She would have a suite of rooms, and the year would pass by quickly. They had to have some type of society. They couldn’t all still be running around barefoot, barely clad in those skirts they called kilts. Could they?
The carriage made a slow turn and gravel crunched beneath the carriage wheels.
“We’ve arrived at Lynfield Hall, Your Grace,” the driver called to her from his perch.
“It’s about time,” she mumbled, knowing he couldn’t hear her. Despite her grumbling, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of anticipation. She wasn’t happy to be here, but she was happy that she had arrived, that she would be resting in comfort in a matter of minutes. And she could imagine lounging in bed the rest of the day, the plush bedding surrounding her in warmth and comfort, easing the aches of her travels.
The view of the manor was obstructed by a thick cluster of trees, their foliage as dense as a flock of geese scrambling for scraps of bread. The brisk wind that rustled through the leaves, and the birds that had made their residences there, made their own music as cattle grazed in a distant pasture of wildflowers.
The drive was long and straight, the road well maintained, and the surrounding land was a jewel. She had seen enough open spaces during her journey to back up her claim.
She imagined the manor would look the same, idyllic against the lush vegetation. The vision of glittering white stones, gently weathered from time, and the many sparkling windows that reflected the sun’s kisses, had her willing the carriage forward.
It would be an estate from a fairytale. She didn’t know how she knew, just that she did.
Maybe it was the sweetened air. She took a deep breath, sighing in pleasure. It was so different from the air in London. Fresh, clean, with a hint of tang that you could only find outdoors. It smelled of meadows and warm days at the lake. Hinted of magic.
It wasn’t especially hot today, but the sky was a bright, lightning blue. Not a cloud dared to mar its flawlessness.
Her heart pumped faster as the carriage gradually rolled to a stop. Suppressing the ridiculous urge to leap out of the vehicle and grasp her first look at her new home, she chided herself on her lack of control. There were most likely servants, or the lady herself, outside on the steps, waiting to greet her. She wasn’t about to make a bad first impression.
If there was anything she had learned in London ballrooms, it was that a first impression could never fully be erased.
Her back straight, she waited in the carriage with a facade of poise and patience, although she didn’t feel either at the moment.
With a click, the door swung open, sunlight beaming into the gloomy carriage, temporarily blinding her. Ignoring the bright spots in her vision, she descended the carriage steps like a queen, careful not to miss a step. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. There was no one outside to witness the disgrace.
Not a single person had turned out to greet her.
Flabbergasted, she could only stare at the entrance, completely astounded by their lack of manners. They should have been expecting her.
But this was Scotland, she thought in distaste. Perhaps they were as uncivilized as others had claimed.
What was she to do? Walk up to the door and knock? It was appalling.
Gritting her teeth, her only thoughts were on entering the house, ordering a bath, and collapsing into bed.
Her soft, kid-slippered foot climbed the first step, completely white against the almost black stone.
Black.
The stark color decimated the glittering, fairytale white she had envisioned. But as she slowly looked up, absorbing the dark, weathered stone, and the small paned windows that looked like the slitting eyes of an oppressive beast, she shuddered.
It was old, and it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that it was standing strong in its prime when William the Conqueror had arrived. But that was eight hundred years ago.
And she was expected to live here? How barbaric.
Snatching up her skirts, she marched to the door, knocking briskly. A twinge had her rubbing her gloved knuckles. The studded wood was sturdier than it looked.
As the seconds passed, Victoria’s patience began to wane.
Where were all the servants? Glancing over the vast estate, taking in the manicured gardens and clean walkways, she knew that many hands had labored to make it flourish. Yet not a single person was in sight.
With a faint groan, the door opened.
“Ah, Your Grace, I presume.” The older gentleman opened the door wider in invitation. “Please come in. You’ve been expected.”
“I’ve been expected?” Her spine straightened. “If I was expected, why was no one outside to greet me?”
The old man had the presumption to take a second look at her, his face scrunching up as if he smelled something foul. “My deepest regrets, Your Grace. The staff were otherwise occupied and could not be spared.”
“Fine, then.” It was useless to state her complaints to a servant. She would have to wait to speak with the Dowager Countess or the Earl about their lack of hospitality.
“Would you like to freshen up before you meet with the Dowager Countess?”
To have the meeting over with, allowing her to relax the rest of the evening, sounded like heaven. But no matter how she had been received, she could not go to the woman worn and covered in dirt from her travels. “Yes, thank you.”
“Follow me. I’ll lead you to your room.”
Stepping into the marbled foyer, she was surprised to see that it had been recently renovated. The wood paneling gleamed with new polish, and the floors sparkled in a way that was only possible with newly cut stone. The palate was tasteful in an array of light, clean colors, so different from the outside of the manor that it was hard to believe that they were the same building.
The carefully-laid carpets were thick beneath her feet, silencing her steps as she walked down the hall behind the slightly hunched servant. She smelled flowers and wasn’t surprised to see a combination of bottles and vases, bursting with color, in different nooks along the hallway. The manor seemed bright and orderly, but there was something eerie that cast a shadow over its cheerfulness.
