by Royal, Emily
It took a rare woman to achieve that.
“Mr. Hart,” Mrs. Pelham continued, “despite your efforts at concealing it, a kind heart beats beneath the fine cut of your jacket. Why not bestow a little of that kindness where it might be needed the most?”
“My love, you’ve lectured our friend for long enough,” Pelham said. “How about some music?”
“Very well.” She crossed the floor to the pianoforte, and shortly after, the soft melodies of a Mozart sonata filled the room. Dexter leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to savor the melody.
Anne Pelham was a handful. But her husband could be forgiven for being smitten with her.
***
When Dexter returned to his townhouse, he stopped in the main hall and looked around him. Though servants bustled about belowstairs, he’d never felt so alone. His sisters had moved out, and now he’d exiled his wife.
He handed his greatcoat to Charles and climbed the stairs, his footsteps echoing as if to emphasize his solitude. When he reached his wife’s chamber, on impulse, he pushed the door open.
The room had been cleaned, and the bed made—not a crease or a thing out of place. The shabby little trunk that had resided in the far corner was no longer there, exiled in the country with its owner.
A small object caught his eye on the floor underneath the bed, and he moved closer to get a better look.
A single stocking.
He plucked it off the floor and held it up. A thread had pulled apart, running along the stocking, toward a hole, halfway up.
He rubbed the soft silk between his finger and thumb, then lifted the stocking to his face, breathing in the faint aroma of earth and fresh air. The material was soft to the touch, as soft as the smooth, pale skin of the thigh it had once covered. Closing his eyes, he caressed it, relishing the memory of her skin, which had flushed a delectable shade of rose at his touch.
“Mr. Hart? Sir?”
He jumped to his feet, shifting position to conceal the erection tenting his breeches. It wouldn’t do for his valet to discover him fisting himself in his wife’s chamber.
“You may retire for the night, James,” he said. “I can see to myself.”
“Very good, sir,” came the reply.
When the valet’s footsteps faded, Dexter returned to his chamber, clutching his prize. After he’d undressed and settled into bed, he rolled the stocking up and stuffed it under his pillow.
Chapter Fourteen
Meggie bounced the little girl on her knee. “So, Betsy, if you gave Jack nine apples and he cut each one into seven pieces, how many pieces would there be in total?”
“She’d have none if I ate them all!” Jack cried, sticking out his tongue at his sister.
“Jack!” Meggie admonished. “That’s not very civil. Very well, you must answer this. If you then ate nine of those pieces, how many would there be left?”
“I know!” Betsy cried. Jack pulled a face.
“I’m sure you do, my dear,” Meggie said, “but your brother must give us the answer. You can whisper it in my ear if you like.”
She bent her head, and the little girl cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered softly.
Fifty-four.
Meggie nodded. Betsy possessed an extraordinary intellect. As a girl, and one of her class, what opportunities would she have to make use of her talents?
Jack frowned. “Seven.”
Betsy giggled.
The door opened, and Ralph entered the kitchen, and Meggie detected the now-familiar smell of saddle-soap and leather.
Jack squealed in delight. “Ralph! Is it time for me to help feed the horses?”
“Not yet,” the groom replied. “Mrs. Hart has prior claim. And your lesson isn’t over.”
“Thank you, Ralph,” Meggie said. “Now, Jack, can you remember what I said about the nine times table? About how easy it is to remember it?”
“Is that the bit when you add the numbers up?”
“Yes, that’s it!” Meggie said brightly. “What did I teach you?”
Jack screwed his eyes up in concentration. “You said that if you wanted to know whether a number was in the nine times table, you add its digits together to see if it comes to nine.”
“That’s it,” Meggie said. “Shall we try one now? How about fifty-four?”
The boy counted on his fingers. “Yes!” he cried. “If you add five and four together, you get nine.”
“So, what do we know about fifty-four?” Meggie asked.
“It’s in the nine times table?”
“Clever child!” Meggie said.
