by Royal, Emily
“Very well.”
She bobbed a curtsey, then left the room.
Yes—it would be better if she left for the country. Why, then, did he regret his decision to send her away?
Chapter Eleven
Meggie jerked awake. The carriage door opened to reveal a footman.
“Ma’am?”
She rubbed her eyes and sat up, stretching to ease the ache in her back.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“We’ve arrived,” he replied. “At Molineux Manor.”
Thank the Lord.
The journey had taken the better part of three days, and she’d had nothing but her own company to amuse herself with. In addition to the boredom, she’d battled the fear of being accosted on the open road. Tales of highwaymen had been rife in Blackwood Heath, and without her husband’s protection, she’d been convinced she wouldn’t survive the journey.
He must have given strict instructions to his servants, who almost continually checked on her and didn’t let her out of their sight. She even suspected they’d stood guard outside her room at each inn while she slept. The younger of the two had, that morning, looked like he was going to fall asleep.
She climbed out of the carriage. At least this time, she didn’t stumble. The memory of her arrival in London still stung. Only by virtue of her husband’s swift reaction, she’d avoided falling flat on her face on the pavement. As it was, she’d let slip a curse, incurring a hard stare from the butler and a disappointed sigh from her husband.
At least here, she wouldn’t be subject to his disappointment.
She drew in a breath of air and looked up at the building before her. A monstrosity of dark gray stone, it stretched almost as far as she could see. She’d never seen a structure so large.
And it was her new home.
Even to her untrained eye, she could tell the place had not been maintained. Ivy grew on the walls, thick tendrils surrounding the windows to choke the soul out of the building. The garden was overgrown—shaggy, unkempt bushes lining the perimeter—and weeds sprouted from the gravel drive.
It was as if the home had never known love.
The footman led her toward the main doors where a small group of servants stood in line. A young man stood at the end. With soft brown hair and a clear gaze, he gave her a bright smile. Beside him stood a young woman in a maid’s uniform. She cast him a look of devotion, then gave Meggie a nervous smile.
A plump woman stood at the far end, next to a tall, stiff-looking man dressed in black, who must be the butler. At a sharp word from the woman, the rest of the servants bowed and curtsied in unison.
“Welcome, ma’am,” she said. “I trust you had a good journey.”
Meggie dipped into a curtsey, and the woman’s eyes widened.
“Forgive me,” Meggie said. “I’m Mrs. Hart. I-I don’t know how to…”
“I understand, my dear,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Wells. Is the master with you?”
Meggie shook her head. “He’s still in London.” She gestured toward the building. “I didn’t expect it to be so large!”
Mrs. Wells smiled. “Of course not, my dear,” she said. “Neither did I.”
“You’ve not been here before?”
“The house was unoccupied until a fortnight ago,” Mrs. Wells said, “when the master took up the tenancy.”
“Oh!” Meggie exclaimed. “So that explains why…” she trailed off, embarrassed.
“Why the place is in a state of disrepair?” Mrs. Wells smiled. “The interior is in need of attention, and we don’t have a full complement of staff. Now that you’re here to direct me, we can make progress in time for when the master joins you.”
This woman, kind though she may be, clearly expected Meggie to act as lady of the manor, but Meggie knew nothing about such things. Would the servants soon show the same disappointment at her inadequacies as her husband did?
Mrs. Wells took Meggie’s hand. The butler cleared his throat, and she shot him a warning look.
“We’ll work it out together, shall we, my dear? I’m at your disposal. To take your instruction, but also to give guidance should you need it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “There’s nothing to fear from managing a large house. It’s the same as any home, only with a few extra rooms.”
Meggie looked into the woman’s eyes and saw nothing but kindness.
“Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” Mrs. Wells said. “Now, my dear, I suspect you’re exhausted after your journey, particularly if you’re unused to traveling. Perhaps some sweet tea? Mrs. Brown has a fruitcake freshly baked this morning. A slice would restore you, I’m sure. I’ll have it brought to your chamber.”
