My Lady Below Stairs

by Mia Marlowe

  “Well?” the man demanded. His ensemble was cut in fashion of the first stare, Eddleton noted. But he wore the fine clothing carelessly, with none of the English stiffness, as though the trappings of success were nothing.

  “Well, what?” Sybil demanded with a quaver in her voice. “You're the one who dragged me in here. What do you want?”

  “Wait.” In the hidden passage, Ian set his feet and pulled the real Lady Sybil up short. “I hear Jane. On the other side of this wall.”

  Sybil scrunched down and peered through the narrow slit around the hidden servants' door. A slice of the library and its occupants came into sharp focus.

  “No wonder servants always know everything that goes on in a great house,” she muttered. Then she blinked hard. “That's my Giovanni. He's only a poor painter. Where did he get those clothes?”

  Ian braced himself behind her to peek through the same slit at a higher level. “A resourceful man will use whatever he must to get close to the woman he loves.” He frowned. “But that's not the woman he loves. That's my Janie.”

  “Are you not surprised to see me like this?” Giovanni spread his arms and did a slow turn. “Allow me to introduce myself to you properly.” He executed a sweeping bow with careless elegance. “I am Giovanni Baptiste Salvatore Brunello, Count of Montferrat. I posed as a starving artist in your country so I could find a woman who would love me for myself, not my station.”

  Sybil gasped. Jane only stared at him in puzzlement.

  “And I thought I had found her, but now I know that money is all you care for, crudele.”

  “No—” Sybil began, but Ian clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

  “If I have caused you pain, milord, I'm truly sorry, but I really must go,” Jane said, two frown marks drawing her brows toward each other. “I'm determined to accept a proposal of marriage from Viscount Eddleton during the last waltz and nothing you can say will make me change my mind.”

  “Stubborn as a rock,” Ian muttered.

  Sybil dug her elbow into his ribs. “Have a care what you say,” she whispered furiously. “That's my sister you're talking about.”

  “Words, they will not move you?” Giovanni closed the distance between him and Jane with the grace of a great cat. “Then I shall not speak.”

  He crushed Jane to his chest and kissed her.

  “No way in bloody hell,” Ian shouted and gave the secret door a kick that knocked the portal off its hidden hinges.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Ian!” Jane couldn't decide if she was relieved to see him or upset that he was about to destroy her disguise. She still had a promise to keep.

  “What is wrong with this cursed country?”' Giovanni bellowed. “Can I not make love to the woman I intend to wed without the walls erupting with peeping-Thomases?”

  “That's no’ the woman you intend to wed.” Ian stepped between Jane and the Italian count, a fist drawn back at the ready. “She's mine.”'

  “I should say not!” The draperies parted at the far end of the room and Viscount Eddleton stalked out. “Lady Sybil is promised to me. Her father and I have all but shaken hands upon the matter. I tell you, Lord Somerville shall hear of this!”

  The library door flew open and a tall, white-haired gent strode in.

  “Someone has been taking my name in vain.” Lord Somerville's frosty manner thawed when he looked at Jane. “My apologies, Sybil dear. I so wished to escort you to the ball this evening, but once you hear my news, you'll agree my time has been well spent.”

  Lord Somerville's gaze darted from Viscount Eddleton to Ian, to the Italian, and then back to Jane. This time, his brows tented in a puzzled frown.

  “The porter told me I'd find you in Lord Hartwell’s library with a gentleman. Apparently, he miscounted how many gentlemen by a goodly number.” He lifted a silver brow and the chill returned to his tone as he eyed the viscount. “Was that you, Eddleton, bandying my name about?”

  “Lord Somerville.” Eddleton bowed stiffly. “I'm gratified you're here to see for yourself what a shameless wanton your daughter is—consorting with foreigners and common footmen! It would have pained me deeply to bring the matter to your attention. I fear this means I must insist upon an alteration of our arrangement. I shall require additional incentives to take her as my bride.”

  Lord Somerville's lip curled. “You miserable little worm. As if I'd give you a farthing for the privilege of marrying my daughter. That arrangement you speak of was drawn up by Humphrey Roskin, the man who bilked my estate of thousands of pounds. And now I have proof of it. I finally tracked down the funds and recovered them. Mr. Roskin is even now boarding ship for the penal colony of Australia—and lucky to get away that lightly. Consider our agreement null and void.”

  Lord Somerville turned back to Jane and his features softened. “My dear, you needn't marry anyone against your wishes.” He took both of Jane's hands in his. “Can you forgive an old fool for trying to barter your happiness?”

  “But I'm not—”

  “In that case,” Giovanni interrupted with a courtly bow to Lord Somerville and an evil glare at Ian, “may I present myself? You have known me aforetimes as Giovanni Brunello, artistic genius. You shall know me hereafter as the Count of Montferrat.”

  He bowed and bussed his lips over Jane's fingertips. She restrained Ian with a frantic look. He limited himself to the Scottish version of a growl—a low “Hmph!”

  “I have reason to hope the lady will find happiness with me,” the count said, tossing Jane a wink. “Please consider me a suitor for your daughter's hand, signore.”

  “Well spoken, Giovanni.” Sybil's voice came from the darkened space behind the wall. She stepped into the light of the room, hands fisted at her waist. “But you're asking for the wrong daughter.”

  “Cara mia?”

  She nodded and the count lost no time in scooping her into a twirling hug, their laughter filling the library. Giovanni swept Sybil into a deep kiss, oblivious to the open-mouthed stares from the others. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the library. Sybil peered over his shoulder and mouthed “Good-bye” to her father and Jane.

