The Lady’s Secret

by Joanna Chambers

  “I would fetch you some punch,” Georgy added, “but no one dares approach the tables yet. I presume we are waiting for Mrs. Watt and Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Them and his lordship,” Annie said. “The earl and his mother come for the first hour. We can have fun once they’re gone.”

  Before Georgy could respond, the doors opened again and in swept Mrs. Watt and Mr. Jenkins, side by side.

  “Good evening,” Mr. Jenkins announced, silencing the babbling of the gathered servants. “I see you are all ready to celebrate. We will be able to enjoy ourselves presently. However, in a very few minutes, his lordship will be coming down with some of his guests. I would therefore ask you all to line up here beside me to greet his lordship.”

  The joyous atmosphere diminished somewhat. Everyone shuffled forward, forming two lines in the middle of the ballroom, men at the back, women at the front. Like a lot of prize sheep, Georgy thought irritably.

  They waited. And waited. A full quarter hour passed before the sound of approaching footsteps was heard outside. And then the door swept open and the masters and mistresses arrived, a chattering, confident crowd of stylish aristocrats. Come to gawk at their social inferiors, Georgy thought sourly.

  Lady Dunsmore was at the head of them, stately in a dark blue gown, tall silver plumes nodding on her head. Dunsmore walked behind her, tall and pale and thin, with a deep widow’s peak. Dressed all in black, he appeared as sombre as a priest.

  Behind these two, another dozen guests chattered brightly, casting curious looks at the rigidly arranged partygoers. Harland was among them, looking rich and untouchable in his fine clothes, the ruby pin like a like a drop of rich red blood in the folds of his cravat.

  Georgy glanced at Tilly Brown. Some of the brightness had gone out of her eyes, and Georgy knew that no matter how fine the girl had felt when she first came down, the sight of the lady guests in their superior gowns and towering plumes had made her feel dowdy and ordinary again. Georgy felt an urge to turn on her heel and stalk out, to shout Stuff your bloody party! at Lady Dunsmore, and to throw a meat pie at the head of her master, Lord Harland, who was twirling a quizzing glass in his right hand by its black silk ribbon and looking around him with an amused expression.

  Beautiful, privileged peacock.

  And in that moment Georgy desperately didn’t want to be a servant. Not a servant, and not one of them either. She wanted to be separate from all these hierarchies. She felt a longing for the egalitarian world of her childhood and that surprised her a little, because despite being brought up in the theatre, she sometimes felt out of step there too.

  Theatre people tended to love the theatre with all their hearts. Georgy did not. She liked it well enough, but sometimes she longed for a different sort of life. When she was feeling honest, she admitted to herself that part of the allure of claiming her birthright was the prospect of discovering what that different life might be.

  “Good evening, all of you,” Dunsmore said. His guests fell quiet behind him. “I hope you do not mind us intruding. My mother and I wanted to come down to wish you all a very merry Christmas personally, and to express our thanks for your hard work this past year.” He paused and smiled, but looked uncomfortable and stiff. It amazed her that this man was her flesh and blood, the haughty woman at his side her aunt by marriage.

  “If you don’t mind,” Dunsmore was saying, “we will join you all for a few dances. And then we shall leave you to your celebrations.” He stepped forward. “Mrs. Watt, would you do me the honour?”

  Mrs. Watt inclined her head and stepped forward.

  Lady Dunsmore did not wait to be asked to dance. She turned an imperious look upon Mr. Jenkins, who obediently stepped forward to offer an arm.

  After that, the guests quickly married up with servants and formed sets. The rest of the male guests turned first to the ladies’ maids, but Harland stalked over to a plain-looking scullery maid who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, bestowing upon her the full glory of his smile as he requested that she dance with him. Typical of Harland to buck the trend and go his own way, Georgy thought. But the corner of her mouth tugged upwards because it was kind of him and the scullery maid was bursting with pleasure.

  Georgy turned her head to look for Tilly to find a woman standing in her path, an attractive woman of about thirty-five with reddish hair and a rather daring gown of gold silk and gauze. She raised an imperious eyebrow at Georgy and waited.