She led Meggie inside.
If the exterior emitted an air of gloom, the interior was no better. The hallway was all marble and polished metal—the epitome of elegance, and something Alderley and Elizabeth would relish. But to Meggie, there was no soul in the harsh, stern lines.
“Mama, mama!” Excited voices echoed, and two children appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Jack! Betsy!” Mrs. Wells cried. “Didn’t I tell you not to disturb me today? The mistress doesn’t want to see you abovestairs!”
“No, please,” Meggie said. “Let them.”
“It’s not done,” Mrs. Wells said.
“Did you not say I was to direct you?” Meggie asked.
The housekeeper’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“That I did, ma’am. I know you’re unused to the life of a lady, so I’ll help you all I can.”
“You know about me?”
Mrs. Wells had the grace to blush. “Begging your pardon, but circumstances such as yours attract the interest of people hereabouts.”
“You mean I’m the subject of gossip?”
“Not here, I assure you,” Mrs. Wells said. “I’ve instructed the household to give you the respect your position commands. But I’d advise you to maintain the distinction of rank between yourself and the tenants and servants. They’ll respect you all the more for it.”
The children approached Meggie. The boy looked up with expressive blue eyes, and the girl stood beside him, her thumb in her mouth.
Mrs. Wells gave a sharp sigh. “Jack, did you not hear me? The mistress doesn’t want you under her feet!”
“No, please, let them,” Meggie said. “I love children.” She addressed the boy. “Do you like it here?”
The boy grinned. “Oh, yes!” he said. “Since we arrived, I’ve eaten fruitcake every day.”
“Then I must have some with my tea if you recommend it so highly.”
“Run along now, Jack,” Mrs. Wells said. “The mistress is tired.”
“Perhaps you’ll take tea with me tomorrow,” Meggie said. “You can tell me all about this house. Are you taking lessons?”
“Mama has taught us how to read,” the boy said.
“And what about your numbers?”
He pulled a face. “I don’t like numbers.”
“Oh, that’s a shame!” Meggie exclaimed. “Numbers are so useful in everything we do. Perhaps, with your mama’s permission, I might teach you. I used to help out at a school where…where I lived before.”
“I don’t know…” Mrs. Wells said.
“Please,” Meggie said. “I want to be useful, to do something familiar, which…”
She broke off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
Something which I will not fail at.
A reassuring hand touched her arm. “Of course, my dear,” Mrs. Wells said. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon adapt to your life here. And now, you must rest. There’s nothing a pot of tea and a good night’s sleep cannot fix.”
She nodded to the children. “Run along, dears,” she said. “You can see the mistress in the morning. We must make her feel welcome. Sarah, see to it, would you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wells.” One of the maids took the children’s hands and led them away.
&
nbsp; Mrs. Wells took Meggie’s arm and escorted her upstairs. They stopped at a large paneled door, and she pushed it open.
“This is your chamber.”
The room was enormous. Dark wooden paneling lined the walls, absorbing the light. A stone fireplace occupied almost all of one wall. Red curtains lined the windows overlooking the estate. A pile of logs filled the fireplace. How much did it cost to heat a room of this size?
“I cannot stay here,” Meggie said. “Is there a smaller room I could have?”
“A smaller room?”
“This room doesn’t feel right.”
“But it’s yours,” the housekeeper said.
“Can’t I choose my own room?” Meggie asked. “This one’s so dark and gloomy.”
“I can put you in one of the guest rooms,” the housekeeper said. “But most of them overlook the woods. Don’t you want a view of the lake? It’s what Molineux Manor used to be admired for among society.”
“I don’t belong in society,” Meggie said.
“You do, Mrs. Hart,” the housekeeper said. “Nobody can dispute your right to be here.”
“Then nobody can dispute my right to choose my own room.”
