Abby Grahame - Wentworth Hall

“Oh, right, Michael, make fun now,” she came back at him, “but when you want to know what’s really going on around here, who do you go to? Me! That’s who.”

“And what would I want to know about this place?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of water from the cook’s sink.

Nora tossed her head back and laughed. “Lots! You’re more interested in the comings and goings than any of us maids.”

“Hardly,” Michael replied.

Nora guffawed. How many times had she reported to him on the whereabouts of one Lady Margaret Darlington? In that, he was always keenly interested.

Michael gave Nora a pointed look, and his dark brows knit as his green eyes thundered a warning for her not to say any more.

Nora shrugged her shoulders. Never let it be said that she didn’t know the difference between sharing information and spreading rumors. There was plenty of scandal in Wentworth Hall that didn’t get remarked upon. She had no intention of embarrassing Michael in front of everyone, but she couldn’t resist the tease. “Well, I’m just saying is that each one of you has benefited one time or another from my information. So don’t be so high and mighty about it,” she scolded, wagging her finger at him.

Michael dropped comically to one knee in front of Nora and took her hand in a mock display of remorse. “I do humbly apologize, Nora.”

“Ahh, get away from me,” Nora rebuked him with a laugh. “You reek of horses. If I go upstairs smelling like that I’ll hear about it from her ladyship and the girls.”

“Maggie doesn’t mind the smell of horses,” Michael said, standing up.

“Has Lady Margaret been riding since she came home?” Mrs. Howard asked, emphasizing her proper title to make known her disapproval of the familiarity with which Michael and Nora often addressed Maggie and Lila.

“No… not yet, at any rate,” Michael said. He turned to refill his glass of water, and stood with his back to the room to look out the window.

“That’s strange, don’t you think, Michael?” Rose said as she laid apples and raisins into her pie. “Nearly a month since she returned and she hasn’t even gone out to the stables? That girl always adored riding.”

“Yes, she did,” Michael agreed, then cleared his throat. “People change, I suppose.”

Nora heard the sadness in his tone, and her heart went out to him. Michael had been living for the day when Maggie would return from her travels but since she’d come back, the girl hadn’t as much as said hello to him.

“Lady Margaret has changed since she went to Europe,” Mrs. Howard observed. “She’s just not the happy wild thing she used to be. Have you noticed it, Michael? How does she seem to you?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t set eyes on her,” Michael admitted.

Nora moved to stand by him and realized he was hiding so they wouldn’t see the red that had come to his cheeks at the mention of Maggie’s name.

Nora caught his hand and gave it a squeeze, casting a sympathetic glance his way.

“The trip abroad has matured Lady Margaret,” Grace ventured. “That’s what an excursion like that is intended to do. Of course no one expected them to be gone as long as they were. Once Lady Darlington realized she was with child, I suppose they had no choice but to stay until the baby was born and hale enough to travel home. Now that they are back, I hear Lord and Lady Darlington are anxious to get Lady Margaret settled down, raising children of her own. And the Duke of Cotswall has been by Wentworth Hall a few times.…”

Nora looked sharply at the dowdy woman. Of course that was information Nora had already overheard, but she had been hoping to reveal it to Michael privately. Nora knew he had never stopped loving her—even knowing he was just a groom to her, and not someone Maggie could ever return feelings for. With darting eyes, Nora took in Michael’s reaction. He had blanched white as one of the estate’s crisp, starched sheets. “How do you know that?” Nora challenged Helen with a bit more aggression than she had meant to. “I never heard anything like that.”

“I was mopping the hall the other day outside the library. The door was slightly open and I overheard the two of them talking,” Grace explained.

“That’s disgusting,” Helen stated firmly, her voice dripping with true revulsion.

“What? That I overheard them?” Grace questioned. “It wasn’t as though I was trying to—”

“No!” Helen interrupted. “The Duke of Cotswall marrying Lady Margaret—”

“I think he’s rather distinguished,” Mrs. Howard maintained. “For a man his age, I think—”

“That’s exactly the thing of it,” Helen insisted. “He’s a man his age.”

“What would you estimate him to be?” Rose asked Mrs. Howard. “Forty-five? Fifty?”

“It’s not so unheard of,” Mrs. Howard said. “A man of great wealth feels that the lavish life he can offer a young woman makes him an attractive candidate for marriage despite a gap in age, and many a young woman eagerly reciprocates his attentions.”

“I still say it seems wrong,” Helen said.

“That’s because you’re very young,” Mrs. Howard replied. “The opportunity to be the Duchess of Cotswall with all the power, influence, and opportunity which accompany that title is nothing to be dismissed lightly. I hope that the new sophistication and maturity that we are noticing in Lady Margaret will help her to realize what she’s being offered.”

“Disgusting,” Helen mumbled, unimpressed, and walked off with an armful of dresses.

Michael had turned to face the room, listening to the conversation without joining in, standing deep in thought.

Looking to him, Mrs. Howard inquired, “What do you think of all this then, Michael? Of the duke?”

