Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid (Kellington Book One)

by Maureen Driscoll

  Jane would rather die first.

  Her grandfather had gone into a rage when it had become clear Jane was with child. He’d banished her to the country, a punishment she gladly accepted since it meant a return to her beloved home. What she hadn’t been prepared for, however, was the way her former friends reacted. She’d been cut by all the gentry in the village, including her dearest friend. Only Mr. and Mrs. Heldt, along with Farrell had stood by her. In the years since then, she’d earned the respect of the other villagers – the tenants, the families in trade. The people she’d once thought beneath her socially had become dearer to her than her former friends.

  There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Heldt entered.

  “You’ve a visitor Miss Jane. Mr. Cantwell has come to call. But I can send him right away again.” With tightly pursed lips, there was no mistaking how Mrs. Heldt felt about the man. Jane shared her low opinion. But there were times when one had to rise above personal distaste.

  “I had best see him, Mrs. Heldt. Please send him in.”

  As Mrs. Heldt turned to let the man in, she found him already standing in the doorway. With a look of reproach, Mrs. Heldt stormed past Mr. Cantwell, pushed the door completely open, then left the room.

  Mr. Cantwell strode in, much like a dog who’d sighted a fallen steak. By outward appearance, he was a good-looking man, with curly blonde hair and clothes that were the height of fashion. By way of personality, he was one of the more despicable men Jane had ever encountered.

  “Jane, how lovely you look today,” he said bowing, the better to stare at the faded dress stretched tight across her bosom.

  “Mr. Cantwell,” she said with a quick and shallow curtsy, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Does there have to be a reason, dear Jane? Or can’t an old friend simply wish to stop and see you?”

  Mr. Cantwell looked meaningfully at the chair in front of Jane’s desk.

  Without much of a choice, Jane asked him to be seated.

  “I know you would offer me tea, except as a gentleman I couldn’t accept such a gesture given your reduced circumstances.”

  Jane gritted her teeth, wishing she could offer him tea if only to dump the entire scalding pot in his lap.

  “I bring you glad tidings from your dear grandfather.”

  That wasn’t a good sign. Jane knew Cantwell and the earl had long been in collusion when it came to her situation, but to think they’d recently conferred was worrisome.

  “You’ll be relieved to know the earl is quite well.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.” Jane rose to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. Cantwell for bringing me this news, but if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my work.”

  Mr. Cantwell remained seated. “But I’ve come to talk about your work, dear Jane. It’s all but common knowledge that your living conditions have deteriorated to such an extent that soon your creditors will be at your door demanding payment. Unfortunately, even I will need to be repaid, as much as it grieves me to broach the unpleasant topic.”

  Before Mr. Cantwell’s true nature had been revealed, Jane had made the mistake of borrowing £100 from him, necessary at the time because of an outbreak of fever in the village. Jane had needed to purchase medicine and Mr. Cantwell had been so willing to help. She just hadn’t known how he’d expected to be repaid.

  “I promise you, Mr. Cantwell…”

  “Evan, please.”

  “I promise to repay you as soon as I can. I expect my stipend to arrive shortly and will pay you as much as I am able.”

  “Oh, Jane,” he tsked. “You know as well as I that the earl holds the purse strings. Your stipend has already been reduced so much it’s a wonder you can make ends meet. If you didn’t have the pittance those peasants gave you, you wouldn’t have anything to eat at all. But, dear girl, just say the word and you won’t just have a full larder, you’ll have jewels and anything else your heart desires.”

  He was on his feet now, walking toward her.

  “I wonder, Mr. Cantwell, if the earl knows of the indecent propositions you’ve presented me with these many months.”

  Mr. Cantwell’s magnificent looks turned quite ugly.

  “He knows, my dear Jane, and couldn’t care less. Who else would have you? Who would come near the fallen woman with the bastard child?”

  Jane came out from behind her desk and slapped him across the face.

  “You will never use that word in my hearing again.”

