Wentworth Hall

by Abby Grahame

  Why hadn’t he taken her in his arms and said they should run away together? She would have gone—in a heartbeat! Why did people have to be divided by something as arbitrary and heartless as their station in life? Now she couldn’t leave. Not when James was at Wentworth Hall. She couldn’t be a mother to him, but she would not abandon him.

  What a right mess they had created!

  Now Michael said he loved her and that he’d been wrong. Would he love her if he knew the truth? Maybe not. Even if they could never be together, the knowledge that she had his heart was a comfort. She would never do anything to jeopardize that. He could never know about James. Not ever.

  No one could know.

  If it came out that James was her baby, everything would be ruined: The Darlington name would tarnished forever; her chances of making a favorable match—one that the family desperately needed her to make—would be hopelessly dashed.

  The consequence most distressing to Maggie would affect Lila. Before she even had her coming-out ball, her hopes of attracting a desirable beau would most certainly be destroyed. Her guilt was so immense it made being around Lila almost unbearably painful. She remembered how close they had been as girls and how much Lila had worshipped her. She had once basked in her younger sister’s adoration, but since she’d returned home it only made her feel hypocritical, knowing she was unworthy of that worship. Maggie could never make herself forget that Lila’s future might be utterly destroyed at any moment and it would be all her fault.

  Maggie knew her aloof behavior hurt Lila to the core, but ultimately it was for Lila’s own good. If she knew how Maggie had put Lila’s whole life at risk, she would feel completely betrayed. It was better that there be some distance between them now. If the crack-up of their relationship came, the hurt wouldn’t cut as deeply if there was already some distance between them.

  The main problem, though, was that she missed Lila’s companionship. It killed her that Lila thought Maggie was pushing her away and Maggie longed to explain what had happened. It could never be. For everyone’s sake, Maggie had to keep the truth a secret, no matter what the cost.

  “Maggie,” Lady Darlington’s voice cut through Maggie’s thoughts. “You must tell me who this baby’s father is. I thought we could let it go, but these newspaper pieces have changed all that. People will quickly figure out that they are skewering our family. Even if this paper is mostly read by the servant class, we all know servants gossip! We will be a laughingstock and our name forever ruined if this issue isn’t quickly resolved. Tell me who it is, I beg of you. We can force this young man to marry you.”

  Maggie held James more tightly as she fought back another onslaught of tears. “I don’t want him to marry me,” she insisted in a choked voice, not meeting her mother’s gaze, when all the while marrying this baby’s father would have been her dearest wish come true.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE KITCHEN WAS QUIET. DINNER HAD BEEN served and cleaned up after. Most of the servants, guests, and residents had returned to their quarters. Nora and Michael were still up, finishing their suppers. Nora rather enjoyed these moments—when the most you could hear was the occasional cricket that had sneaked in and one needn’t worry about having to appear busy. During this time at night, the servants, with no one to wait upon and nothing to clean, could be themselves. If they weren’t too exhausted.

  “Blast these sewing needles,” Nora muttered as she picked at the calluses that had formed on her fingertips.

  “How’s the side job going?” asked Michael, peering over his dinner at her fingertips.

  Nora sighed, “Could be better if I wasn’t so busy tending to all the goings-on around this bloody drafty place.”

  She poked her dinner with her fork, moving the potatoes and beef around the plate. Despite the insult that the servants were only permitted to eat meat left over from the meals prepared for the Darlingtons, the food was always prepared well and there was lots of it. Another plus was that, once dinner was over, no one really went into the kitchen, so it was a place to talk freely. Picking up a pea, she flicked it carelessly over Michael’s shoulder. He ducked to avoid being hit with the green projectile.

  In a swift motion, she watched Michael scoop up a handful of carrots. Nora quickly snatched up a napkin to shield herself from Michael’s retaliatory fire. She continued talking from behind the white piece of cloth, “I can’t even work back in my room because I can’t have anyone seeing I have another job. It’s ridiculous!”

  “So what if they see? As long as you’re getting your main duties done around here, who cares if you do a little extra sewing on the side?” Michael queried, tossing a piece of a carrot over Nora’s napkin line of defense.

  She let out a squeak of surprise as the carrot bounced off her head and onto the floor. Lowering her cloth shield so just her eyes peered over, Nora replied, “I just don’t want to chance it. I haven’t saved up enough money to get to London yet and it’d be terrible if I got fired before that. I’ve only been taking jobs that I can finish on my one afternoon off and I give them back that day. Been working these fingers to the bone!” she said, letting the napkin fall, raising her hands and wiggling her rough fingertips to illustrate.

  Michael nodded in sympathy, raising his own hands to show Nora the calluses on his palms from mucking stalls at the barn. “You’re telling me!” He lowered his hands and scooped another helping of potatoes from the silver bowl onto his plate. “So, did you patch things up with Therese?”

  Nora gave a half shrug, half nod, “I suppose. She said she was just nervous and didn’t know what to say.” She skeptically pouted her lips and continued on, “I mean, I guess I understand how she feels. She is the newest member of the staff and an outsider, after all.”