  “Would you care to dance, ma’am?” Georgy asked as flatly as she dared. She saw, over the woman’s shoulder, that Tilly was joining a set with one of the male guests and throwing Georgy a rueful glance.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” the woman replied in a dry tone as she eyed Georgy up and down. Georgy proffered an arm and the woman laid her hand upon it. “I am Mrs. Marsh,” the woman said. “And you are?”

  “Mr. Fellowes, ma’am. Valet to Lord Harland.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fellowes. I wouldn’t have had you down as Harland’s. More Osborne’s sort of chap.” She smiled and Georgy noticed that her mouth was stained red with rouge. Some of the rouge had threaded upwards through hairline cracks in her upper lip. She ought to have powdered above her lip first to prevent the rouge bleeding, Georgy thought idly. Her gown was nice, though, albeit rather daring for this party. Georgy liked the stiff gold gauze; she wanted to touch it to check the quality. It looked expensive. Lady Dunsmore, who was in the set opposite them, glanced at Mrs. Marsh’s gown and frowned, and Georgy found herself deciding to like Mrs. Marsh, if she could.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t too hard. There was little opportunity for conversation but Mrs. Marsh’s comments, dropped in Georgy’s ear at each turn, were wryly entertaining.

  “I’ll bet you’re delighted that we came down to spoil your party,” she said at the first turn.

  Then she added, “Don’t worry, though—we’re all going to be dragged upstairs before we get a chance to enjoy ourselves very much. You’ll soon be able to have fun.” Then, “Not that it’s not tempting to stay.” She gave Georgy an assessing glance. “Do you like women, Mr. Fellowes?”

  “I like both men and women,” Georgy said on the next turn, deadpan. “They each have their virtues.”

  “Oh I agree,” Mrs. Marsh said, her eyes flashing appreciatively. “And their own vices too. I think I rather prefer the vices, though. What do you think?”

  Georgy couldn’t suppress her laugh. It was something about Mrs. Marsh’s wicked smile and the way she said vices, with such biting relish. She reminded Georgy of Lily. Mrs. Marsh laughed too and suddenly, despite everything, Georgy felt lighthearted.

  Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off Fellowes. That hesitancy, that restraint he’d grown used to was not in her tonight. Her hair gleamed bright and lovely in the candlelight and her pale skin glowed. He was fascinated by her every movement, by the delicate strength of her figure as she danced, by her surprisingly expressive face. He kept imagining what it would be like to lay her bare and reveal the feminine curves her clothes concealed.

  He watched Lydia Marsh flirting with her, a secret smile tugging at her painted mouth. Fellowes didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the attention of the predatory older woman. She was meeting Lydia’s shameless flirting and matching it. Laughing with her. Could she really be a Sappho?

  Nathan forced his attention back to the plain little scullery maid—Polly—who was gazing up at him with a starry expression.

  “You dance very well, Polly,” he lied, smiling.

  “Thank you, m’lor’,” she whispered, and stumbled over his feet for the umpteenth time.

  He wished he could dance with Fellowes. A proper sight they’d be though, both of them in breeches. And maybe she’d want to lead? She was doing a good job of it, by the look of things.

  When the dance ended he bowed over Polly’s hand, escorted her to the refreshment table where her friends were waiting and insisted on fetching her a glass of punch before leaving her.
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  He danced for over an hour, and always his eyes kept going to Fellowes. He never saw her return his gaze even once. She seemed caught up in her own partners, her face bright and happy. Once they were in the same set and he heard her laugh—it was a surprise. Wonderfully infectious. And it wasn’t just her mouth that laughed, her eyes laughed too, her gaze fastening on her partner, inviting her to share her amusement. Just watching her laugh made the corners of his own mouth turn up.

  The more he saw of this hidden Fellowes, the more appealing he found her. He didn’t just want to uncover her body now. He wanted to uncover this bright, engaging woman, laying every part of her bare to his greedy gaze.