  Cantwell brought his hand to his cheek to soothe the sting. His eyes were filled with anger and the flash of an emotion that chilled Jane completely.

  “I’ll do as I please, and you should take care to remember that,” he said. “The earl and I are coming to an understanding. One you’ll be in no position to ignore. It would be in your best interest to remain on my good side.”

  Then he turned and stalked toward the door. Just as he reached it, he turned and said with deadly calm, “Do not ever strike me again.”

  Jane knew it was a warning she’d be smart to heed.

  London, Lynwood House

  The Duke of Lynwood returned to town shortly after noon, with Elizabeth and an army of servants in tow. No sooner had Heskiss the butler opened the door, welcoming his grace and Lady Elizabeth back to town, than the mood of the entire mansion changed to one of absolute respect and solemnity among the servants, and apprehension for everyone else. At least it was apprehension for Ned. His other two brothers had yet to make an appearance that day.

  The Duke of Lynwood walked through the door, covered in a fine layer of travel dust that couldn’t mar the elegance of his blue superfine jacket, buff breeches and Hessians that still shone beneath the dirt. Broad shouldered and a few inches above six feet tall – but still an inch shorter than Arthur – Lynwood was an intimidating presence whenever he entered a room. None of his siblings were truly cowed by him, of course, but they had a sixth sense of just when to be wary.

  He was also blessed with impeccable timing, arriving just moments before Ned would’ve been on his way to White’s.

  “Ned!” said Elizabeth as she raced to him. In public, she personified the grace of her class, but no one had been able to tame her spirits at home.

  Ned personally thought that was a very good thing.

  “It’s good to see you, Lizzie,” he said as he gave her a hug.

  Lynwood raised a brow at his sister’s nickname, one he’d been trying unsuccessfully for years to suppress.

  “On your way out, Edward?” asked Lynwood.

  “Yes, just on my way to White’s.”

  “But you will be back to dine with us, won’t you?” asked Lizzie. “It’s been so long since we all had a meal together.”

  “Do dine with us tonight, Edward. Then I should like to have a word with you in private.”

  “I hope it’s not about the awful Miss Merriman,” said Lizzie.

  “Elizabeth,” said Lynwood, imparting each syllable with a crystal of ice, “it is ill-bred to speak of others in such a way.”

  “You’re correct, Liam,” she said with eyes that sparkled, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  “Elizabeth….”

  “I know, I know. Have your word about the awful Miss Merriman. I’m off to find those other two reprobates.” She bussed Ned on the cheek, then for good measure did the same to Liam, before running up the stairs.

  “Perhaps we should speak now, Edward.”

  “You don’t want to wash the travel dust from you, first?”

  “Only to return and find you gone? I think not. My study. A tea tray, if you please, Heskiss.”

  “As you wish, your grace.” Heskiss bowed graciously, then signaled for tea.

  Ned followed his brother into the study. Liam sat at his desk, which was never a good sign. Ned took a seat facing him.

  The tea tray arrived. Liam took a cursory look at the correspondence on his desk as he waited for Heskiss to serve. Once the butler departed, he began.
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  “What are your plans for the future?”

  “So this is about Miss Merriman.”

  “This is about no one but you, Edward. You are nine and twenty, returned from service to King and country. Service that I understand you do not wish to continue, am I correct?”

  Ned nodded.

  “You have played man about town for six months, but now it is time to settle your future.”

  “At the risk of impertinence, which, of course, I would never attempt…”

  “Of course.” There was just the slightest curve to Liam’s lips.

  “You are three years older than I and Lynwood. Why shouldn’t you be the first to settle your future?”

  “If I were the one who had an understanding with Miss Merriman, then I would settle my future,” said the duke. “But for whatever reason, you are the son our parents chose to match with Lord Barrington’s daughter. I do not force you into any decision, but know only this: If you choose to end it, you must ensure there is no embarrassment to the lady or her family.”

  “I understand.”

  “And there is no more time for you to skirt the issue.”

