The Valentine Legacy (13 page)

“Well, I'm relieved you didn't get robbed until you were close to us.” The earl rose and stood over her, looking down at the vivid, curling red hair that was poking out riotously on all sides of the very ugly straw bonnet. Yes, she had hair the color of Maggie's, perhaps even a more vivid, richer red. “How long have you known James?”

“Since I was fourteen. He doesn't know I'm alive. That is, he knows I'm alive, it's just that he doesn't care. It's very depressing. Oh goodness, I've done it again. Truly, sir, I don't talk like this all the time.”

“Please don't shut down on our account,” the earl said. “Now, you must be tired. You are our guest, Miss Warfield. I daresay we'll get all this straightened out after you've had a good rest. I'll have Cook send you up a nice late luncheon.”

Jessie couldn't allow this. She bounded to her feet, tripped on the hem of her gown, and went crashing toward the beautiful silver tea service that had surely served multitudes of earls and dukes and princes. She felt the earl's hand clasp her upper arm and pull her upright.

He smiled down at her as he released her. “Are you all right, Miss Warfield?”

“Yes, sir, but I can't be your guest. James doesn't know I'm here. No one does. I ran away because everything was impossible at home. It will remain impossible, so I can't go home. I want to work for you. I know I can't be a jockey for you since ladies can't do that in England, but I love children and James has told me that her ladyship just had another little boy and James is his godfather. I would like to be a nursery maid. I think the baby is probably too young for a nanny, probably even too young for me to take him riding and teach him all about thoroughbreds, particularly the founding sires, and my favorite is the Byerley Turk, who was captured at Buda in 1688.”

“He's just a bit too young for the Byerley Turk,” the earl agreed. “But he's a smart lad, and I daresay he'll want to be up to snuff by his first birthday. Well, Duchess, what do you say? Shall we set Jessica—”

“Excuse me, sir, but my name's Jessie. I know that sounds perhaps too provincial, perhaps too Colonial, but it's my name. It can't be helped.”

“It's charming,” the earl said easily, quite charmed by this unexpected female. “‘Jessie' it is. What do you say, Duchess?”

The Duchess rose and walked gracefully to Jessie, who
scrambled to her feet. She took her right hand between her own and said with a smile, “Charles is a handful, just like his father. I imagine he will adore you, particularly your splendid hair. You will take care that he doesn't bald you. Welcome to Chase Park, Jessie.”

“I don't have splendid hair. You're just being kind because that's what James said you were.”

“Of course you have lovely hair. Say ‘thank you,' Jessie.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

Soon Jessie was trailing after Sampson, who was casually telling her that he'd always fancied visiting the Colonies. He'd never before seen an Indian and said he'd like to borrow some of their war paint for his wife. It would amuse her, he said.

In the Green Cube Room, the Duchess was saying to her husband, “Marcus, this is interesting. What do you think happened between her and James that sent her scurrying here all by herself? What she's done is foolish beyond belief.”

“I'll wager you she wore trousers until she got close to us, then changed into that god-awful gown. Don't worry. We'll find out everything soon enough. Now I wonder what Maggie will say when she meets a woman younger than she is with hair that just could be redder?”

 

Maggie, Sampson's wife of six years, was magnificent. Jessie just stared at her as she clutched the threadbare dressing gown more closely about her. At least she was clean and had lain down on that incredible bed with its pale gold brocade overhang and four tall posters, each beautifully carved, and closed her eyes. The mattress was goose feather if Jessie wasn't mistaken, and she'd thought she'd collapsed onto heavenly clouds, but still she hadn't slept. She'd been too scared and too relieved, both at the same time. The gown
Maggie wore when she came to Jessie's bedchamber, which was next to the nursery, was finer than the one the Duchess had worn when Jessie had first been shown in to that awesome Green Cube Room. Ah, but her hair, it was glorious.

“Redder than a sinner's passions,” Maggie said comfortably when Jessie just stared at her and blurted it out. She patted that beautiful hair and grinned. “You've not a bad head of hair yourself, Miss Jessie. It's not as pure a shade of red as mine, but it's acceptable nonetheless. Now you have all these dancing curls that won't obey even my fingers, so we'll—” She paused and struck a thoughtful pose.

“Oh, please call me Jessie. I'm not a Miss. You're right, my hair won't do what anyone tells it to. I'm going to be Charles's nanny of sorts.”

“Yes, my Sampson told me you were going to teach Charles all about racehorses and thoroughbreds and the Byerley King—”

“Well, it's actually the Byerley Turk. He's a horse, you know, not a man.”

“That's a pity. Men provide so much more sport than horses, but I suppose opinions do vary on that score. I daresay you'll do just fine no matter what kind of a Turk it is. Now, let me see what I can do with this very nice head of hair. You'll be having dinner with the Duchess and his lordship this evening. You scrubbed your hair really well, didn't you, in your bath?”

“Oh yes, it was dreadfully dirty,” Jessie said as she sat down and stared at the nearly dry wild tangle of red curls in the mirror.

“Don't you worry now, Jessie. The Duchess told me you needed me, and I can well see that you do. She wants me to bring you up to the mark. It's a good thing I'm so talented—Did I tell you I was an actress before I saved Mr. Badger's life in Plymouth? Oh, you haven't met Mr. Badger or Mr. Spears yet. You will.”

“James has told me ever so much about everyone. He said you were incredibly beautiful.”

What James had actually said was that Maggie froze his tongue in his mouth ever since she'd patted him on his butt when he'd been twenty years old.

