Ah, so she is not a gentlewoman. Perhaps, then, my notion is correct and she is a by-blow of my uncle.
Lady Kingswood was regarding him evenly. With a start, he realised the Countess was checking to see if he might have designs on a vulnerable female in his care. His temper rose.
‘You have my word,’ he said coldly. ‘She will suffer no harm from me.’
This seemed to please her. ‘Good. In that case, I am happy to inform you that I have...er...been in discussion with Miss Bailey and her mother, and she has agreed to travel to Yorkshire for a short visit.’
His heart leapt. But he was puzzled. Miss Bailey’s mother yet lived? Why didn’t his uncle wish to see the mother of his child?
‘How short?’
‘No more than two weeks. Given the distance, that would require her to be gone from home for nigh on a month. She must return by early March.’
‘Very well,’ he returned, with the air of a man conceding a point.
Inwardly, he was delighted. Even a few days would have been enough. To have her at Beechmount Hall for an entire fortnight was more than he had hoped to offer his uncle.
‘I shall write to my uncle to make him aware of Miss Bailey’s impending arrival. Will she be free to leave tomorrow morning?’
‘She will.’
‘And might I meet her before then?’
She glanced away, frowning slightly, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘Unfortunately, as I am sure you understand, she will be busy today, packing for her journey. It is no little undertaking for someone unused to travel.’
‘Of course.’ He had no wish to press the point, content with his achievement in convincing Lady Kingswood of his respectability and trustworthiness.
It was only afterwards, back in the inn for one final night, that he realised Lady Kingswood had told him exactly nothing of Jane Bailey herself, nor of their relationship with each other.
‘Now, Jane, you be careful.’ Mama hugged her tightly.
‘I shall.’
Tears sprang into Jane’s eyes. Never had she and her mama been apart. Even after the incident with Master Henry, when they had left his employ, they had done so together, following Lady Kingswood to London and then on to Ledbury House. Those were the only long journeys Jane had ever undertaken in her life. The thought of travelling all the way to Yorkshire was daunting, yet strangely exciting.
Standing in the hallway, awaiting the arrival of Mr Kendal, Jane suddenly shivered. Change had come to her and, while it was exciting, it was also more than a little frightening.
At her feet was a large trunk, stuffed to the brim with clothing that Miss Marianne had suddenly and inexplicably decided she no longer needed, and which ‘would do Jane very well’.
Jane had protested to no avail as dresses, stockings and slippers had been thrown in a heap onto Miss Marianne’s bed. She and Jane were of a similar size, which had always assisted Jane when mending Miss Marianne’s dresses, or making new ones. And Jane had stood frozen in stunned silence as she tried to understand that all these beautiful things were now hers.
This morning, though, she had resolutely donned her maid’s grey gown and white fichu as usual, unwilling to wear finery in front of Miss Marianne, Mama and the other servants.
I should not wish them to believe I am acting above my station.
As well as her trunk she had a battered bandbox, containing the essentials for her journey—the main items being a spare grey dress, her hairbrush and some wool stockings. Miss Marianne had also given her a reticule as a present, embroidered with a trail of blue flowers and with a blue silk drawstring ribbon. Inside was a handkerchief, some coins, and a small scrap of paper on which Mama had written a note.
Go well, my Jane, and never forget who you are.
Never! Jane had vowed, tucking it back into the reticule and hugging Mama again.
Mama had warned her to be wary of all—and particularly Mr Kendal. ‘He will no doubt attempt to influence you to be forgiving towards Ned’s father, but you must resist. If Mr Millthorpe has genuinely repented you may discover that for yourself. Until then I advise you to keep your own counsel.’
Jane had nodded thoughtfully. ‘That is wise advice, Mama. Indeed, I shall endeavour to avoid speaking of anything to do with Papa or Mr Millthorpe.’ She had frowned. ‘Mr Kendal may think it odd, yet it seems to me to be the wisest course of action.’
Miss Marianne had agreed. ‘Mr Kendal seems perfectly amicable, and yet we know nothing of his motives, nor of Mr Millthorpe’s. I think it best to keep your views on Mr Millthorpe’s treatment of his son to yourself. And the easiest way in which to achieve that is to avoid being drawn into conversation about either of them.’
‘Promise me, Jane, you will tell him only what you must. Keep your own counsel until you meet the old man yourself,’ her mama had begged.
Jane had promised, shivering a little with apprehension.
Miss Marianne, whose generosity knew no bounds, had then passed her three more coins, equivalent to a full two months’ salary. When she had quailed, Lady Kingswood had hushed her.
‘Remember, Jane, that while I was a governess, before my marriage, we were fully friends for a time. This is my gift to you in memory of that friendship.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’
Jane’s words had been choked with emotion as the money had been stowed safely deep within Jane’s trunk. And that feeling was strengthened now, as the carriage drew up and Mr Kendal stepped out.
Jane had been trying, with little success, to ignore how handsome he was in face and form, and how thoughts of him had disturbed her sleep these past two nights. Today he wore fine buckskins, gleaming boots, and a shoulder-hugging claret jacket.
He would be considered a fine-looking man by anyone who encountered him, Jane knew. And the thought of being alone with him in a carriage for much of the next week sent a shiver through her. Anxiety? Anticipation? Delight? She could not be sure. Nigh on a week travelling, then two weeks in Yorkshire, followed by the journey back...
The housemaids were agog with interest and envy at Jane’s good fortune.
‘Why could it not be me?’ Sarah had wondered aloud. ‘I should love to spend five days locked in a carriage with the delightful Mr Kendal!’
There had been something earthy and raw in her laugh that had left Jane feeling both uncomfortable and yet strangely in harmony with the sentiment.
Miss Marianne arrived in the hall to greet her guest. The footmen picked up Jane’s trunk and carried it out to the carriage, where Mr Kendal’s postilion strapped it on. Jane took a breath, then donned her cloak and bonnet.
Her action caught Mr Kendal’s eye. He looked from Lady Kingswood to Jane, and for an instant his gaze blazed into hers.
‘Are we to take a maid with us to accompany Miss Bailey after all?’ he asked Lady Kingswood.
Miss Marianne did not respond directly. Instead she looked at Jane.
The moment had arrived. She must speak.
She stepped forward, looking him in the eye. ‘I am Jane Bailey.’
‘I am Jane Bailey.’
For a moment, Robert could not take