Rachel had spoken regularly with Greta Holmes-Hamilton. The girl had participated fully in Puddling’s minimal social life for the three months she had resided here, meeting with the sewing circle and taking her turn reading and shopping for blind Mrs. Flint. When she had the time, Rachel had accompanied her on some of her thrice-daily walks in the company of the prune-faced maid who had been an extra set of eyes to ferret out any signs of dietary backsliding.
Usually Guests weren’t permitted to bring personal servants—they had often been enablers of the very problems that were supposed to be solved by the Guest’s stay in Puddling. Greta’s maid was much like a prison guard and had gotten on like a house on fire with Mrs. Grace. The woman had made free conversation with Greta difficult, though Rachel was smart enough to hear what wasn’t said.
But she hadn’t really thought of Greta precisely as a friend, and never expected to find the young woman at her back door, accompanied by a pink-cheeked Vincent.
Rachel wiped her hands on her apron. Her father had eaten a substantial lunch, making Rachel feel much more optimistic about his recovery. She was now preparing his dinner, and not really in the mood for company. “Miss Holmes-Hamilton! No, I’m sorry—it’s Lady Bexley now, isn’t it?”
“Please just call me Greta.”
“May we come in, Rachel?”
“Of course! You know my father took a bad turn today—I expect you want to see him, but he’s sleeping. Dr. Oakley will be here again soon.”
“No, it’s you we want to see.”
Puzzled, Rachel bade them sit down at the kitchen table. “May I get you a cup of tea?”
Greta’s cheeks were pink too. “No, thank you. I’m about to impose upon you for far more than that.”
She looked very different from when Rachel had last seen her. She was plumper and didn’t have the pale, haunted aspect that she’d left Puddling with. For a girl who had been placed in the village for her health, her eyes had been deeply shadowed, her smile wan as she’d been driven away that last morning.
“I’ll help you any way I can,” Rachel said, not having the faintest idea what she could possibly do for a countess.
“I know this is an inopportune time, Rachel, with your father being ill, but Gr—Lady Bexley needs a place to stay for tonight.”
“Stay? Here?” She knew she sounded rude, but Rachel’s cottage was nothing like what Greta must be used to. She was an heiress, for heaven’s sake, and now a countess!
“You have an extra room,” Vincent reminded her.
She did, and there was no bed in it. It had been carried downstairs to the parlor for her father’s use.
“I could help you take care of your father,” Greta said quickly.
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Rachel said. “My father can be difficult.”
“My husband can be difficult,” Greta said quietly. “I’ve left him.”
“Oh! I…I see.” Although she didn’t.
“If you agree, I won’t be any trouble. I spoke with the Marquess of Harland this afternoon, and he’s pledged to help me. I’ll return with him to Kings Harland when he leaves tomorrow.”
The Marquess of Harland? Rachel swallowed. “He thinks it’s a good idea that you stay with me?”
“I cannot stay at Sir Bertram’s. He has his position as chairman of the governors to consider. And since we might be suing the Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation—”
“What?”
“I don’t think it will come to that, but it never hurts to threaten. Lord Challoner thinks we have a case for collusion and fraud and coercion between Mama and her lawyer and the governors, and has convinced his father to be my champion. I plan to get an annulment of my marriage in any case. We have never, thank goodness, consummated it.”
The Greta before her was full of confidence and was very matter of fact, a far cry from the unhappy girl who’d spent three months drooping about Puddling.
“You would have been amused to see Sir Bertram wriggle,” Vincent said. “The Marquess is none too pleased with Puddling’s methods at the moment. Who would have thought he’d have such a soft heart for Gr—Lady Bexley?”
“It’s all due to Lord Challoner,” Greta said. “He’s a lovely young man, and explained everything so well. B-but not as lovely as you, Vincent.”
Rachel looked from one of her uninvited guests to the other. Vincent was the color of raspberry fool.
Oh, Lord.
“Of course you can stay,” Rachel said.
“I’m afraid I don’t even have a change of clothing with me,” Greta said, blushing more. “Could I borrow a nightgown?”
“Certainly,” Rachel said faintly. She turned to Vincent. “Do they know about you two?”
“No! That is to say, Henry does. Lord Challoner, I mean. But he’s been sworn to secrecy. It wouldn’t do for there to be any question of Greta’s innocence.”
“And I am innocent,” Greta said, sounding exasperated and giving poor Vincent a look that said she wished he’d change that status as soon as possible.
“All in good time, my love. Henry has promised his assistance.”
Henry! The man who until two weeks ago couldn’t keep his own trousers buttoned. Suddenly he was a magician.
“Oh, and I have a message from him,” Vincent remembered. “I’m to take your plan book and deliver it to him. I’ll introduce him to the children tomorrow morning and smooth his way.”
Rachel had hoped Henry would come by himself so she could explain her routine. Warn him what to watch out for. She swallowed her disappointment and pushed the canvas bag that she’d thrown on the table in her rush to see her father toward Vincent.
“Everything he’ll need is in there. Seating chart. Lesson plans. I wanted to give them a picnic on the last day.”
“Excellent. And you’ll be pleased to know the Marquess of Harland is terminating his son’s stay here. Henry will teach for the next three days as a favor, but then it’s back to civilization for him. He won’t bother you anymore.” Vincent smiled at her benignly, and Rachel wanted to punch him.
Rachel schooled her face to hide the terrible shock. What about their engagement? Henry had proclaimed it in front of all the neighbors!
“He told me to tell you not to worry. He has everything in hand.”
Did he now? Rachel was glad someone did.
What would she tell her father? He was so set on her marrying Henry and living a new life. How could Henry have changed his mind between lunch and supper?
The Marquess of Harland had probably changed it for him.
Rachel’s bitterness threatened to choke her. She rose and stirred the pot of boiling potatoes just for something to do. The wooden spoon slipped from her shaking hand and fell to the flagstones.
“I’ll get it!” Greta said, leaping up and rinsing it under the pump handle. “I would so like to be useful tonight. Can I read to your father? I did enjoy doing that for Mrs. Flint. Even though it was my Service, it was very enjoyable. She’s a remarkable old lady, isn’t she, living all by herself even if she is blind.”
Would that be Rachel’s fate here in this cottage in fifty years? She might become someone’s Service project in the future. Poor Miss Everett, who used to teach school before she lost her five-hour fiancé and her marbles.
She was perilously close to losing them now.
Vincent left them after giving Greta a discreet kiss on her cheek. Rachel had no time to feel sorry for herself. She needed to mash potatoes and slice ham and make up a clean bed for a temporary countess. She would give her bed to Greta and sleep in the weaving room on some old blankets. It wasn’t as if she was going to sleep much anyway. Dr. Oakley would be here any minute and she’d ask him to stay for supper. He was a kind man who could carry the conversation with his former patient while Rachel’s mind lay in tatters.