Rags-To-Riches Wife. Catherine Tinley

them. To discover that she was, in fact, Jane Bailey herself, seemed impossible.

      ‘Pardon me?’ he managed.

      Lady Kingswood intervened. ‘Now, Jane, I trust you will enjoy your time in Yorkshire and return to me safe and sound. I shall be lost without my personal maid for an entire month.’ She turned to Robert. ‘I do hope, Mr Kendal, you realise just how much of a sacrifice we are making. Jane will be greatly missed here at Ledbury House.’

       She is personal maid to the Countess!

      Robert, conscious of the interested gaze of his hired postilion, two footmen, and a disapproving older servant, decided his best option was to take the situation as he found it.

      ‘Indeed. In that case I shall be sure to return her to you as soon as I may.’ He addressed the maid directly. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bailey.’

      He bowed politely, feeling deeply uncomfortable. He never liked public attention at the best of times. The pressure of saying the right thing in such a delicate situation was even more fraught.

      ‘And I you,’ she replied.

      Her voice was soft and pleasant, and sent an unexpected jolt through him.

      The older servant embraced her, as did Lady Kingswood, and a few moments later he handed her up into the carriage. She wore no gloves, and the warmth of her hand in his discomposed him somewhat.

       Lord! This is a complication I had not counted on.

      He sat opposite her, in the small backwards-facing seat. His post-chaise was larger than many, and fairly comfortable, yet after his long journey down he had come to hate it. Now five more days on the road lay ahead. Five days backwards-facing. Five days in the company of—he stole a glance at her—truly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

      She kept on waving at the Ledbury House ladies until they were out of view, so he took the chance to study her. Her dark hair was just visible under the simple straw bonnet which framed quite the prettiest face he had seen in a long, long time. Her eyes were blue, and trimmed with long dark lashes. A straight little nose, tempting pink lips and a rosy complexion completed the vision.

      He tried to assemble his disordered thoughts. The mysterious Jane Bailey was a young woman—a lady’s maid working as a servant in Ledbury House. Surely too young to be his uncle’s by-blow. Who, then, was she?

      They had turned out of the Ledbury House drive now, and he was disconcerted to see that Miss Bailey was a little emotional. Wordlessly, he offered her a clean lawn handkerchief.

      ‘Oh! Thank you, but I have...’ She rummaged in her reticule, pulled out her own rather dainty handkerchief, then blew her nose with a no-nonsense air that impressed him a little.

      ‘Forgive me, but you have not been away from home before?’

      The fact that she was a servant made it easier for him to converse with her. Particularly when the servant was as beautiful and as intriguing as this one!

      Social gatherings generally bored him. He still remembered the ordeal of having to perform like an actor on a stage any time he was brought into his aunt and uncle’s presence. He had suffered it many times as a child, and echoes of it still sometimes came to him in empty gatherings.

      She shook her head. ‘Never! Well, that is to say I have never before left my mother behind.’

      It only took him a moment to work it out. ‘The other lady you embraced just now?’

      She nodded. ‘My mama is housekeeper at Ledbury House.’

      The pride in her tone was unmistakable.

      ‘Indeed? I should tell you I was impressed by Ledbury House. A well-run household, I think.’

      He was rewarded with a slight smile for this.

      ‘My mother is an excellent housekeeper, and we are fortunate to serve at Ledbury House.’

      ‘Have you always lived there?’

      ‘No.’ Her brow creased slightly. ‘I grew up in Cambridgeshire, in service to Miss Marianne’s—Lady Kingswood’s—own family. After Miss Marianne’s marriage my mother and I—er—we followed her here.’

      Abruptly, she closed her mouth, as if reluctant to say more.

       There is some story there. Too soon to press for more information now, though.

      ‘And have you ever been to Yorkshire, Miss Bailey?’

      ‘Never.’

      Her face closed. She clearly did not wish to discuss her connections with the north, whatever they were.

       Too many questions too soon, Robert. You have five full days to discover whatever she might tell you.

      ‘Today we shall travel as far as Market Harborough. I have written to the King’s Head to reserve rooms for us there. I trust that is satisfactory?’

      She nodded, and then sat back to look out of the window. He took the opportunity to watch her surreptitiously and to review what he knew about her. A servant...the daughter of a servant. Already lady’s maid to a countess at a young age—which indicated both capability and dedication. Lady Kingswood thought highly of her...that much was also clear.

      What had she to do with his uncle? From what he had seen Miss Bailey’s mother had been a good-looking girl in her youth. Could his uncle have had a liaison with the mother only twenty or twenty-five years ago?

      Robert tried to calculate Miss Bailey’s age and his uncle’s likely age when she had been born. He frowned. It was possible, though unlikely.

      He glanced at her again.

       My, she is beautiful!

      He shifted slightly in his seat. As a servant, she needed no chaperone to accompany her. Not that she should need one. As a gentleman he had vowed to protect her and he would do so. He must. Honour required it.

      He frowned. He had not brought a footman on the journey, preferring to make his own travel arrangements, so they would be alone apart from the various postilions who would steer the horses as they journeyed.

      In blithely assuring Lady Kingswood of his good behaviour he had not known the temptation which was to follow. The temptation currently sitting opposite him, wearing a fine grey dress that hugged her form.

      Some gentlemen, he knew, entered into liaisons with willing servants and ensured they did not suffer afterwards. This generally amounted to ensuring they gained another suitable post and that any children resulting from the association were brought up in suitable safety and comfort.

      He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Viewing Miss Bailey’s innocent face—currently she was gazing at the passing landscape—he could not imagine anyone being so lacking in principle as to pursue her for an irregular relationship. Despite her possible origins she had clearly been raised by good people with strong moral values. Everything about her—her demeanour, her demure clothing, her reserved conversation and the complete absence of anything resembling flirtation—confirmed it.

      Shockingly, he found himself wishing she was otherwise...

      ‘I am sorry, sir. Nuthin’ I can do about it.’

      The innkeeper’s face was twisted with concern—as well it might be. Mr Kendal’s expression was thunderous.

       This is all about me.

      Jane, used to remaining unseen and unnoticed, was deeply uncomfortable at this unwarranted attention.

      ‘I specifically requested two bedchambers,’ Mr Kendal repeated.

      ‘That you did, sir,’ the landlord acknowledged.