Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (16 page)

“Good evening, Sergeant Oakes. I have brought a guest. The Countess of Newport. I would appreciate it if you would have the staff see to her comfort, and then I will see you in the library straightaway. There are important matters to discuss.”

I have brought a guest?
So that was
how it was going to be
.

Hope took a deep breath, regaining her composure, and turned to greet the sergeant. He seemed almost taken aback by his master’s appearance, tilting his head with what looked like puzzlement before shifting his attention to her. As he approached she noticed he walked with his left hand curled by his side. It seemed to be missing a couple of fingers, and a scar across his cheek and brow passed perilously close to one eye.

“It’s a great pleasure to meet you, my lady.” The grizzled old veteran gave her a beaming smile. He had the rough-edged growl of someone who’d spent years barking orders, but his tone was friendly enough. He wore a military uniform rather than livery, and it was hard to tell his position in the household but she didn’t care. Like recognized like. The sergeant was a survivor and so was she.

She stepped forward and threaded her arm through his. “It’s such a great joy to meet one of Robert’s colleagues, Sergeant Oakes. He can be rather taciturn and at first I feared he had no friends. It pleases me greatly to see him play the jester, but he really shouldn’t tease you. I am Lady Nichols, our gallant captain’s new wife.”

The sergeant’s eyes rounded and he blinked several times. His mouth opened and closed twice before he recovered the capacity to speak. “You’re married, sir? When? How? Why didn’t you inform us, Captain?”

“The whole thing was rather sudden. I ought to have sent a messenger from London or Nottingham, I suppose.” The captain signaled his indifference with a yawn.

“Indeed, sir. Then we might have greeted your lady properly. You are most welcome here at Cressly, madam. We have missed a lady’s touch. Er…” The sergeant reddened and cleared his throat. “That is to say
Cressly
has missed a lady’s touch. Pray forgive the miserly welcome, my lady. I’ll have the staff assembled to greet you at once.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Sergeant. You could not have foreseen this turn of events when we are just as surprised as you.” Hope patted his arm. The sergeant’s astonishment was almost comical, but her husband’s look was mocking and cold. Returning it with a sweet smile and eyes full of scorn, she let go of the sergeant and took her husband’s arm instead. She smiled when she felt it stiffen. Leaning her head against his shoulder she looked up at him with melting eyes. “We were both overtaken by a grand passion weren’t we, my darling? And there was simply nothing else to do.”

Robert grunted in reply. A wiry dark-haired young man with an eye patch had come to help with the horses, and a footman with a scar that traveled across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek was assisting with the bags. People with scars and missing limbs were a common sight on the streets of London since the war, but not in gentlemen’s homes. She almost asked a question of the sergeant, but the doors to Cressly opened and she was swept inside.

A superb staircase rose in front of her. Massive and elaborately carved, its wide landings led from the basement to the upper floors. A billiard room was close by the entrance, the doors to a library were to her left, and what looked to be a drawing room and a long hallway were to her right. It might have been elegant, even opulent, but other than heavy dark-colored drapes the walls were bare and the furnishings, many of which were covered by sheets and rugs, were sparse.

Her first thought was that it was dark, the second that it was cold and unwelcoming, much like it’s owner, and the third—that it was empty inside.

It must be easy for the maids to clean but it felt funereal and much too quiet. She could hear a clock ticking in a distant room and she felt a tightening dread.
How can I live in this house?
She was used to music and color, laughter and gaiety, company…friends...

~

Once Sergeant Oakes had assembled the staff, the captain introduced her as the Countess of Newport, then waited with a look of bored impatience as the sergeant told her their names and explained their duties. Clearly, her fortune-hunting husband was eager to be shed of her and off about his business.
He is ashamed to call me wife.
She felt a quick stab of hurt and anger. Refusing to acknowledge it she straightened her spine and raised her chin, doing her best to look gracious and regal.

He seemed curt with his servants. They showed no fear or any sign he was a difficult master, but there was no evidence of the excitement and bustle one might expect when a new mistress came home. They stood in order of precedence.

