The Reluctant Duchess (3 page)

“I wonder that she can afford a physician’s services; surely it would be cheaper for a barber or surgeon to attend?”

“I believe, like many of us, she wants the best for someone she cares for. Would you send me to a barber to save money?”

“Of course not but we do not live on the small profits of a coffee house. It’s sheer recklessness, is what it is.”

“I wonder that you let the expenses of someone who you have only met today, upset you so.” Lavinia said with a smile.

Richard scowled but didn’t reply.

Annabelle arrived at her home in Conduit Street at just after eight o’clock that evening, more than ready to head straight to bed but instead she headed to her mother’s rooms and knocked softly. A moment later the door opened slowly and Bessie Jones slipped out into the hall.

“How is she today,
Jones?” Annabelle whispered.

“Not too bad, Ma’am. The doctor let her blood thi
s afternoon and she’s been mostly docile ever since.”

“Has she eaten?”

“She has, a little lunch and some afternoon tea. Then I read to her until she dozed off.”

Annabelle looked at her mother’s bedroom door with longing, wishing that she was the woman that Annabelle remembered from
her childhood but sadly, that woman was long gone. In her place was an ill-tempered, irascible and irrational woman, who disliked everyone but especially Annabelle. If she went inside now, she wouldn’t receive the warm welcome that she wanted and longed for and she had learned her lesson long ago; it was better not to even try.

She looked to Bessie, who
had dark smudges under her eyes.

“I’ll have the kitchen send up her hot milk. Add the
Laudanum to it and once she’s asleep, take the rest of the night off, Jones.”

“Oh no Ma’am-“

“Hush. You are good to care so much for my mother, but you must take care of yourself also.”

She could see that Bessie was wavering, clearly feeling the exhaustion herself.

“Why don’t you share dinner with me in the study this evening? I could use the company.”

Alt
hough she acted as nursemaid now, Jones was officially the Dowager Marchioness’s lady’s maid, the highest ranking servant currently employed in the house, and the only one who was comfortable sharing dinner with her mistress. Annabelle may consider herself a commoner these days but to her staff, she was still Lady Wyatt and no matter how much they respected her, they could never feel completely comfortable in her presence.

“I’d like that.” Jones smiled.

Annabelle headed downstairs to tell the kitchen maid.

Annabelle’s staff consisted of Jones,
Sal, the house maid and Ruth, the kitchen maid. Since the house was woefully understaffed, the staff from the coffee house also lived here. It worked very well since they got accommodation for free, meaning that Annabelle could pay them a slightly lower wage. As well as her current household staff, Minnie, Ethel and Frank had all worked as servants for Annabelle’s parents and as such, were happy to help out in the house if needed.

When
Annabelle’s father had died the staff had been faced with a choice; to stay with the new Marquess, or to leave with Annabelle and Eveline, her mother. Although the elder Lady Wyatt was no longer herself, the staff still felt loyal to her but Lady Annabelle had been so young that many of them were frightened to follow a young girl, especially one with no marriage prospects on the horizon.

Annabelle made her way into the study and sat behind the desk to open the day’s mail.
Thankfully being summer, it was still light and she didn’t need to light a candle. There was her weekly bill from the baker, the grocer and the butcher. All she seemed to get these days was bills.

S
till, she would be more than able to cover her expenses, if it weren’t for her mother’s physicianbills
.
She couldn’t blame her mother though; no matter how hurtful her behaviour, it wasn’t her fault.

Dr Medway had suggested putting her in an asylum but Annabelle couldn’t do that. She had researched charitable institutions and she simply couldn’t allow her mother to go to a place
that accepted paupers; the treatment was simply too inhumane and unsafe. The private asylums seemed acceptable but they cost more than Dr Medway’s services.

Once again, she cursed her father. It didn’t matter what doctors said about ‘hot blood’ and the ‘heat of madness’ she knew that her mother’s condition was
his fault. Now he had died without leaving any provision for his wife, and Annabelle was having to work every hour that God sent to try keep a roof over their heads.

Jones was a Godsend. She had been
Eveline’s lady’s maid since her mother was 15 and Jones was just 14. They had been more than just mistress and servant though and over the years, a friendship of sorts and a deep loyalty had formed between them. Were Jones not willing to care for her mother, Annabelle would have to pay at least two nurses. What's more, she used the time when Eveline was sleeping (which between the bloodletting and laudanum, was often) to keep Annabelle’s wardrobe up to date.

Annabelle hadn’t bought a new gown since she
’d opened the coffee house but Jones used her many talents to update her wardrobe, carefully altering and adding to her dresses to keep up with fashion. She stayed clear of the modern penchant for wide gigot type sleeves, as they could be a hazard in the kitchen. She also didn’t wear as many petticoats as was the fashion, because that made manoeuvring between the tables difficult.

Annabelle
set the bills aside for now, intending to deal with them on Sunday and poured herself a small brandy. Her one indulgence was a brandy when she got home.

She sat in one of the armchairs beside the fire and tried to relax. Unfortunately now that her mind wasn’t occupied, the first thing that came to mind was Richard Armstrong, and that slightly startled look that he wore when she
had first approached his table.

She cursed herself and her weak mind
, but the memory was so pleasant that she was unwilling to distract herself. Then, unbidden, the memory of his kiss came to the forefront of her mind. She had enjoyed it and a part of her felt awful for slapping him, but she couldn’t afford to lose her head now. Winter wasn’t far off and last year, she had needed to pawn a necklace to cover the additional heating costs for the house. She didn’t have much jewellery of any value left now.

