Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid (4 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Marston Vale, Bedfordshire

Jane sat behind the desk and ran the figures again.  They
simply couldn’t be right.  After already taking every step of economy
imaginable, they still wouldn’t have enough money to get through the year. 
She’d already sold off the furniture that wasn’t needed.  The linens were
threadbare.  Her dresses had been turned inside out and patched.  Poor Vi had
only her mother’s old toys, except for whatever their groom Farrell could
whittle.  They grew whatever food they could, then supplemented it with what
the villagers gave them in payment for medical care.  Jane wouldn’t accept payment
from the poorest of the poor.  But if her situation didn’t change, her family
would be little better off than they.

If only her grandfather would relent and release her
inheritance.  But she knew he’d only do that if she sent Vi away to live with
strangers.

Jane would rather die first.

Her grandfather had gone into a rage when it had become
clear Jane was with child.  He’d banished her to the country, a punishment she
gladly accepted since it meant a return to her beloved home.  What she hadn’t
been prepared for, however, was the way her former friends reacted.  She’d been
cut by all the gentry in the village, including her dearest friend.  Only Mr.
and Mrs. Heldt, along with Farrell had stood by her.  In the years since then,
she’d earned the respect of the other villagers – the tenants, the families in
trade.  The people she’d once thought beneath her socially had become dearer to
her than her former friends. 

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Heldt entered.

“You’ve a visitor Miss Jane.  Mr. Cantwell has come to
call.  But I can send him right away again.”  With tightly pursed lips, there
was no mistaking how Mrs. Heldt felt about the man.  Jane shared her low
opinion.  But there were times when one had to rise above personal distaste.

“I had best see him, Mrs. Heldt.  Please send him in.”

As Mrs. Heldt turned to let the man in, she found him
already standing in the doorway.  With a look of reproach, Mrs. Heldt stormed
past Mr. Cantwell, pushed the door completely open, then left the room.

Mr. Cantwell strode in, much like a dog who’d sighted a
fallen steak.  By outward appearance, he was a good-looking man, with curly
blonde hair and clothes that were the height of fashion.  By way of
personality, he was one of the more despicable men Jane had ever encountered.

“Jane, how lovely you look today,” he said bowing, the
better to stare at the faded dress stretched tight across her bosom.

“Mr. Cantwell,” she said with a quick and shallow curtsy,
“to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Does there have to be a reason, dear Jane?  Or can’t an old
friend simply wish to stop and see you?”

Mr. Cantwell looked meaningfully at the chair in front of
Jane’s desk.

Without much of a choice, Jane asked him to be seated.

“I know you would offer me tea, except as a gentleman I
couldn’t accept such a gesture given your reduced circumstances.”

Jane gritted her teeth, wishing she could offer him tea if
only to dump the entire scalding pot in his lap. 

“I bring you glad tidings from your dear grandfather.”

That wasn’t a good sign.  Jane knew Cantwell and the earl
had long been in collusion when it came to her situation, but to think they’d
recently conferred was worrisome.

“You’ll be relieved to know the earl is quite well.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”  Jane rose to her feet.  “Thank
you, Mr. Cantwell for bringing me this news, but if you’ll excuse me, I must
attend to my work.”

Mr. Cantwell remained seated.  “But I’ve come to talk about
your work, dear Jane.  It’s all but common knowledge that your living
conditions have deteriorated to such an extent that soon your creditors will be
at your door demanding payment.  Unfortunately, even I will need to be repaid,
as much as it grieves me to broach the unpleasant topic.”

Before Mr. Cantwell’s true nature had been revealed, Jane
had made the mistake of borrowing £100 from him, necessary at the time because
of an outbreak of fever in the village.  Jane had needed to purchase medicine
and Mr. Cantwell had been so willing to help.   She just hadn’t known how he’d
expected to be repaid.

“I promise you, Mr. Cantwell…”

“Evan, please.”

“I promise to repay you as soon as I can.  I expect my
stipend to arrive shortly and will pay you as much as I am able.”

“Oh, Jane,” he tsked.  “You know as well as I that the earl
holds the purse strings.  Your stipend has already been reduced so much it’s a
wonder you can make ends meet.  If you didn’t have the pittance those peasants
gave you, you wouldn’t have anything to eat at all.  But, dear girl, just say
the word and you won’t just have a full larder, you’ll have jewels and anything
else your heart desires.”