Maggie Overton, the housekeeper, a small severe-looking woman with nut-brown hair watched her with eyes as cold as her master’s. Mrs. Fullerton, the cook, gave her a businesslike nod as if she had other places to be. The scarred footman was introduced as Corporal Ryan, along with another handsome fellow called Mr. Yates who was missing two fingers on his left hand. Last came two maids named Lucy and Patience. They both bobbed their heads but their eyes were sharp with speculation.

It was a small coterie of servants, particularly given the size of the manor. There was no butler, valet, or lady’s maid, though she would correct the last as soon as she could. She wasn’t sure what to make of them. The sergeant seemed friendly, the footmen correct, but the housekeeper looked her up and down contemptuously, almost bristling with disapproval—and the maids, though not outwardly insubordinate, stared with a curiosity that bordered on rudeness.

I might as well have whore stamped on my forehead. They think they know what I am even if the men don’t
. The captain’s introduction would have confirmed their suspicions. Even Sergeant Oakes hadn’t known that they were married, and respectable unmarried ladies didn’t come to stay with men alone. Well, she was not about to stand here and explain herself to a collection of surly strangers. Who were they to judge? If she had faced down dukes and duchesses she could certainly manage this lot. She held her head proudly and returned the housekeeper’s withering look with a haughty stare.

The captain cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Well.... There you have it. Now you’ve met the household staff. I’m sure Maggie will be pleased to show you the house while a room is prepared for you. Oakes and I have business to discuss. I shall see you at dinner.” With that, he abandoned her, leaving her to cope as best she might on her own.

“This way if you please, mistress. Quickly now. I’ll show you the drawing room. Your unexpected arrival has left us with much work to do.”

Hope’s eyes narrowed. The housekeeper’s annoyance was so obvious it was disrespectful. After cleaning and serving in her mother’s establishment she usually felt a kinship with servants and staff. She tried to respect their dignity, be sensitive to their needs, and she made every attempt not to be burdensome, but she never tolerated rudeness. She hadn’t asked to be countess, lady,
or
wife, but she was all three and it had cost her dearly. She had earned respect and she would have it. The housekeeper would have to be put in her place.

Unlike the parts of the house she’d glimpsed so far, the drawing room was well-appointed, luxurious, and clearly lived in. Dutch tiles ornamented a fireplace of gigantic proportions and plush settees, chairs, and couches sat upon a brightly colored Turkish carpet with a beautiful star-burst design. The broad casement window commanded a lovely view of gently rising hills, grand old trees and the gleam of water edging the deer park—and a portrait of a handsome if stern-looking man and an elegant woman graced the far wall. The family resemblance was unmistakable.
He is more handsome than his father
, she mused.
His face is hard—not harsh—and I doubt the man before me ever smiled
.

The housekeeper cleared her throat impatiently. They all seemed impatient around here, though from what little she’d seen of this cavernous house there could not be that much for them to do. She studied the painting a few moments longer before turning to respond. “Yes, Maggie?” she inquired mildly.

“It’s Mrs. Overton, to you, miss,” the housekeeper snapped. “I’ve work to do. You can settle yourself here until one of the lads has got your luggage and the girls have fixed your room.”

“I should like someone to show me around, Maggie. That is the housekeeper’s duty, is it not?”

“That’s the housekeeper’s prerogative, when she has spare time for amusing guests….
Miss.”
She almost hissed it
.

“Not when her mistress requires it, Mrs. Overton. And it’s Lady Newport, or my lady, or ma’am, to you. I am married to your master and lady of this house now, and like it or not I am your new mistress. You will show me the appropriate respect if you wish to remain employed here.”

“You’re a mistress all right,
ma’am
. And we all know whose. Notts is not so far from London as you might think. They talk of the king’s country miss there, with her enchantress eyes and witch-black hair. None else has eyes that color, nor would come to the country dressed so fine. I’ve seen you with the king at Newcastle when I visited me granny. Lord knows what you’ve done to the master. He’s never brought a woman here before. But he’s been through enough and deserves better than the likes of you. We be hard-working folk here,
ma’am
. There’s no palace full of servants at your beck and call. If you want to pretend to be his wife, go ahead. But don’t expect the rest of us to pretend it with you!”