  “I plan to address the issue when Barrington and his family return to town.”

  “I had a feeling you might. Which is why I accepted their longstanding invitation to visit on your behalf. You are expected in Marston Vale the day after tomorrow.”

  “I cannot possibly go there so quickly. I have untold appointments to see to for the next several weeks.”

  “I’m sure you do. I’m equally certain Arthur and Hal will entertain each of your untold appointments to the mutual satisfaction of everyone concerned, but mostly theirs. You are going to Marston Vale.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Marston Vale, Bedfordshire

  “La, Mr. Warren, I’m sure you exaggerate my charms,” said the Honorable Madeleine Merriman, eldest daughter of Viscount Barrington. Miss Merriman had strawberry blonde curls artfully arranged, courtesy of overused ironing tongs and an overworked maid. Her cheeks glowed with youth and the lightest touch of rouge. Her long lashes framed big blue eyes that could be lowered at just the right angle for flirtation or narrowed to slits when striking out at the perpetually harassed maid.

  Miss Merriman was indeed lovely, but ran no chance of ever underestimating her own beauty, charm or intelligence.

  Today she was surrounded by three of the most eligible bachelors in the region. Oliver Warren, third son of an earl, Colin Rutherford, nephew of a marquis, though unfortunately not in a direct line to inherit and childhood friend Wills Overton, vaguely connected to a baronet. Madeleine and Wills had grown up together and their favorite pastime was gossip.

  “Fair lady, how could I ever exaggerate your charms when you are perfection itself?” Warren brought her fingers to his lips, while Wills smirked at Madeleine, who discreetly winked back.

  “I hear tell there will be a country ball,” sniffed Rutherford. He’d been rusticating on an extended stay at Warren’s house and had taken every opportunity to show his distaste for the very countryside currently giving him shelter from what rumor said – via Wills – were some rather angry money lenders in London.

  “I’m sure I’ve never heard of a more unamusing way to pass the time,” said Madeleine, “although I shall most likely be forced to make an appearance, given my standing in the village.”

  “I should never think of such a thing as you going to a dance with locals,” sniffed Rutherford.

  “But you see,” said Wills, “it won’t just be locals in attendance. I’ve heard tell that no less a personage than the brother of a duke will be there.”

  That got the other men’s attention. Rutherford went so far as to open his eyes almost all the way.

  “Lord Edward Kellington is coming,” explained Wills in response to the unasked question. “He and Madeleine are all but engaged, doncha know.”

  This was unwelcome news indeed for the other two gentlemen. Warren started so suddenly the starched points on his high collar scraped his cheeks and Rutherford, with pockets to let and Miss Merriman so nicely dowered, looked like he’d been served a supper of lemons.

  “All but engaged is not engaged,” said Madeleine sweetly, to the obvious relief of Warren and Rutherford. “The man has been most inattentive and shall have to prove his love to me, for I will not marry without it.” She knew this to be an absolute falsehood, of course, but an aura of mystery was so very important.

  “But how could a gentleman not love you, Miss Merriman?” asked Warren.

  “Indeed, I should find it most impossible to resist your charm, if given even half a chance,” said Rutherford, hoping he wasn’t too late to stake a claim.

  “All I can say, gentleman, is we shall see what we shall see.”

  And with that pearl of wisdom, the Honorable Madeleine Merriman turned and walked back to the house.

  * * *

  Ned was struck by the phenomenon that the amount of time it took to travel a certain distance was inversely proportionate to how badly you wished to reach your destination. When returning from his last mission to Italy and anxious to get home, the journey had dragged unmercifully. The trip from London to Marston Vale, however, had sped by. He’d been plagued by dry roads, few carriages to impede his way and nary a highwayman. Even his black stallion Knightley – named by Elizabeth in a fit of whimsy – had seemed in a hurry to arrive.

  It was a sad day when a man couldn’t trust his horse.