He was on his feet now, walking toward her.

“I wonder, Mr. Cantwell, if the earl knows of the indecent
propositions you’ve presented me with these many months.”

Mr. Cantwell’s magnificent looks turned quite ugly.

“He knows, my dear Jane, and couldn’t care less.  Who else
would have you?   Who would come near the fallen woman with the bastard child?”

Jane came out from behind her desk and slapped him across
the face.

“You will never use that word in my hearing again.”

Cantwell brought his hand to his cheek to soothe the sting. 
His eyes were filled with anger and the flash of an emotion that chilled Jane
completely.

“I’ll do as I please, and you should take care to remember
that,” he said.  “The earl and I are coming to an understanding.  One you’ll be
in no position to ignore.  It would be in your best interest to remain on my
good side.”

Then he turned and stalked toward the door.  Just as he
reached it, he turned and said with deadly calm, “Do not ever strike me again.”

Jane knew it was a warning she’d be smart to heed.

London, Lynwood House

The Duke of Lynwood returned to town shortly after noon,
with Elizabeth and an army of servants in tow.  No sooner had Heskiss the
butler opened the door, welcoming his grace and Lady Elizabeth back to town,
than the mood of the entire mansion changed to one of absolute respect and
solemnity among the servants, and apprehension for everyone else.  At least it
was apprehension for Ned.  His other two brothers had yet to make an appearance
that day.

The Duke of Lynwood walked through the door, covered in a
fine layer of travel dust that couldn’t mar the elegance of his blue superfine
jacket, buff breeches and Hessians that still shone beneath the dirt.  Broad
shouldered and a few inches above six feet tall – but still an inch shorter
than Arthur – Lynwood was an intimidating presence whenever he entered a room. 
None of his siblings were truly cowed by him, of course, but they had a sixth
sense of just when to be wary. 

He was also blessed with impeccable timing, arriving just
moments before Ned would’ve been on his way to White’s.

“Ned!” said Elizabeth as she raced to him.  In public, she personified
the grace of her class, but no one had been able to tame her spirits at home.

Ned personally thought that was a very good thing.

“It’s good to see you, Lizzie,” he said as he gave her a
hug.

Lynwood raised a brow at his sister’s nickname, one he’d
been trying unsuccessfully for years to suppress.

“On your way out, Edward?” asked Lynwood.

“Yes, just on my way to White’s.”

“But you will be back to dine with us, won’t you?” asked Lizzie. 
“It’s been so long since we all had a meal together.”

“Do dine with us tonight, Edward.  Then I should like to
have a word with you in private.”

“I hope it’s not about the awful Miss Merriman,” said
Lizzie. 

“Elizabeth,” said Lynwood, imparting each syllable with a
crystal of ice, “it is ill-bred to speak of others in such a way.”

“You’re correct, Liam,” she said with eyes that sparkled,
“but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Elizabeth….”

“I know, I know.  Have your word about the awful Miss
Merriman.  I’m off to find those other two reprobates.”  She bussed Ned on the
cheek, then for good measure did the same to Liam, before running up the stairs.

“Perhaps we should speak now, Edward.”

“You don’t want to wash the travel dust from you, first?”

“Only to return and find you gone?  I think not.  My study. 
A tea tray, if you please, Heskiss.”

“As you wish, your grace.”  Heskiss bowed graciously, then
signaled for tea. 

Ned followed his brother into the study.  Liam sat at his
desk, which was never a good sign.  Ned took a seat facing him.

The tea tray arrived.  Liam took a cursory look at the
correspondence on his desk as he waited for Heskiss to serve.  Once the butler departed,
he began.

“What are your plans for the future?”

“So this is about Miss Merriman.”

“This is about no one but you, Edward.  You are nine and
twenty, returned from service to King and country.  Service that I understand
you do not wish to continue, am I correct?”

Ned nodded.

“You have played man about town for six months, but now it
is time to settle your future.”

“At the risk of impertinence, which, of course, I would
never attempt…”

“Of course.”  There was just the slightest curve to Liam’s
lips.

“You are three years older than I and Lynwood.  Why shouldn’t
you be the first to settle your future?”