Shaken by the housekeeper’s vituperative attack, Hope’s heart raced and a red haze of anger threatened to engulf her. She had suffered worse at court, but this was completely unexpected and one thing too many after three days of betrayal, upheaval and uncertainty. Not five years past, she would have made a fist and knocked the woman flat!

“Mrs. Overton...” she managed to keep her voice even, “I advise you never to take that tone with me again. If you know who I am, then I’m sure you’ve heard stories. The one about Orange Moll is true. I have been polite with you and given you no reason to be rude with me. You leave me no choice but to talk to your master.”

“Go ahead then, my lady.” The housekeeper’s tone was still pugnacious, but she took a good step back. “I’ve been with him seventeen years. And you…? What? A week? A few days?”

“Get out of my sight, Mrs. Overton. Now!”

“Aye, with pleasure, ma’am. Enjoy yourself finding your way around.”

Still seething, Hope stalked down the oak-paneled hall, opening door after door as she went. This was
his
fault. The servants would treat her with the same courtesy and respect that he did.

The hallway was furnished with several green carpets, a long trestle table covered in leather, and a cupboard and several chairs. One of the carpets slid out from beneath her and she fell to the floor, smacking her elbow on the table on the way down. She struggled to her feet cursing, no easy feat in her cumbersome skirts. Sitting on a chair she cradled her elbow, fighting back tears of pain.

He hates me. The staff hate me. Now the house hates me, too! “
Well, I hate you!”
Speaking it out loud made it seem rather silly, which made her feel better until she saw a tiny, open-mouthed, red-headed girl with a bucket in hand and her cap askew. The girl was staring with round, startled eyes. Petite herself, it was seldom someone made Hope feel tall. It wasn’t Lucy or Patience. Doubtless a lowly house or scullery maid, not meant to be seen above stairs.

“Can I…are you…do you need some help?” The girl’s voice was barely a whisper. But it was the first offer of help Hope had received all day.

“You needn’t look so frightened. I assure you I’m not mad. Nor am I an intruder or a ghost. I am just...a little annoyed.

“Oh, thank goodness, my lady! For a moment I thought you was her.” The maid bobbed two quick curtsies, as if making up for one she’d forgot.

“Her?”

“The ghost girl. The one some in the servants’ quarters say walks the halls both day and night.”

“Ah, I see. No. I am Captain Nichols’s new wife, and at the moment I’m a little lost. What is your name, my dear?”

“My name is Rose, my lady. It’s most kind of you to ask. I best get back below stairs now, though. If Mrs. Overton sees me she’ll have my hide.” The girl was clearly nervous, looking up and down the hall and anxiously wringing her apron in her hands. “I was supposed to scrub the front hall for Lettice, who’s taking on Patience’s duties, who’s cleaning the parlor for—”

“That’s quite all right, Rose. There’s no need to explain.” An idea was forming. “Do you know your way around Cressly, Rose?”

“Yes, my lady, I do. Every nook and cranny. I lay the hearths and such when most are still asleep.”

“Do you think you could help me take off this dress?” The girl’s scandalized look was so comical that Hope smiled for the first time that day. “Like a lady’s maid must do. She helps the mistress with her clothing when she’s needed and such.”

“Oh, yes! I’m certain I could do that, ma’am. Mrs. Overton’s needed my help before, and I’m often called on to assist Patience and Lucy. I can stitch and sew, too,” she added proudly. “I used to make all the clothes for my family back home. I can also help with hair.”

“Why, that’s excellent, Rose! My marriage was very sudden and I am much in need of a lady’s maid.” Which was nothing less than the truth. She might have relied on the help of Patience or Lucy, at least until she could find a girl from the village, but their attitude had not endeared them to her. Taking on Rose would shake the household up. They’d be sullen and angry at first, something she knew from her own service days. But they’d understand quickly that advancement and position relied upon pleasing her. “How is it such a talented girl works in the scullery?”