“That will be enough, Amy,” warned Mrs. Rumpole, Worthington’s housekeeper. She always wore a long black dress, and her graying hair was pulled back severely. The maids were terrified of her; Hannah was terrified of Mrs. Feathers, the cook.
“He’s got no man of his own,” said Mr. St. Germaine, the valet. “So it looks like I’ll be dressing him. It’s like trying to mold a diamond out of an unformed lump of coal.”
Amy giggled at that, flashing her dark eyes at the valet, who was dapper and good-looking, but was apparently quite old because he never looked at the women, not even the young and pretty ones like Amy.
All the maids started talking about the new earl and what they thought of him. Then one asked her, “What do you think of him, Hannah?”
Her cheeks got hot. “I didn’t see him. I didn’t get lined up for him.” She never was presented with the rest of the staff. And the new earl had shown up much later than expected—he’d telephoned to say he would be late. When Mr. Wiggins told him the staff would be presented to him and that the “lineup,” as she called it, would delay dinner, the new earl had insisted they not do it. Mr. Wiggins had put it off until this morning.
“Hannah doesn’t have time to think about anything but her work,” said Mrs. Feathers sharply. “She has to get her breakfast finished. She’s got pots to wash. Then we’ve got to start on the food for luncheon and on the desserts for tonight’s dinner. And woe betide us if his lordship isn’t pleased with the meals. We’ll be out on our beam ends.”
Dutifully Hannah finished her porridge. She wished just for once she could relax over a meal and not have to run about like a chicken with her head cut off. But Mrs. Feathers had been unusually worried and snappish ever since the new earl arrived.
She truly wanted to see the new earl—she hated being the only servant here who hadn’t done so, due to her lowly rank. She’d hoped he might go into the study or the library while she was making the fires, so she could see him, but no such luck.
After breakfast, she had to plunge her sore hands into steaming hot water to clean the pots and dishes after breakfast. Then Tansy walked in.
“I was feeling much better, Mrs. Feathers, so I thought I would come and help.”
“How sweet of you to volunteer your services, Your Highness,” said the cook to Tansy. “One would never know that’s what you’re paid to do. Now hurry up and get to work. Hannah can’t handle this lot on her own.”
Hannah’s cheeks burned. She thought she was doing a magnificent job in coping. When Mrs. Feathers left them, she looked at Tansy, who wasn’t getting to work all that quickly. “Where were you? You weren’t in bed when I looked.”
Tansy, who had wavy black hair and huge blue eyes, paled. “Did you tell her?”
“No, but what happened to you?”
“I went for a drive, Hannah. My gentleman took me for a drive in his beautiful car.”
“In the morning?”
“It was the only time he could come, and I knew I could slip out if I said I were sick.”
“So you went alone with him in his car?”
Tansy gave a wicked smile. “I did. He drove us out to Lilac Farm and we parked under the trees. He kissed me!”
“Is that all he did?”
“He’s a gentleman. A real gentleman. He said he knows he can’t expect more unless he marries me. I can tell he wants me. He’s going to propose. He’s so much in love with me.”
Hannah sighed. “But he’s a gentleman and you’re a kitchen maid.”
“But I am pretty—I’m not being immodest. He says I could be a film star. And he’s got scads of money. He’s got that lovely motor car, and he’s been ever so generous with me. I don’t think he cares that I’m only a scullery maid.”
“All gentlemen care.”
“That’s not true. They do marry girls from trade.”
“That’s because those girls have enormous dowries.”
Tansy folded her arms over her chest. “Look at the new earl. If a man who was nobody can become an earl, I believe it is possible to better yourself.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “He’s the earl because his father was the old earl’s brother, silly goose. Since girls can’t inherit, and you don’t have an earl in your family tree, you have no hope of joining those upstairs.”
“I will if I marry a gentleman. And the earl’s father married a maid—I heard the story.”
“That’s one story with a happy ending. Most of the time, gentlemen don’t marry the likes of us.”
“That they don’t!” Mrs. Feathers’s booming voice made both her and Tansy jump. “If I catch you flirting with any gentlemen, you’ll be out of here without a reference. I’ll not keep a girl around who’s determined to get herself into trouble! Now, stop your woolgathering, the both of you, because if your sauces are not more than a charred coating on the bottom of a pot, you’ll both be gone! And you’ll have my boot in your backsides to send you on your way.”
Tansy quickly grasped a spoon and stirred hurriedly.
Hannah stirred, too. She didn’t say a word but tears stung her eyes. She had not done a thing wrong. Not one thing. Tansy was the one who caused trouble, but her trouble always seemed to include Hannah.
The youngest footman, Eustace, burst in, out of breath. He ran right into the table and Hannah had to sweep her bowl into her arms to keep it safe.
“What demon is chasing you?” Mrs. Feathers demanded.
“His lordship is downstairs,” Eustace managed to gasp, between sucking in deep breaths. “Said he wants to talk to you, Mrs. Feathers.”
“For pity’s sake, what does he want? If he wants a proper dinner, he should be leaving me alone to get it ready.”
But for all Mrs. Feathers spoke in her usual sharp, impatient tones, Hannah saw she looked dreadfully worried.
* * *
At Brideswell Abbey, Julia went down to breakfast early. In the dining room, the warming dishes were out on the sideboard and the coffee urn was set up, but the room was empty.
She’d feared Nigel would be waiting, ready to propel the Earl of Summerhay at her. Or her mother would have heard, somehow, that she’d refused a duke, and would be ready to lecture her. Mother continually pointed out that one thing had not changed in the modern world—men still wanted young brides and Julia was going to end up on the shelf.
Julia filled her plate and carried it to the table, when a low, deep voice said, “G-good morning, Lady Julia.”
She turned and faced the Earl of Summerhay. Who wore riding clothes. And a slight blush.
“Good morning. I take it you are riding today? It’s the perfect day for it—not too hot yet,” she said brightly. Weather was the safest and most mundane of topics.
Last night, she had spoken to him a little at Worthington Park, and then at Brideswell, after they’d returned and before they had gone up to bed.
Nigel had tried to encourage him to talk about the heroic things he’d done in the War. But he had been very modest about all that. Nigel told her Summerhay had saved many men’s lives. He had captured a German machine gun nest single-handed. He was indeed a hero—a quiet and unassuming one.
She liked that about him.
But there hadn’t been any moment with him when the world had halted on its axis. She didn’t know why not—it simply hadn’t.