As they walked down another corridor, she felt her unease intensify. The voices that normally carried in larger homes were absent.
If asked, she would wager that the butler and she were the only two people in the house. But that couldn’t be true. She would be meeting with the Dowager Countess in a few minutes. Plus, with the repairs and the carefully tended grounds, it was obvious that the estate employed an extensive staff.
“Where are the other servants?”
The man threw a look over his shoulder, telling her with his eyes to mind her own business, but eventually he grated out, “They are attending to their duties in other areas of the manor.”
She didn’t doubt his words, but it seemed so odd. She had never been on an estate that didn’t have at least a servant or two constantly underfoot.
With an ominous creak, he pushed open a thickly wooded door. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay. I hope you find it to your satisfaction.” Stepping back, he allowed her to enter the room first.
Her mouth fell open, but she immediately shut it. If she had been unsure of the recent remodel to the first floor, she wasn’t now. Her furnishings, while appearing sturdy, were several styles outdated and had surely seen better days. Faded by too much sunlight, and a bit frayed on the edges, one of the chairs adjacent to the fireplace was so melancholy that she took a step in retreat. “This is unacceptable. Surely there is an updated room that I may stay in.” She looked to the servant for confirmation. “I’m sure there has been some mistake.”
The man’s lips thinned into a flat line. “There has been no mistake, Your Grace. This is the room the Earl had made ready for you. Unfortunately, while the house is undergoing renovations, the guest wing has not yet been seen to. It isn’t often that the Earl has visitors.”
“I see. Well apparently th
is is another item I will have to take up with the Earl.”
The man didn’t blink. “A servant will bring up your trunks shortly. Use the bell pull next to the fireplace and a maid will be sent to lead you to the Dowager Countess.” Without even a by-your-leave, the man turned and stalked off.
Apparently, the servants were given too much rein at Lynfield Hall. That type of behavior would never be accepted elsewhere. The Earl and Dowager Countess must be completely ignorant of their servants’ conduct.
Moving to the wash stand, she tried to pour water into the receptacle before cursing.
Empty.
She replaced the pitcher with a look of distaste, realizing that the manor wasn’t as properly staffed as she had first thought. If the servants couldn’t manage the basic needs of a single guest, she shuddered to think of what else they neglected.
Good Lord, at this point she might even have to heat her own water. The thought filled her with horror.
“Never. I’ll hire my own servant if needs be.” She may be required to comfort the older woman, but she would never stoop to the position of a maid.
Inspecting herself in the mirror, she tidied her hair, smoothing the strands that had escaped the confines of her pins.
A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called out.
A servant hauled one of her trunks to the foot of the bed. He didn’t bother with words, just narrowed his eyes at her before leaving. Apparently, the servants had decided to dislike her.
Oh well, she shrugged, it wasn’t the first time. As long as they did their duty and served her well, she didn’t need their civility.
She rang the bell before reaching into her trunk, pulling out a dress to inspect it for wrinkles. While it wasn’t perfect, it would have to do.
Another knock.
“Would you like me to escort you to her ladyship, Your Grace?” a petite red-headed maid asked, curtsying with the question.
“Not yet.” Victoria motioned her into the room before turning to reveal the long row of buttons down the back of her dress. “I need your help changing.”
“I am not a lady’s maid, Your Grace.”
Victoria arched a brow at the woman. While not hostile, the maid was definitely ambivalent about assisting her. It was a minor relief to know that servant gossip spread as quickly here as it did in London.
“Are you capable of unbuttoning this?”
The girl blushed. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said before moving forward to give her aid. When done fastening up the, thankfully fewer, buttons on the fresh gown, the woman backed away to hover near the door.
With a last pinch to her cheeks, Victoria turned from the mirror. “Please take me to Her Ladyship.”
With a quick bob, the woman turned and fled the room, setting a pace that allowed Victoria to follow, but just barely. Pausing at a door several hallways away, the girl knocked quietly, waiting for an invitation inside. It took several seconds, but a woman’s soft voice called out for them to enter.
The room, decorated in pastels and curvy, delicate furniture, must have been a high priority on the refurbishing schedule. No man could ever truly be comfortable in such a place.
“Lady Victoria.” The servant girl gave one last curtsy before fleeing as if a monster chased at her heels.
“You may be seated.” The older woman’s voice was scratchy, almost as though she hadn’t used it in years.
Moving to sit in a chair across from the lady, Victoria noted the woman’s black crepe dress and the lack of jewelry which would have softened her attire.
“I am sorry for your loss. The Duke was a respectable man,” Victoria said, trying to look somewhat sad about his passing, wishing she were even the least bit sincere.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, reminding Victoria of a crow. The black lace cap she wore over her silvered hair was drooping, coming close to covering one of her squinted eyes. “Yes, he was.”