Michael said nothing at first. No emotion crossed his features. Then he simply said, “I think he’s old.”

Mrs. Howard lifted her eyebrow. “That’s your only opinion? Don’t you interact with him when he comes in his carriage?”

“He treats his horses well,” Michael said dispassionately. “I haven’t got much to judge him by, since he’s not one to make conversation with a groom.”

“I’m just surprised her ladyship is permitting the match,” said Grace.

“Oh, nothing is set in stone yet,” Nora put in. “And Lady Maggie’s not one to let anyone tell her what to do. I don’t care how much she’s changed, she would never take a husband she didn’t care for. She’s too much a romantic for that.”

“I’ve got to get back to the horses,” Michael said, abruptly placing his glass in the sink and hurrying out. The back door slammed behind him.

“What’s gotten into him?” Mrs. Howard asked.

“Oh, you know he’s concerned for his position,” Rose pointed out. “A full stable with a groom is an expense Wentworth Hall might not be able to afford much longer. Especially now that no one goes riding. Why keep Michael on staff when they can simply employ Lord Darlington’s valet to care for a couple horses instead?”

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Howard said.

Therese descended the staircase, “Bonjour,” she greeted them shyly. She crossed to the pantry and took out the box of Nestle infant formula brought over from France especially for baby James. “May I heat this on the stove?”

“Allow me,” Rose offered, taking the box and depositing its contents in a small pot she filled with water. “I really can’t believe her ladyship has chosen not to breastfeed. Or even to get a wet nurse! This powder stuff is unnatural in my mind.”

“Well, it serves its purpose,” Therese demurred. Nora noticed Therese always had a diplomatic response to any bit of complaint or insult. “I just feel so badly for Lord James. The tiniest white teeth are popping through his gums already. The poor thing is in great pain.”

“I’ll put some hard bread on ice for the little dear,” Rose said. “It will soothe him.”

It took only minutes to warm the formula and deposit it in a baby bottle, also imported from the continent. “Merci,” Therese said, before turning to hurry back up the stairs.

“Now there’s the girl Michael should set his sights on,” Rose commented. “So pretty and sweet.”

“That she is,” Mrs. Howard remarked pensively. “And familiar, somehow. Her smile… I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“I don’t see how you could have,” Rose said. “Unless you took a holiday to France on your afternoon off?”

“Very funny,” Mrs. Howard replied. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Her smile just reminds me of someone and I can’t recall who.”

“Déjà vu!” explained Grace.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Howard asked, arching one eyebrow as though Helen had said something a bit racy.

“The French have a word for it,” Grace explained. “It means you’ve seen something before in some other time and place; maybe even another lifetime.”

“Oh, rubbish!” Mrs. Howard scoffed.

“Well, I say she’s a lovely girl,” Rose insisted.

“Do you think so?” Nora questioned skeptically.

“Don’t you like her?” Rose asked.

“I’m not sure,” Nora admitted. “There’s something about her. We’ve been sharing quarters for weeks, and I barely know the first thing about her. She certainly keeps to herself.”

“You’re just annoyed you haven’t gotten any gossip from her!” Grace taunted.

“The French are very different from us,” Rose allowed. “More worldly, I think. It’s a certain sophistication they seem to come by naturally.”

“Maybe,” Nora considered as she sat at the table. She couldn’t imagine Michael with Therese, that much she knew. Although it did surprise her that Therese showed no interest in her handsome friend. Nora could practically hear the girls in town sigh whenever Michael walked by. In fact, Therese seemed preoccupied most of the time. Maybe she’d left behind a beau in France. Perhaps Nora could coax the story out of Therese one day. The local newspaper, The Sussex Courier, lay in front of Nora and she began turning the pages, knowing she’d find juicy tidbits of local news in the society pages.

“Nora!” Mrs. Howard said sharply. “Why are you sitting there? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her ladyship wouldn’t want to dress for lunch for another half hour, so she actually did have some time to spare, but it never paid to appear idle in front of Mrs. Howard. If Nora had nothing to do, Mrs. Howard would find something. There was always a floor to be mopped or priceless heirloom to be dusted somewhere in the many, many hallways of the immense estate. “I’m going,” Nora confirmed, tucking the newspaper into her apron pocket to be read in a less conspicuous spot.

As she climbed the servants’ stairs, Nora heard Mrs. Howard speak to Rose. “I wish that girl were as committed to her work as she is to knowing everything that goes on around here,” Mrs. Howard remarked.

“The girl is obsessed with snooping,” Grace added.

Rose laughed warmly in agreement. “She is a regular busybody, isn’t she?”

Turning, Nora wrinkled her nose at them disagreeably.

The Sussex Courier
Introducing: MISFORTUNE MANOR!

The well-heeled denizens of the local mansions, estates, halls, and other of the area’s palatial dwellings are all atwitter. What has set these regal folks talking? It is nothing less unexpected that the sudden appearance of that most maligned yet coveted phenomenon known as “New Money.” How dreadful… yet thrilling. How they disdain it! How they want it!