by Lyn Stone
“I see. Well, assume your new duties, then. We shall see how it works out.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Rosie bobbed again, clutching her robe together in front with both hands. “This way, miss—m’lady,” she mumbled, backing toward the huge curved staircase until she reached it.
Emily followed, lifting her hem to trudge wearily up the stairs to the second floor, then on to the third. All the while she wondered who was more insecure in their new and unfamiliar stations, her or Rosie. At least they had something in common at the outset. She hoped Rosie knew more about what was expected of her than Emily did or they’d both make hash of it.
“End of the hall,” Rosie offered, gesturing down the corridor as they reached the third-floor landing. “Will you be wanting bathwater?”
“You needn’t bother. I hate to keep anyone awake long enough to haul it.”
Rosie grinned, seeming quite at ease now that they were away from the men. Her carroty hair bobbed wildly as she shook her head. “Oh, no, ma’am! Water comes down right out of a pipe! Can you imagine that?”
Emily could not. “Are you quite serious? How is that possible?”
The maid laughed merrily, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Quickly she looked about, as if she feared someone might have heard and would leap out to punish her.
In a whisper she continued. “We was sorely behind times in the country, miss—ma’am. Here, water’s piped in from the roof cistern, big as you please. Not hot, but I can start the fire and heat some of it for you.” She sighed loudly with appreciation, obviously still in awe over the wonders of the accommodations in the London house even after a fortnight.
“Isn’t it hard to empty?” Emily asked, making idle conversation, glad to have at least one friendly person in the house with her.
Rosie shook her head in answer. “It drains out through another pipe. And wait till you see what else! We’ve no need to empty chamber pots here, can you feature that?”
Embarrassment colored her cheeks bright pink. “Not that you’d ever had to do such, but—”
“Oh, I’ve emptied my share,” Emily assured her, also whispering as they hurried, side by side like co-conspirators toward the door at the end of the hall. “I have read that they toss…everything out the windows into the street here.”
“Not here we don’t. There’s a convenience that works like the bathing tub. Water runs in, everything else out!” Rosie exclaimed as she flung open the door to the bedroom and virtually skipped her way across it to another door.
Emily remarked on the fact that the countess’s bedchamber here was much like the room at Bournesea, only a trifle smaller in size and done up in pale blue. The hangings and drapes were the more formal velvet, not the lighter-weight chintz.
She stepped up to the door through which Rosie had disappeared. Sure enough, there was a large metal tub in the shape of a huge shoe.
“I always wanted to do this,” Rosie confessed, as if she were talking to herself. “All I’ve been allowed to do is clean in here, dust and the like. See, I can catch some in the bucket and warm it over the fire in the bedchamber.”
Emily watched the girl eagerly labor over a small lever that apparently opened the pipe. There came a rumbling, creaking noise and a few moments later, water began to stream sluggishly into the tub.
“There now! A flamin’ wonder, ain’t it!” Rosie announced with a brushing motion of her hands. She pointed to the other convenience. “There’s the privy.”
Emily nodded, laughing aloud with the maid for no reason other than pure delight in the modern marvels of city life.
While they waited for the water to flow in and fill the bath, Rosie sat back on her heels and rubbed her palms against the lap of her robe to dry them, looking extremely satisfied with herself.
“So, here we are. You, the new countess. Me, the new lady’s maid. You will keep me, won’t you? I could use a bit more blunt, if you know what I mean, and I’ll do whatever you say.”
Emily hardly knew how to react to Rosie’s sudden familiarity after the girl had acted so timid downstairs. “We shall see,” she said, but smiled encouragingly as she said it.
“So we will,” Rosie agreed with an impudent grin. Then she crossed her arms and put on a sly look. “And you can trust me not to add a word to the gossip about you belowstairs.”
“‘Gossip?”’ Emily asked tentatively, not altogether certain she wanted the answer. “But we just arrived. How could anyone possibly have time to gossip about me?”
