Hannah strode off over the pasture at Grant Park, a lady of leisure for the moment. Funny, she’d never had time to relax before. Not really. She had always worked, from sunup to sundown. If she wasn’t doing needlework, she was stirring the fire to life, or helping to make meals, or mending her own clothing. The Siddons girls were industrious, because they had to be. At Grant Park, someone else stirred the fires and made the meals. Her sole responsibility was to make Jane Reed beautiful. Now that job was well in hand, she had time to herself, to enjoy the delights Grant Park had to offer.
They had worked on that together in Jane’s room for precisely an hour before Jane turned to her. “I must go study my violin,” she had pronounced, and then skipped off to do precisely that. Hannah could spend her time profitably, perhaps by organizing her sketches or going through her notions basket to come up with pieces of trim for bonnets, but somehow the outdoors just called her. It was a particularly fine day, and she would have plenty of time for work in the afternoon.
She picked up her skirts and made her way down a small hill, then turned and looked behind her. Grant Park stood majestically against the bright blue sky, rising up from the moor as though it was a mere extension of nature. She had never been particularly fond of big houses. When she looked at a big house, all she could usually see was work and expense. She and Becky often played a game she called “Other Lives” when traveling, and they would picture their lives being different in the different houses they passed by. She could drive Becky to furious distraction by merely commenting on the cost of glazing windows, but there it was. Big houses meant big expense, and in her heart of hearts she knew she must be thankful for the small houses that the Siddonses would come to call home. She knew even in girlhood that she must not grow enamored of an elaborate mode of living. There was no way on earth she would attract the master of a large house such as this. Better to be happy with her lot in life.
Grant Park was different, though. It called to her, for some reason. When she gazed at its lovely redbrick facade as she did now, she just saw the grandeur of it, and its proud tradition. Beautiful women had danced there, handsome men had come there for the hunt and adorable babies had been born there. This was a home for generations, a true family manor. It was strange and a little sad that neither Reed nor Jane seemed to appreciate what they possessed.
She set off at a brisk pace. Just a quick walk around the grounds would help her feel more familiar with the Park, and would allow her some time to enjoy this glorious weather. She walked toward a squat redbrick building, built in a similar manner to the house so they matched one another nicely. It must be the barn. She wouldn’t disturb the grooms as they went about their work, but it would be nice to see if the Grant Park stables had as many carriages and fine horses as her brothers-in-law had at their country homes.
As she skirted the edge of the field, John Reed came striding up from the barn, something small and furry tucked into the lapel of his greatcoat. When he caught sight of her, he paused, a sheepish look stealing over his face. He was like a schoolboy who’d been caught stealing apples.
She really wasn’t prepared to see him, either. After all, the last time they spoke, he had been in a high temper, and she wasn’t at her best herself. The only thing she could do was to brazen it out. Highly emotional scenes simply weren’t her forte.
“What on earth are you doing, Reed?” she challenged, keeping her tone light. “You look like you’ve been caught in some mischief.”
He held out the furry bundle, a grin crooking the corners of his mouth. “Well, our collie had puppies and this one seemed a bit sluggish. The other ones are fine. This one, though, I thought I could liven up a bit if I brought her to the house. Davis, my head groom, seems to think she’s flagging.”
Hannah reached out to touch the collie puppy’s soft fur. “She’s so tiny,” she gasped. “Why, even her eyes are still closed.”
“Yes. I thought I could try feeding her myself with a bottle.” Reed tucked the puppy back into his jacket. “Madge, the collie, is a good mother. But the other three puppies are already taking up all her efforts, and this is the runt of the litter.”
“You can’t keep her out here much longer.” The sun was shining, but frost still sparkled on the ground. A little thing like this—already fighting for life—couldn’t last for very long in weather that was even mildly chilly. “Let’s go inside. The kitchen is probably the warmest area of the house.”
Reed nodded and tucked his hand around the puppy, closing her tightly into the warm wool of his jacket. Hannah’s heart surged at this small gesture of kindness. Who knew that Reed, of all people, would have a tender heart where small creatures were concerned? She would have never guessed that he was capable of that level of sensitivity and compassion.
She struck off toward the house, then turned back. “I don’t know where the kitchens are,” she confessed. Honestly, she had only really explored Jane’s side of the house, and this trek outdoors had been her way of broadening her horizons.
