The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (10 page)

“Who are you?” the girl said, her eyes rounding.

“Molly, mind your manners.” Miss Randall went over to her child, her stance protective. “This is ’er ladyship, the Marchioness of Blackwood. Do your curtsy now.”

The girl scrambled to her feet and followed her mama’s instruction.

“Very pretty, Miss Molly,” Penny said, smiling.

“Thank you, milady.” The child’s dimples peeped out.

“Molly, you may see if Mary is free to play,” her mama said. “’Alf hour only, mind you. Then back to sewing.”

Molly’s eyes lit up, and she skipped out the door. The instant the girl was gone, her mother said curtly, “How may I help you, milady?”

Yes, everything Penny observed today matched with what she’d learned about Jenny Randall and strengthened her confidence in her plan.

“I’ve come to hire you,” she said.

Miss Randall’s lips trembled. “Is this some sort o’ jest?”

Penny could see why the other might think so. After all, Jenny Randall had been publicly dismissed and humiliated last week by her former employer, Lady Auberville, one of the
ton
’s reigning hostesses. Being a nasty sort, Lady Auberville had fired Miss Randall in front of her entire staff. Then she’d spewed vitriol concerning her maid’s sordid secret far and wide in Society. Everyone who was anyone now knew that Jenny Randall, a once respectable and sought-after ladies maid, had borne a child out of wedlock. Her prospects for a good position were forever ruined by her ex-mistress’ malicious tongue and love of hysterics.

Imagine, the wages I’ve paid the ungrateful trollop have been going toward her bastard’s upkeep
, Lady Auberville had shrilled to all and sundry.
I dismissed her right away, of course; I had to set an example. One cannot allow such immortality to taint one’s household.

Which was the height of hypocrisy, considering Lord Auberville had at least three by-blows with the mistress he kept. But that was the
ton
for you, Penny thought in disgust.

“I’m not jesting,” she said steadily. “I am in need of a ladies maid, and you happen to be the best. As you also happen to be out of a position at present, I think we’re an excellent match.”

Miss Randall stared at her. “You know… ’bout Molly. She hasn’t got a father.”

“More credit to you for taking such fine care of her,” Penny said. “Which brings me to the details of my offer. I’ll pay you double the wages you received from Lady Auberville, along with a bonus to start, so that you may find Molly suitable lodgings close to work. We’ll arrange your schedule so that you may see her every day, and you’ll have holidays too—all paid, of course.”

Hope flared in Miss Randall’s eyes, snuffed quickly by disbelief. She said in a taut voice, “I don’t understand, milady. You—you could ’ave any maid. Why would you be wanting… someone like me?”

Because you made a mistake and did the best you could under the circumstances. You deserve a helping hand—and not to be judged by all the blooming Lady Aubervilles of the world.

Aloud, Penny said briskly, “As I’ve explained, I want the best. I’ve seen your work: with Lady Osterly, Mrs. Jones-Sykes, and then with Lady Auberville. You transformed three dowdy matrons into ladies of the utmost style.”

Miss Randall bit her lip and remained silent. The fact that she didn’t comment upon her former employers’ lack of fashion sense—or their sense in general—raised her even higher in Penny’s estimation. By Penny’s accounting, Jenny Randall was well within her rights to flay her last vicious mistress to pieces… but she didn’t. She took the high road instead. This spoke volumes about her judgement, loyalty, and discretion—qualities worth their weight in gold.

“The job of being my ladies maid won’t be easy,” Penny went on. “I’ll expect you to keep abreast of the latest fashions and trends. Modistes, milliners, hairdressers—it will be your responsibility to find me the very best. I won’t settle for less.”

“Of course. But your ladyship… you’re already lovely.”

“My aim is to be more than lovely. I want to make my husband and my son proud,” Penny said with frank determination. “I mean to elevate the Blackwood name to the highest echelons, and I am not yet there.”

Since the birth of James, she’d worked hard to improve her social standing. Her circle of acquaintances now rivaled Cora Pilkington’s, and her parties were well attended. She wasn’t yet the marchioness that Marcus deserved, but, with the right help, she would get there. From what she’d seen of Jenny Randall’s work and manner, the maid would be a valuable addition to her team.

