Chapter Ten
After they returned from the beach, Sophia helped Amelia wash the sand from her hands and face, listening to the child’s excited chatter about crabs and shells and how high she’d been on Papa’s shoulders.
By the time they’d finished their midday meal, Amelia could barely keep her eyes open.
Sophia tucked her in for her nap, stroking the golden curls back from her forehead until the child’s breathing deepened into sleep.
Now, standing in the doorway of what would soon be her bedchamber, it truly hit her. Her life was about to drastically change. Was she truly ready for it?
“This will be your suite, Miss Ashford,” Mrs. Bromley said, leading her inside. “His lordship wanted you to have the lady’s chambers, as is proper.”
Sophia stepped into the room. “Oh, it’s lovely.
” Pale blue walls, tall windows overlooking the gardens, a massive four-poster bed with cream silk hangings.
A dressing room opened off to one side, and through another door she could see a small sitting area with a writing desk and comfortable chairs arranged near the fireplace.
But what drew her eye was the door on the far wall. In fact, she couldn’t stop staring at it. The connecting door to Henry’s chamber.
“That door leads to his lordship’s room,” Mrs. Bromley said, clearly following her gaze. “It locks from both sides, of course. You’ll have complete privacy whenever you wish it.”
Privacy. As if she would want privacy from the man whose touch had made her pulse race on the beach this morning. The man who’d looked at her with something that might have been desire.
“Now then,” Mrs. Bromley said, moving toward the door, “I’ve arranged for a candidate to interview for the position of your lady’s maid. She should be arriving shortly. Shall we meet her in the sitting area here?”
“Yes, of course.” Sophia followed Mrs. Bromley into the small sitting room adjoining the bedchamber, taking a seat in one of the comfortable chairs near the fireplace.
Her stomach tightened with nerves. She’d never had a lady’s maid before.
What was she supposed to say? What questions should she ask?
A knock sounded at the door. Grimshaw’s voice came through. “Mrs. Bromley? The candidate has arrived.”
“Send her in, please.”
The door opened, and Grimshaw stepped aside to allow a woman to enter.
Sophia judged her to be in her late thirties, tall and spare, with dark hair showing threads of silver at the temples, pulled back in a severe but elegant style.
Her dress was simple but well-made. Intelligent gray eyes portrayed both curiosity and competence.
Those eyes fixed on Sophia and went very wide.
“Miss Ashford,” Mrs. Bromley said, “may I present Mrs. Prudence Shaw. Mrs. Shaw, this is Miss Sophia Ashford, soon to be Lady Montrose.”
Mrs. Shaw stood frozen in the doorway, staring at Sophia with an expression of such shock that Sophia took an involuntary step forward.
“Mrs. Shaw? Are you quite all right?”
“I…” The woman’s voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Forgive me, miss. It’s only your eyes. They’re exactly like Lady Emily’s, but of course they would be.”
Sophia’s heart began to pound. “You knew my mother?”
“I did, yes.” Mrs. Shaw’s own eyes were suspiciously bright.
“The Duchess of Ashford. My mother was her lady’s maid.
I was twenty-two when your mother was carrying you.
I’d just started as an upper housemaid at the manor.
I was there the day you were born. And the day your mother…
” Her voice caught. “The day she passed.”
Sophia reached for the back of a chair to steady herself.
Mrs. Shaw continued. “After your mother’s death, my mother left within the month to take another lady’s maid position. But I stayed on. I watched you grow from a babe to a little girl of eight. I was there the day they came to take His Grace away.”
Sophia sank into the chair, her hand pressed to her mouth. “You were there? That day?”
“Yes, I was,” Mrs. Shaw said, nodding her head, her mouth set in a grim line.
“By then I’d risen to head housemaid. I remember it all too well.
The men coming to arrest him, your brothers standing so straight trying to be brave, and you, just eight years old, not understanding why your father was leaving. ”
“I don’t remember much of that day,” Sophia said. “I remember my father’s face. How it looked gray. I remember being so frightened.”
“When they took him away, the household was disbanded within the month. I remember Mrs. Ellsworth weeping in the kitchen over you children. She would have kept you herself if she could have.”
“She works for my brother James now,” Sophia said.
“I heard that. It makes me smile to think of them reunited.”
Mrs. Bromley, who’d been standing quietly by the door, spoke softly. “I’ll leave you two to talk. Mrs. Shaw, take your time.” She slipped out, closing the door behind her.