Rosie looked smug. “Oh, they’ll be atwitter soon enough, I warrant, wantin’ to know how a vicar’s girl tied up with a earl, now won’t they? Us from Bournesea know how, of course, but I for one won’t be telling.”
“Telling what?” Emily demanded. “Just what do you think you know of it?”
Rosie sighed loudly with exasperation and rolled her eyes. “That his fine young lordship was under those skirts of yours long before he took sail. Now he’s back and your good ol’ da called him to account for it, that’s what. I say bully for the vicar. Wish I had me a da like him who could shame a earl into marriage. Then I coulda been a countess.”
Emily stared, not quite certain what the girl was implying. “You?”
Rosie grinned and shrugged. “Why not? Even if I didn’t plan it all out and had no say in it, I paid as much for the privilege as you did yourself.”
“Y-you slept with him…uh…Earl Kendale?” Emily stammered, shaken to the core by what she’d just heard.
“Didn’t sleep exactly,” Rosie admitted with a wriggle of her arched red brows and a comical twist of her lips, “but if you mean did I warm his bed, then th’ answer’s yes.” She leaned closer. “And I’ve got to say, it weren’t half the chore I figgered it would be.”
Chapter Ten
“Kindly leave me, Rosie,” Emily said after she recovered from her stunned silence. “Don’t bother heating the water. I find I am too weary to bathe after all.”
Though Emily sorely wanted to believe that it was the old earl’s bed Rosie had warmed, she knew better. The man had been nigh sixty years of age. The girl would never have spoken of such dalliance with a smile or a fond memory.
No, it was surely Nicholas who had seduced the poor thing and filled her head with stars. Just as he had almost done with Emily. She felt like pounding her head in frustration as she bemoaned the stupidity of young women everywhere.
Rosie reached over and patted her hand, all sympathy. “Ah, Emmy. I mean, m’lady…” She frowned when Emily moved away, unwilling to be touched. “I put a foot wrong didn’t I? Shouldn’t have told you about me and his lordship.”
Emily looked up and realized Rosie had tears in her eyes. “Never mind that,” she told the maid. “It is simply late and I am exhausted. Go on to bed now.”
“You’ll turn me off, won’t you?”
“No.”
Rosie got up from where she was sitting on the floor and turned off the water. Shoulders slumped and head hanging, she trudged out the door of the bathing room.
Emily wanted to follow to reassure the girl, but she was simply too tired and dispirited. But what had happened was not Rosie’s fault. She had been hardly more than a child seven years ago and should not bear any blame for succumbing to Nick’s charms. Even though Emily was at least two years older, she had almost fallen into the same trap. The man had no shame and no conscience.
Her compassion suddenly stirred by the little maid’s early loss of innocence, Emily called out, “Rosie, I prefer coffee over tea when I awaken. Will you see to it, please?”
The bright smile had returned when Rosie whirled around. “You just ring me the minute you wake, m’lady. I’ll be here quicker’n a flea hops a dog.”
Emily sighed with relief when the door finally closed and she was at last alone. She rubbed her temples wishing she could erase the pain there. The ache in her heart was worse, but there wasn’t much that would alleviate that one.
She had thought Nick’s keep
ing his betrothal a secret hurt, but knowing that he’d had Rosie in his bed, probably at the same time he had been courting Emily, was an even worse betrayal. He had played both Emily and Dierdre as fools, and had not done Rosie any favors, either, in stealing her innocence.
“He was young,” she reminded herself. But he wasn’t young now and he had still lied about his engagement to Dierdre. Much as she wanted to find some excuse for his wretched behavior, Emily could not think of one.
Now she was married to him and must somehow make the best of it. The future looked worse than dismal at the moment.
She removed her clothing and quickly dipped into the tepid water. It hardly seemed cool at all compared to the iciness that had formed inside her.
When she had scrubbed herself clean, Emily got out of the tub, wrapped a length of toweling around her and walked back into the bedchamber. There, she pulled back the soft blue covers on the high tester bed, dropped the toweling and crawled between the sheets.
