Chapter Two

Inside, all was chaos. Nell’s stepmother’s guests were expected before dusk, and the servants were busy cleaning, setting fires in unused bedchambers, and preparing a mountain of food for the Christmas feast. Thankfully, they were too busy to notice anything different about her. Some of the servants had known her from babyhood and were altogether too perceptive.

Her stepmama, in an attempt to make economies, had let go two scullery maids, a housemaid and a footman this year, so everyone else—including Nell—had to work doubly hard to make up for it.

‘Ah, there you are, Miss Nell!’ It was Mrs Hussey, the housekeeper. ‘Did you get some greenery?’

Nell nodded. ‘I did!’

‘Well, I hope you did not bring it inside the house! We have had quite enough bad luck already!’

‘Never worry. I left it outside the kitchen door, ready for tomorrow. I see others have been gathering too, for there is quite a substantial pile ready to be used.’

The housekeeper nodded. ‘All I can say is I hope Christmastide brings us all a change in fortunes.’ She paused. ‘Oh—the mistress has asked to speak to you, me, and Jemett when you arrive back. We are to go to her drawing room.’

Nell’s heart sank, but she kept her features neutral. ‘Very well.’

Beatrice, Nell’s stepmother, was idly studying some fashion plates in a periodical when Nell and Mrs Hussey, along with Jemett the butler, entered the drawing room.

‘Finally!’ she declared, frowning. ‘Where on earth have you been, Nell?’

‘Gathering greenery for tomorrow.’ Nell felt her heart flip a little at being with Beatrice. Sometimes her stepmama was perfectly cordial. At other times she was decidedly uncordial.

Beatrice snorted. ‘Avoiding work as usual, no doubt.’

Nell bit her lip against protesting at the injustice of this. Beatrice might behave rudely in front of the servants; she herself would not.

Beatrice brandished a piece of paper in front of them. ‘Mrs Hussey, here is the final list of guests for the house party.’ She handed it to the housekeeper, who ran an eye over it.

‘I see, madam,’ she offered tentatively, ‘that there is a new addition to the list.’

Beatrice gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘Indeed. A gentleman will join us who is a darling of the ton, brother to an earl, and one of the most sought-after persons in society.’

Mrs Hussey, Jemett and Nell exchanged worried looks. Nell, knowing it was up to her to speak up, did so.

‘Beatrice,’ she began. ‘As you know, we have been preparing for this party for nigh on a month. Mrs Hussey has been organising bedrooms, sheets, cleaning and supplies, while Jemett has been polishing the silverware and bottling wines, and Cook has been preparing enough food to feed an army.’

Mrs Hussey sniffed, and bravely intervened. ‘Never have I had so much to do with so little information!’ She drew herself up, clasping her hands under her ample bosom. ‘At least last year we knew who was coming in good time! And we had enough staff to manage it!’

Beatrice frowned. ‘I am sure you will cope. You always do. Besides, these are mostly the same people who come to all my parties. It is the first time they have brought their children, it is true, but Nell tells me you have prepared the nursery on the top floor. There are plenty of beds for all the children and their nursemaids there.’

Mrs Hussey seemed unable to speak. Jemett paused, then pointed to the last name on the list. ‘This extra guest, The Honourable Thomas Beresford...?’

The name meant nothing to Nell.

Beatrice smiled. ‘His letter came only this morning. He will join us tomorrow—a day late, but it is quite the accomplishment for me to have attracted him!’ Her brow creased. ‘I do not know why I am seeing all these frowning faces. Why should one more guest matter so much?’

‘Because we have nowhere to put him! Nowhere at all!’ The words erupted from the housekeeper, in a tone of angry indignation.

Beatrice’s brow cleared. ‘Is that all? But that is easily solved.’ They all looked at her, perplexity in their expressions. ‘Nell will move out of her chamber during the house party and then you will have an extra bedchamber to work with. Nell, you can sleep with the servants.’

Nell could not believe what she was hearing. There was a roaring in her ears, spots before her eyes, and for a moment she worried that she might faint. The shame, the intended insult, the sheer humiliation was clear to all of them.

‘Indeed she will not!’ Mrs Hussey was outraged. ‘As if she has not suffered enough indignities since—’ She stopped abruptly.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. ‘You were saying, Mrs Hussey?’

The butler placed a calming hand on his colleague’s arm. ‘It would not be seemly for Miss Godwin to sleep with the servants,’ he said.

The housekeeper clamped her lips together and gave a tight nod.

Seemingly satisfied that the housekeeper would not forget herself again, Jemett asked carefully, ‘Is there no other solution?’

Everyone knew what he meant. Mrs Godwin occupied a large suite of rooms. She could easily have a bed set up for Nell in the corner of her own room, or in the smaller antechamber.

Beatrice, her expression carefully blank, feigned ignorance. ‘Well, I am sure I have no idea what you mean. Nell, you will sleep with the servants and I shall hear no more of it.’ She laughed. ‘It is not as if I am telling you to sleep in the stables, after all!’

They stood in stony silence. Nell was incapable of speech.

Beatrice picked up her periodical. ‘You may go,’ she said absentmindedly.

They went.

Tom climbed the creaking stairway to his chamber in the Chiddingstone inn. The evening had been most enlightening. He had wondered if it would be useful to travel into Kent a day early, to explore the village and the area around Wyatt House, and his ploy had been amply rewarded. He had been free with his purse in the taproom tonight too, and had gained some useful information from the locals about the place.