“Why do we need to know our times tables?” Jack asked.
“There are many reasons,” Meggie said. Jack didn’t look convinced, and Ralph knelt beside him.
“I have nine horses to look after,” he said. “So, if each horse eats four bales of hay a week, you can use your nine times table to work out how many bales I need.”
“Thirty-six!” Betsy cried. Jack frowned at his sister, then he looked up and gave a cry of delight.
“Mama!”
Mrs. Wells stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a broad smile on her face.
“Come along, children,” she said. “You’ve taken up enough of the mistress’s time today. Tidy your books and take them to your room.”
The children obeyed, then rushed to the door.
“What do we say?” Mrs. Wells prompted.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hart!” they chorused.
Meggie’s heart gave a little lurch as the words brought forth memories of the school at Blackwood Heath.
How was Mrs. Preston faring? Had Alderley left it alone—or had he burned it to the ground?
“You’re a born teacher, Mrs. Hart,” the housekeeper said. “Jack and Betsy adore you. But I wonder at your spending so much time downstairs. You have to get used to the main house.”
“Why?” Meggie asked. “It’s cold and dreary. Think about how much it costs to heat the whole place! There’s just me—and the house is big enough for a hundred. I’m sure my husband would not appreciate funds being wasted.”
The housekeeper frowned, but Ralph nodded in encouragement. “I agree,” he said. “Money shouldn’t be spent needlessly.”
“And what do you know of such things?” Mrs. Wells snapped. “It’s not your place to tell the mistress how to manage the household.”
“Neither is it yours,” Ralph replied.
Mrs. Wells’s lips thinned.
“I think it’s time you got on with your work,” she said. “The mistress doesn’t want to hear any of your nonsense.”
“But…”
“Ralph,” Mrs. Brown interrupted, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why don’t you help me with the logs? This fire’s almost out, and I need someone strong to carry them.”
He hesitated, and Mrs. Wells folded her arms. “Do as you’re told,” she said.
“Of course.” He cast a quick smile at Meggie, then followed the cook out of the kitchen.
Mrs. Wells sat beside Meggie.
“My dear,” she said. “Permit me to be so bold, but I must caution you.”
“In what manner?”
“It simply won’t do for the mistress of the house to spend so much time downstairs.”
“I thought you were happy for me to teach your children,” Meggie said.
“Of course I am, but the lady of the manor should spend her time in the main house. I didn’t want to press the matter before because I felt you needed time to settle in. But you must assume your responsibilities eventually. Your husband would expect it.”
“My husband is not here.”
The housekeeper raised her eyebrows.
Meggie had been at Molineux Manor for almost a month, and he’d not even written to her. Had he cast her from his mind to make room for others?
“Forgive me,” Meggie said, “I spoke out of turn. But my husband might not take kindly to my incurring expenses by employing staff we don’t need. I don’
t want to give him cause to…” she hesitated and felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
…to be angry.
“The master wouldn’t oppose an increase in the staff,” Mrs. Wells said. “He’ll understand the need for it.”
Meggie shook her head. “But I don’t understand.”
“When it comes to the running of an estate such as this, one must consider every possibility, rather than the direct impact of a single decision,” the housekeeper said.
“And employing more staff in the house will help?” Meggie asked.
“Yes, it will.” Mrs. Wells gestured toward the kitchen door. “Do you think it’s Mrs. Brown’s job to bring in the firewood? Or Ralph’s, for that matter? By undertaking tasks to which she’s not suited, she might be rendered incapable of performing her duties. If we can employ a young lad to fetch and carry, then not only have we benefited Mrs. Brown, but we give him gainful employment.”
“So, we can benefit a young man?”
The housekeeper smiled indulgently. “Not just one man, Mrs. Hart, but the whole estate. By employing a full staff, we are giving work to many men—and women—enabling them to feed themselves and their families. More tenants will come to the estate, and it will prosper. A farmer can afford to live here and tend to the land if his sisters are employed in the house. And if his land prospers, it yields rent for the estate, and produces to benefit everyone.”
