Available from Blue Castle Publishing
’Tis the season for romance…
Upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber!
Tilda James is an impeccable lady’s maid. Simon Farnsworth is an ideal gentleman’s gentleman. Both agree that their employers are perfect for each other and decide to encourage their budding romance. But will an upstairs match lead to a downstairs love affair, especially when old secrets come to light?
“Hail, fellow, well met,
All dirty and wet…”
—Jonathan Swift, My Lady’s Lamentation
London, 19 December 1888
Five minutes after Tilda left the haberdasher’s, the rain—a manageable drizzle up to that point—intensified with a rumble and a roar. Water cascaded from the sky as though a giant tap had been turned on.
Squinting from under her umbrella, Tilda stifled an unladylike desire to swear, even as her mind sifted through possible ways to escape the downpour. Wasn’t there a bookseller’s shop not far away? She’d make for that, take refuge until the rain slackened off. Grimly, she hugged her parcel closer to her chest and set off at a rapid pace.
Too rapid, perhaps, as her toe caught the uneven ridge of a paving stone and she pitched forward with a cry, losing her grip on both umbrella and parcel. But before she could crash to the ground, strong hands seized her shoulders and she felt herself caught and held against a broad chest. A broad, masculine chest.
“Miss James? It is Miss James, is it not?”
Breathless, Tilda pushed straggling hair out of her eyes, and looked up at her rescuer. Relief, along with recognition, flooded through her: Lord Gervase Lyons’s valet. She’d met him over the summer, after Lady Bellamy had moved to London. Her mistress had called upon his lordship, whom she considered an old and dear friend, on several occasions. “Mr. Farnsworth?”
He nodded, steadying her on her feet. “Indeed. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thanks to you.” Tilda straightened her hat brim and smiled up at him, trying not to show her embarrassment. “Sorry—I’m not usually so clumsy.”
“No need to apologize.” He stooped to retrieve his fallen umbrella. “It is hard to see anything in such a downpour.”
Tilda glanced about for her own umbrella, spied it lying a few feet away, still open and twirling in lazy circles on the pavement. Her parcel had landed to the left of it.
Mr. Farnsworth picked up Tilda’s umbrella and gallantly held it over her, while she inspected her parcel, splashed with rain but otherwise intact. At least it hadn’t landed in a puddle, which meant that its contents were likely safe enough. Sighing with relief, she wiped off the worst of the splashes. “At least I shan’t have to go back to the haberdasher’s! There’s a bookseller’s just round the corner, isn’t there?”
“There is,” Mr. Farnsworth confirmed, handing her back her umbrella. “Indeed, I’ve just come from there. But the owner had to close up shop early today—he was locking the door when I left.”
“Oh, no!” Tilda exclaimed involuntarily.
“If you would like a place to wait out the storm, there’s a tea room not far from here,” Mr. Farnsworth suggested. “I usually take some refreshment at this time of day. Would you do me the honor of joining me, Miss James? The tea-cakes and crumpets are particularly good there.”
Tilda hesitated. A bracing cup of tea and a plate of toasted teacakes sounded like heaven, especially given the wretched weather. And it had been several hours since she’d eaten.
“Unless Lady Bellamy is expecting you?”
She shook her head. “Lady Bellamy is taking tea with a friend and won’t be back for some hours yet. And this is my afternoon off, as well.”
“I too am at liberty. Lord Gervase is at his office, seeing to some last minute details before our departure for Yorkshire.”
An ominous rumble overhead had Tilda glancing up at the sky. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Farnsworth,” she said quickly, before she could change her mind. “I would be happy to accept.”
He smiled, which did wonders for his rather solemn face, and offered his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted. Looping the string of the parcel about her wrist, she let her companion lead her where he would.
Like master, like man.
Tilda had often heard that saying during her years in service, and did not always agree with it. But in the case of Mr. Farnsworth, she had to admit that the words held true. Like his employer, the valet was every inch a gentleman.
She stole a glance at him as they walked. Tall, lean, not at all bad-looking… and younger than he first appeared, despite the white in his dark hair. No more than thirty-five at a guess. Despite the newness of their acquaintance, she felt oddly secure in his company, as though this was a man upon whom one could rely.
And whose taste in tearooms proved impeccable. The establishment to which he led her was clean, cozy, and wonderfully warm—a welcome respite from the wind and wet. Delicious aromas of tea, coffee, and hot buttered toast scented the air, and Tilda had to force herself not to inhale too deeply, lest she betray how ravenous she was.
But soon enough she and Mr. Farnsworth were seated at a quiet corner table. Tea in a squat brown teapot that reminded Tilda of her mother’s, a plate of toasted teacakes and another of Welsh rarebit, arrived in short order, and they fell to with relish, sharing their provender between them. Food and drink eased any lingering constraint and before long, they were chatting comfortably together. A good thing, Tilda decided, as they, along with their employers, would be spending the Christmas holidays at the same house party. Hosted by Lord Gervase’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Whitborough.
“Have you been to Yorkshire before, Mr. Farnsworth?” she asked, dipping a corner of toast into hot, bubbling cheese.
He shook his head as he buttered a teacake. “I have never traveled so far north, Miss James. Lord Gervase has warned me about the climate, however, so I have packed for us both accordingly.”
“As have I. I’ve never been to Yorkshire either. Lady Bellamy told me how cold it gets in winter, though she also mentioned how beautiful it can be there, when everything is covered with snow.” She smiled. “I suspect she misses it now and then. We tend to receive more rain than snow in Gloucestershire.”
