In the Arms of an Earl (23 page)

“Welcome home, milord.” He helped Jane from the carriage step. His expression remained bland. “Your ladyship.” His watery gaze swept over her, taking in her wrinkled pelisse and loosened hair. She’d been unable to find her brush, and her hair hung down her back in an untamed sweep. The pins and ribbon from the day before had gone missing among the bedclothes.

Jane took Frederick’s offered arm, her stomach suddenly knotted up. The opulent building resembled a palace rather than a home. If she hadn’t known she was in a city, she might have been fooled into thinking she’d stepped inside a page from a fairy-tale. Frederick’s family crest hung over the main door, which was taller than two men standing on top of each other. Several servants dressed in black velvet livery lined up smartly as a regiment.

She peered into the building beyond the doors. A gilt-edged table, bigger than her mother’s dining table, was just beyond, and displayed the largest flower arrangement she’d ever seen. At least six feet tall, it featured a small lemon tree. She had to force herself to keep from gasping in awe and tried to appear as if she was used to such finery.

“What do you think of your new home?” Frederick’s jaw tightened.

Jane almost wished they could hop back into the coach. “I thought the driver made a mistake and took us to the royal court.”

A shadow moved across one of the windows. She peered to make out a face, but whoever had been there was gone.

Frederick guided her inside. “It is rather big, which is why I prefer Dornley Park. Well, time to greet the troops.”

The servants bowed or curtsied as they went past. This wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d thought they’d walk into the house, make themselves comfortable, and perhaps have a bit of refreshment. But here was Frederick, shaking hands and uttering a word here and there. She caught the murmured,
miladys
and
milords
and realized just how much her life had changed.

She was no longer Jane Brooke, from an insignificant little town in the shire. Overnight, she’d become Lady Jane Blakeney, Countess of Falconbury.

“Thank God, that’s over,” he said quietly, once they were well inside the house. He took her hand. “We’ll settle you into your rooms, and then I’ll find Alice and introduce you.”

She nodded assent, terrified to speak in the grand hall with the eyes of the servants on her back. How she wished she’d changed her clothes, but there wasn’t time. They’d stayed so long in bed they’d almost missed the last coach into town. Remembering her sister’s final words helped to calm her. She was as good as anyone else, Rosalind had said, and need not apologize to anyone.

They ascended the magnificent staircase, which could easily accommodate ten people walking abreast. She wanted to pause at every painting above the balustrade, recognizing some of the artists. A flush of perspiration irritated her. It was a little alarming to find great works of art in a private home.

Frederick ignored it all and spoke of his plans for the evening and the next day. Resolving to study the paintings and statuary in the gallery later, she looked over her shoulder and faced forward again just as quickly. A few of the servants were watching her.

Blushing, she walked with Frederick down a thickly carpeted gallery and past several closed doors until they came to the end.

“This is your chamber, my dear. And remember, it’s only for a few months. We’ll be in our new home before you know it.”

She forced a smile. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead, his eyes warm and understanding. “It’s never been comfortable here for me, either. This has always been Henry and Alice’s house, but belongs to us now.”

He opened the door, and they stepped into a lavishly decorated bedchamber. At first, she thought he’d shown her into an enormous drawing room. Dominating the room was a bed hung with light blue velvet curtains embroidered with cream-colored roses. A fireplace painted with a depiction of the Garden of Eden was against another wall, and the fire crackled reassuringly. Blue velvet curtains hung open at the windows, revealing a glorious view of the private park behind.

“I chose this room especially for you.” He shrugged. “I know it is rather ornate for your tastes, but it is the least extravagant of them all.”

Jane found her voice. “It’s very lovely, Frederick. I never dreamt of such a room.”

“The rooms at Dornley Park are smaller, and much simpler. But you can decorate this any way you see fit.”

“It’s fine the way it is. I like everything about the house, because it is yours.”

