Fifteen
Rose returned from the moor calmer and happier, as she always did, and with a very gratifying new specimen for her collection. Sue caught her ascending the stairs and told her she had more visitors. “Who?” Rose asked unenthusiastically. She did not intend to face Gavin’s family without him. If they’d called, she would have them told she was still out.
“Ian and Lucy,” her maid replied with the air of a magician revealing a trick.
“Ian and Lucy,” Rose couldn’t help repeating. She hadn’t expected the eloping couple to return here.
“They’re sitting in the kitchen, brazen as can be,” said her maid. “Shall I send them packing?”
“Is that what you wish to do?”
Sue looked startled to be given a choice. “Well… I don’t know.”
Rose thought of her parents’ reaction to her own hasty marriage. It had not been an elopement, of course. Still, she felt even more sympathy for the errant couple than she had before.
“Their behavior was shocking,” Sue added.
She seemed to be working something through in her mind, and Rose let her.
The maid waggled her head between no and yes. “Ian was sorry, I think. That Lucy though, she will do just as she likes. You know?”
It would be a good thing to know, Rose thought. Perhaps she did, really. More and more.
“It’s…something to see,” Sue finished. There seemed to be a tinge of envy in her voice.
Rose made up her mind. “Send them to the front parlor after I have taken off my things.”
“You’ll see them?”
“Yes.”
Sue looked doubtful, and thoughtful as she walked away.
Twenty minutes later, Rose received tall blond, broad-shouldered Ian and pretty, dark-haired Lucy—Mr. and Mrs. Daniels now—by the fireside in the front parlor. They were clearly dressed in their best clothes. “Hello,” said Rose. “I…”
Lucy surged forward, fell to her knees before Rose, her skirts spreading around her, and raised her hands in supplication. “Oh, my lady, have mercy on us!”
Rose blinked. “Ah.”
“‘The quality of mercy is not strange,’” Lucy continued. “‘It droppeth like a blessing from heaven to them as gives and them as takes.’”
“‘Strange,’” repeated Rose. That wasn’t right, was it?
Ian looked both embarrassed and proud. He held out a hand. “Now, Lucy, stand up.”
She did so, gracefully, looking pleased with herself and not at all self-conscious.
“Her granny was an actress on the stage in London town,” Ian said. He gazed at his new wife as if he couldn’t quite believe she was his.
Lucy tossed her head. “A fine one too. Before she met Grandad and settled down.” She cocked her head at Rose, bright-eyed, looking for encouragement.
Rose, fascinated, couldn’t help but give it. “Was she indeed?”
The girl nodded. “She had a book of Shakespeare, and she read it out to us of an evening. It was like our own play right there in the house.” Lucy made an expansive gesture as if she was onstage herself. “Granny always said I was the most like her of all her family. My uncle Ritchie got the book when she died. But it should rightly have come to me.”
“That is the uncle you are staying with?” asked Rose.
“Oh no. That’s Uncle Collum, my mother’s brother. Uncle Ritchie is on my dad’s side.” Lucy’s smile was lovely. She looked as if she would happily enumerate all her relatives at the least excuse.
Rose was tempted, but said only, “You have come to see me?”
Ian shifted from foot to foot. “Miss… My lady, that is, we’re in a bit of a fix. We find we aren’t well suited to farm labor.”
“It is horridly tedious!” Lucy exclaimed with another wide gesture. “‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeping at a pretty pace till you’re fretted half to dusty death.’”
Ian couldn’t hide an appreciative smile, and Rose liked him for it. “It’s not that we don’t wish to work hard,” he went on. “We will! But we’re not trained for the farm, you see. Not like we are for our old posts. So, when we heard that you and Sir Gavin had wed and came back here to Yerndon…”
The news had spread even faster than she expected, Rose thought. The tide of talk must be rising all over the neighborhood. Gossip was surely one of the speediest things on earth.
“We thought we’d ask if we could come back and work for you,” Ian finished in a rush. “As you’ll be needing staff.”
“Ah,” said Rose again.
“I can cook,” said Lucy without the touch of drama. “My ma taught me some, and I was learning more from Mrs. Jenner.”
That was the Keighleys’ cook, who was quite skilled, Rose had heard. Not that she’d ever been asked to dine there.
“And Mrs. Redding as well,” Lucy added.
The Terefords’ cook had been superlative.
“And Ian can do anything a butler could.”
“Lucy,” the former footman said.
“Well, you could.” Lucy might have seemed impudent or coarsely heedless, but she didn’t. Rather, her raised chin and steady gaze simply refused to be cowed by others’ opinions. “We may as well ask, now we’re here,” she added, angling not only to be reinstated, but for promotions.