“And I must manage all that myself?”
“Lord, no!” the housekeeper laughed good-naturedly. “Your place is to direct. I can manage the household, and we’ll leave the rest of the estate to Mr. Billings, the steward. The purpose of the lady of the manor—and the lord, for that matter—is to tend to the people.”
“I didn’t realize,” Meggie said. “I always thought…” she broke off, embarrassed.
“You thought ladies merely sat in their parlor and looked down on the rest of the world? Doubtless, there are some who neglect their duty, which is why so many estates hereabouts are failing. But, if you look at the prosperous estates—such as Radley Hall, Earl Stiles’s seat—you’ll notice that the principal inhabitants rule with benevolence, rather than tyranny.”
She gave Meggie’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “You have the character and temperament to take care of every living soul on this estate, Mrs. Hart. All you need do is learn how all the pieces in an estate can work together.”
Understanding flickered in Meggie’s mind. “Such as in a game of chess?” she asked.
“If you say so, ma’am,” the housekeeper said. “I know nothing about the game.”
“In chess, a player has many pieces. She shouldn’t consider each piece in isolation. She must look at the board in its entirety and plan several steps to form a strategy to deal with every eventuality.”
“Then you understand,” Mrs. Wells said. “And I’ll be here to help you. I’d suggest, as a first step, you spend your time in the main house. You could start small—perhaps open up a suite of rooms. This is your home, and it belongs to you—not the other way round. You mustn’t be afraid of it.”
The housekeeper was no fool. She understood Meggie’s fears.
“I’d also caution you not to take too much direction from the servants,” Mrs. Wells continued. “Your role is to take care of them, not be instructed by them.”
Mrs. Wells was right. If Meggie could consider herself as a caretaker of the souls who depended on her, rather than a superior being, then she could find fulfillment in her role as the mistress. Perhaps that would provide consolation for the lack of satisfaction in her role as a wife.
The cook appeared, followed by Ralph, brandishing a basket full of logs. The young maid, Milly, trotted behind him like a lovesick puppy.
“Milly, love, help me with these plates,” Mrs. Brown said. “They’ve been soaking all day and should come up nice and clean, now.”
“Yes, Mrs. Brown,” came the reply. “Ralph, would you help me?” She turned wide expressive eyes at the groom, but he ignored her, set the basket on the floor beside the fireplace, then turned to Meggie.
“Mrs. Hart,” he said, “it’s time for your riding lesson. It looks like it’ll rain soon, so it’s best if you come now.
Mrs. Wells raised an eyebrow and gave Meggie a pointed look.
“No, thank you, Ralph,” Meggie replied. “I’ve neglected my duties upstairs for too long.”
His smile slipped, but Mrs. Wells nodded encouragement, then exited the kitchen.
“Perhaps tomorrow, if I have time,” Meggie continued.
“It would be my pleasure,” Ralph replied.
Now it was Milly’s turn to scowl, though Meggie recognized it for what it was. Simple jealousy.
“You’re becoming quite the proficient,” he continued. “I think tomorrow we can try mounting unaided, now that you’re used to the saddle.”
Meggie laughed. Her first riding lesson had revealed her ignorance when Ralph had presented her with a peculiarly shaped saddle designed for ladies. Having only seen gentleman riders at Blackwood Heath, she’d assumed ladies rode in the same fashion.
“I still think riding astride would be more comfortable,” she said.
“I prefer it myself when a woman straddles her mount properly.” His eyes gleamed, and for a moment, she thought she saw hunger in them.
A crash echoed round the kitchen.
“Milly!” Mrs. Brown cried. “You clumsy girl! What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
The young maid stood in the center of the kitchen, a pile of crockery at her feet.
“That’ll have to come out of your wages,” Mrs. Brown said.
Meggie opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again, remembering the housekeeper’s words.