  “I suppose that settles the matter of my consent,” Lord Somerville said with a chuckle. He turned back to face his other daughter. “Then you must be... Jane.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Ah, my dear, I think the time for formality between us is past, I held you at a distance because of my sins, not yours. It is time I rectified matters.”

  He squeezed her hands. Jane's vision blurred. How many times had she dreamt of this?

  “Nearly losing everything has made me consider carefully those things which remain to me,” Lord Somerville said. “I let my wife keep me from showing kindness to you. Even after she was gone, guilt kept me from doing the right thing. Now, nothing will stop me.”

  Jane swallowed hard.

  “I cannot legitimize you. The law does not permit it. But I can acknowledge you as mine.” Lord Somerville leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Will you allow me to treat you as a daughter in my house?”

  The power of speech deserted her and she could only nod.

  From the corner of her eye, Jane noticed a shadow pass over Ian's face and he took a step back.

  “But what about me?” Viscount Eddleton demanded.

  “Oh, you'll think of something, Bert.” A feminine voice came from behind the curtained alcove and a slight lady in an eye-straining yellow gown joined them. “Your choice is obvious. You've enough cat in you to land on your feet, I think.”

  The viscount gritted his teeth and then knelt stiffly before the woman. “Lady Darvish, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Her laughter tinkled merrily. “Of course not, Bert. Leastways not until you show more promise. But I'm not without hope. I believe you can be trained. You and I will put our... heads together and think of another way you might settle your debts. Come now, dear boy. You look ridiculous on your
knees.” She motioned for him to stand and then whispered, “But you might try that position again once you get me home.”

  She grasped Eddleton's arm and led him out the door.

  “Now then, Jane,” Lord Somerville said. “That waltz won't last forever. Will you dance with your father?”

  She glanced at Ian, but he was studying the inlaid wood at his feet. If he were going to speak for her, now was the time. When he didn't do anything, something inside her wilted. Heartsick, she placed her palm on Lord Somerville's offered arm and let him lead her from the room and up the stairs.

  They were only steps from the ballroom when she heard footfalls pounding behind them. Her chest constricted.

  “Lord Somerville,” Ian said. “I wish to tender my resignation as your head groom.”

  “This is hardly the appropriate time.” Somerville narrowed his eyes, taking Ian's measure. “Besides, it appears to me you're a footman, not a groom.”

  “Aye, milord, appearances are deceiving this night. But this is no deception. Ye see, I wish to be a bridegroom.” Ian dropped to one knee. “Janie, I cannot give ye silks and a life of ease as Lord Somerville can, but I've been offered the post of Man-of-All-Work on a Wiltshire estate. The pay is well enough and the position comes with a wee cottage—”

  “And you think to tempt me with a wee country cottage?” she asked.

  “No, lass,” he said with a sad smile as he stood. “I hoped to tempt ye with me heart. I love ye, Jane Tate. And all that I am is all I have to offer.”

  “Oh, Ian!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. “That's all I'll ever need.”

  His lips found hers and she lost herself in the wonder of his mouth.

  Until Lord Somerville cleared his throat.

  “I believe we've missed the waltz,” her father said. “My fault. We've missed too many things over the years, you and I. But perhaps you'll allow me to give the two of you the grandest wedding a head groom and a scullery maid have ever had, as a belated Christmas present?”

  “Oh!” Jane's hand went involuntarily to her heart.

  “I'll see you wed like a lady, my dear,” Lord Somerville promised. “Perhaps you'll save a waltz for an old man next Christmas. But for now, might I recommend the two of you find some mistletoe?”

  His hazel eyes crinkled with amusement as he inclined in a slight bow and headed toward the crowded ballroom.

  Ian and Jane ran to the window where they'd found mistletoe earlier. Moonlight fractured the frosty panes into thousands of diamonds. Winter howled outside, but Jane was too warmed by Ian's love to feel the least chill. Ian bent to her and she stood on tiptoe to meet his lips.

  “His lordship was wrong about one thing,” Ian breathed into her ear when he finally released her mouth.

  “What's that?”

  “He can’t see ye wed like a lady, because you’re already a lady.” Ian pressed a kiss to her forehead. “My lady. My Lady Below Stairs.”

  The End

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Mia Marlowe learned much of what she knows about writing from singing. A classically trained soprano, she gleaned the elements of storytelling while performing operatic roles. She describes her stories as a cross between Grand Opera and Gilbert & Sullivan . . . with sex!

  Mia's work was featured in PEOPLE magazine and one of her books is on display at the Museum of London Docklands. Her books have been translated into German, Dutch, Italian, Japanese, Polish, Russian and Spanish. She regularly receives fan mail from around the globe and loves to hear from readers. Connect with her via www.Twitter.com/mia_marlowe and www.Facebook.com/MiaMarloweFanPage or drop by www.miamarlowe.com and leave a comment on her very active blog. Mia Marlowe and her husband have lived in nine different states, but she now makes her home in the heart of New England.

  Mia hopes you enjoyed My Lady Below Stairs and will look for her other titles. Happy Reading!

  Also by Mia Marlowe:

  Touch of a Thief

  Improper Gentlemen

  A Duke for All Seasons

  Distracting the Duchess

  Coming soon from Mia Marlowe:

  Sins of the Highlander (January 2012)

  Touch of a Rogue (March 2012)

  Touch of a Scoundrel (July 2012)

  Lord of Fire and Ice (August 2012)

  Visit http://www.miamarlowe.com for the latest!