Rose had to admire her spirit. She contemplated the two young people. They were trying to make their way in the world. Could they be blamed for that? They’d been rash, but they would not have been given easy permission to marry, as servants and with the families at odds as they were. Rose had been rash too, if it came to that. And oppressed by the feud as well.
She did need staff, and Ian and Lucy had done well when they worked here. It was not so easy to find trained help in this widely scattered neighborhood. But hiring them would brand her household as unconventional. At the least. Did she care?
Did she?
What was her household to be like? She could make her own choices now.
Ian looked braced for a refusal and ready to face the consequences of his actions. Rose respected that. Lucy was brightly expectant. “Very well,” Rose said. “We will give it a trial and see how we get on.”
Lucy clapped her hands.
“A trial,” Rose repeated.
“Yes, my lady,” said Ian. He looked at Lucy. She nodded.
“You know Sue,” Rose said.
“She’s a friend,” said Ian. They had worked together at Rose’s parents’ house.
“We get on well,” said Lucy.
Rose wondered if they really did, or if Lucy just thought so. Sue had seemed ambivalent. “Two of the duchess’s staff stayed on temporarily to help, Gemma Varley and Annie Roush.”
“Gemma’ll be wanting to go back to London, I’d think,” said Lucy.
Both the maids had already expressed that wish, after the kitchen fire. Rose had expected it, though not so soon. And the Smithsons would be returning to their cottage. They were willing to help temporarily, but not join a regular staff. Yerndon was in danger of having no servants at all soon. “Do you know anyone else who is looking for a post?” she asked.
“I might, my lady,” said Ian.
“There’s Rafe,” added Lucy. “And Nelly.”
“Not Rafe,” Ian replied. “He drinks. And Nelly…” His voice trailed off.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, Rose thought. “We can see how you get on with the cooking, Lucy.”
“If you like it, I’ll be Mrs. Daniels in the end,” Lucy replied with a grin.
Cooks were usually given that mark of status. Lucy really was irrepressible. Rose had to admire that, but she would be the one in charge. “We’ll see,” she said.
“We’ll be loyal to you to the very end,” Lucy added. She put a hand over her heart.
“That isn’t really—” Rose began.
“Us having the same star-crossed matches, like,” Lucy continued. “Only we’ll not end up like Romeo and Juliet.”
“Dead,” said Rose.
“Yes, my lady. We won’t.”
“Certainly not.” Lucy would certainly make Yerndon interesting. She wanted interesting, Rose decided.
“Not being so foolish as to drink down some bally potion without being sure you knew the wheeze,” Lucy added, looking at Ian.
He nodded as if he’d heard something like this before.
“Make your plan together, that’s our motto.” Lucy said to Rose. “Don’t go haring off on your own.”
It seemed to Rose like quite good advice.
“I’ll go and take charge of the kitchen, shall I?” Lucy smiled cheerily.
Take charge indeed, thought Rose. “Not until I’ve talked to the others. Do you know the Smithsons?” And would Mrs. Smithson, older and rather stiff, object to the presence of the runaway couple?
“Course we do,” answered Lucy. “Or I do, at any rate. Jem Smithson’s father was a cousin of my granny.”
“The actress?”
“Yes, my lady.”
That might be good or bad. Lucy didn’t seem concerned, but she clearly wasn’t one to worry. “You could go and fetch your things from where you’re staying,” Rose suggested.
Ian looked sheepish. “We brought them,” said Lucy. “Just hoping, you know.”
She seemed very good at that.
“We could take that room Mrs. Redding was in.”
The Terefords’ cook had used the best of the servants’ quarters. “Just stay here for a bit,” Rose replied, refusing to be rushed. She went to assemble the current denizens of Yerndon and inform them of her decision.
When Gavin returned to the house late in the afternoon, he was surprised to be greeted by Ian at the door. “Ah, hello.”
“We’ve come back, sir,” the footman said.
“Oh, have you?” Who was “we”? Gavin wondered.
“Yes, sir. Lady Keighley is sitting in the front parlor.”
“My mother?” His pulse sped up. Was she confronting Rose?
“Miss Denholme as was,” said the footman with an odd look.
“Oh.” He must become accustomed to that. “Of course. Thank you.” He went upstairs to change out of his riding clothes.
When he came back down, he paused at the parlor door. It was ajar, and he saw Rose before she noticed him. She was sitting at the writing desk with papers and an inkwell before her. She’d lit a branch of candles on this gray afternoon, and they threw golden light over her face and blue cambric gown. She dipped her quill and made a note on a page. She looked intent but peaceful, softly beautiful, and all he desired.
