Chapter Two
Almost on April’s thought, the connecting door opened, and Piers ambled through it. “This is better,” he said with satisfaction, before his gaze fixed on April and a frown of concern twitched his brow. He came and crouched down by her side, taking both her hands.
“Are you well?”
“Just a little tired,” she said lightly.
“No more running up and down stairs all the time. No one expects it of you, and I forbid it.”
“Oh well, if the viscount forbids it...”
He smiled and dropped a kiss on her hand. “Lady Temperley let us down, leaving so few servants, but it doesn’t matter, you know. The house and grounds are lovely, and everyone is used to looking after themselves.”
“Even Miss Algernon?”
“Claudia?” he said in surprise. “Oh yes. She keeps house for her father, too. He will miss her when she marries Hale. I wonder where they will go?”
“Go?”
“Well, he cannot remain a fellow of the university once he is married, so he must find some other means of support.”
April waited for him to tell her about whatever past he had with Claudia Algernon.
But he only rested his head lightly on her lap, seeming perfectly content.
Because she couldn’t help it, she stroked his hair, a faint smile on her lips as the sweet, aching love flowed through her to Piers and to their child who was part of her.
The tension in her abdomen had already vanished.
“Thank you for this, April.”
“There is nothing to thank me for. I am happy to meet your friends.”
The unmistakable sound of hooves and wheels on gravel penetrated April’s contentment. But when she made to rise, Piers held her to the chair.
“Sit still for a little longer. I will greet the rest of our guests. Mrs. Tilney can tell me which are the assigned rooms.”
“You might need to see if Miss Algernon has upended our plans first.”
“She won’t,” Piers said with certainty.
He rose to his feet once more, dropped a kiss on April’s lips and left the room. She smiled because of the boyish excitement that thrummed through him as he moved. He needed this combining of his worlds, the reunion with the friends who had once been everything to him.
After a few moments, April stood and went to the window.
A young man spilled first out of the carriage, rushing to meet Piers who was striding across the gravel.
The two men shook hands vigorously before, laughing, the newcomer rushed back to hand down his wife.
April smiled. This must be Mr. and Mrs. Hubble.
Zacharias Hubble—referred to by Piers as Hubb—was a stocky, curly haired man, another former fellow who had left the college to take over his father’s business.
The family were merchants of some kind, wealthy ones, judging by the horses and travelling carriage, and the style of Mrs. Hubble’s bonnet.
The woman curtsied deeply to Piers, just as a horseman galloped across the drive, waving his hat in one hand, to be greeted with much laughter.
April smiled as Piers and Hubble pulled the newcomer off his horse.
This must be the physician, Grant Fosterson, just returned from medical studies at Edinburgh.
Hastily, it seemed, Piers recalled his hostly duties—he was always courteous—and returned to offer his arm to Mrs. Hubble.
The lady looked quite gratified. In fact, as she gazed up at the house, she seemed positively awed.
April, glad to find even cold water in the washing jug, poured some into the bowl and splashed it on her face and hands before, hearing voices in the passage, she opened her door and went to greet the new arrivals.
In fact, only Meg and Mrs. Hubble appeared.
“Oh, his lordship said you were resting,” Meg said. “I was just showing Mrs. Hubble to her chamber. This is Mrs. Hubble. Ma’am, Lady Petteril.”
April smiled and offered her hand. “Mrs. Hubble. Delighted to meet you. I hope your journey was not too arduous?”
“How do you do, my lady? It took us two days from London, since we rested frequently, but it was as comfortable as might be expected. Did you not come from London too?”
“No, from Haybury Court in Wiltshire. We chose this place for the convenience of the Oxford people who have to pay attention to the term dates. I hope you like this room.” April tried not to sound anxious, but after Claudia Algernon’s complaints, she was relieved when Mrs. Hubble praised the room, and the adjoining dressing room.
“We seem to have rather fewer servants than were promised, but do ring if you need warm water or help unpacking.”
“I did not bring my maid,” Mrs. Hubble said in dismay. “Zach said there would be no need.”
“I did not bring mine either,” April said, omitting the fact that she did not actually have one.
There had never seemed to be time to find and engage a lady’s maid and in truth she wasn’t sure she cared to have such a personal servant, just to add to her consequence.