Something in her tone had Victoria reassessing the woman, dissecting every nuance of her body language. With her slumped shoulders, Victoria had assumed that the woman grieved heavily for her late brother, but seeing the steel in her eyes, the suspicion written over her features, Victoria wasn’t so certain. “You know why I’m here?”
The woman sniffed. “I read the will. You’re here for an inheritance.”
“That’s correct.”
“It was thoughtful of my brother to think of me, but I hardly think that I need the comfort of a widow young enough to be his daughter, and one that didn’t know him at all.”
A smile curved Victoria’s lips. The woman was a shrew. “The will was written five years ago, before we had even met.”
“In any case, it is ridiculous that a person like you would be of any use to me.”
“Yes, well I thought so myself, and yet there was no other choice. I don’t like the idea of being in Scotland any more than you do.” There was no point in pretending something she did not feel. If the woman was going to be blunt, she would as well. “As I can see, you are hardly grieving your brother. I will make an attempt to stay out of your way.” Victoria began to rise, thinking the conversation over.
“Sit!”
Eyeing the woman warily, Victoria lowered into her chair. The harsh, almost screeching tone wasn’t something she had expected.
“My dear, you have no idea what I feel.” There was bite beneath the honey in her voice. “There is another matter of the will that needs to be discussed.” A gleam entered her beady eyes.
The look was enough to put Victoria on alert. “And what matter is that?”
“The part where you are to do whatever I need to help me in my grief.” The catch in the woman’s voice was clearly false.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I will do whatever you need.”
“No? We could pull out the document right now, but I clearly remember it stating that you will be required to do whatever is needed to help me get through this difficult time.”
“Difficult?” Victoria snorted at the notion.
The Dowager Countess continued on as if she hadn’t heard Victoria’s impertinent remark. “With that stipulation, I expect you to attend to me, to see that I am comfortable.”
Victoria gritted her teeth and the woman gave her a slow smile, knowing she had the upper hand. “And what sort of things would I attend to?”
Black crepe rustled as the woman, who was quickly becoming her nemesis, shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever I need, of course. It isn’t a set plan of instructions. More like when I need comfort or pampering, you will see to it.”
“Don’t you have servants for that?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that we are not running on a full staff. I have a lady’s maid, of course, but she is rather busy. I often need help with small tasks.”
“You can’t seriously expect that I will become another maid.”
“Not at all.” But her grin spoke otherwise. “More like a paid companion.”
Victoria spluttered, her temper rising. “There is no way in hell I will ever act as a servant.” She spoke quietly, but the malice behind her words erased any jovial pretense from the Dowager Countess.
“If you don’t do as I say, I will have no choice but to write to my brother’s solicitor and inform him that you have not fulfilled the requirements stated in the will. You will be cut off from your inheritance and left with nothing but inconvenient memories from your journey.”
The urge to rail at the old woman, to take out her frustrations, was overwhelming. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Her lips curved again. “My dear brother had such an ideal life. He never wanted for anything from our parents. He led a charmed life in fortune and in love. And I think it is time that his widow pay her dues before she gets a penny from him.” Jealousy laced her voice. It was obvious that she resented her brother’s life, and that this was some sick, twisted type of revenge for all of that.
Victoria wanted to curse. “My h
usband passed away. I think I’ve paid enough.”
“Hardly. You were married only a few hours. Not even enough time to consummate the marriage.” The countess’ gaze raked over her, taking in her physical features before sniffing as if she found her wanting.
“Whether or not we did is none of your concern. Unless, of course, you’re jealous of that as well,” Victoria taunted, gloating when she saw that her barb had struck true.
“You think you’re so clever. Well, it is up to you whether or not you will receive the inheritance. If you do what I ask of you through mourning, I will let the solicitor know you fulfilled my brother’s stipulations. If not, I will make sure you don’t receive a penny.” Jerking away in dismissal, the woman turned to stare out the arched windows.
Victoria saw red. Instead of hurling the insults she found clambering up her throat, she clamped her mouth shut, quickly exiting the room before she exploded.
Racing down the hall, she entered another room at random, barely noticing that she had walked into the library before screaming like a banshee.
The woman meant to make her a servant? Someone to be at her beck and call, to order around at her whim? The nerve!
As Lady Evelyn, the Dowager Countess, had said, she had two options. She could do as she was told, bide her time here until she received the inheritance and then never answer to another, or she could leave now, knowing she would be dependent on her brother until she was forced to remarry.
She didn’t like either option. While she would never be required to act a as a servant in her brother’s home, she wanted her own space. It would only be a matter of time until he married and she would be reduced to a guest. And in the way.
Anger coursed through her. Anger toward the Dowager Countess, toward her departed husband, toward her brother, and most important, toward herself. If she hadn’t been so upset about losing the Duke of Wathersby to Lady Aubrey Langston, she would never have acted so irrationally and married the old Duke. She had still fulfilled her father’s wishes though; she was a dowager duchess after all. But it had been a mistake. She had been weak, misguided, and she could only blame her current circumstances on herself.
Masquerade Secrets Page 13