He was a lucky man, Gavin thought. Against all odds—very high odds—they’d discovered each other. If the Terefords had not decided to visit this far-flung bit of their properties… That didn’t bear thinking of. He pushed the door farther open and walked into the room. Rose started and stiffened in her chair. The peace drained out of her expression, then was replaced by relief. “Oh, it’s you.”
“I hope I am not interrupting,” Gavin said.
“Of course not. I was just… When the door opened, I didn’t know… My parents were here earlier.”
They had upset her, Gavin saw. “Not a pleasant visit?”
“The fact that we own Yerndon, as they always wanted, seemed to make no difference to them,” Rose said. “They were still angry and dissatisfied. They didn’t listen to me.” She grimaced and murmured, “They never have.”
“I met my sisters when I was out riding. They were the same.”
“And your mother?”
He said nothing as the answer was obvious.
“I’m a little frightened of her,” Rose said.
“I won’t let her disturb you.”
“How? Am I to shut myself away here and avoid seeing her? I have no wish to be a hermit like old Mr. Cantrell.”
“Of course not. My mother will become reconciled—”
“Reconciled,” she interrupted. “A rather sad word.”
“Are you regretting our marriage, Rose?” he asked bluntly.
“No. I do not. I will not.” Her expression softened. “I could not.”
The relief that coursed through him was profound. “Neither do I. That is the important thing.”
“I do regret the brangling that surrounds us. And will not seem to end.”
“We will deal with our families together. They will come round.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do.”
This echo of their wedding vows seemed to reverberate in the room.
Rose took a deep breath. “I am getting organized.” She gestured at the pages before her. “Thinking what servants to hire.”
With that, Gavin remembered who the footman was. “Was that one of the runaways at the front door?”
“Yes, Ian and Lucy asked to come back,” said Rose. “I agreed to a trial.”
“That won’t be…a problem?” The neighborhood would have comments.
“I don’t intend to let it.” She leaned forward. “I have been thinking, Gavin. About how people treat each other.”
Her parents’ visit had sparked that as well, Gavin assumed.
“I want to have a household where everyone is happy to be here, and servants are well paid for their work as well as appreciated. Like the duchess’s.”
“Amity,” said Gavin. They had not seen nearly enough of that in their lives. He liked the idea.
“If I can manage it,” Rose added.
“You can.”
She looked at him. “The place feels so empty with the Terefords gone. As if we don’t fill it.”
“They had more people with them.”
“That’s true. I think, though, that even just the two of them would create a home.” She emphasized the last word as if it held deep meaning. “What if we can’t?”
“Why shouldn’t we?” Gavin asked.
“We are two people who have been at odds for all of our adult lives.”
“Until lately,” he hastened to point out.
Rose nodded. “Until lately. But we were taught to be that way, in homes full of friction, by families who don’t want to give up their misguided anger.”
“And will try to goad us back into it,” Gavin replied. Ironically, the idea irritated him.
She nodded.
“We will refuse.”
“We will. But what if we don’t know how to be any other way?”
He went over to take her hand. “We’ve already proven we can change. And dare. We went off to Leeds and got married.”
“We did.”
“So we will create whatever sort of household you want.”
“You will help me?”
“All I can, though I think you are better at amity than I am,” Gavin teased. Rose laughed, as he had hoped she would. He bent to drop a kiss on her lips. “I will take on any task you assign me, of course.”
“You will obey my commands?”
“Aye, captain.” He sprawled on the sofa. “With the utmost pleasure.”
She laughed again, her cheeks pink. “I suppose the income from Yerndon is small.”
“For now, yes. The estate has not been kept productive.”
“I’m sure it will be under your management,” Rose said.
He enjoyed her confidence. “In time. But hire whomever you like. I can provide funds.”
“It wouldn’t be right to use the income from your old estate.”
“Why not? It is my money.”
“Indeed.” Rose frowned. “Well, I have never had any,” she added, so quietly he barely heard.
“I…” Gavin stopped. With the way things had been in the past, it was important to think before he spoke. Rose had made that point already. “You should take charge of everything Yerndon yields.”
She blinked at him, astonished.
“We wouldn’t have it without you, Rose.” He gestured at the room “This all began with your suggestion that we make a show of getting along. I would have blundered along sniping and complaining in the old way. And probably stamped off home in a few days after offending everyone.”
“Your innate kindness would have emerged,” she said.
“My…?”