He tapped her nose lightly with his fingertip. “Our house.” He led her to a painted panel, which depicted a group of half-naked maidens serenaded by chubby cupids. “Now, through here…”

Jane wondered why he was reaching for one of the cupid’s legs until she noticed a doorknob cleverly depicted in the painting as a dimple on one pudgy knee. The panel swung open, revealing another bedroom with similar décor, only more masculine. Instead of embroidered roses, the blue velvet curtains were unadorned.

“This is my chamber, which you are more than welcome to visit any time you like.”

She hugged his waist and pressed her cheek against his coat for a moment. “It’s wonderful, Frederick. I’m so happy you’ll be close by.”

“Close by?” He pretended to gasp in surprise. “I intend to be at your side so often you’ll be ill at the sight of me.”

Laughing at the impossible notion, she allowed him to escort her through yet another door. She could not contain her squeal of delight. An intricately detailed pianoforte was situated in the center of the salon, with two stacks of music on the wide, thickly padded bench.

“As I recall, Mrs. Blakeney,” he murmured, his lips against her hair, “You do enjoy playing in the wee hours of the morning. Now, you won’t have to creep through the corridors, afraid your father will catch you with your teacher.”

Standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed him soundly. She almost stumbled to the pianoforte in her excitement and shuffled through the assorted music, which she sensed he’d chosen especially for her.

“And when I am at Parliament or attending some other tedious duty my title requires of me, you may have a master come to the house for instruction. Mrs. Fowler, the housekeeper, will arrange it.”

Running her hands over the carved lid, she searched for the right words to thank him, but mere words could never convey her sentiment. How could she thank him for the promise of a happy future, filled with love and goodness? Only a year before was she content to remain in her parents’ house, with no thought beyond what vegetables to grow in the garden next year, or if the doctor wanted her.

She held his hand to her lips and leaned into his arms when he embraced her. A moment later, a discreet knock sounded at the door. They turned as one, and Frederick waved the servant inside the room. He handed Frederick a note.

“I must apologize, my love, and leave you for a while. An important bill is up for the vote tomorrow, and my committee needs me. I shan’t be too late.” He looked relieved when she smiled, trying to hide her disappointment. “I shall be home for supper. In the meantime, you can explore the house. It will probably take you a month until you can find your way without getting lost.” He checked his pocket watch. “Alice should be here, somewhere. She may be a trifle distracted due to her grief. Just be patient with her.”

She embraced him quickly. “I will find her and introduce myself. I’m sure we will get on well.”

He kissed her goodbye and was gone. The overwhelming sense of awe returned. She was quite alone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Before Jane could decide what to do first, a timid knock sounded at the door. A housemaid entered and curtsied. Jane almost curtsied back but caught herself.

“Milord asked me to help you settle in.”

“Thank you. I can use your help.” Jane started unbuttoning her pelisse, but the maid stepped forward.

“Allow me, milady.” Her quiet voice and manner was soothing. She brushed Jane’s hands aside to finish unbuttoning her pelisse. She took it along with her bonnet through another door into a room as big as her mother’s drawing room. Jane gaped at the large wardrobes and chests against the walls. She opened one and could not contain a loud gasp. Several gowns of many colors and fabrics hung neatly inside. Silk flowers and ribbons adorned some of them, while others had long trains pinned up on hooks on the back wall.

“Whose clothes are these?”

The maid paused before setting Jane’s bonnet on a rack beside eight others. “Why, they’re yours, of course, milady.” She kept the pelisse. “I’ll see to this dust, milady. I’ll have it returned to you quickly.”

“What is your name?”

“Bridges, ma’am.”

“What is your first name?”

The girl paused. “It’s Sarah, ma’am, but everyone calls me Bridges.”

“Are you my…own maid?” The girl nodded. “Then I will call you Sarah.” They were about the same age. Under other circumstances, the serious-looking girl and she might have been close friends. “And, please, don’t call me milady. I’m not used to it.”

“Mrs. Blakeney, then?” Sarah’s gray eyes twinkled.