  Michael nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “She was probably just scared they would try and pin it on her,” he mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes.

  “Right,” Nora agreed. “And, ignoring that one hang-up, Therese has been nothing but pleasant to me. I suppose I forgive her. Plus, that girl has a nose for gossip, so she could be a good ally.”

  Michael grinned. “Should you really trust a gossipy girl?”

  Waving her hand dismissively, Nora said, “No! Of course n—” She stopped mid-sentence and glowered at Michael. “Very funny.”

  Laughing, Michael said, “I sure thought so.”

  Nora scowled, turning her head away in mock disgust. “At least I don’t have spinach stuck in my teeth.”

  Michael’s grin faded as he began to pick at his front teeth.

  Nora clasped her hands together in front of her and leaned forward, happy to have the upper hand. “So. Now about you. You know the baby is yours. What’re you going to do?”

  Michael took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind his head, and rocked on the back two legs of his chair. Sighing, he said, “I… don’t know.” Staring at the ceiling, he continued on: “On the one hand, the baby is clearly better off being a Darlington. Even in their reduced circumstances, they could provide so much for him. I don’t think I’d be able to give him the same opportunities in life. But, on the other hand, I absolutely cannot stand to see my son being raised falsely by another person.” He looked down from the ceiling, catching Nora’s eyes. “I want to talk to Maggie about it, but she has been avoiding me like the plague.”

  Nora nodded, contemplatively tapping her fork against her lips. Slowly, she said, “Do you want me to send a message to her?”

  Letting the front two legs of his chair regain contact with the floor with a loud clack, Michael looked at Nora. “Would you do that for me?”

  “Of course!” she replied naturally, and then thinking better of it, feigned disinterest. “Well, then again, word on the street,” she said pointedly, staring into Michael’s eyes to drive home her point, “is that gossipy girls aren’t to be trusted, even though they have all of the ins and could easily deliver important information.…” She gazed off somewhere in the distance, trying to suppr
ess a grin.

  “Do it for me,” Michael said in a gentle command, half-teasing and half-serious.

  “And what if I refuse?” replied Nora, rubbing at her face with the napkin, “I’m not so keen on doing favors for food-flinging ruffians such as yourself.”

  “Well,” Michael started, leaning forward, “what if I was to tell you and the entire staff and the Darlingtons that I knew a bit of insider information.”

  Nora narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Michael grinned back at her. As much as Nora viewed him as a brother, Michael viewed her as a sister. Specifically, a little sister whom he loved to ruffle up as she did to him, although deep down they knew their intentions were nothing but kind for one another. “Oh, yes. From what I hear there is a young maid who has been doing some extra sewing work on the side and not telling her Lordship about the money she has been saving to go to… where was it? Oh, yes, London…”

  Jumping up from her seat, Nora raced around the table, shoving her napkin over Michael’s mouth. Even though all of the staff were in their rooms, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of panic. “Ssh! Stop it!” she hissed. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” She could hear Michael’s muffled chuckles coming from beneath the fabric. He reached up and gently removed her clamped hand from over his mouth, letting the napkin fall into his lap.

  She plopped down in the seat next to him and stuck out her bottom lip, trying to muster up false indignation. “I was going to do it anyway. You know I care about you and Maggie.”

  Michael shifted in his seat to face her and patted her hand, still chuckling. He focused his intense eyes upon her. “And I thank you for it. This means so much to me, thank you.”

  Nora looked deeply into his eyes, as if studying his level of sincerity. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, patting his hand back. “You know you are a supreme git, don’t you?” Her face broke into a grin.

  “Oh, just write the sodding letter for me, would you?” He retorted, snatching up the napkin and tossing it at her.

  “All right, all right, down to business,” she replied, laughing. Striding across the kitchen to where the cookbooks were kept, she ripped a blank page out of a notebook and grabbed a pen. Returning, she pounded the piece of paper down upon the table for dramatic effect and stared pointedly at Michael. “Spill your heart out and I’ll deliver this letter to your fair maiden, words transcribed ’pon this parchment, tucked safely inside a book, and delivered for only your miss to see.”

  “You really have a sense for theatrics, don’t you?”

  Nora adjusted the pen in her hand, ready to write. “All the world’s a stage, as they say. Now spill it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  WESLEY FOUND HIMSELF RUNNING down the long drive leading into Wentworth Hall. He hadn’t meant to break into a run, but it was as though his legs had a will of their own. The object of his chase was Therese, who was only a few yards ahead of him. He’d spied her leaving the estate and gone out after her, filled with an overwhelming desire to accompany the young woman whom he found exquisite in every way, from her delicate beauty to the melodious, French-accented voice that flowed from her bowed lips. He had to be near her.