The housekeeper sighed. “Very well, I’ll have Milly make up another room for you. Do you wish to rest here while you wait?”
At that moment, Meggie’s stomach groaned.
“Or, perhaps, you’d like to take supper? I can set a place for you in the dining room.”
“There’s no need to do that,” Meggie said. “I can eat in the kitchen.”
“It’s not done…”
“But it’s my decision.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Wells said. “Just this once. I’ll take you to the kitchen. By the time you’ve had your supper, the room will be ready.”
She closed the door, shutting out the chamber of darkness, and led Meggie back down the stairs.
The kitchen was generously sized. In fact, Mrs. Preston’s whole school building could have fit into it. The fireplace dominated the far wall, and copper pots and pans lined the walls, gleaming in the firelight.
A black cauldron hung over the fire at which a woman in a plain gown and smart apron stirred continuously. Two servants sat at the table in the center—the young man and woman who’d attracted Meggie’s interest when she arrived. The woman blushed when she saw Meggie, but the man stood and gave a warm smile, which she couldn’t help return.
“What’s the soup tonight, Mrs. Brown?” the housekeeper asked.
The woman at the cauldron turned and gave an exclamation when she saw Meggie.
“Oh, it’s the mistress!”
“Mrs. Hart will be taking her supper in the kitchen,” the housekeeper said.
The cook gave Meggie a curious expression, then waved her spoon at the couple at the table.
“Milly, Ralph, be off with you. You can eat later.”
“But…” the young woman protested.
“That’s enough, Milly!” the housekeeper said. “Come and help me with the mistress’s room.”
“But I’ve been preparing it all day,” Milly protested. “Is it not ready?”
“It’s not your place to question my orders,” Mrs. Wells said. “Come on!” The young woman’s mouth turned down in a sulk, but she rose to her feet.
“And you too, Ralph,” she added. “There’s plenty you can be doing in the stables while the mistress takes her supper.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Meggie said.
He smiled. “That’s very obliging of you.”
“Ralph!” Mrs. Wells said. “It’s not your place to address the mistress in such a familiar fashion.” She turned to Meggie. “It’s best this way, ma’am,” she said. “And the master would agree if he were here.”
“But he’s not here,” Meggie said.
The housekeeper nudged the young woman. “Come on, Milly. The sooner we’ve prepared the room, the sooner you can have your supper. It smells good. What is it, Mrs. Brown?”
“Beef and vegetable broth.”
The cook ladled out two bowls of soup and placed them on the table, together with two spoons and a bread plate.
Meggie picked up the bread and dipped it in the soup. The housekeeper gave a pointed cough. Meggie’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment as she recalled her first night in London and the footman’s contempt. She picked up the spoon.
The housekeeper nodded and smiled, then exited the kitchen, followed by Milly.
“Mrs. Brown makes the best soup out of London,” Ralph said. “Probably the best in the country.”
“Oh, stop it, Ralph!” Mrs. Brown laughed. “You’re a one. No wonder Milly’s so sweet on you.”
Ralph winked at Meggie, his blue eyes shining. He reminded her of the angel at her wedding. Mr. Peyton, though Ralph was perhaps a few years younger.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Now that Mrs. Wells is no longer here to admonish us, you can eat the soup how you’d like.”
“I’ll stick to the spoon,” Meggie said. “I am, after all, supposed to be mistress of the house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Another wink.
“What do you do here, Ralph?” Meggie asked.
“I’m head groom,” he replied, dipping bread into his soup.
“Is that like an ostler?” she asked, remembering the young lad who’d tended to the horses at the Rose and Crown.
“Better,” he said. “I’m in charge of the stables.”
A snort came from the fireplace. “In charge of yourself!” Mrs. Brown said. “Unless you count the horses, who don’t answer back.”
“When the estate’s fully staffed, I’ll have at least two stableboys under me,” Ralph said.
“So, you tend to the horses?” Meggie asked. “I didn’t know there were any.”
