“Thank you for taking such good care of the children while I talked to Miss Broomfield, Rebecca and Josephine.”
“You are most welcome, my lady.” Rebecca Hall cast an apprehensive glance at the teacher. “I did my best, but—”
“That’s enough, Rebecca. You can resume marking the spelling tests.” Miss Broomfield reclaimed her cane and took up her position in front of the suddenly attentive and silent children. “We shall continue with our recitation. Good day, Lady Kurland.”
Having been summarily dismissed, Lucy returned to the carriage and allowed Mr. Coleman to hand her into her seat. She would have to talk to Robert about Miss Broomfield. She didn’t believe the woman had the right characteristics to be in charge of young, impressionable minds. Her obvious sneering at those less well educated or fortunate than herself had not won Lucy’s approval. As her husband held far more outlandish notions about educating the masses than Lucy did, she assumed he might want to reconsider his decision.
Lucy sank back against the cushions of the carriage and contemplated the leaden skies. There was definitely a hint of frost in the air and a breath of winter rolling in across the barren fields. She acknowledged the curtsies and pulled forelocks of the villagers as she drove down the main street, but didn’t stop to talk to anyone, which was unlike her. In truth, she was exhausted, and if she wished to be a competent hostess to her afternoon guests, she would need to resort to a restorative nap.
Both Grace Turner and Dr. Fletcher had insisted that she needed to eat more, but her appetite had deserted her. She shivered as the carriage turned out of the village street and onto the road that led to the gates of Kurland Hall. Perhaps it was time to abandon the gig and ask Mr. Coleman to bring out the older, more comfortable closed carriage.
“Almost home, my lady,” Coleman called out as they turned into the elm-lined drive up to the hall.
“Thank you.”
She caught glimpses of the back of the hall, which still displayed its timber-framed Elizabethan origins, through the bare trees before the carriage came around to the front entrance, which had been modified and modernized by Robert’s father. Due to five hundred years of familial meddling, the interior of the hall was somewhat confusing. Occasionally, guests ended up in the wrong wing of the house or had to be rescued by the staff.
Robert loved his family home and refused to admit it could be improved upon. Despite the fact that her father had knocked down the medieval rectory and had rebuilt it in modern, Adam-style square stone, Lucy secretly preferred the hall. If Robert did not have an heir, five hundred years of continual occupation of the hall by the Kurland family would come to an end, and his cousin, Paul, a despicable rake who had been banished from the country, stood to inherit everything.
Lucy shuddered at the thought as she stepped out of the carriage to find Foley already opening the front door. It was her duty to provide her husband with an heir, and so far, she had failed him.
“Welcome back, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Lucy removed her gloves as she stepped inside. “I’m going to speak to Mrs. Cooper, and then I’ll be going up to my bedchamber. Ask Betty to attend me there.”
“Yes, my lady.” Foley took her gloves. “I shall find her immediately.”
* * *
By three o’clock, Lucy was sitting in her drawing room, pouring tea for her guests, who included her sister, Anna; Penelope Fletcher; and Sophia.
Foley appeared at the door and announced new arrivals with all the formality of a county ball.
“Mr. Nicholas Jenkins and Mrs. Jenkins, my lady.”
Lucy rose to greet her elderly guest and led her toward the chair closest to the fire. “Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Jenkins. Would you care for some tea?”
“I’d prefer something stronger.” Mrs. Jenkins winked at Lucy. “Hot whiskey and ginger would certainly help my sore throat.”
“I’ll tell Foley to bring you a glass immediately.” Lucy spoke to Foley and then paused by Nicholas Jenkins, who had stopped to talk to Anna. “Thank you for bringing your grandmother, Nicholas.”
“My pleasure, my lady.” He bowed over her hand. “I am always her willing servant.”
Anna touched his sleeve. “I will escort your grandmother home today and save you another trip.”
Nicholas smiled down at Lucy’s sister. He was a tall young man with a pleasant face and dark brown eyes. “You are all that is considerate, Miss Anna. I will look forward to your arrival.” He winked at her. “And mayhap persuade you to stay awhile and enjoy our company at dinner.”