“I’m sure we can all help each other. I’ll leave you to settle in. ..”
Since everyone had now arrived, April decided it was time to beard Cook and made her way down to the kitchen.
In appearance, the Temper House cook was as different from her own Mrs. Gale and Mrs. Drake as it was possible to be.
In her forties, this cook was tall and thin and clearly displeased.
She was imparting a piece of her mind to the smaller and prettier of the two maids, Peggy, who was making a poor effort at cutting vegetables.
The other maid, Becky, red in the face, was pouring a jug of hot water from a cauldron.
Edward, the footman was sprawled on a chair by the kitchen table, with his feet up on a stool, his hands behind his head, grinning at Peggy.
No doubt he was distracting the maid from her work.
None of them noticed April’s arrival.
“Cook,” she said mildly.
Peggy dropped her knife. Cook spun to face her. Becky scuttled past her, trying to curtsey with a jug of water in each hand. Edward dropped his feet to the floor and stood, though without any hurry.
“I’m Lady Petteril,” April said. “May we speak in private?”
It wasn’t really a question, but Cook’s scowl deepened, even as she managed to drop the minimum of curtsies. “Of course, my lady, but perhaps not now—not if you want any dinner, that is.”
April said nothing, merely held Cook’s gaze until, muttering beneath her breath, the woman wiped her hands on her apron and marched off toward what looked like the housekeeper’s sitting room.
“I shan’t keep you long,” April said, “but since you are the senior servant of the household, I wanted to ask you how the house will function with so few members of staff.”
“It will just have to,” Cook said grimly.
“You are Mrs...?”
“Riley.”
“I understand Lady Temperley took all the other servants with her to London.”
“Her ladyship thought your ladyship wouldn’t need them. Said your party would all bring your own people.”
Which was hardly what had been agreed. “I’m afraid we will all have to cope for today.
I suggest for tonight and tomorrow morning, you make use of any remaining outside staff—stablemen or gardeners—for heavy work, like carrying water and so on.
And tomorrow, you might recruit more help from the village. ”
Mrs. Riley stared at her. “Who?”
“My good woman,” April said haughtily—she had never used the phrase in her life before and part of her wanted to laugh—“how would I know? I arrived less than an hour ago. I would suggest at least one other person to help you in the kitchen, another chamber maid, and a man for heavy work if your own outdoor staff are too busy with their own duties. Can you manage that?”
Mrs. Riley was clearly fighting against her own bad mood. She must have been furious left to cater for a load of strangers, with so little help. April was offering her a way of improving matters and she knew it. Relief fought with old resentment across her pinched face.
She sniffed. “I can. Though I don’t know who’s to pay for it.”
“That need not concern you,” said April, who saw no reason why Piers should. “In the circumstances, would you like to put dinner back by half an hour or more?”
The cook’s shoulders began to unstiffen. Her eyes softened very slightly. “Half an hour would be welcome,” she allowed.
“Then I shall keep you no longer. Thank you, Mrs. Riley.” April sailed out of the room and left the kitchen. Behind her, she heard the low voice of the footman, and one of the maids giggling. And then Mrs. Riley’s snap of orders.
Perhaps all would be well.
***
FROM THE WINDOW OF her charming bedchamber, Claudia Algernon gazed down upon the lawn at the side of the house, where Grant Fosterson—who must have just arrived—and Piers Withan, were playing a bizarre game of pall-mall that more closely resembled cricket with no rules.
The ball flew through the air, landing nowhere near any of the hoops, and both men leapt after it, swinging their sticks as though they were now playing golf with the same ball.
Gales of laughter accompanied the raucous game and Claudia, transported back several years, found herself smiling.
The ache of childish, unrequited love grew stronger.
She had been a mere girl when she had first fallen for Piers Withan, the shy, eccentric young man with good manners and an unexpected sense of the ridiculous.
She had been delighted when he became a fellow because it had kept him in Oxford and his friendship with her father had continued.
But she had hoped against hope that he would eventually leave and be able to marry her. ..
There had been many occasions when he had seemed susceptible to her charms. She had liked that he and Joseph Hale competed for her favours.
Only then Piers stopped coming to the house, and after several more months, Papa had told her he had been summoned home as head of the family. He was now Viscount Petteril.
And she had dared to dream she could be a viscountess one day.