4. Chapter 4
M y things had been sent ahead to Pickering Castle the day before, so all I had with me as I left my bedchamber in our rented house was a small satchel, which Molly carried, and my reticule, which I clutched in my hand.
My manuscript was in the satchel. Thankfully Molly knew to keep it hidden.
With a looming deadline, a castle to restore, and a husband to convince I was the right choice, I started to worry that my writing would be the first to suffer.
And what if Ames discovered it? Would he forbid me from writing?
Perhaps I should have added a clause to the prenuptial agreement that he couldn’t force me to quit.
But it would have required admitting the truth and I couldn’t take the risk that anyone knew my real identity.
Writing was my lifeblood, the only thing I trusted and relied upon for stability.
It gave me a sense of control in a world that had felt like it was spinning sideways since my father had died.
“Are you ready, Your Grace?” Molly asked as we stepped into the hallway. She was wearing a gray traveling gown with a jaunty hat perched on her brown curls.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Yes, but it may take some time to get used to my new title.”
“I will not forget,” she assured me. “I never thought I’d serve a duchess, that’s for sure and certain.”
Addie and Margaret were waiting near the front door with Ames and his brothers.
Ames grasped his black riding gloves, his face tight with concern as I finally appeared. We would not have much time to get to the station, but I had tried to hurry.
Molly’s intake of breath told me she had not yet seen the Welby brothers—but was very aware of them now.
“Are you ready?” Ames asked me.
“Yes.” I indicated Molly. “This is my lady’s maid, Molly O’Neal. She’ll be coming with me.”
Ames hardly acknowledged her as he said, “Let’s be away. The carriages are waiting.”
“Goodbye, Lily,” Addie said, throwing herself into my arms for a hug. “Write often. And I’ll visit when I’m able.”
“Goodbye, darling,” I said to her, tears catching in my throat. I would miss her most of all.
I hugged Margaret next. “I hope all goes well when you return to New York,” I whispered. “Tell Matthew hello for me.”
She tightened her hold. “Thank you, Lily.”
Mother was still hosting wedding guests in the parlor, so I allowed Ames to lead me out to the carriages.
“We’ll take the first carriage,” Ames told me. “My brothers can take the second.”
“I’ll ride with you.” Brant sprinted ahead and opened the door to the first carriage before a footman could get to it, his gaze on Molly.
She offered a shy glance before she lowered her eyes.
Ames gave his younger brother a strange look but didn’t question him as we all entered the carriages.
The traffic was loud and congested as we maneuvered through London on our way to King’s Cross Station. On more than one occasion, Ames leaned his head out the window to speak sharply to the driver, but there was little that could be done to move any faster.
Ames and Brant sat on one bench while Molly and I sat on the bench facing them. I was at a loss for what to discuss. There were so many things I wanted to know, but how did I broach each subject? And should it be done in front of Brant and Molly?
I clutched my reticule and made certain Molly still held the satchel containing my manuscript.
When I looked up to ask Ames what to expect when I arrived at Pickering Castle—I caught Brant watching Molly.
Her cheeks were glowing under the attention, and though I did not blame her, since Brant was a fine and powerful man, it would not do for her to get her head turned.
Ames seemed very conscious of the growing awareness between them and gave Brant a dark look.
Brant only smiled wider.
“Miss Molly,” Brant said, “have you worked for Lily for long?”
“You’ll call her O’Neal,” Ames said, his jaw tight. “She’s the lady’s maid to a duchess, Brant.”
Lady’s maids were addressed by their surnames in England. I’d almost forgotten.
Molly glanced at me, probably seeking approval to answer, but I met her questioning gaze with an open expression. She was free to speak to whomever she desired.
“I’ve been serving as her lady’s maid for two years, my lord,” she said, her lyrical Irish brogue deepening. “Before that, I was a scullery maid for five years in the Ranier household.”
“Irish?” he asked with a curious shine in his eyes.
“I grew up near Dublin and left for America seven years ago, when I was but eighteen.”
“I imagine you didn’t think you’d end up in England, working for a duchess.”
“No, indeed.” Her cheeks were pink with his attention.
His eyes shined with interest.
I glanced at Ames and found him watching me.
It seemed my maid and his brother had more to talk about than he and I did. At least, they appeared less ill at ease.