Anna smiled back. “Thank you, Nicholas, but I have to be home this evening. My father is anxious to discuss the arrangements for the Christmas church services.”
“Another time, then.”
Anna moved away to speak to Mrs. Jenkins, leaving Lucy the only one to see the frustration on Nicholas’s face. Impulsively, Lucy lowered her voice.
“Don’t give up on her quite yet, Mr. Jenkins.”
“I won’t.” He sighed. “But I must confess that sometimes I wish your father to the devil.”
“I quite understand the sentiment,” Lucy said.
“She won’t leave him,” Nicholas continued, his gaze fixed on Anna. “And I am at a loss of how to persuade her otherwise.”
“We will think of something.” Lucy patted his sleeve. “Do not despair.”
She accompanied him to the door and met Foley, who was returning with more guests.
“Mrs. Greenwell, Miss Greenwell, and Miss Amanda Greenwell, my lady,” Foley puffed.
Nicholas bowed to the new arrivals. “Good afternoon.”
The older daughter, Margaret, held out her gloved hand and pouted. “You are leaving? But I have just arrived.”
Lucy glanced at Miss Greenwell, aware of her coquettish tone and fluttering eyelashes. Was it possible that Anna had competition for the village’s most eligible bachelor?
“Alas, I must depart.” Nicholas kissed Miss Greenwell’s hand and stepped back. “I do apologize. I have some errands to run for my grandmother.”
He nodded at Lucy and set off down the hallway. He had certainly matured during his years in London and was far more formidable than Lucy remembered. If there was a way to extricate Anna from the rectory, Lucy was certain he would find it.
“What a shame Mr. Jenkins couldn’t stay,” Mrs. Greenwell commented as Lucy led her into the drawing room. “He is such a pleasant gentleman, and so attentive to his grandmother.”
“Indeed.” Lucy settled the ladies on the couch, next to Sophia. “His parents died when he was quite young, and Mrs. Jenkins brought him up when he wasn’t at boarding school.”
“I know it was a delightful surprise to find such an eligible gentleman in such a rural location.” Mrs. Greenwell smiled at her daughters. “I believe Margaret finds herself to have much in common with him.”
Lucy looked around the room to ascertain exactly where Anna was, and then leaned closer to Mrs. Greenwell. “I have a suspicion that Mr. Jenkins has set his sights on my sister, Anna.”
“She is quite beautiful,” Mrs. Greenwell agreed with a sigh. “But he has not made a formal application for her hand yet, has he?”
“I don’t believe he has.”
Mrs. Greenwell visibly brightened. “Then perhaps when he is given the opportunity to spend more time with my Margaret, he might change his mind.”
Lucy couldn’t blame her for her optimism. Marrying off one’s daughters was a primary concern of any loving mother. She doubted the Greenwells had the resources to afford a London Season for either of their daughters, so they had to be content with attending county balls and meeting young men at their neighbors’ houses.
While she might sympathize with their plight, she had no intention of allowing Margaret Greenwell to monopolize Nicholas Jenkins. Anna deserved to marry a man who not only had loved her for years but was also the heir to a viscount.
“Good afternoon, Lady Kurland.”
Lucy turned to find one more guest slipping unobtrusively into the drawing room.
“Josephine, how nice to see you. Did you accompany the Greenwells?”
“Yes, my lady.” She curtsied.
The girl still wore the drab blue muslin dress and pinafore she had worn earlier at the school. Lucy wasn’t quite certain of the relationship between the Greenwells and Josephine Blake, who acted as a part-time companion to their daughters, as well as carried out her duties at the school.
It was Lucy who had persuaded Robert to offer the paid position to Josephine. She knew how hard it was to live on the charity of others and hoped the money Josephine received gave her at least a small measure of independence. Not that the Greenwells appeared to mistreat her. They just made if obvious that Josephine was not to be considered a young lady at home or as part of their immediate family.