“I reckon I would make a few changes ’ere and there,” Miss Randall ventured shyly. “If you don’t mind my saying, with your coloring and looks, I’d dress you in bolder colors and styles, milady, so as to stand out. Sometimes, it’s not so much about following a craze, but
starting
one... if you get my meaning.”

“See? I knew you were the one I was looking for,” Penny said.

Miss Randall’s cheeks turned pink.

“But I haven’t yet finished discussing my requirements. In addition to fashion and the like, I will expect you to report any gossip you hear to me. You and I both know that the servants’ talk travels faster than any other. They’re the first to know the best and worst of everything that goes on in the
ton
—and I want to know too.” Penny paused. “I will also expect that, when it comes to what goes on in my household, you’ll keep a discreet tongue.”

“Yes, milady.” Miss Randall nodded. “I han’t e’er spoken ill of my employers.”

“You’ll find I’m a fair employer who rewards loyalty, talent, and hard work.” Penny held out her hand. “Now have we come to an agreement, Miss Randall?”

The maid’s eyes shimmered, and her hand suddenly shot out, gripping Penny’s.

“God bless you,” she said, her voice hitching.

With prickling embarrassment, Penny said, “There’s no need for that. Just know that if you do me a good turn, Miss Randall, I shall return the favor.”

“It’s Jenny, milady.” A smile transformed the maid’s thin face, and she bobbed a curtsy. “You ’ave my word that I’ll do a good job. I swear,”—her words were earnest, her face turning serious—“I won’t let you down.”

Chapter Eleven

November 1829

“I think we should hang poison ivy instead of holly for your Winter Ball.”

“Good idea,” Penny said absently.

“See? I
told
you she wasn’t listening.”

Silence followed, and Penny hastily returned her attention to the four female visitors in her drawing room. Wary by nature and from experience, she had numerous acquaintances but few close friends. The recent trouble with the Spectre, however, had brought her into contact with the Kents.

The family was unconventional to say the least. Coming from middling class origins in the countryside, the intrepid Kent siblings had managed—apparently without design—to take Society by storm. The eldest brother, Ambrose Kent, had once been a Thames River Policeman. Somehow he’d ended up marrying the former Lady Marianne Draven, one of the
ton’s
richest and most glamorous widows. After his marriage, he’d started a private enquiry business, and Kent & Associates had quickly grown to become one of London’s most respected investigative firms.

Several months back, when the Spectre had risen to blackmail Penny, she’d turned to Kent and his partners out of desperation. Back then, she’d have done anything to keep Marcus from knowing her past. Not only had Kent proved of assistance, but his wife and sisters had wholeheartedly taken on Penny’s cause as well. Apparently, the ladies often got involved in Kent’s cases (to his dismay and that of their husbands), and not only had the women helped Penny, they’d brought her into their fold.

To Penny’s surprise, she had let them.

At present, each of her friends wore an expression unique to their personalities. Kent’s wife, Marianne, a stunning silver blonde around Penny’s age, regarded her with knowing and compassionate emerald eyes. Emma, the eldest Kent sister, was a pretty brunette with an earnest air. Over a year ago, she’d landed the catch of the
ton
, the Duke of Strathaven, a once notorious rake; now the duchess had a slight furrow between her brows as if she were trying to decipher Penny’s state of mind. Sitting next to her, Dorothea, Emma’s sister and the newlywed Marchioness of Tremont, regarded Penny with concern in her gentle hazel gaze.

Lastly, Miss Violet Kent, the youngest of the bunch and the one who’d been speaking, had triumph written over her vivid features. Probably because she’d made her point: Penny
hadn’t
been listening. She’d been caught up yet again in her tumultuous thoughts about Marcus and the state of her marriage.

“Hush, Violet,” Emma said. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“But you know I’m right. Lady Pandora doesn’t seem herself at all—”

“Why don’t you go check on the boys, dear?” Thea’s tone was kind yet firm. “Make sure Fredward isn’t terrorizing the Blackwood boys?”

Fredward
referred to Frederick and Edward, Thea’s stepson and Marianne’s son, respectively. The nine-year-olds were so inseparable that the Kent family had given them a shared nickname, and they’d become favorite playmates of Penny’s boys.

Collecting herself, Penny said wryly, “I doubt anyone could terrorize my sons. If anything, probably the opposite is true.”