“Yes, well, James is a nice man. He grew up well. We're all very proud of him. Those deep green eyes of his appeal to the senses. Have you ever noticed those long eyelashes of his? And that nearly blond hair that's sort of curly? He's a handsome man, our James, and he grew to be so big, nearly as big as the earl, his cousin. Now, you just relax and close your eyes. I shall proceed to work my magic.”

“James does have beautiful green eyes,” Jessie said. Her eyes were closed, so she didn't see Maggie's smile at those wistful words. To Jessie's surprise, Maggie didn't immediately begin brushing out her hair. No, she rubbed a very sweet-smelling cream onto her face. “Isn't that nice? The Duchess told me you'd been on board a ship for a good six weeks. That ocean air isn't good on a lady's face. This will make you soft again. We'll use it every day. You will use it on the rest of yourself as well, after every bath. You have nice skin for a Colonist, Jessie. Now, let's see what we'll do with your hair.”

 

Jessie felt like a fool. She didn't want to leave her bedchamber, which was more lovely than even her mother's at home. Maggie had told her it was called the Autumn Room because of all the lovely golden shades in the draperies and the counterpane. This was the room they gave to Charles's nanny?

She didn't want to walk down that long, wide corridor with its niches holding naked Greek statues or the endless stretch of walls filled with paintings of Wyndham ancestors.

She didn't want to trip on the hem of this incredible gown
that the Duchess had sent for her to wear and land on her nose beneath one of those paintings.

When there was a knock on her bedchamber door, she was nearing a state of panic that had her shaking and cursing herself for shaking.

She opened the door to see a tall older gentleman who was dressed more elegantly than any gentleman she'd ever seen in her life. He had thick black hair threaded with interesting silver and dark eyes that surveyed her calmly.

The personage smiled down at her. “I'm here to escort you downstairs, Miss Warfield. The Duchess thought perhaps you'd be more comfortable on my arm rather than marching past all those Wyndham portraits that give her bile, she's always saying.”

“Thank you, sir.” She gingerly placed her hand through his arm. “My name's Jessie.”

“You Colonists are so informal, but it's charming. Chin up. That's better. I fancy Mr. James is very worried about you.”

“Oh no, he doesn't care, he—”

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry. You couldn't possibly care that James doesn't even know I'm alive. I suppose it is possible he's a bit worried since he was a part of my downfall.”

“Interesting things, downfalls. Was yours an interesting downfall or just a simple, everyday sort?”

She burst into laughter. She laughed and laughed, trembling with it, and the Grand Personage beside her merely smiled benignly until finally she subsided.

“Do you know I don't think I've laughed for nearly two months now? Goodness, that felt quite good.”

“I daresay you'll laugh even more when you ride tomorrow.”

“Ride? As I did at home? Oh no, sir, surely the earl and countess couldn't be that lax with their servants, and that's
what I am. In America I'd be an employee, but here, surely, I'm just a servant of no account at all.”

“You're dining with the earl and countess.”

“That's different. They just want to know all about James. They miss him.”

“Yes, he's an interesting man. He's been through a lot, but he's survived, and gotten all the stronger for it.”

“Yes, I know about his wife and child dying.”

“That was one thing, yes. Ah, now mind your steps, these stairs can be treacherous to females, males too if they've imbibed too much.”

Jessie said nothing more until the Grand Personage had guided her down to the last magnificent oak step and her feet were solidly on the black-and-white Italian marble entrance hall that was larger than the entire downstairs of her father's house.

She felt very provincial. Her laughter was long gone. She looked around her and felt the same terror she'd felt when she'd walked through those cathedral-like double doors with their huge brass lion-head knockers.

“I never imagined a house like this, sir.”

“You'll become used to it. The Duchess hated it as a child, thought it was cold and overwhelming, but now she's proud as the devil of it. Let's take you to see the earl and the Duchess. They're in the small gold room this evening. Mr. Sampson believed you would feel more comfortable there on your first night here.”

“James told me that the earl named her the Duchess when she was nine years old.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Are you visiting here, sir? Are you also an earl? Or perhaps a duke?”

“Not to my knowledge. Now, I want you to keep your head high, keep those shoulders squared, and smile. Act as
if you were the queen of America come here deigning to visit. Will you try to do that?”

Jessie gulped. “I'll try. Aren't you coming with me?”

“Not this evening. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You're most welcome.”

J
ESSIE JUST COULDN
'
T
take it all in. Here she was sitting in a priceless chair that must be hundreds of years old, holding a silver fork that weighed as much as her arm, picking at fresh garden peas that rolled around on a plate that had more gold on it than every wedding ring in Baltimore melted together.

She realized this wasn't a state banquet hall, but rather just a cozy little dining room no larger than her mother's huge parlor. The walls were painted a light yellow. Windows lined the front, and the light silk draperies were drawn back to show the front lawn with its well-scythed grass that melted into an oak forest. She heard a strange sound that so startled her, she dropped her fork.

“It's all right,” the Duchess said. “That was Fred.”

“Fred?”

“The peacock. He's currently infatuated with Clorinda, but she's having nothing to do with him. She's a fickle little brown peahen. He is constantly fanning his magnificent tail, but alas, no luck. He's complaining about it to us. Just ignore him.”

“All right.” Ignore an infatuated peacock? Well, she supposed that since this was England she would have to adapt to any number of strange things.

“Do you like what Maggie did to your hair?” the earl asked.

Her hand went self-consciously to the thick braids wound around and interwoven to form a circle atop her head. “And now some little streamers as I call them,” Maggie had said, “to soften the effect around your sweet face. Like that. Just pull them loose and let them curl where they will.”

“I don't feel like me at all,” Jessie said.