They were proud of Wyatt House, and of the long connection between the Tudor village and the Wyatt family, but had no particular attachment, it seemed, for the Godwins.

Tom had pieced together what he thought was the true tale. Mr Godwin had married the last Wyatt descendant—a daughter—over twenty years ago, and then remarried after her death.

‘They say,’ a local farmer had confessed, his tongue loosened by the fine ale Tom had been purchasing in copious amounts, ‘that he married her—the second Mrs Godwin, that is—because he knew he would soon cock up his toes and he wanted her to look after the lass.’

Godwin had died only months after his second wedding—as Tom already knew—but it was helpful to know that Mrs Godwin had no particular connection to the house or the area, and that the villagers had no particular connection to her.

So much the better!

Mrs Godwin, along with her husband’s child from his first marriage, could start again elsewhere once she had sold Wyatt House to him and paid off her debts. If she had responsibility for a child then he might even use that to pressure her, if things became difficult. A life released from debt would certainly be better for anyone who had guardianship of a child.

In truth, he did not anticipate any difficulty. He had made it his business to cultivate Mrs Godwin’s acquaintance, encountering her many times in London in recent weeks, and had already ascertained her type. Young and silly—although at five and thirty she was his senior by quite seven years—she had flirted desperately with him.

She will always be young and silly, he thought, should she live to fourscore years and ten!

Naturally he had easily managed to secure an invitation to her Yuletide house party. He had shown her a little charm and the merest hint of ennui at the thought of spending Christmas with his brother at the family estate and she had issued the invitation. He had written to say he would arrive on Christmas Eve, but had travelled here a day early to see what he might discover.

For a number of years after their father’s death Tom and his brother Jack had, through financial necessity, done without the services of a valet—until their hard work in turning around the family fortunes had begun to bear fruit. Tom, having developed a taste for independence, still tended to dispense with the services of his man when he could.

When asked, Mrs Godwin had assured him that others among her guests would bring their personal servants, and she would ensure there would be someone to serve him at Wyatt House during the house party. So, as a consequence, Tom had given his astonished and grateful valet a full fortnight’s paid holiday and travelled to Kent by himself. His trunk would arrive tomorrow, carried by John Coachman.

So now there was no valet in his chamber to greet him. The landlord, who had accompanied him upstairs, helped him out of his boots and jacket, then bade him goodnight. The man had lit a small but cheerful fire in the grate, and the sheets seemed dry and clean.

Tom began to disrobe, reflecting on his earlier ride. He had seen Wyatt House itself, and been impressed. Well proportioned, in a good state of repair, and elegant in design and setting, it would make the perfect backdrop to his business-focused entertaining.

I believe I shall acquire it, he decided, quite surprising himself, since he had not yet seen the interior.

But this would not be just a paper transaction. It was something he would use. Live in for a substantial part of the year. He shrugged off the niggling emotions at the edge of his awareness. No, he was not buying it because of some absurd emotional response to the place. Of course not. He was buying it because logic told him it was the most suitable option.

Flinging his waistcoat on top of his jacket, he let his thoughts drift to his earlier encounter with the beautiful young woman in the woods nearby.

Nell.

Instantly a visceral response washed through him—mostly desire. Her hair autumnal auburn. Her skin pale with the fragility of winter light. Eyes hazel, flecked with green—the colours of the idyllic copse where he had first encountered her. Her figure svelte and elegant, with curves exactly where he liked them.

My, she was beautiful!

Her beauty was unquestionable, but he had also found himself intrigued by her character. She had not responded to his initial attempts at charm, and yet later in their walk, once he had been more straightforward with her, she had rewarded him with simple conversation unaffected by simpering flirtation or archness. She had been engaging, witty and intriguing. And he had been quite overcome when he had kissed her hand and heard her catch her breath.

Like most men of his age and status, Tom had had his fair share of liaisons. He tended to pursue women with the same single-minded dedication with which he pursued a business ambition, and then tire of them fairly quickly afterwards. He and his brother were alike in that regard. They were aware of their ability to charm, and used it ruthlessly, but both knew that succumbing to emotion was dangerous to their most important cause—that of financial security.

Having lost his mama—the person he had loved most in the world—at a tender age, he was determined to guard his heart. He was tempted by Miss Nell, but to be distracted right now might interfere with his aim of acquiring the house. He must be careful.

Who was she, though? She had indicated that she worked at the house, and yet there had been something in her demeanour that suggested she had not always been a servant. Her clothing had been of good quality, though rather faded and worn. Her voice had proclaimed her to be well-educated. And yet her simple dress and hairstyle implied she was a servant. A paid companion or governess, perhaps?

‘That has to be it!’ he said aloud, unfastening his cravat and flinging it onto the chair. She had to be governess for the Godwin child.

She thinks she will never see me again.

He had deliberately given her to understand that he was a random traveller, staying at the inn only briefly, knowing it would assist his chances of a kiss. His inner smile turned wolf-like as pride in his achievement suffused him. She had moved from her initial coldness to allow him to kiss her dainty hand.

There! That is better.

Treating it as a casual flirtation felt much more comfortable than examining the strange flutterings she had caused in him earlier.

He considered this further as he took to his bed. Oh, he was looking forward to encountering her again.

He grinned in the darkness, considering the mortification she would feel when she encountered him at Wyatt House. The beautiful Miss Nell, flirting with a stranger, only to find him a house guest for a full fortnight.

The possibilities were endless.

Yes, a light flirtation would do no harm, surely?