Reed paused, his brows drawing together. He shrugged slightly. “I must confess that I haven’t been to the kitchens for ages,” he replied. “In fact, it was so long ago, I had to stand on a stool to help Cook roll out dough for making cookies at Christmas.”
For some reason, the thought of Reed standing on a chair made her chuckle to herself. How much he had changed since those days, surely. Now he was a grown man, easily over six foot tall, with the stubble of a beard already darkening his chin, though it was still morning.
“I am sure they haven’t moved it since then,” she replied. “Lead the way.”
Reed sighed and then set off for the rear of the house. She followed, trying her best to keep her skirts clear of the frost. It was no use, though. Once they finally reached the back gardens, the hem of her skirt was well and truly soaked.
Reed hesitated for a moment after they climbed the back staircase. Then he squared his shoulders, lowered his head and opened the door.
Was he nervous? No, that couldn’t possibly be so. What had he to be anxious about? This was his house, after all.
Hannah followed him into the kitchens, which hummed with activity. Scullery maids and kitchen maids dashed about, while a woman barked orders at the top of her lungs. The woman’s red hair, which was fading to white, was tucked up under a cap and a large apron covered her ample form. She paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from her brow with the corner of her apron. When she dropped the fabric and glanced up, she spied Reed.
“Master John? Is that you?” She bustled around the wooden table she’d been working at, her arms outstretched. She gave Reed a quick hug, squeezing his shoulders. “Upon my word, it’s been ages. Have you come to make cookies, then?”
Hannah chuckled, and the sound caught the cook’s attention. “You must be the new seamstress working with Miss Jane. How do you do? My name is Mrs. Hawkes, though this scoundrel always called me Mrs. H.” She cast a fond glance at Reed.
Should she curtsy or nod? She had never been around servants for very long, for Uncle Arthur employed just a few. Then, of course, when they lost all their fortune, the Siddons girls had to make do for themselves. Unsure what to do, and with time dragging on, she finally just nodded. “Hannah Siddons, Mrs. Hawkes. So pleased to meet you.”
Mrs. Hawkes nodded in return, a kindly light kindled in her brown eyes. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She turned to Reed, placing her hands on her hips. “Well, then, are you here to filch something to eat? You know very well that I’ll be serving a meal in less than an hour.”
“Actually, Mrs. H., we need someplace warm and cozy for this mite.” He opened his jacket, revealing the puppy.
“Oh, the poor thing! Of course, let’s set the beggar inside here.” She flew over to a vast cast-iron oven, opening one of the many compartments with a quick turn of her wrist. She removed a pan of bread, which had risen beautifully, and tucked several thick towels inside. “There’s no real fire in here,” she explained, taking the puppy from Reed and placing it on the mat of towels. “But the heat from the stove reaches it just so—perfect for helping bread to rise quickly, and for bringing puppies to life.”
She closed the door just a bit, so that they could still observe the puppy. Hannah smiled. This was the best place in the world for that little one to be. She breathed deeply of the scents of newly risen bread dough, yeasty and warm. Her stomach rumbled in acknowledgment, and she pressed her hand over her middle. How embarrassing, or, as Susannah would say, how perfectly perfect.
She would never pass for an elegant young working lady, that much was certain. Surely Reed would tease her mercilessly.
If he heard, though, he gave no sign. Instead, he was staring intently at the puppy as she slept.
Mrs. Hawkes smiled, taking both Hannah’s hands in hers. “Would you like a bite to eat while you wait to see how the puppy takes to the warmth? I’ve a new loaf of bread, some fresh butter and honey. And I can have some tea ready, as quick as a wink.”
“That sounds marvelous, Mrs. H., thank you.” Reed spoke up in an abstracted fashion from his place in front of the stove.
Mrs. H. swatted him with a towel. “I was speaking to the young lady, Master John. Not everything is tied to your well-being, you know.” Her tone was light and playful, but even so, what cheek for a servant to give her master! The cook must have been employed by the family for ages to speak so freely.
John smiled and stirred himself from his absorbed state. “You are entirely correct, Mrs. H.”
The cook laughed and beckoned them over to a long oaken table in the middle of the kitchen.
“May I help, Mrs. Hawkes?” Hannah hated to sit down and be waited upon when there was obviously so much going on. “I miss cooking with my sisters. The busyness of this kitchen puts me in mind of home.”