Lack of a nightgown didn’t matter. Nothing could warm her, she thought. Nothing.
Morning dawned gray and still. No wind or rain, but both seemed imminent, Nick thought to himself as he dressed. It seemed a pall hung over everything.
How he had longed to go to Emily after the household had retired. He wanted to hold her, as much to satisfy himself that she was well as to comfort her. But he had known how exhausted she was and that he would probably have found her asleep. Soon he would approach her alone. Perhaps tonight when she was better rested.
The poor lamb must be incredibly worried about how she would get on here at Kendale House and, indeed, London in general. If last night had been any indication, she might have a rough go of it with the servants. He also knew that any interference on his part would dash any chance she had of establishing any authority either here or at Bournesea.
He rang for Wrecker and sat in a chair beside the window to wait for him. The man would make a laughable valet, but Nick had left his real one back in Gujarat. The man simply could not sail.
A short knock and the door opened. “Aye, m’lord?”
“Come in. We ought to talk about this. Will you be content acting as valet? The pay is better than footman and you’ll have a private room.”
“Thanks be. Every footman you got snores like thunder. Last night, I might as well’ve been aboard ship agin there wuz such a bleedin’ racket. What do I do for ye then?”
Nick figured he would have to work on Wrecker’s brashness, but not now when he needed to secure his help. “Your primary duty will be to guard my wife when I’m not with her. Each morning you’ll report to me as you’re doing now and I’ll tell you what I require.”
Wrecker grinned. “Long as you can dress yourself.”
Nick laughed. “Not one of your tasks, I assure you. But if you don’t serve me as valet, I shall be obliged to hire someone else who does not know the circumstances. I don’t like to take strangers into my confidence, you understand.”
“Ain’t no use in paying some fop to tie your neckcloth when what ye need is a bloke handy with his fists.”
“Precisely put. I like the way you cut right to the heart of the matter, Wrecker. By the way, I shall be addressing you either as MacFarlin or by your Christian name. What is it?”
“Percy, but even Ma don’t call me that. I go by Wrecker, always has. What’s wrong with it?”
“Not a thing,” Nick assured him. “I simply thought you might prefer something more businesslike to suit your new station.”
Wrecker paused and thought about it, worrying his chin with his thumb. Then he sighed. “Guess you’re right. MacFarlin will do, then.” His shoulders straightened as he assumed a new air of importance.
“I can keep them Hessians shined up for ye. Mebbe tote yer clothes to th’ maids downstairs fer cleaning. Anythin’ else?” Wrecker asked, shuffling his big frame into a more comfortable position as he stood roughly at attention. He was throwing himself into the spirit of the thing.
Nick smiled up at him. “Don’t tup the maids. The staff is off-limits. Agreed?”
Wrecker frowned. “Even that springy-haired chit what tends our lady now?”
“Especially that one,” Nick insisted. He relented a little when Wrecker seemed ready to rebel. “Of course, you may court Rosie if she agrees to it, but see that you always treat her with respect.”
The grunt of disappointment was almost comical, but Nick ignored it. “At the moment, I’d have you go down and order my and my lady’s breakfast served in the morning room. You will eat your meals with Upton and the housekeeper in the upper servants’ dining room. Mind your manners and try not to shock them with any gruesome tales of the sea.”
“You mean I can’t even eat with th’ lass?” Wrecker almost whined.
“Of course. Rosie is the countess’s maid, at least for the present. Unless otherwise occupied with her duties, she should be there for meals.”
Wrecker hardly waited to be dismissed. Nick was glad someone looked forward to the day enough to hurry downstairs to meet it.
With a grunt, he rubbed his bristly chin and looked at the scuffed and muddied footwear Wrecker had promised to polish and then promptly forgotten. Resigned to shaving himself and shining his own leather, Nick got on with it.