“We have nine.”
“So many?”
“Six for the coach, plus the master’s stallion, the steward’s gelding, and a mare,” Ralph said. “Do you ride?”
“No,” Meggie said.
“I could teach you. The mare has a good temperament. She’ll do for you.”
Meggie shook her head. “I don’t think it would be proper.”
“A lady should know how to ride. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Brown?”
“Aye, lad,” the cook said. “But perhaps the master has someone in mind to teach the mistress.”
“I doubt he’s thought of it at all,” Meggie said.
Ralph and Mrs. Brown exchanged glances, and heat rose in Meggie’s cheeks. She’d spoken out of turn again. Would she ever learn what was the right or wrong thing to say?
“The soup’s delicious, Mrs. Brown,” she said.
“I do my best, ma’am.”
“You must make this when…” Meggie hesitated. How should she refer to the man who’d exiled her here? “…when the master comes.”
Another exchange of looks.
She nodded toward the window that overlooked an enclosed garden full of plants arranged in neat rows.
“Are the grounds extensive?” she asked.
“Sixty acres,” Ralph said. “Are you fond of the outdoors?”
“Oh, yes!” she replied. “I used to enjoy picnicking in the woods, back when…”
She broke off, the housekeeper’s warning ringing in her ears.
“I’m sure Mrs. Brown could arrange a picnic,” Ralph said.
“It’s not your place to make such suggestions, young man,” the cook said. “Be off with you now. You’ve finished your supper, and there’s no reason for you to be lingering around the mistress. You can take some of my bread back to your cottage.”
“Very well,” he said. The cook handed him a loaf wrapped in a cloth. “Mind you bring back that cloth,” she said. “I won’t have you using it to polish your boots like the last time.”
He put his arm round the cook’s shoulders and drew her close.
“Where would I be without you, Mrs. Brown?” he laughed. He placed a deep kiss on her
cheek, and though she squealed in protest, her eyes shone with merriment. She pushed him away with a laugh.
“With your leave, ma’am, I’ll retire,” he said. “But my offer still stands. I’d be honored to teach you how to ride, then we can explore the grounds properly. The estate is beautiful.”
“I’d like that,” Meggie said.
“And, if I may be so bold,” he continued, “the master is not only fortunate to have such a fine estate, but also in his choice of wife.”
“Ralph!” the cook admonished.
“Begging your pardon,” he said. “Mrs. Brown, I’ll see you tomorrow. I trust there will be a bit of bacon awaiting me as usual.”
“And a clip round the ear, if you’re not careful.”
He bowed once more, then exited the kitchen, whistling a merry tune.
“He’s a charmer, that one,” the cook said.
“And he’s offered for Milly?” Meggie asked.
“We all expect him to,” came the reply. “It’s not fair to keep the lass waiting. Perhaps when the estate’s fully staffed and young Ralph isn’t so busy with the horses, he’ll find time for courting.”
“I could help,” Meggie said.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it wouldn’t do to get too friendly with the staff,” Mrs. Brown said. “Ralph will offer for Milly when he’s good and ready. Let him teach you to ride, by all means, but as mistress and servant. You can never be friends.”
Mrs. Brown was right, of course. But the thought of a lifetime of loneliness in this gloomy house was more than Meggie could bear. A little companionship from the souls living on the estate was not too much to ask, surely? And if her husband had wanted her to learn how to be a good wife and mistress of the house, then he should have accompanied her himself rather than abandon her here, alone.
Meggie rose to her feet and pushed her soup bowl aside. “It’s time I retired.”
She left the kitchen and found Milly, who led her to a small guest chamber at the back of the house. She dismissed the maidservant, then undressed and slipped into the bed. She had much to look forward to—the countryside to explore, picnics, and the prospect of learning to ride. She’d been fond of the horses at the Rose and Crown and had often helped Mr. Clayton with them when he needed extra hands. But she’d never believed she might get to ride one.