Brant and Molly talked all the way to King’s Cross Station, for almost forty-five minutes, while Ames and I did not say a word. But the longer they conversed, the more Ames’s shoulders tightened, the look of displeasure deepening on his face.
As soon as the carriages came to a stop outside the station, and the men stepped out, Ames took Brant aside and spoke discreetly, but intensely, to his brother.
No doubt he was warning him not to show so much attention to my lady’s maid.
Surely Brant understood the spoken and unspoken rules about class distinction, and employer/employee relations.
Not to mention the conflict that had existed between Ireland and England for centuries, creating anti-Irish sentiments for many British aristocrats.
Or perhaps he didn’t. The Welby brothers did not appear educated in social customs from the little I’d witnessed.
But Molly understood them. She’d never shown me any reason to be concerned about her behavior. I didn’t expect trouble, but I would rather talk to her now than after an incident occurred.
“Perhaps,” I said as I gathered my skirt into my hand to step out of the carriage, “keep your distance from His Grace’s brothers.”
Molly’s cheeks flamed red and she lowered her gaze in embarrassment. “Of course. I meant no—”
“I know. It was just friendly conversation, but there’s no need to continue it.”
A footman appeared at the door and helped me exit the carriage as Ames finished speaking to Brant.
“Shall we?” Ames asked as he offered me his arm. “The train is boarding.”
Brant did not look pleased by whatever Ames had said, but he did not address Molly again as we made our way to the train.
We caught the attention of everyone we passed on the station platform.
How could we not? The five Welby brothers made a striking scene as they strode to the Great Northern Railway train heading north to York.
Molly and I were small in comparison, she with her brown hair and I with my blond.
She trailed behind me as we followed a porter to a private car toward the back of the train.
“You will be most comfortable here, Your Grace,” the porter said to Ames as he motioned to the stairs leading to the car. “We are at your service, of course.”
Ames nodded at him and then helped me to step onto the platform.
The car was extravagant, with thick red carpeting, dark mahogany woodwork, two plush sofas, and four individual chairs. A dining table, desk, and brass lighting fixtures only added to the luxury. There was even a private water closet, and a small sitting room for servants.
“Our own car?” Everett asked, his eyebrows lifting as he surveyed the space with open amazement. “We rode in coach on the way into London.”
“Our family honor and stature have returned with Ames’s marriage,” Brant said to him matter-of-factly, throwing his hat toward one of the hooks. He missed his aim and it fell on the floor—but he didn’t bother to pick it up.
“Money has a way of doing that,” Collins added with a grin as he took a seat on one of the sofas, running his hand along the upholstery, lifting his dirty boots up and crossing his ankles. “I can get used to this.”
“No more talk of money.” Ames spoke to his brothers in a tone demanding respect, pushing Collins’s feet off the sofa. “Especially in front of the duchess.”
I wanted to tell him it was my money and they were welcome to talk to me about it whenever they liked, but, for all intents and purposes, it was no longer mine alone. And it wasn’t proper to discuss money in front of a lady—or her lady’s maid, regardless of status.
Each of Ames’s brothers found a seat, lounging on the furniture, teasing and cajoling each other, picking up newspapers that had been left there by the porter, no doubt.
Their lack of simple manners and etiquette had surprised me more than once that day. They weren’t crass or backwards, but they didn’t conduct themselves like aristocrats or gentlemen either.
“You should make yourself comfortable,” Ames said to me.
“We will not arrive in York for about five hours. From there, we will change trains and have another two hours to Scarborough. A carriage will await us in Scarborough to take us the remaining distance to Pickering Castle. It will be a long day, and we will not find our beds until the wee hours of the morning.”
The reminder of what awaited me at the end of this long journey filled me with more trepidation than I’d felt all day.
A steady rain had begun as we’d switched trains in York, and it continued as we traveled to Scarborough, where two black carriages had been waiting for us when we exited the train.
It was cold and dark as the carriages followed the coastline.
Rain slashed against the side of the vehicle and wind rocked it to and fro, increasing our discomfort over the rocky road.
I clutched the leather handle dangling from the ceiling, afraid we would be tossed into the North Sea at any moment.
Ames sat across from Molly and me, not speaking. It was so dark, I wasn’t even sure if he was still awake.