“Bless you! Yes, please. I’ll boil the water for tea if you will slice the bread.” Mrs. Hawkes presented her with a loaf of golden-brown bread on a wooden tray and handed her a sharp knife. “And it’s Mrs. H. I don’t mind if you are cheeky with me, my dear. You have the look of a girl with a sharp wit and common sense.”
Hannah glowed under this unusual praise and set the tray on the table. As she sliced the bread, she caught Reed’s smiling glance. “What’s so amusing, sir?”
He shook his head. “Just—I can’t really say.”
“You had better say,” she commanded. Something in Mrs. H.’s free and easy manner caught in her attitude. “After all, I am wielding a knife.”
* * *
John laughed. “Ah, I see. I am bested by your ferocious nature.” Some of the pleasure faded from his heart as he glanced around the kitchen. “It’s just really...nice...to be here.” There was no real way to say it aloud, especially to someone as unfamiliar with his past as Siddons was. The warmth and ease of Mrs. H.’s ways, the good smells emanating from the kitchen, made him feel as though everything would be all right. Even the puppy, tucked away in its warm bed, would revive.
Siddons sliced the bread with the efficiency born, surely, of much practice. “It’s very pleasant here,” she agreed. “I can imagine, as a child, how this must have seemed like a wonderland.”
“It was.” He nodded. Siddons understood his fumbling explanations more than he did, even. “The scents, the sights, being so warm and cozy on a chilly day—it was easily my favorite part of the Park. Save, perhaps, the stables.”
“Ah, yes.” Mrs. H. brought over a stack of plates—sturdy pottery, not the fine china she sent upstairs. “Master John would come through here, grabbing a basket of apples on his way out to the stable. If I saw him, I would demand he bring them back. Many’s the time, however, that his mother’s guests were denied an apple tart because this rogue had fed them all to the horses.”
John’s heart caught in his throat. Yes. Mother would invite everyone over to the Park at the slightest excuse, sharing the bounty of the kitchens and the estate with all the families in the county. Or, she would grab a large willow basket, stuffing it with provisions, on her way out to visit the tenants. Always, her thoughts were on making others comfortable.
She thought of everyone else, especially of her family. She had given up everything she had for him. If there was a God, why had He allowed that to happen? He, John, was not worthy of her sacrifice, not at all. Though he had tried to live as he would have wanted for her to live—enjoying herself and taking pleasure from life—it was painfully obvious that a great lady like his mother would never have approved of his high jinks.
Could he dwell on this thought of Mother without breaking down into tears like a child? No. He focused his full attention on Siddons as she placed a slice of bread on the plate and handed it to him. Then he gave the butter and honey as much of his focus as he could. By forcing himself to think only of the mechanics of his movements, he could banish the memory back to its hiding place until it was safe to blink again.
He took a bite of the bread, savoring its warmth.
The moment had passed.
Siddons sat in the chair across from him, pouring tea into a sturdy mug and handing it to him. “Here. Take this. It’s been quite a morning, hasn’t it?”
Did she suspect how close he’d been to acting like a fool? He shot her a glance from under his eyebrows, but she seemed to be casually intent on sipping her tea.
“Yes, it has.” He had to say something, take control of his own life once again. If, of course, a conversation with a seamstress in a kitchen could be considered his life in miniature. “So. Once the puppy is revived, I suppose I need to feed her?”
“Yes. I would think warm milk.” Siddons took a bite of her bread.
“Mrs. H, can you please warm some milk for me?” He raised his voice to be heard above the kitchen din.
“The milk is warm, and you can feed it to the pup with this bottle.” Mrs. H held out a glass bottle, which she had fitted with some kind of stopper.
“Is that the finger of a glove?” Siddons applauded. “Mrs. H, you are a brilliant woman.”
“Well, it’s been many years since we’ve needed a baby bottle around the house,” Mrs. H. explained with a warm smile. “But perhaps we will need one someday soon. Eh, Master John?”
John forced a smile, but it was hard indeed. In due time, Mrs. H, in due time. It was difficult enough to reconcile himself to the role he had to play as master here. Doing so meant taking full responsibility for all he had done. That would have to occupy his thoughts for the next several months. There was no room in his heart yet to think of love.