“If I were the one who had an understanding with Miss
Merriman, then I would settle my future,” said the duke.  “But for whatever reason,
you are the son our parents chose to match with Lord Barrington’s daughter.  I
do not force you into any decision, but know only this:  If you choose to end it,
you must ensure there is no embarrassment to the lady or her family.”

“I understand.”

“And there is no more time for you to skirt the issue.”

“I plan to address the issue when Barrington and his family
return to town.”

“I had a feeling you might.  Which is why I accepted their
longstanding invitation to visit on your behalf.  You are expected in Marston
Vale the day after tomorrow.”

“I cannot possibly go there so quickly.  I have untold
appointments to see to for the next several weeks.”

“I’m sure you do.  I’m equally certain Arthur and Hal will
entertain each of your untold appointments to the mutual satisfaction of
everyone concerned, but mostly theirs.  You are going to Marston Vale.”

CHAPTER THREE

Marston Vale, Bedfordshire

“La, Mr. Warren, I’m sure you exaggerate my charms,” said
the Honorable Madeleine Merriman, eldest daughter of Viscount Barrington.  Miss
Merriman had strawberry blonde curls artfully arranged, courtesy of overused
ironing tongs and an overworked maid.  Her cheeks glowed with youth and the
lightest touch of rouge.  Her long lashes framed big blue eyes that could be lowered
at just the right angle for flirtation or narrowed to slits when striking out
at the perpetually harassed maid.

Miss Merriman was indeed lovely, but ran no chance of ever
underestimating her own beauty, charm or intelligence.

Today she was surrounded by three of the most eligible
bachelors in the region.  Oliver Warren, third son of an earl, Colin
Rutherford, nephew of a marquis, though unfortunately not in a direct line to
inherit and childhood friend Wills Overton, vaguely connected to a baronet.  Madeleine
and Wills had grown up together and their favorite pastime was gossip.  

“Fair lady, how could I ever exaggerate your charms when you
are perfection itself?”  Warren brought her fingers to his lips, while Wills
smirked at Madeleine, who discreetly winked back.

“I hear tell there will be a country ball,” sniffed
Rutherford.  He’d been rusticating on an extended stay at Warren’s house and
had taken every opportunity to show his distaste for the very countryside
currently giving him shelter from what rumor said – via Wills – were some
rather angry money lenders in London.

“I’m sure I’ve never heard of a more unamusing way to pass
the time,” said Madeleine, “although I shall most likely be forced to make an
appearance, given my standing in the village.”

“I should never think of such a thing as you going to a
dance with locals,” sniffed Rutherford.

“But you see,” said Wills, “it won’t just be locals in
attendance.  I’ve heard tell that no less a personage than the brother of a
duke will be there.”

That got the other men’s attention.  Rutherford went so far
as to open his eyes almost all the way.

“Lord Edward Kellington is coming,” explained Wills in
response to the unasked question.  “He and Madeleine are all but engaged,
doncha know.”

This was unwelcome news indeed for the other two gentlemen.  
Warren started so suddenly the starched points on his high collar scraped his
cheeks and Rutherford, with pockets to let and Miss Merriman so nicely dowered,
looked like he’d been served a supper of lemons.

 “All but engaged is not engaged,” said Madeleine sweetly,
to the obvious relief of Warren and Rutherford.  “The man has been most
inattentive and shall have to prove his love to me, for I will not marry
without it.”  She knew this to be an absolute falsehood, of course, but an aura
of mystery was so very important. 

“But how could a gentleman not love you, Miss Merriman?”
asked Warren.

“Indeed, I should find it most impossible to resist your
charm, if given even half a chance,” said Rutherford, hoping he wasn’t too late
to stake a claim.

“All I can say, gentleman, is we shall see what we shall
see.”

And with that pearl of wisdom, the Honorable Madeleine
Merriman turned and walked back to the house.

*                    *                    *

Ned was struck by the phenomenon that the amount of time it
took to travel a certain distance was inversely proportionate to how badly you
wished to reach your destination.  When returning from his last mission to
Italy and anxious to get home, the journey had dragged unmercifully.  The trip
from London to Marston Vale, however, had sped by.  He’d been plagued by dry
roads, few carriages to impede his way and nary a highwayman.  Even his black
stallion Knightley – named by Elizabeth in a fit of whimsy – had seemed in a
hurry to arrive.

It was a sad day when a man couldn’t trust his horse.

