Fenella J. Miller (6 page)

“I’m so sorry we could not come earlier, miss, we had to wait until the mistress and master were safely retired. We have a tray for you. You must keep some of it for tomorrow as I fear it will not be until this time again that we can come up to you.”

The delicious aroma of cook’s leek and potato soup wafted from the tureen. Her stomach gurgled loudly and her visitors laughed. Sally set a chair at the table and dished up a bowl. “Here you are, Miss Baverstock. There’s fresh bread and butter to go with it. Then you have game pie and redcurrant jelly and to follow a slice of apple pie and cream.”

Not wishing to be left out, Mary chimed in. “We have brought you a large jug of lemonade, hot water and cold, and to drink now, a pot of coffee.”

“Thank you. You have risked your positions to bring me this, I could not bear it if you were to be dismissed because of me. I see you have plum cake, cheese and pickles on the other tray. With the fruit I already have, I shall manage for a day or two. You must not come again tomorrow, it’s far too risky.”

For the first time Ann, who was the household seamstress, spoke up. “Food is not the only reason we have come, Miss Baverstock. I have brought my pins and measuring tape. We are going to make you a ball gown.”

Elizabeth felt her throat thicken. How could she tell them she did not dare to go to the ball even if she they managed to make her something suitable? “How kind of you. Do you intend to alter something that I already own? I fear there’s nothing suitable in my closet for such a grand occasion.”

Like a conjuror, Ann reached behind her and a cascade of gold tipped over the rag rug. Elizabeth fell to her knees, burying her hands in the silken material. The stuff was soft and shimmering and when she held it to the candlelight it sparkled as if lit up by tiny gemstones. “This is so beautiful, where did you find it?”

The four of them exchanged conspiratorial glances and Mrs. Blake answered. “Never you mind about where it came from, my love, it’s yours by right and we’re going to sew you the most beautiful dress anyone has ever seen.”

Sally held a swatch up to Elizabeth’s face. “See? The colour’s perfect with your pale gold hair. I shall make ribbons from the scraps and thread those through your hair, Mary’s an expert at making roses, we thought to sew them in a swirl around the skirt.”

“Just a moment, I’d quite forgotten, I have something that belonged to my mama.” She dashed into the dressing room and rummaged through her sewing box. “There, I have them.” Triumphantly she ran back and tipped the small cloth bag out onto the gossamer material. A fountain of little golden beads tumbled down.

“Oh my! These will be perfect, miss, I shall decorate the neckline and the sleeves with them,” Ann said happily.

“All we need to complete the outfit are gloves and evening slippers. Do you have anything suitable in your closet, Miss Baverstock?”

Sadly, Elizabeth shook her head. “I haven’t, I never dine formally so I have no gloves apart from those I wear outside. My only evening slippers are black leather, but I shall wear them if I have to.”

Mrs. Blake helped Ann fold up the silk whilst Mary and Sally replaced the beads in the bag. Unexpectedly Elizabeth’s courage returned. She
would
go to the ball. Her lack of gloves and footwear would not matter if she was wearing a gown made of this fabulous silk. “You have still not taken my measurements, Ann, nor told me what the pattern shall be.”

“I thought to use one of your gowns as a guide. If you would care to slip one on I will pin it so that it fits you exactly.”

When they eventually departed, life did not seem so dreary. She still had friends who cared for her and sufficient nourishment to see her through tomorrow. The next day would be the Christmas ball. How was it possible the four of them would be able to sew her a ball gown in so short a time? She feared they would have to sit up all night for they would certainly not have any spare time during their working day.

If only she could do something for them in return, make their lives easier in some way, but she was as dependent as they were. She fell to her knees beside the bed and sent up a fervent plea to the Almighty that he would provide an answer to her prayers.

J
AMES
S
PENT
S
OME
T
IME
examining the desk but could find no hidden compartments. Disappointed that his search had proved fruitless, he returned to his chambers to change for dinner. He should have realised the Hartfords would no longer view him as a welcome guest because of his support for Miss Baverstock. Neither Eleanor nor her sister greeted him with their customary smiles, they curtsied vaguely in his direction and immediately resumed their conversation with Ned Bloomfield and his younger brother.

So be it. How fortunate he had changed his mind or Eleanor’s coldness might have disconcerted him. Occasionally during the long, tedious meal, she glanced in his direction apologetically. Perhaps this change of demeanour was not her fault and she was merely following the instructions of her parents.

He was seated with Miss Culley on his right and her elderly aunt on his left. He did his best to entertain them both. However, Miss Culley senior was as deaf as a post and her niece more interested in Lord Bloomfield, who was her other dinner partner. Bloomfield had been left a widower two years ago. Fortunately, his children were already old enough to manage without the guidance of their mother. Was this the way the wind blew? It certainly explained why this lively young lady had come to spend Christmas at Hartford Hall.