  He could have stayed at the servants’ ball all night—the entertainment that awaited him upstairs was dull indeed—but eventually it was time to go. Dunsmore stepped into the middle of the ballroom and made another dull little speech just like the first one, and they all had to troop back upstairs, leaving the sounds of the music and chatter and laughter behind them. Back to the cold drawing room, back to tepid tea, inferior brandy and possibly a game of charades.

  Nathan glanced over his shoulder as he left the hall. Fellowes was standing before a pretty girl in a green-and-yellow gown, bowing over her hand. He felt a moment’s amazement. How could the girl not see who stood before her?

  How had he not?

  Chapter 12

  Nathan woke in the early hours of Christmas morning to the sound of his bedchamber door creaking open.

  It was Fellowes, creeping back after the ball, holding a stub of candle in one hand and her shoes in the other. He lay still, watching her move silently past him.

  Her candle cast a dim glow around her that the soft darkness of the bedchamber all but robbed. She tiptoed to the dressing room, a barely illuminated figure. Most of what he could see of her was mere outline but one side of her pale face glowed dimly, like a sliver of moon.

  The door that connected the dressing room where Fellowes slept and Nathan’s bedchamber was wedged open by a valise she had left there earlier. She could not close the door without moving the heavy valise and probably could not move it without making a noise. She stood in the doorway, evidently considering what to do while he observed her from under half-mast eyelids. After half a minute she made her decision and walked into the dressing room without moving the valise.

  Nathan shifted his position as quietly as he could, manoeuvring his body so that he could see through the dressing room door. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and with the faint light from her candle, he could just make out what she was doing.

  She took off her coat—but nothing else—then sat down on the truckle bed and hugged her knees, yawning hugely. She was plainly tired, but she didn’t seem to be getting ready for bed. She wasn’t even lying down.

  She fidgeted for a minute or two before finally assuming a cross-legged position facing the open doorway. He couldn’t see her face in the dark, only the shape of her body sitting on the mattress, tailor-style. But it seemed to him that she observed him, that her attention was on his bed.

  A strange game, this veiled, mutual scrutiny.

  He lay as still as he could, making his breathing slow and rhythmic. It was surprisingly easy to resist sleep while he had her to look at. Despite her apparent exhaustion, she seemed to be purposefully staying awake. He watched for a long time, fascinated by her stillness. He considered pretending to wake and calling for her on some pretext.

  There came a point when the house went truly quiet. The profundity of this silence signalled that the house was finally asleep. The night had that barely-breathing quality that came only when everyone was in bed.

  All this time, Fellowes sat on the truckle bed, elbows resting on her knees. Nathan was beginning to wonder if he had it wrong and she’d fallen asleep in that position when her mattress creaked.

  She got up and knelt next to the bed. She seemed to be looking for something, and sure enough, when she stood again, she immediately tucked whatever it was into an inside pocket of her waistcoat. Having done that, she licked her thumb and forefinger, extinguishing her candle with the minimum of smoke.

  She walked back into the bedchamber, moving past him in the dark, an even dimmer figure this time. She paused next to his bed, going still again, and looked at him. He closed his eyes properly, feeling her attention like a physical sensation. And then she was moving again and he opened his eyes to see her heading for the door to the corridor.

  Where was she going?

  For a moment, he considered sitting up and stopping her. He teetered on the edge of it, but then she was out the door and away. He paused for another moment and then got up, lunging for the breeches he’d cast aside earlier.

  By the time he creaked the door open and poked his head outside, she was at the other end of the corridor, a flash of white disappearing round the corner. What the hell was she doing? He followed her on bare, silent feet.

  When he turned the corner, she was standing not ten feet away, trying the handle of a door. Whose? But the door did not open.

  Nathan held his breath, his heart beating a rapid tattoo. Surely she would come away now? She took a step back and he relaxed for an instant, but then he saw she was reaching inside her pocket and pulling something out. She leaned into the door, her back protecting what she was doing from his sight.