“His lordship is somewhat less enamored of heavy snow. Although he maintains that Yorkshire is very pleasant in the spring and summer.”
“According to Lady Bellamy, her family and his have been friends for years.”
“Indeed. The children grew up together.” He paused, as though weighing his words, then resumed a touch diffidently, “Many years ago, Lady Bellamy was betrothed to Lord Gervase’s brother, the Earl of Denforth, but he died from injuries in a riding accident.”
Tilda winced. “I hadn’t heard that before. But I know she’s experienced a great many losses for such a young woman.”
“His lordship, too, is no stranger to sorrow.” Mr. Farnsworth steepled his fingers, his eyes thoughtful. “How long have you been in Lady Bellamy’s employ?”
“Three years this past autumn. She was still in mourning for her father when she engaged me.” And a little more than a year later, Lady Bellamy would be wearing mourning for her husband, who succumbed to pneumonia at forty-two. Not for the first time, Tilda reflected that she’d seen her mistress in black more than in any other color.
“The late Duke of Langdale. Lord Gervase admired his scholarship.”
“You were his valet then?”
He nodded. “Since the winter of ’84. My uncle served his lordship’s godfather, Sir Anthony Stirling, but he retired after Sir Anthony’s passing. Lord Gervase inherited the house, and asked me to stay on.”
“And you are content in your situation, Mr. Farnsworth?”
“I am. His lordship is a fair and generous master, although more independent in some ways than I had imagined a duke’s son to be. But I have no complaint to make of him. I trust you are similarly happy in Lady Bellamy’s service?”
“Oh, yes,” Tilda replied with alacrity, recalling some of her previous situations. “Her ladyship is by far the easiest mistress I have served. And sweet-natured into the bargain.” She smiled fondly. “It is good to see her happier and taking an interest in things again.”
“Lord Bellamy’s death must have come as a terrible shock to her.”
“Oh, it did! I know he was quite a bit older than she, but he wasn’t ancient by any means. And he was a fine gentleman, though I did not know him well. He died only a year after I joined the household.” And her ladyship had been devastated, wandering white-faced and silent through the early days of her widowhood.
Mr. Farnsworth leaned forward a little, his gaze intent. “Has Lady Bellamy acquired any… admirers since coming out of mourning?”
Tilda shrugged. “A few, I daresay. There have been callers, and some gentlemen have even sent flowers. But I haven’t noticed Lady Bellamy offering them any encouragement. When all’s said and done, she seems to prefer Lord Gervase’s company—”
She broke off, light dawning with almost painful clarity, and regarded her companion with deep suspicion. “Mr. Farnsworth, just what are you playing at?”
“Nothing that need alarm you, Miss James,” he assured her. “I have just been thinking these past few months that his lordship would be the better for a wife. The right wife. And he and Lady Bellamy seem admirably suited. Would you not agree?”
Tilda hesitated. While she would never presume to offer Lady Bellamy unsolicited advice on her private life, she had sometimes thought that it would do her ladyship good to remarry. She was too warm, too affectionate, to remain uncomforted forever. And she could do far worse than Lord Gervase, who was already a friend. Tilda had noticed how her mistress’s face would brighten when she received a letter from him or when he came to call on her at Bellamy House. And his lordship was courteous, clever, good-looking, and prosperous enough in his own right that he could not be considered a fortune hunter. And at twenty-eight, much closer in age to Lady Bellamy than her late husband had been.
“I… would not disagree,” she conceded at last. “They know each other well, and they do share similar interests. But can you be sure that Lord Gervase is in a position to marry? Or that he feels the inclination to do so?”
“His lordship’s firm is doing quite well, Miss James. Indeed, he is becoming one of the most successful solicitors in London. And while he lives comfortably, he has never been one for undue extravagance. As to the latter, I have observed him in the company of other women, but I believe that he esteems Lady Bellamy above them all.”
“Ah.” Tilda allowed herself to relax; it was reassuring to hear that Lord Gervase was neither a spendthrift nor a roué, and that Lady Bellamy would have no rivals to contend with. The last thing her mistress needed was more heartache. “So you are thinking that we should perhaps encourage our employers to—form a closer attachment?”
“They are to spend the Christmas holidays in Yorkshire, under the same roof. I believe that propinquity might help matters along.” He steepled his fingers again, his eyes—rather fine dark eyes, she observed—narrowed in thought. “A gentle nudge in the right direction might be all that’s needed. So if the opportunity should present itself…”
“You believe that we should provide that nudge.”
“Only if we deem it necessary, Miss James,” he qualified. “I trust your judgment on Lady Bellamy as I would my own on his lordship. But we might do well to confer now and then on how matters progress between them during the house party.”
“Mm.” Tilda leaned back in her chair and engaged in some cogitation of her own. There were any number of subtle strategies a lady’s maid might employ on her mistress’s behalf to attract or encourage a favored suitor. Ensuring that Lady Bellamy always looked her best was the easiest, especially as she’d left off mourning and was starting to purchase clothes in hues more flattering to her rich autumnal coloring. That, and granting her sufficient privacy to spend more time in the gentleman’s company. Fortunately, as a widow, Lady Bellamy had far more freedom than an unmarried girl.
Yes, Tilda could certainly help to further this budding romance, if romance it was. And if her efforts brought her into increased proximity with Lord Gervase’s decidedly attractive valet… well, that was not a benefit to be dismissed either.
She looked up, ventured a smile into those dark eyes. “I agree, Mr. Farnsworth. We should definitely speak more of this, in Yorkshire.”
His answering smile stirred something in her that she had not felt—or allowed herself to feel—in many years. “I shall look forward to your insights, Miss James.”