Ned had crossed into Marston Vale some time ago, but had no
idea where Barrington Manor lay.  Perhaps he’d become hopelessly lost and a reprieve
would be granted after all.

Just then he heard someone scream in pain and saw several
farmers running toward a man who’d fallen.  On instinct, he sent Knightley over
the hedge then raced toward them.

He was still several lengths away when he saw the blood. 
The man’s lower body was covered in it.  If help didn’t arrive soon, he could
very well bleed to death.

Ned quickly dismounted.  “What happened?” he asked the
others.

“I didn’t see what happened,” said an older man.  “But I
heard the cry and come runnin’.  Sent me grandson for help.”

Ned pulled off his cravat.  “We’ll need to stanch the wound
until a surgeon arrives.  Has he far to come?”

The other men looked at each other, then the old man spoke
again.  “The surgeon won’t come, m’lord.  We haven’t the means to pay.”

“That’s barbaric,” said Ned as he pressed his cravat on the
wound.  “I hope your grandson makes him come.”

“But Tom isn’t fetching the surgeon.”

“Then who the devil is coming?”

As if in response, Ned heard a horse galloping toward them,
but his view of the rider was blocked by the men standing around them.

“Help is come, m’lord.  Thank God.”

“You’ve not a moment to waste,” said Ned as he looked up at
the newcomer.  Then everything inside him stilled as he stared into the brown eyes
of the woman who’d haunted his dreams these past seven years.

*                    *                    *

When Jane received word a farmer had been injured, she
grabbed her well-stocked satchel, then rode out on the horse Farrell had
saddled for her.  They were actions she’d taken so many times in the past, she barely
had to think about them.  But nothing could’ve prepared her for the shock of
seeing Lord Edward Kellington – Ned – for the first time in seven years.  She
recovered as best she could, then sank to her knees on the other side of the injured
man. 

“What happened?” she asked.

“Looks to have cut himself with the scythe,” said the old
farmer.  “But his lordship there showed up and looks to have stopped the
bleeding.”

Jane put her hand on the bandage Ned still held.  Her
fingers brushed against his and she pulled back her hand as if scalded.  “Hold
the corner of the bandage,” she told him breathlessly.  “I’m going to see how
deep the wound is.”

Ned did as he was told, unable to take his eyes off the top
of her head as she peered beneath the bandage.  She was avoiding looking at
him.  Good, he thought.  Let her bear a small fraction of the discomfort he was
feeling.

“Seth,” she told the old man.  “Please fetch my satchel. 
Lord Edward, when I pull my hand out, press down on the bandage as hard as you
can.  Don’t worry, Michael,” she said to the wounded man, “you’ll be fine. 
It’s not nearly as bad as it seems.  Although I’m afraid you’ve ruined a
perfectly good pair of trousers.”

The man smiled weakly at her jest, looking relieved.

“Here you go, Miss Jane, here’s your satchel.”

Interesting, thought Ned, as he watched her pull needle,
thread and the familiar Scots whiskey out of the bag.

“Your name is Jane?” he asked.

Nonplussed by the question, she nearly dropped the needle. 
She gave a curt nod, then turned once again to her patient.  “Michael, I need
you to take a rather large swallow of the whiskey.  Perhaps two to be on the
safe side.  Can you do that for me?”

“Aye.  It’s the first good thing to happen since I stuck
meself.”

“I’m afraid your good luck won’t last.  I need to clean the
wound with the whiskey, then stitch you up.  It will likely sting a bit.  Or
worse.”

“Do what you must, Miss Jane.  I’m just thanking the good
Lord you’re here.”

Turning back to Ned, she told him to hold Michael down with
one hand, then pull back the bandage with the other.  When he did, she poured half
the bottle on the wound, then soaked the needle and thread in the liquid.

As Jane began to stitch, Ned was fascinated by her calm
precision, coupled with the almost constant conversation she kept up with the
man.  He knew first-hand how skilled she was as a surgeon, but it was the way
she worked to keep the man’s fears at bay that told him a great deal about her. 

Half an hour later, Jane was finished, and the other men had
helped a rather tipsy Michael – who’d had a few more swallows of her Scots
whiskey – onto a cart for the journey home.  She was left in the field alone
with Edward.

“Odd that we’ve never been formally introduced, after
everything we’d been through,” said Ned.  “Although I could’ve sworn we had
been.  Is it Jane Johnston?  Or another surname all together?  Can I believe
anything you say?  After all, your name isn’t the only thing you lied to me
about.”