Rebecca Hall, the other girl who worked at the school, was from the large family who operated the remaining smithy in the village. She had marched up to Kurland Hall and had stated that she didn’t want to go into service and wanted to keep learning. Impressed by her desire to improve herself, Robert had not hesitated in offering Rebecca employment, as well.
“Come and sit down, Josephine. You must be worn out after working at the school.”
“Worn out?” Mrs. Greenwell looked up. “She only has to assist Miss Broomfield, Lady Kurland. It is hardly an onerous task.”
Lucy smiled at her guest. “Just the mere thought of dealing with a dozen children makes me tired. I was at the schoolhouse this morning. I have nothing but admiration for anyone who undertakes such a task.”
Margaret shuddered. “I would not step foot in there. Those children smell quite dreadful, and I suspect some of them have fleas.”
Anna spoke up before Lucy could open her mouth. “That’s because they often do not have access to those things you take for granted, Miss Greenwell, such as hot water to wash in, spare clothes and boots, and sometimes even enough to eat,” she said. “Come and sit with me, Josephine, and I’ll pour you some tea.”
“Don’t encourage her to sit, Miss Harrington!” Mrs. Greenwell’s laugh was patently false. “She’ll fall asleep, and then where will we all be? I thought she could take notes about the meeting and be helpful, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought her with us.”
Josephine stepped back so fast, she collided with Lucy. “I’m quite happy to offer my services.”
“I accept your offer with gratitude, but first sit down and have some tea while I gather my thoughts.” Lucy said.
Lucy took hold of Josephine’s elbow and steered her over to where Anna was sitting. Anna patted the spot on the couch next to her, and Josephine sat down, casting a wary glance over at Mrs. Greenwell, who was still smiling, if a little rigidly. Knowing that Josephine was in safe hands, Lucy turned her attention to the rest of her guests and made sure they were all supplied with sufficient tea, coffee, and the delightful little cakes Cook had sent up from the kitchen.
When everyone was settled, she cleared her throat. “Shall we begin our meeting?”
Josephine went to sit at Lucy’s desk and took up her pen expectantly.
“Thank you all so much for joining me.” Lucy smiled at her assembled guests. “Firstly, Sir Robert and I have decided to hold a ball on Christmas Eve.”
Mrs. Jenkins spoke up. “How lovely! And how very kind of you both.”
“I am looking forward to it already!” Margaret exclaimed to her sister.
“We have also decided to hold a dance for our estate workers and the villagers, with games and presents for all the children.”
“A very worthy cause.” Anna clapped her hands. “How can we help?”
Lucy unrolled her list. “I have jotted down a few suggestions, and I would certainly value everyone’s assistance. Perhaps we might start with the more practical arrangements and move on from there?”
An hour later, after all the women had spoken up and agreed to provide what Lucy asked of them, she folded up her list.
“Thank you.” Lucy straightened her shoulders. “Now all that is required is for me to write out one hundred and fifty invitations and have them delivered in time.”
“I can help you with that,” Anna and Sophia both said at once.
“And I will send Dorothea to aid you, as well,” Penelope added. “She needs an occupation other than staring soulfully at the curate.”
“Speaking of letters . . .” Mrs. Jenkins opened her reticule. “I received one this morning that quite sent me into a flutter.”
“An invitation?” Lucy asked.
“No, a letter addressed to me, with no return address. It was most impertinent!” Mrs. Jenkins held it out to Lucy. “Please read it to everyone and save my eyes.”
Lucy put on her spectacles, unfolded the single sheet of paper, and read aloud. “Your grandson is a libertine and a thief. Beware this snake in your bosom!”
Lucy lowered the paper to stare at her elderly guest. The tone of the letter reminded her of the note she’d received that morning. “What a ridiculous and hurtful thing to say! I do hope you paid no heed to such nonsense.”
Mrs. Jenkins patted her ample bosom. “I must say it did give me something of a turn. Why would anyone say such a nasty thing? Nicholas is neither a thief nor a libertine.”
“He is a most upstanding gentleman,” Anna spoke up.
