Rags-To-Riches Wife. Catherine Tinley

of her grandfather, his second wife and her father’s family home.

      Until yesterday she had known very little about such things. Sensitive to her mother’s pain—and to her decree that they must not speak of Papa’s family—Jane had kept her curiosity to herself, where it had burned in a glowing ember, deep within her.

      Once her mother had frowned at her, and she had, with effort, torn her eyes away from Mr Kendal’s handsome profile. He had been entirely focused on his conversation with Miss Marianne, but Lady Cecily had been eyeing her with puzzlement.

      Jane had diverted her gaze from the good-looking visitor, instead staring fixedly into the middle distance, over the heads of all the diners, with, she hoped, no interest. Lady Cecily, who knew full well that the housekeeper and Lady Kingswood’s personal maid should not be serving, had, after a moment, returned to her conversation with the vicar.

      After that Jane had been careful not to look directly at Mr Kendal, though in truth she had remained entirely conscious of him throughout the evening. At times she had struggled to hear his words over Lady Cecily’s conversation with the vicar and the scrape and clang of cutlery on china. But she believed she had the essentials.

       I find him interesting.

      The thought made her heart flutter in a strange and novel way. If he had been, like her, a servant, she might have sought to get to know him. The realisation was disturbing. Ever since Master Henry had attacked her four years ago she had been wary of men of all classes, but particularly gentlemen, some of whom seemed to believe they could use their power however they wished.

      She turned over on to her side, watching the light slowly grow on the unadorned wall in front of her.

       Will Mama permit me to travel to Yorkshire?

      Looking into her heart, she was unsurprised to find her own wishes were now clear. She wanted to meet her grandfather and spend time in the place where Papa had grown up.

      And, she admitted to herself, I wish to see Mr Kendal again.

      Mr Kendal would return today, she knew, hoping to have an answer to his request for information.

      Ten minutes later Mama awoke, and they both rose and prepared for the day. Conscious that her hands were shaking a little, Jane donned a plain grey gown with a lace fichu and buttoned herself into stout boots. She brushed her hair and tied it up, then added the crisp white cap denoting her status, along with a clean apron.

      Mama did not mention Mr Kendal, and nor did Jane, yet there was an air of expectancy about everything. It tingled just out of Jane’s reach. Something different. Interesting. Exciting.

      In only a few hours all would be resolved one way or another.

      ‘There you go, my lady,’ said Jane, adding one final pin to her mistress’s coiffure. ‘You look beautiful.’

      Lady Kingswood patted her hand. ‘Thank you, Jane. Now...’ She turned as she spoke, away from the mirror, to look at Jane directly. ‘What did you make of Mr Kendal?’

      Jane felt a slow blush build in her cheeks. ‘He seems a true gentleman.’

      Miss Marianne’s eyes narrowed. ‘I believe he is.’

      Unspoken between them were their experiences at the hands of Master Henry.

      ‘I know,’ said Lady Kingswood after a moment, ‘that you will heed your mother’s advice, but if it were up to you, would you wish to travel to Yorkshire?’

      Jane nodded firmly. ‘I would. I have never met my grandfather, and it sounds as though this may be my only opportunity. I assume my grandfather will pay the costs of my travel, and as a serving maid I need no chaperone. In that sense my going will inconvenience only myself and you, Miss Marianne!’ She bit her lip. ‘How should you manage if I am not here to assist you? I could not leave you for so long. Why, it will take nigh on a week to get there, and another to come back, plus whatever time I spend there...’

      Lady Kingswood seemed to be considering her words carefully. ‘Jane, you have been my maid since we were but children ourselves, and I shall, of course, miss you dreadfully. But I believe it is important you take this opportunity, should your mama permit. I shall ask Mary to assist me while you are gone.’

      ‘Mary!’ A spasm of anxiety coursed through Jane.

       What if Miss Marianne prefers Mary? What if I am ousted from my place on my return?

      She frowned at her own fears. Miss Marianne would not do such a thing!

      ‘Yes, Mary,’ Lady Kingswood repeated firmly. ‘She can at least dress hair, though I am not hopeful of her mending skills being anywhere near yours.’ She smiled. ‘Do not fret, Jane. There is much more between us than mistress and servant. Your place in my heart makes it impossible you could be forgotten.’

      ‘Thank you, my lady,’ Jane replied gruffly.

      ‘Mr Kendal is expected in the next hour. Ring the bell for Mrs Bailey and we shall see what is to happen.’

      ‘Lady Kingswood!’ Robert gave a smart bow, conscious that the moment of truth had finally arrived.

      Was he going to be obliged to return to Yorkshire having failed in his task? He could just imagine his uncle’s biting reaction if that were the case.

      The old man could go from mild-mannered and easy to severe and sharp in an instant—particularly when his demands were thwarted. As a child, Robert had quaked in his boots at such moments. Now, remembering his uncle’s wistful expression as he had contemplated the report on Miss Bailey, Robert felt a burning need to succeed in the task set for him.

       Do I still seek my uncle’s approval, even after all this time?

      ‘Good day, Mr Kendal. Please be seated.’

      Her expression gave nothing away. They exchanged niceties—he being careful to thank her once again for her hospitality and for the excellent dinner the night before. Then there was a pause.

      ‘Lady Kingswood,’ he ventured. ‘You understand I have come here in the hope that I may finally be informed about the whereabouts of Jane Bailey. I have been away from home now for a week, and must soon either speak to her or return to Yorkshire.’

      She nodded decisively. ‘I am aware.’ She tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair. ‘Let me be frank with you, Mr Kendal. You have given me information about your uncle, and about your home. You have also indicated that you are unclear about why Jane Bailey is being sought in Yorkshire.’

      ‘That is correct.’

      ‘Miss Bailey has never been away from her family before, and is not well-travelled. Can you guarantee no harm or upset shall come to her should she go with you?’

      He was conscious of a thrill of victory—which might be premature. ‘Whatever is in my power to influence I shall do so in order to protect her, I assure you.’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘Your phrasing does not inspire me with confidence, Mr Kendal.’

      He spread his hands. ‘I only meant to say I am not in control of the roads, the weather, disease, or unexpected events such as accidents. But I can assure you, my lady, her happiness and comfort will be my priority. I have brought my own post-chaise, and intend to hire horses and postilions at the posting inns. We shall travel by easy stages, and no more than forty or fifty miles per day.’

      In his head he was imagining Jane Bailey as a fearful, vulnerable, middle-aged lady, anxious about travel and nervous about being gone from her home.

       How am I to endure five days with such a person?