Jane packed her satchel without looking at him, but Ned
noticed the hands which had been so calm during the surgery were now trembling. 

“Will it make you laugh to know how long I searched for Iris
Johnston?  I even hired a runner from Bow Street, only to be told no such woman
existed.”

He looked for her?  Jane couldn’t believe it.  What would he
have done if he’d found her?

“Look at me,” Ned said, as he grabbed her arm and turned her
toward him.

Jane looked into the eyes she’d seen every day for slightly
more than six years.  Her daughter’s eyes.  But these eyes held anger and something
too intense for Jane to look at.  If he was upset now, how would he feel if he
discovered her secret? 

His fingers were lightly but firmly clasped about her upper
arm, sending an unwanted fire through every part of her. 

“Lord Edward,” she said, “I sincerely regret misleading you
all those years ago, but a woman must protect herself and I didn’t know whom to
trust.”

“You knew you could trust me.”

“Did I?  We knew very little about each other.  We were two
strangers in extraordinary circumstances.  You saved my life and will always
have my gratitude, but I cannot say we knew each other to any great extent.”

“Then you have a most faulty memory, madam, because as I recall,
we know each other very well indeed.”

Jane blushed from the roots of her hair all the way to her boot-clad
feet.  “Yes, Lord Edward, I recall the night to which you refer, although if
you were a true gentleman, you wouldn’t remind me of such a lapse in judgment.”

“Lapse in judgment?  I believe I’ve been insulted.  Can you
honestly tell me that night was nothing more than a mistake?”

Jane avoided his gaze.  Could it be possible that he’d thought
of her through the years, even if it was only a fraction as much as she’d
thought of him?  The Kellington family was so well-known that word of their
exploits even reached as far as Marston Vale.  She’d heard little of Edward until
he returned to England six months ago.  The gossip sheets, which occasionally
found their way to her table mostly because she sought them out with a morbid
combination of eagerness and dread, were filled with speculation about when he
would settle down and which unhappily married matron had her eye on him.

Could such a man be interested in her after all these
years?  Would he ever consent to settle in sleepy Marston Vale?   Because Jane
knew she could never leave.  Not with so many people depending on her.  And,
most importantly, could the brother of a duke ever risk scandal by marrying a
woman with an illegitimate child?  Even if that child were his.  Especially if
that child were his.  Because Jane had a feeling Edward wouldn’t take kindly to
her having deceived him about the child.  He hadn’t even liked being lied to
about her name.

Jane knew a future with this man wasn’t possible, so there
was nothing to be gained by wishing for it.  She pulled away from him.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

She stowed the satchel in her saddle bag.

“That’s no concern of yours.”

She looked for a mounting block, then felt strong hands at
her waist.  He turned her toward him and she lost the ability to breathe.  He
looked at her for one long moment and Jane was equally afraid he would kiss her
and that he wouldn’t.  Well, perhaps, not equally afraid.

Then he lifted her easily and placed her in the saddle.

“This isn’t finished between us,” he said.  “Don’t think for
a moment that it is.”

He turned and walked away.

Jane galloped toward home as fast as her horse could run.

*                    *                  *

As Knightley meandered down the lane, Ned thought about what
had just transpired.  The woman had lied to him.  Well, he’d known that for
years, ever since all three runners – he hadn’t quit after just one – had told
him Iris Johnston didn’t exist.  So he knew that had been a lie.  But why was
she lying now by professing no interest in him?  The chemistry between them had
been palpable.  If he’d kissed her as he’d wanted, she would’ve let him.  Given
her response when their hands first brushed against each other and again when
he lifted her to the saddle, he probably could’ve done a great deal more than simply
kiss her.

Because with Jane, there’d be no such thing as a simple
kiss.

Ned groaned.  How many nights had he spent trying to forget about
making love to her?  He’d bedded more than his share of women over the years and
had a reputation as an excellent lover.  The women he’d been with were
experienced.  They knew how to please a man.  But for some reason, that one night
with the passionate virgin had somehow spoiled him for everyone else. 

And with that dreary thought, he looked up to see that Knightley
the traitor had somehow led him to Barrington Manor.  As he turned into the
drive, he saw first one maid, then another scurry into the house.  Apparently,
he’d been spotted.