“No, Miss Brooke.” Sarah stared at her vaguely, and she nearly choked over her own gaffe. “I mean, Mrs. Blakeney will do just fine.”

“Shall I draw you a bath, Mrs. Blakeney?”

“Yes, please.”

The maid departed. Jane attempted to relax on a sofa but wasn’t used to the extravagant furnishings. The back was too hard and the arm of it so narrow her elbow slipped off. She’d been awed at her first visit to Amelia’s new home—the lavish décor and multiple rooms reminded Jane of a palace. When Rosalind married a year later, her new house with the wealthy Mr. Shelbourne was even grander. Had it not been for the magnificently appointed music room with a new Broadwood pianoforte, she’d have hated it. The echoing halls and numerous chambers made her feel lost in a tangled maze.

But neither home had prepared her for Falconbury House.

Sarah returned as quietly as she had left. “Your bath is ready, milady—I mean, Mrs. Blakeney.”

“Thank you, Sarah.” She followed her into a smaller room. Perhaps after a bath, she would feel more like herself. Without Frederick’s presence, the house was almost frightening in its grandeur. She knew she belonged since she was married to him, but everything seemed foreign. The servants knew; they’d barely hidden their veiled derision that their master had married a country girl.

“Allow me, Mrs. Blakeney.” Sarah undressed her, and Jane was quickly up to her neck in the copper tub. “I’ll wash your hair and leave you to rest. You’ve had a trying journey.”

The turmoil of the last few days seeped from her pores as she relaxed. Jane leaned back against the thick towel Sarah had thoughtfully placed behind her head. She closed her eyes and inhaled the tuberose and jasmine scent of the soap bubbles dotting the water.

“I haven’t minded too much. I’m not used to traveling.”

“Nor am I, Mrs. Blakeney. I grew up a stone’s throw from here. My parents worked for the Cartwright family nearby.”

“Do you enjoy living in London, Sarah?”

“I don’t know anything beyond the city. I’ve seen paintings of the countryside, but not a real farm.” The strong fingers massaged her scalp, forcing out the last remnants of stress from her body. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a farm, Mrs. Blakeney.”

“My parents live in the country.” An unexpected lump of tears rose in her throat. “I prefer it to town. I can hardly wait to see Dornley Park.”

“I’ve heard it’s lovely. And, of course, you will be with his lordship there.” She patted Jane’s shoulder. “You have a rest, Mrs. Blakeney. I’ll come back in a while and help you dress.”

“Thank you,” Jane said drowsily. Sarah closed the door behind her. A few minutes later, it opened again. “Another moment, please, Sarah.”

“
Bridges
has gone. I am here.”

The cool, clipped voice startled Jane. She opened her eyes and stared at the stranger who’d walked into her chamber unannounced. Though petite, the elegantly dressed woman conveyed a sense of authority. Her red hair stood out starkly against the simplicity of her black dress. She wore a brooch containing a lock of black hair, so like Frederick’s hair. She gave a slight, almost mocking curtsy.

“You must be Jane.”

Jane covered herself with her arms but only succeeded in sloshing water over the edge of the tub and onto the carpet. The towel was out of reach. The woman snatched it off the chair, deftly snapping it open. Jane stepped out of the tub.

“Who…who are you?” She quickly wrapped the towel under her arms. Water dripped steadily down her legs, soaking the carpet where she stood. She realized too late she should not have asked. The mourning gown and severe hairstyle, besides the pallid complexion and hollow-looking eyes, were evidence enough.

The woman’s auburn eyebrows rose on her forehead like a slash against her white skin. “I am Alice Blakeney. Tell me, Jane—how are you enjoying my chamber?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Your chamber?” It didn’t seem like Frederick to do something as callous as forcing a widow from her own room. “There must be some mistake. I will move at once.” She looked around for something to wear, but everything was unfamiliar. Her trunk had not been brought up yet, and she didn’t know how her new clothes were organized in the spacious dressing room. Thank goodness, she had Sarah to help her navigate through the wardrobes and chests, but Sarah wasn’t there.