“As it did when an opportunity came along. With the Bront? children.” She left the writing desk and came to sit beside him. “And at the Milsomes’ ball. And long ago, with the fishhook.”
Gavin didn’t even know what she meant by the last one. But he forgot to wonder when she leaned forward and kissed him.
His arms went around her, and she laced hers around his neck. Each of their kisses had been more intoxicating than the last, Gavin thought. How was that possible? He let his hands roam. Rose pressed against him, sending fire racing through his veins. His knee slipped between hers.
It was late afternoon. The night was yet to come. But did they have to wait for night? Couldn’t they go upstairs right now? This was their house. They could do as they liked. Who would stop them?
A dark-haired girl wearing a large apron over a plain gown came into the room. Without knocking. Anyone with the least sensibility would have withdrawn when she saw what they were doing, Gavin thought. But this girl just stood before them, grinning. She was holding a large wooden spoon, he noticed. Why? Rose pulled away from him, lamentably.
“‘What light through yon window breaks,’ eh?” asked the interloper. “But not from up on a balcony? Bit better than that.”
Gavin wondered if she was touched in her upper works. What was that supposed to mean?
“What is it, Lucy?” asked Rose.
With the name, Gavin realized this was the eloper, the footman’s new wife. He recognized her now. That didn’t explain the spoon, however.
“It’s about dinner. What it’s to be, or not to be.”
Rose laughed. “As long as it doesn’t involve any slings and arrows.”
Gavin frowned at her.
The girl’s grin widened. “What does it mean, slings? I always wondered about that.”
“I think it has to do with throwing,” Rose replied. “Like spears. Or perhaps catapults? Those siege engines that hurl rocks at castle walls?”
“Hurl,” repeated Lucy. “That’s a fine word.”
Rose looked at Gavin. “He can’t have meant slingshots, can he?”
“Slingshots?” What the deuce were they talking about? And why wouldn’t the girl go away so that they could return to their previous pleasures? “He who?”
“Shakespeare,” replied Rose.
Vague recollections of declaiming actors stirred in Gavin’s mind.
“‘Slingshots of outrageous fortune,’” said Rose. And giggled.
Lucy laughed outright. She had no trace of deference. “It’s hard to figure what he’s saying sometimes, ain’t it? Like shuffling off a mort of coil. Is it wiggling out of a wound-up rope, do you think? I seen a man do that at a fun fair once.”
“That’s a good question,” said Rose. She turned to Gavin. “What do you think?”
The girl looked at him too, with happy heedlessness. She did not intend to leave, clearly. “Did you actually work for my mother?” escaped Gavin. Mama would never have tolerated this sort of conversation. She would have labeled it insufferable cheek and squashed this girl like a bug.
“Matter of three months,” said Lucy. “I reckon she was about to turn me off when she sent me over here.”
To be rid of her, Gavin was sure. And perhaps to stir up trouble for the visit. That would be like his mother.
“She’d heard about Granny,” the girl added.
“Granny?”
“Lucy’s grandmother was an actress,” said Rose. “On the London stage.”
The girl nodded proudly.
“Before she met Lucy’s grandfather and settled down,” Rose went on, her eyes dancing.
Gavin gave her a look.
“Lady Keighley… Old Lady Keighley didn’t approve,” said the girl. “Turned up her nose, she did, and was glad to be shut of me. She wouldn’t have taken me back. Not that I wanted to go. She’s a right shrew. Not a tamed one either.”
Gavin suppressed a snort of laughter. He couldn’t let it out. One didn’t encourage such disrespectful remarks, whatever grains of truth they might contain.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” added Lucy. “No offense meant.” She bobbed a curtsy.
Intercepting a quizzical glance from Rose, Gavin shrugged. Apparently, this was a sample of the sort of household Rose wanted. It couldn’t be more unlike the one he’d grown up in. As the idea sank in, Gavin realized that was a good thing.
“What was it about the dinner?” Rose asked.
“Right. There’s a chicken Mr. Smithson fetched, if we was wishful to kill it. Only it looks like a good layer to me, my lady. So we might want to keep it for the eggs. For a bit anyways, to see how she goes.”
“Foxes will be after it if you put it in the stables,” said Gavin.
“That’d be a waste,” replied Lucy. “We need a proper coop and a flock of birds.”
“I know,” said Gavin dryly. It was a new experience, being told his business by a maid, and should have been offensive. But this girl’s cheerful cheek was disarming.
“Perhaps I’d better come and look over what we have.” Rose gave him a wistful glance as she went out. Gavin’s regret at losing her company was only mitigated by the certainty of what tonight would bring.