“Well, let’s minimize the bloodshed at any rate. Do run along, Violet,” Marianne said.

Violet rose nimbly to her feet, rolling her tawny eyes as she did so. “No one ever listens to me,” she grumbled in a way that suggested this might be a refrain. “And I don’t know why I have to leave just when the conversation is getting good.”

After her lithe figure disappeared through the doorway, Thea said, “I do apologize for my sister, Pandora. Vi’s just used to speaking her mind.”

“Her honesty is refreshing,” Penny assured her.

“I agree—but unfortunately the
ton
doesn’t,” the duchess said with a sigh. “If Violet doesn’t learn to curb her tongue and manner at least a
little
, she’s going to land in hot water. And after her behavior at the Waterson’s affair last week, the scandal broth is already at a simmer.”

Penny had been so preoccupied by her own state of affairs that she’d missed the gossip. “What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing really. Violet was just being Violet,” Thea said.

From what she knew of the high-spirited Miss Kent, that could mean most anything.

“I
told
her not to dance more than twice with any gentleman. But the moment my back was turned, she was off like a shot. And it was a waltz, too,” Emma huffed.

“I suppose we can’t blame her. Mr. Murray is one of the most sought after bucks in Town,” Marianne said, “if rather too aware of that fact.”

“Wickham Murray?” Penny sat up straighter.

“Yes.” Thea’s honey-brown locks tipped to one side. “Do you know him?”

“He’s the younger brother of Viscount Carlisle, one of Blackwood’s cronies.” At the thought of her husband, her heart throbbed.

“I don’t think I’ve met this Carlisle,” Emma said.

“He’s not much for Society. Prefers his estate in Scotland or his lodge in the country.” She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose. “He’s always struck me as a bit high in the instep, a rigid, traditional sort of man. Quite the opposite in temperament and looks of his charming younger brother. But Blackwood swears Carlisle’s a good chap and a gentleman’s gentleman, whatever that means.”

“That doesn’t sound too promising.” Thea nibbled on her lower lip. “Violet doesn’t do well with rigidity or tradition. If she’s truly forming an attachment to Wickham and his older brother doesn’t approve—”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Marianne said firmly. “No matter what happens, we’ll support Vi in finding the happiness she deserves.”

As the other two murmured their agreement, Penny felt her throat thicken. From the start, she’d admired the close bonds between the Kents. Although like any family they had their share of squabbles and disagreements, they also seemed to greet each other’s quirks and foibles with unwavering acceptance. It was the sort of love that Pandora hadn’t encountered until she’d met Flora and Harry… that she’d believed she had with Marcus.

The despair that she’d been holding back surged to the fore. Since the episode in the bathing room ten days ago, nothing had changed between her and Marcus. No, not nothing: things had gotten
worse
. Now he was actively avoiding her, spending as little time as possible at home, and she had to battle growing hopelessness. Would they ever get past their impasse?

Had her lies destroyed everything?

“Well, enough about Violet. Let’s get to the crux of why we’re really here.”

The duchess’ crisp tones broke Penny’s anguished reverie. She looked up, and the compassion on her friends’ faces was almost more than she could bear.

“Pandora, dearest, how are things?” Thea said softly.

Don’t be a blasted watering pot. Pull it together.

“Well, there’s more to do, of course,” she said with false cheer. “Fortunately, there are three weeks left to prepare. I’m thinking of hiring the most splendid orchestra—”

“We don’t mean the ball. We mean between you and Blackwood.” Although Marianne’s words were blunt, her green eyes held empathy.

Given the three’s involvement in her case, they knew about the Spectre and his final act of destruction: the letter that had revealed her secrets, smashing her world to smithereens. And even if they hadn’t known about her clandestine past, they couldn’t have missed the rumors buzzing through the
ton
. Everyone was talking about the Blackwood Estrangement.

Before the disaster had happened, Society had labelled them a love match. Marcus had accompanied her most everywhere; at balls, he’d even danced with her—something husbands rarely did with their own wives. Yet in the past week and a half, she’d showed up on her own at a few functions, which she’d attended to keep up appearances. Her solo status had started the tittering behind fans. What fueled the gossip further was that when Marcus did show, he’d paid perfunctory attention to her. He’d greeted her coolly and then went off to socialize with others.