When the ladies withdrew and left the gentlemen to their port, Bloomfield moved up a chair in order to speak privately to him. “What’s this Hartford is saying about you, old fellow? Fraternising with the staff?”

James felt a wave of anger. “If you are referring to Miss Baverstock, the previous Earl of Hartford was her grandfather. She is better bred than the current occupiers of her ancestral home.”

“My word, my boy, is that the right of it? From what the bounder said one would have thought she was little better than a servant. Disgraceful — she ought to be dining with us.”

“I entirely agree, Bloomfield. But, for some reason she wishes to remain in her chambers. I have no notion why this is, but I intend to find out one way or another.”

He caught the eye of young Bloomfield and the man nodded towards the door. Ned obviously wished to speak to him. Ignoring his host, James smiled at his friend and stood up. Immediately Lord Bloomfield joined him, as did his younger son, and leaving the remaining dozen gentlemen at the table the four of them strolled out.

“I say, Sir James, I don’t like it above half, you know. A poor show indeed, sending Miss Baverstock away. Lady Eleanor is most concerned for her welfare. Do you think we should go up and see how she does?”

James found himself warming to this young man. His enquiry was genuine, his expression open and honest. “I have spoken to Miss Baverstock. It would appear she wishes to remain apart from us for the present. I’m glad you and Lady Eleanor have struck up a friendship and I wish to assure you that my interest in that direction is at an end.”

“I say, that’s capital news. I’ve not come here looking to fall into parson’s mousetrap. I’m but three and twenty and fully expect to sow my wild oats a while longer.” He grinned and tugged at his cravat. “However, I think Lady Eleanor would be better with me and not here. It’s not a happy household. I ain’t one for complaining, Sir James, but I can’t take to Lady Amelia or her
mater
and
pater.
”

“I’m delighted to hear you say so, young man. Get her away from the pernicious influence of her sister and parents as soon as possible. She is easily led and will become like them in time.”

Ned shook his hand as if drawing water from a pump. “I shall speak to my father immediately; if I have his approval, I shall dip my toe in the water straightaway.”

James looked around to see if Lord Bloomfield was still in the vicinity but he had vanished into the drawing room to join the ladies. He wandered into the entrance hall to admire the decorations. The candles flickering amongst the leaves looked enchanting. He was standing in the shadows when he heard voices. Should he reveal himself or remain hidden where he was?

He tensed; young Bloomfield and Eleanor were approaching. His lips curved as Bloomfield guided her to the centre of the vestibule directly beneath the bunch of mistletoe. They were talking so softly he could not hear their words from where he was positioned as she glanced upwards and laughed. Then Ned tenderly encircled her waist and drew her closer, and their lips met in a passionate kiss.

Enough was enough. He could not lurk in the darkness, he must announce himself. He coughed and the two of them sprang apart and stared guiltily in his direction. She gathered up her skirts and hurried back into the drawing room. The young man recovered his composure and bowed.

“Am I to congratulate you, sir?”

“I say, just a bit of fun, nothing like that. I ain’t spoke to my father yet, he might not approve.”

James stared at him and the young man shifted uncomfortably. This would not do; he might not wish to marry the girl himself but he could not stand by and allow Bloomfield to play fast and loose with her good name.

“Are you sure she sees a kiss in the same way? Lady Eleanor is an innocent; she will believe your intentions are serious. Whatever your father says on the matter, kissing her in so public place means you must offer for her or her reputation will be irredeemably damaged.” He frowned and the young man shifted from foot to foot. “I believe that scarcely twenty minutes ago you declared your intention of courting Lady Eleanor. Why should you hold back now?”

“I’m not certain she’s the one for me. It’s what she was saying just now that’s put me off.”

James felt an urge to floor the man. Bloomfield was as fickle as the worst flirt. He had no right to take the girl under the mistletoe if his intentions were no longer honourable. “In which case, sir, your behaviour was despicable. I shall not speak of what I saw; make certain you hold your tongue or you will answer to me.”

“Don’t you want to know what was said? It concerns Miss Baverstock.”

“Well, tell me, Bloomfield.”

“She told me Miss Baverstock is to leave next week to become a governess and Lady Eleanor was pleased about it. She believes this to be quite acceptable, but my blood boiled, I can tell you. I’ve a good mind to marry Miss Baverstock myself to keep her safe.”

The young man was a veritable nincompoop. James’ anger turned to amusement and he clapped the boy on the back. “Leave Miss Baverstock’s welfare to me. I suggest you return to the drawing room and don’t bring any further young ladies out here. Is that quite clear?”

“Absolutely. I would not have brought Lady Eleanor out here but I wished to have her talk of other things and could think of nothing else to silence her.”

