne,” she blurted out. “It made me feel giddy and romantic. It was my coming-out ball and I was eager for adult life to begin.”

  “Foolish girl,” Lady Darlington lamented.

  The wetness returned to Maggie’s eyes. If her mother only knew how truly foolish she had been. She’d always loved Michael and their acting on that love had had an air of inevitability about it; all their lives had led to that one blissful encounter in the stable’s hayloft. But then—on the very night she was about to tell him she was pregnant—Michael had broken it off, saying that the inequity in their stations made their romance impossible. He was always doing that—running hot and cold with her. He would tell her he was trying to protect her from a life of service, which would be inevitable if they were together. But a few kisses and he would warm right up again. That last night, she’d already learned of her pregnancy. So his coldness was more than she could bear. How could he claim he didn’t love her? And then avoid her for weeks? That set her on a path leading to where they were today.