“What was she like? My mother?” Sophia asked.
Mrs. Shaw’s severe expression softened completely.
“She was lovely, miss. Not just in looks, though she was beautiful—fair like you, with those same blue eyes. But lovely in spirit. My mother spoke of her often, even years later. Said she was the kindest mistress she’d ever served.
Never raised her voice, never treated anyone poorly.
And she loved your father and her sons so dearly. The whole household could see it.”
Sophia hung on every word. “What else?”
“She was thrilled to be expecting again,” Mrs. Shaw continued, her own voice thick. “My mother said Her Grace held you just once before she passed. She looked at you and smiled, and said you were perfect. That you were her little miracle.”
Little miracle. This was the second time she’d been called a miracle on the very same day.
“Did she?” Sophia’s voice broke completely. “I never knew that.”
“She did, miss. And she would be so proud of you now. So proud of the woman you’ve become, even after everything they did to you.”
Sophia couldn’t speak. She could only sit there, tears blurring her vision, as this woman gave her back pieces of her mother she’d thought lost forever.
Mrs. Shaw rose and crossed to the washstand, dampening a cloth. She returned and handed it to Sophia. “Here, miss. Dry your eyes.”
Sophia took the cloth gratefully, pressing it to her face. When she could finally speak again, she asked, “How did you know of this position?”
“Mrs. Bromley wrote to me a few days ago. She’d heard through a mutual acquaintance that I was seeking a new position.
My previous mistress, Lady Morris, passed in January.
When Mrs. Bromley told me the new Lady Montrose would be Sophia Ashford, daughter of the Duke, well, I knew I had to come.
To present myself to you. I cannot explain it other than it felt like divine timing. ”
“It does seem so.” Sophia stared at this woman who’d appeared like an answer to a prayer she hadn’t known to make. “Mrs. Bromley said you had excellent references.”
“I do, miss. I’ve served in several fine houses since leaving Ashford Manor.
I know how to dress a lady properly, arrange hair in the latest fashions, care for fine clothes, navigate the social requirements of your station.
” Mrs. Shaw’s expression grew more serious.
“I remember what it means to be an Ashford. And I would be honored—deeply honored—to help you reclaim that birthright.”
“I have not been a lady. Not until now,” Sophia said. “I must confess to feeling nervous. I’ll need a lady’s maid who can guide me. Gently, of course. I am a rather sensitive soul.”
“You were a sensitive child. I can remember reading the story of Joseph and his coats of many colors from the Bible when you were only seven years old. You cried for Joseph as if your heart would break. It was stunning to see in a young child.”
“I do not remember that either. I wish I did.”
“Perhaps I can share more stories with you. If you should choose me, that is.”
“I don’t know how I could not,” Sophia said. “Can you start right away? Everything is happening at once and poor Mrs. Bromley is overwhelmed taking care of me and the household. My brothers arrive this afternoon. We have the wedding tomorrow.”
“I can began immediately, my lady. Shall we prepare you for the rest of your day?”
“Yes, please,” Sophia said, wiping away the last of her tears. “I’ve been out by the water with Amelia and Henry and am need of your services.”
Mrs. Shaw rose and began assessing Sophia with a professional eye. “We’ll start with your hair. Sit.”
“I’m afraid it’s quite tangled.” Sophia settled at the dressing table while Mrs. Shaw began unpinning her hair. The older woman’s hands were gentle but efficient, brushing through the strands with practiced ease.
“My mother said your mother had hair like this,” Mrs. Shaw said softly. “So fair it was almost silver in the sunlight. She wore it simply most days, but for formal occasions, my mother would dress it with pearls and ribbons. You have the same texture, the same thickness.”
Mrs. Shaw worked methodically, sectioning Sophia’s hair with expert fingers. She heated a curling iron over the small spirit lamp she’d brought with her, testing the temperature carefully before taking a front section of hair and wrapping it around the iron.
The gentle tugging as Mrs. Shaw worked was surprisingly soothing—the warmth of the iron, the sweet scent of the light pomade she smoothed through each section.
She created soft ringlets to frame Sophia’s face, then gathered the remaining hair at the crown, twisting and pinning it into an elegant knot.
She left a few curls loose at the nape of Sophia’s neck, softening the overall effect.
“There,” Mrs. Shaw said finally, stepping back. “Simple enough for daytime, but refined.”
Sophia stared at her reflection. “You have created a masterpiece.”