  Ned had crossed into Marston Vale some time ago, but had no idea where Barrington Manor lay. Perhaps he’d become hopelessly lost and a reprieve would be granted after all.

  Just then he heard someone scream in pain and saw several farmers running toward a man who’d fallen. On instinct, he sent Knightley over the hedge then raced toward them.

  He was still several lengths away when he saw the blood. The man’s lower body was covered in it. If help didn’t arrive soon, he could very well bleed to death.

  Ned quickly dismounted. “What happened?” he asked the others.

  “I didn’t see what happened,” said an older man. “But I heard the cry and come runnin’. Sent me grandson for help.”

  Ned pulled off his cravat. “We’ll need to stanch the wound until a surgeon arrives. Has he far to come?”

  The other men looked at each other, then the old man spoke again. “The surgeon won’t come, m’lord. We haven’t the means to pay.”

  “That’s barbaric,” said Ned as he pressed his cravat on the wound. “I hope your grandson makes him come.”

  “But Tom isn’t fetching the surgeon.”

  “Then who the devil is coming?”

  As if in response, Ned heard a horse galloping toward them, but his view of the rider was blocked by the men standing around them.

  “Help is come, m’lord. Thank God.”

  “You’ve not a moment to waste,” said Ned as he looked up at the newcomer. Then everything inside him stilled as he stared into the brown eyes of the woman who’d haunted his dreams these past seven years.

  * * *

  When Jane received word a farmer had been injured, she grabbed her well-stocked satchel, then rode out on the horse Farrell had saddled for her. They were actions she’d taken so many times in the past, she barely had to think about them. But nothing could’ve prepared her for the shock of seeing Lord Edward Kellington – Ned – for the first time in seven years. She recovered as best she could, then sank to her knees on the other side of the injured man.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Looks to have cut himself with the scythe,” said the old farmer. “But his lordship there showed up and looks to have stopped the bleeding.”

  Jane put her hand on the bandage Ned still held. Her fingers brushed against his and she pulled back her hand as if scalded. “Hold the corner of the bandage,” she told him breathlessly. “I’m going to see how deep the wound is.”

  Ned did as he was told, unable to take his eyes off
the top of her head as she peered beneath the bandage. She was avoiding looking at him. Good, he thought. Let her bear a small fraction of the discomfort he was feeling.

  “Seth,” she told the old man. “Please fetch my satchel. Lord Edward, when I pull my hand out, press down on the bandage as hard as you can. Don’t worry, Michael,” she said to the wounded man, “you’ll be fine. It’s not nearly as bad as it seems. Although I’m afraid you’ve ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers.”

  The man smiled weakly at her jest, looking relieved.

  “Here you go, Miss Jane, here’s your satchel.”

  Interesting, thought Ned, as he watched her pull needle, thread and the familiar Scots whiskey out of the bag.

  “Your name is Jane?” he asked.

  Nonplussed by the question, she nearly dropped the needle. She gave a curt nod, then turned once again to her patient. “Michael, I need you to take a rather large swallow of the whiskey. Perhaps two to be on the safe side. Can you do that for me?”

  “Aye. It’s the first good thing to happen since I stuck meself.”

  “I’m afraid your good luck won’t last. I need to clean the wound with the whiskey, then stitch you up. It will likely sting a bit. Or worse.”

  “Do what you must, Miss Jane. I’m just thanking the good Lord you’re here.”

  Turning back to Ned, she told him to hold Michael down with one hand, then pull back the bandage with the other. When he did, she poured half the bottle on the wound, then soaked the needle and thread in the liquid.

  As Jane began to stitch, Ned was fascinated by her calm precision, coupled with the almost constant conversation she kept up with the man. He knew first-hand how skilled she was as a surgeon, but it was the way she worked to keep the man’s fears at bay that told him a great deal about her.

  Half an hour later, Jane was finished, and the other men had helped a rather tipsy Michael – who’d had a few more swallows of her Scots whiskey – onto a cart for the journey home. She was left in the field alone with Edward.