  But he knew—she was picking the lock. Oh, Christ. This was burglary, pure and simple. This was a crime. If she was caught… Well, Lady Dunsmore didn’t strike him as the type of woman to let theft go unpunished.

  He pushed himself away from the wall and began to move forward. Fellowes turned at the noise, her face rigid with shock. And at the same instant, a rumble of voices came from behind the door next to the one she stood in front of. Her gaze, which had been frozen in horror on Nathan, darted towards the new threat.

  Nathan knew, just before it happened, that the door was going to open. Someone was going to come out. That knowledge pushed him over the barrier of inertia. He walked forward and grabbed Fellowes by the shoulders, swinging her round and pushing her up against the opposite wall, covering her body with his own half-clad one, dipping his face to hers until their mouths almost touched, until they looked as though they were kissing in truth. His body pressed against hers, thigh to thigh, his groin against her belly, their breath mingling.

  “Don’t say anything!” he hissed at her.

  Behind him, he heard the sound of the door opening. She stared up at him with eyes gone huge and fearful.

  “Good God!” a man’s voice said.

  Nathan closed his eyes briefly then opened them again, turning to look over his shoulder, his expression as guilty as would be expected from a man in his position. Being caught like this, apparently with another man. Mere whispers of it would be enough to destroy his reputation. I must be mad.

  Mad—and lucky. Two figures stood in the open doorway behind him. One was Osborne. The other, astonishingly, was Dunsmore, wearing only his breeches. Osborne was in a state of undress too, his shirt loose and undone, his hair mussed. It was half past three in the morning and they looked as though they had been together for some time.

  Nathan stared at his friends and they stared back, Osborne warily, Dunsmore with horror. Nathan glanced back at Fellowes, whose gaze was fixed on her feet.

  He dropped his hand from the wall beside Fellowes’ head.

  “My apologies if we…disturbed you.” He inflected his voice just enough to make the point that they were as compromised by this situation as he. “Mr. Fellowes and I had a disagreement, but it is resolved now, so we will bid you good-night.”

  Dunsmore visibly swallowed. “There is no need to apologise, Harland,” he croaked. “Nor to speak of this again. I trust we understand one another.” Osborne said nothing.

  Nathan almost sagged with relief but somehow managed to maintain his careless demeanour. “Perfectly,” he said. “Good night.”

  He took Fellowes’ elbow roughly in his hand and
pulled her away from the wall. Unresisting, she allowed him to propel her down the corridor. He was conscious of the two sets of eyes fastened on them as they disappeared round the corner, and then of Osborne’s voice rumbling.

  Dunsmore and Osborne. He would never have imagined it. He’d always known Osborne preferred men, but Dunsmore? He was so conventional! And the two men didn’t even get on. But time enough to muse on that later.

  He pushed Fellowes onwards to his own bedchamber, yanked the door open and thrust her inside.

  “Light a candle,” he said roughly. She obeyed him, going straight to the dressing room. He heard her fumbling around for the tinder box. It was several minutes before she emerged, holding a candle in her shaking hand. She set it on the armoire then stood awkwardly, watching him with wary eyes. Nathan had been sitting on the bed but now he stood, stepping in front of her.

  “Nothing to say?” he said tautly.

  She looked at the ground, twisting her hands together. “I—I’m sorry. You must be wondering what I was doing.”

  He stared at her, waiting.

  “Thank you for—” She stopped, not seeming to know what to thank him for.

  “Saving you from prison?” he suggested. “Transportation? Christ almighty, what the hell were you doing?” He shook his head. “I don’t even know why I covered up for you! I must be mad. You’re obviously some sort of criminal.”

  “I’m not! Truly. I’m not. I—please, I beg you, my lord, do not hand me over. I swear that I had reason for what I was doing. I was not planning to steal—” She broke off, face flushed, her gaze pleading.

  “Why were you trying to break into the private rooms of my host? Tell me that.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “Oh god.” She was trembling. Her breath shuddered out.

  “You are going to have to give me an explanation,” he said.

  She dropped her hands from her face and looked up, panic in her eyes. “You would not believe me.”