“No one would believe anything other than that.” She went to sit in the chair beside Mrs. Jenkins. “Please, my dear, ma’am, do not concern yourself with such nonsense. Someone was clearly attempting a horrible joke at your expense. I have no idea why.”
Mrs. Jenkins dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “But there were rumors that he misbehaved when he was in London. You know that yourself, Miss Anna. In truth, you—”
Anna quickly interrupted the old lady. “I did nothing of any import. Nicholas was young and learned from his mistakes. I have complete confidence in his integrity.”
Margaret sniffed and whispered rather loudly to her sister, “As if she would be privy to Mr. Jenkins’s innermost thoughts.”
Lucy glanced at the sisters, but as Anna didn’t seem to have heard the unkind comment, she decided not to say anything. Margaret reminded Lucy of Penelope at her most waspish.
“I would take no heed of that letter, Mrs. Jenkins,” Lucy said firmly. “Did you mention it to your grandson?”
“No. I received it only this morning.”
“Then I wouldn’t bother him with it. The sooner such nonsense is ignored, the sooner it will go away.” It was good advice. Now she needed only to apply it to herself. “Of course, if you receive any more correspondence in the same hand and in the same mean-spirited manner, then please do share it with us, and I will confer with Sir Robert. He takes a very dim view of such matters, I assure you.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Jenkins put her handkerchief away. “I must confess it did give me rather a start, but I cannot believe ill of my dearest grandson.”
Lucy looked at Anna. “Perhaps you might escort Mrs. Jenkins home and stay with her until Mr. Jenkins returns?”
“I would be delighted to do that, ma’am.” Anna stood and reached down to clasp the older woman’s hand and help her to her feet. “Foley has already arranged for the carriage to be brought around to the front door, so we can leave at your convenience.”
“Then we’ll be off immediately. It looks like it might rain.” Mrs. Jenkins said her good-byes to the ladies, gathered her reticule, cloak, and walking cane, and was escorted tenderly down the stairs by Foley and Anna.
The Greenwell ladies also rose and approached Lucy.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Kurland,” Mrs. Greenwell said. “I am certain that Mr. Greenwell will be delighted to help out with the servants’ party. He holds some rather advanced views about the equality of man.”
“As does Sir Robert,” Lucy countered. “It sounds as if they will deal extremely well together.”
“I do hope Mr. Jenkins will attend the ball,” Margaret Greenwell said.
“I am fairly certain he will,” Lucy agreed. “He is most particular in his attentions to his grandmother and to those he considers friends.”
“So I understand.” Margaret sighed. “I wish I had thought to escort Mrs. Jenkins home. It was a remarkably clever move.”
Lucy stiffened. “Anna and Mrs. Jenkins are old friends. They deal extremely well together.”
“According to local gossip, Miss Harrington is all goodness, apparently.” Margaret’s smile disappeared.
“As she is my sister, I can confirm that she is indeed the kindest person I have ever met. It was my suggestion that she should accompany Mrs. Jenkins, not hers. She is not the kind of person to put herself forward.” Lucy held the younger woman’s gaze until Margaret blushed and looked away.
Mrs. Greenwell cleared her throat. “We should be going. My husband does not like to keep the horses out in such chilly weather.”
“Then I shall escort you to your carriage.” Lucy opened the door into the hallway.
She waited until the Greenwells’ carriage pulled away before she slowly returned to the drawing room, where Sophia awaited her. Would it be possible to speak to her dearest friend without mentioning what had happened to prevent her much longed-for visit to London the previous summer?
Lucy hesitated in the doorway, but Sophia was already closing the distance between them, her expression concerned and her eyes full of tears. Sophia held out both her hands and took hold of Lucy’s.
“Oh, my dear Lucy, Penelope told me your news. I am so sorry, my friend. Why did you not write and tell me?”
“I thought it would be better to tell you in person, although I see that Penelope has been busy gossiping instead.”
Lucy allowed herself to be maneuvered over to the couch and sat stiffly beside Sophia.
Death Comes to the School Page 3