James strode back to the study. If he had met his host, he doubted if he could have restrained himself from punching him on the nose. At least he now understood why Elizabeth — he could not continue to think of her as Miss Baverstock — why Elizabeth believed she would no longer be welcome downstairs. A governess did not socialise with the family and their guests unless there was a need to make up the numbers at table. He would write her a note, tell her…what could he tell her? That he wished to take care of her — that he wished to make her his wife?

To marry out of pity was not a good way to start a relationship; there must at least be desire and strong affection between a couple for the union to be successful. He slumped in despair behind the desk. He could not in all conscience do more than offer to assist her in finding a better place to live. He was still in touch with several of his late father’s friends — surely one of them must have daughters of a similar age who would be willing to sponsor her?

He had deep pockets and could give Elizabeth a substantial dowry and sufficient funds to take her rightful place in the
ton
. Once she was officially
out,
he could get to know her better, and make it his business to squire her about. He admired her intellect, her courage, her kindness and loving heart, but she did not make his heart skip a beat. He was merely interested in her welfare, but sadly felt nothing stronger. However, she was highly unlikely to accept monetary help from him.

Drifting back into the throng, he could not help but notice Miss Sarah Culley playing a lively game of piquet with Lord Bloomfield. He watched them exchange glances and smiles; he had got things quite wrong. Bloomfield had come to Hartford Hall, not to promote the interests of his eldest son, but to spend time with Miss Culley.

This was an October — May relationship, but the couple were ideally suited. She had been in society for several seasons, had received countless offers but never accepted. She was quite old enough to know her own mind. At the least there would be
one
couple glad there were bunches of mistletoe included in the Christmas decorations.

Elizabeth all but skipped out of bed on the morning of the ball. She had put jugs of water to warm by the fire and this morning she was going to wash her hair. Her locks would take most of the day to dry, so the sooner she got it done the better. She piled logs and coal on the fire and sat on a pile of cushions with her hair sticking damply to her shoulders while she toasted several slices of bread in front of the flames. Today was the first time since Grandfather had died that she was happy. She would not worry about the future; for the moment she would think only of attending the ball. Once she was amongst the guests, it would be impossible for even Lord Hartford to remove her.

She wished it had been a masked occasion then she could have remained anonymous and run away at midnight just like Cinderella in the fairy story. She giggled at her comparison; she certainly had the equivalent of a wicked stepmother and two wicked stepsisters. No, that was being unfair to Eleanor; she was weak rather than unkind.

Her heart raced and she sank back into the cushions with a sigh. She had no doubt who
her
Prince Charming was. Sir James had all the necessary attributes; he was tall, dark and handsome, courageous and strong. She laughed out loud at her nonsense. She might think of him in romantic terms but he had never looked at her with more than kindness in his eyes. He was a good man, but he did not love her.

Love? Where had that notion come from? She had known him such a short while and they’d spend much of that at loggerheads. How could she fancy herself in love with him? His image filled her head and angrily she pushed it away. It would not do to harbour such thoughts. Her imagination was playing tricks with her.

He was an attractive man and that was all there was to it. She would not let herself feel anything stronger. In a few days she would be leaving to become a governess; no man of his standing would consider her a suitable wife then. But just for tonight she would imagine she was the girl from the fairytale and that her story
would
have a happy ending like Cinderella’s.

By mid-afternoon her hair was dry and she decided to creep into the attics to search for something suitable to wear on her feet. She was almost certain there had been several trunks of garments left behind when her mother had married her dashing young captain. She had no memory of either of her parents. Her papa had died before she was born and her mother had eventually returned to live at Hartford Hall. Mama had succumbed to the sweating sickness soon after they had arrived, but Grandfather had more than made up for her lack of parents. Her eyes filled, she wished he was here to see her dance at her first ball.

Good grief! Tonight would also be the first time the ballroom had been used in living memory. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been in there. From what she could recall it ran the full width of the house, which made it more than sixty feet long. There were several French doors that opened onto a terrace overlooking the ornamental lake. Would any of the couples go outside to spend a few stolen moments together?

There had been no further fall of snow but what had fallen remained on the ground. Not only would it be cold, it might also be treacherous underfoot. Taking a candlestick she slipped out through the dressing room door, normally used by the servants, and fingered her way along the narrow passageway until she found the stairs that led to the attics.

Some watery sunlight filtered in through the dirty windowpanes and this, with her candle, should be sufficient to find what she was searching for. She paused to view the heavy oak furniture which had once graced Grandfather’s apartment. This had been banished to the attics within weeks of his demise. She’d not had the heart to come up and look at it. When she’d discovered a pair of suitable evening slippers, perhaps she would spend an hour two examining the contents of his discarded bureau and drawers.

She threaded her way around the miscellany of broken furniture, unwanted toys and other bric-a-brac to arrive considerably more dishevelled than she had been when she set out. Thank goodness she’d had the forethought to push her clean hair into one of her hideous caps. It would be the very last time she would wear one of these.