Her hand went to her throat and she clasped the sapphire pendant that sat there. This was the only piece of re
al value now but she was loathe to part with it. It had been a present from her parents on her 14
th
birthday, although she knew that her mother had chosen it. ‘It reminded me of your eyes,’ her mother had said with pride as she placed it around her neck.

Not long after that, the mother that she knew was gone forever, and in her place was the deranged
shrew that lived upstairs.

She was surprised to find herself voluntarily thinking of
Richard Armstrong in an attempt to clear her mind of such unpleasant thoughts. The first thing that came to her was his lips and how soft they had felt when pressed against her own. She had wanted to kiss him, she admitted, and her reaction afterwards had been overzealous and uncalled for. She would apologise the next time she saw him, she decided.

Before she could indulge too much in that madness, Jones knocked on the door and came in.

Annabelle didn’t think of Richard again until she got into bed that evening and by then, she told herself that she was far too tired to redirect her thoughts and allowed herself a momentary indulgence.

The next morning Annabelle rose at seven, as usual. Her morning routine was long established and she began by washing in the jug and basin that had been left in her room last night. Then she carefully washed her hair over the small basin, rinsing it with the rest of the water from the jug, before gently picking through the tangle of curls. She then towelled out all the water that she could and combed it into a centre parting.

Most young ladies only washed their hair once or very occasionally,
twice a week but Annabelle didn’t have that luxury. Most people loved her curly hair but then they didn’t have to live with it. She couldn’t brush it without it resembling a wild and thorny bush and if she didn’t brush it, she was left with terrible knots. The only solution was to at least wet the hair each morning, pick the tangles out and leave it to dry.

When she was finished, Jones knocked and then helped her into her dress for the day.

With that done she headed downstairs and out into the carriage, which was waiting outside; she rarely ate breakfast these days and if she did get hungry, she could find something at the coffee house. Since the carriage was enclosed, she didn’t bother with a bonnet.

When he worked for her father, Frank had been a groom and now part of his job was to see to the horse at the local stables each morning an
d night, as well as driving the staff to and from the coffee house. He was also charged with the horse’s care throughout the day, although it remained in the yard behind the coffee house and wasn’t stabled in the daytime. 

Minnie
was already in the carriage but as usual, Ethel was running late and she flew out of the house and into the carriage, holding her untied bonnet to her head. As soon as she was in, Frank urged the horse forward.

When they arrived at the coffee house, Annabelle put
on her apron to protect her gown as she cooked, whilst Frank and Minnie saw to the fire the main room and Ethel began to clear and light the large kitchen stove.

This was
Annabelle’s favourite part of the day, creating the coffee house’s baked treats. The front of house would open soon to serve those who needed a coffee on their way to work, or who perhaps wanted to hold an informal business meeting. Food wasn’t served until at least 10 o’clock and savoury food wouldn’t be served until noon. Annabelle first made the bread dough and left it to rise, then moved onto the cake mixtures. By the time they were finished, the cast iron stove was up to temperature and the cake trays began to go in the ovens, one on each side of the stove.

Ethel then had charge of watching those
whilst she washed the dirty dishes and Annabelle began preparing the lunchtime and dinner stews. Ethel wasn’t the brightest or the smartest girl but she was willing, a hard worker and of a generally happy disposition.

Annabelle remained in the kitchen until
the lunch stew was simmering on the stove top and all the cakes were cooked and cooling on their trays (just in case Ethel was a little absent minded and forgot to take them out). Annabelle then removed her apron, pinned up her now dry hair and headed through to the front of house for a few moments.

She greeted those who weren’t engrossed in conversation and was a little perplexed to find herself disappointed that Richard Armstrong wasn’t there. She had no reason to expect him in this early, if
she ever saw him again at all, in fact. He had only come in once to meet a friend and given her treatment of him, she wouldn’t blame him if he never returned. Before she headed back into the kitchen, she asked Minnie and Frank to send His Grace, Richard Armstrong, back to see her if he should come in. Having been in service since they were children, they didn’t ask why.

She then tried to put him out of her mind as she began
fashioning the bread dough into loaves which she placed in the ovens. Next came her favourite part of baking, frosting the cakes. She sat down at the table and began to hum as she worked, which wasn’t unusual, so she didn’t think anything of it when the kitchen door opened. She looked up a few moments later to see Richard Armstrong’s penetrating gaze upon her.

“I’m sorry, forgive me, I didn’t realise you were there.” She felt flustered as she stood up.

“Don’t worry on my account, I was enjoying the rendition.
The Lady of the Lake
, no? Elena’s first song?”

“Yes, quite.
” Elena singing about her one true love, Annabelle suddenly recalled. What an awful song choice. “Um…”

“You wanted to see me?” he asked with a
smile, seemingly enjoying her disquiet.

“Yes, that right. Uh, shall we talk in my office?”
she said as she noticed Ethel’s interest in their conversation.

“That suits me.”

He was altogether too smug for Annabelle’s tastes and her desire to apologise for her behaviour yesterday was rapidly dwindling. Then she remembered that he would probably quite like to get her on her own again.

“Would you care for some tea or coffee?”

“I already have a coffee,” he said holding his tall mug aloft. “But some of what you were just frosting wouldn’t go amiss.”

Annabelle looked down at the cake as though she hadn’t seen it before. “Well, I don’t see why not.” She got a knife and cut him a slice, then she set about making herself a pot of tea, checked the stew, then she remembered that he would need something to eat his cake with. She was acting more like Ethel, becoming so easily muddled.
And his standing there and watching her, enjoying her discomfort, as if she were some sort of carnival freak who was here for his entertainment, wasn’t helping matters. Finally she had everything on a tray and headed through to her office but once in there, she realised that she was still wearing her apron. She set the tray on the desk and quickly removed it before taking her seat behind the desk and preparing her tea.