While buffing his boot, Nick paused to wonder whether Emily might be having similar problems with the maid she had chosen. Rosie was merely a between-stairs maid, trained to housework, not in performing a lady’s toilette, styling hair and maintaining a wardrobe.
Worse than that, Emily herself had little knowledge of what needed to be done. Nick worried that he had put his new bride in a very precarious position here. Both women would need some sort of education in what was expected of a countess and what a lady’s maid must do to assist her. Nick knew no one he could ask to do that for them, so he supposed he must undertake the lessons himself.
Their instruction would have to wait, however. Before he did anything else after breakfast, he needed to visit the Ministry and give his report. He would have made it three weeks earlier had it not been for the cholera and the resulting quarantine.
Lord Chalmers would have received news of Nick’s planned return and must believe him lost at sea by this time. His lordship might regret that had not happened once Nick informed him of the mounting unrest in India. The place was a veritable powder keg waiting for a spark.
Nick sighed. He had a bride way out of her depth in Society’s waters, a possible assassin lurking about, and ominous trade issues that could destroy the economy, not to mention his shipping business. Was there no good news to be had?
Nick gave his other boot a quick brushing and dropped it to the floor beside its mate. He felt fatigued by the day already and had not even had his coffee yet.
Emily greeted Nick from her place at the table in the morning room. “Good morning, Kendale,” she said brightly, offering him her most brittle smile. “I see you have triumphed over our encounters yesterday. How is your headache?”
He shot her a frown, then turned his attention to the display of food on the sideboard. “My head is fine. And yours?”
“Quite recovered.” She watched Nick serve himself a bit of the egg dish that looked none too appetizing and choose a slice of bread to go with it. He paused a moment before taking his seat at the head of the table. Emily wondered if he was worrying about assuming his father’s role. His countenance did look troubled.
She had decided upon awakening that she needed to assert herself and to throw off the miasma associated with her hasty marriage and its attending difficulties. Her missish behavior last night shamed her in the light of day. The carriage mishap had unsettled her, that was all. A good night’s sleep had put her to rights and she was herself again.
After all, life was what one made of it and she did not intend to live hers at the mercy of unforgiving servants and an untrustworthy husband. She would simply have to turn them all around to her liking.
Had she not managed her f
ather’s household since she was hardly more than a child? So Kendale House and Bournesea Manor were run on a much larger scale, with dozens of servants instead of just one, what did that matter? The concerns were the same, and she could handle it.
Had she not overcome that nearly ruinous incident and regained her good reputation among the townfolk? Yes, and she could do that here, as well.
Emily felt confident as she imagined Nick’s mother patting her on the back, encouraging her to forge ahead and make a place for herself. Perhaps she would even rally to the extent of reforming that unruly son the woman had left behind.
“I see that you are not a morning person,” Emily observed, taking the initiative.
Nick sipped the steaming coffee he had just poured from the silver pot in front of him. After a moment he answered. “And I see that you are, more’s the pity. Pray, don’t be this cheerful every morning or I shall have to drown you in the Thames.”
Emily smiled. “Grumble away, then,” she said, slathering butter on the toasted muffin she had selected. “I, for one, have plans for the day that do not include you, so you may return to bed if you like.”
That got his attention. “And just what is it you’re planning, if I may be so bold?”
She took a bite, chewed and swallowed, letting his curiosity build. “I have called a meeting of the staff. We should send the Bournesea people home. Have you any objections?”
He thought about it. “None at all. That makes good sense. Give them today to make ready. Order the coaches hired and brought around at first light tomorrow. That way, they can be home before dark.”
“Already arranged. I spoke with Mr. Upton. He promised to send someone to take care of that. I expect word has traveled throughout the house already, but I think I should announce it formally.”
He watched her carefully, she noticed. “Shall I attend this assembly?”
“Are you returning to Bournesea?” she asked pointedly.
“Of course not. We have only just arrived.”
“Then you might wish to take care of your own business while I tend to mind. Go and do…” She flicked a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Whatever it is that earls do.”