“Sorry, Mrs. Brown.” Milly stooped to pick up the broken pieces. Her mouth was downturned, and Meggie glimpsed moisture in her eyes.
“I’m not going to help you.” Mrs. Brown continued. “I’m due my break. And Ralph, you should get back to the stables—those horses won’t feed themselves.” She turned to Meggie. “Ma’am, perhaps if you retired to the parlor, Milly can bring you some tea when she’s finished here.”
Before Meggie could answer, Mrs. Brown left, taking Ralph with her. Meggie approached the door leading to the main house and grasped the handle. She heard a sniff from behind and turned.
“Milly, are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply. “Sorry, ma’am, for the mess.”
“Plates can be replaced,” Meggie said. “You’ll be careful not to cut yourself, won’t you?”
“Yes. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Milly, are you fond of Ralph?”
The maid’s cheeks flushed red. “It wouldn’t be proper,” she whispered.
“What does propriety matter when you’re in love?”
Milly let out another sniff.
“Does he return your feelings?” Meggie asked.
“I-I don’t know,” Milly said. “Sometimes, I think he wants me. He’s said he’ll offer for me—once he’s got a bit put by.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Meggie asked.
“I suppose. He always says he’s too busy for courting, but I’ve seen him looking at other girls. At the Radley dance last month, he danced twice with Susan.”
“Susan?”
“The under-gardener’s niece at Radley Hall,” Milly said. “I hate her! She knows I’m sweet on him.”
“And how many times did he dance with you?”
“Six.”
“Well then!” Meggie said, smiling. “That just goes to show he’s kind enough to ask a girl to dance so that she might not be shamed for want of a partner—but he’ll spend the majority of the evening with the one he loves.”
Milly’s eyes widened with hope. “Do you think so?”
“Of course!” Meggie laughed. “And there’s much I can do to help you both, starting with engaging an under-groom. With an extra pair of hands in the stables, he’ll
have no excuse not to court you. And I have the perfect idea to bring the two of you together.”
“And what’s that?”
“A picnic,” Meggie said. “Ralph has mentioned a lake hidden in the forest, which is the perfect spot for courting. I’ll insist he accompany us, then I can leave the two of you together.”
“I’d love that!” Milly exclaimed. “The secret lake’s perfect for bathing. The water is so clear, and you can see the bottom. But I’ve asked him to come with me before, and he’s refused.”
“He can hardly refuse the request of his mistress,” Meggie said.
“Oh, thank you, ma’am!” Milly said. “I never knew you could be so kind! If it pleases you, I’ll bring you a pot of tea as soon as I’ve cleared this mess up.”
The maidservant stood and bobbed a curtsey, and Meggie exited the kitchen and climbed up the stairs into the main house.
A shaft of sunlight beamed across the hallway, illuminating a painting on the wall, highlighting the background's warm colors.
For the first time, the house didn’t feel cold and unwelcoming. Perhaps, if she heeded Mrs. Wells’ advice, and brought about the happy union of the two young servants, Meggie might begin to feel she belonged here.
***
As Meggie sipped her tea, she heard hoofbeats outside, and she peered out of the window. Her heart gave a little jolt of anticipation, but the rider was too slight to match her husband’s powerful frame. After engaging in a few words with the footman, he mounted and set off as quickly as he came.
Shortly after, the footman knocked and entered the parlor, brandishing a silver salver.
“You have a letter, ma’am.”
Hope rose within her as she grasped the envelope.
He’d written! Her husband hadn’t forgotten her, after all.
What might he say? Would he ask after her health? Whether she was happy? Perhaps he’d written to say he was on his way to see her.
She tore open the envelope, and her joy faded.
The cold, soulless words, written in a spidery hand, were those of Lord Alderley.
In three short sentences—as if he wished to waste as little paper and ink on her as possible—he informed Meggie that he and Elizabeth intended to visit Molineux Manor, ‘in order to discuss a business matter and further family relations.’