  She had seemed so curious about him when they had first set eyes on each other. But he couldn’t mistake her coldness when he visited her in the nursery. She must have assumed he was toying with her, that he was a typical highborn Lord looking to tumble a member of his staff. He would have to convince her otherwise. His time in America had led him to have a much more progressive view of the social classes. What did a title really mean, anyway?

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Wesley,” Therese greeted him as he strode breathlessly to her side.

  “Good day to you, Therese,” Wesley answered brightly. “Where are you off to on this dreary day?” he asked, pointing up to the thunderclouds rolling ominously overhead.

  “I have the morning off, and so I am walking into town to post some letters to friends in Paris.”

  “There is no love letter there to some fortunate young man, I hope,” Wesley said as he walked alongside. Though he kept his tone buoyant and teasing his question was not really a joke. If Therese had a love back in France he wanted to know. If so, he intended to make her forget all about it.

  “No, monsieur. There is no such fellow,” Therese answered.

  “Would you like there to be?” Wesley probed.

  Therese glanced at him questioningly from the corners of her eyes.

  “I ask only because I need to know if I have a chance with you,” Wesley admitted boldly. “Would you mind if I accompany you into town?”

  “There is no need for that,” Therese replied. “It is not far.”

  “Wouldn’t you like company, just the same?”

  Therese let out a quick sigh. “It is not necessary.”

  Her reluctance puzzled Wesley. He didn’t consider himself a snob, but what servant would not welcome the attentions of the lord of the manor? Through the years he’d flirted with some of the maids and never before been rebuffed. And even among his own class, girls usually found his company pleasant. He wasn’t interested in any of those young women, though. Therese was the one he found himself thinking about day and night.

  “Don’t you like me, Therese?” Wesley asked. “I hope you do, because I like you. I like you very much.”

  “It is not fitting for us to be friends,” Therese responded tersely, keeping her sights glued to the path ahead of them.

  “This is the modern world, Therese,” Wesley countered. “I’ve just spent the summer in America with Ian and perhaps I’ve picked up some more contemporary idea from our friends in the New World. In America no one has titles and it simply doesn’t matter. It’s what you make of yourself that counts over there, not some archaic title one was born with.”

  “Well, we are in Europe, and here it matters,” Therese pointed out, still unable to meet his eyes.

  “I see!” Wesley exclaimed. She really did believe he was toying with her, trying to secretly seduce a pretty young member of the staff for his own lecherous purposes. “I’m not like that, Therese,” he said persuasively. “My intentions are sincere. And I don’t care who knows it.”

  Therese let out a light snort of disbelief.

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked warmly.

  She shrugged.

  “Then allow me to prove it.” They were nearly to the front gate and no one from the estate would be able to see them. Wesley stopped her short and stared into her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably. When his face slowly began descending toward hers she stepped back abruptly.

  “Stop!” Therese cried, banging on his chest with a quick, hard blow that sent him reeling back several steps. “Stop this moment!”

  “Do you find me that repulsive, Therese?” Wesley asked, more hurt than angry.

  “There can never be anything between us,” Therese insisted in a heated tone. “Never! Never!”

  “You’re the snob, not me,” Wesley shot back. “I am not thinking about your station in life. I see only you, a beautiful young woman who haunts my every waking hour. But you don’t see me. You see only my title, and you hold against me something I have no control over.”

  “It is not your title that makes it impossible,” Therese told him passionately. “It is not what is different about us that must divide us. It is what we share.”

  “What might that be?” Wesley demanded.

  “A father!” Therese replied, her voice rising to a near shout.

  “What?”

  Therese simply glared at him, as if waiting for him to catch up.

  Wesley had heard her words but his mind had trouble making sense of them. “My father?”

  Dumbstruck and slack-jawed with amazement, Wesley listened as Therese unfurled a story he would never have believed if he wasn’t hearing it from her own lips. Nineteen years earlier her mother had worked in Wesley’s aunt’s household. “There she met y
our father who seduced her. When she confronted him about her fears she was pregnant, he wanted nothing to do with her. You see, he had a wife and newborn son of his own. She went to Lady Daphne and admitted she was in trouble, but never said who the father was. She let her believe it was a commoner. Lady Daphne took pity on her and let her stay in her household, even taking her to France when she moved.”

  Wesley’s mind reeled. He could hardly believe his father would do such a thing: the old hypocrite, always so proper and stiff. He never would have believed his father capable of such callous behavior.

  He studied Therese closely and suddenly saw a family resemblance he had never noticed until this moment. The shape of her face was exactly the same as Maggie’s. Her arched brows were like Lila’s. And, with a shudder he realized that the blue of her eyes mirrored his own. How could he have missed these things before? Now in the grip of this new vision, there could be no question that her story was true.

  Therese continued her tale. “No one but you knows that I am Lord Darlington’s daughter, except Lord Darlington himself.”

  “My father knows you’re his child and yet he has kept you as a servant?” he questioned incredulously.

  “I confronted Lord Darlington a few weeks after I arrived, telling him who I am. He didn’t deny it. But he refused to acknowledge me, even after knowing that my mother had died and I had no one left.”