When Vidia broke the news to her maidservant the reaction was not unmixed. “He married ye?” Maisie breathed, and sat down abruptly on the dressing room chair, staring at her mistress in dismay and unconsciously twisting the corner of her apron. “Are ye sure?”
Laughing, Vidia protested, “Lord, Maisie—of course I am sure. And I have the ring to show for it.” She displayed it with some pride—truly, it was a very pretty ring.
“Gar,” said Maisie, much taken aback. “Yer wed.”
“Indeed,” agreed Vidia. “The deed was done in two shakes—he proposed immediately upon hearing my news, which was chivalrous of him and not at all what I expected.”
“An’ me all unknowin’.” Maisie was having some trouble assimilating the change in Vidia’s circumstances, her eyes fixed on the ring as though it was a venomous reptile.
“We thought it best,” Vidia soothed. “We didn’t want word to get out.” Vidia diplomatically didn’t specify who would have carried word to whom. Smiling, she teased, “So now I suppose I must learn to be respectable, and hold house.”
The other woman raised her eyes to Vidia’s, dubious. “Can ye, d’ye think?”
Laughing again, Vidia observed, “Well, if I can run a rig to keep the Flemish ambassador from stealing the weapons he was supposed to be sending to Wellington, I suppose I can organize linens. After all, the ambassador’s extraction did involve the laundry chute.”
“If ye say so,” her henchwoman agreed, twisting the other corner of her apron.
“Now—here’s faint praise,” Vidia chided her gently. “You do not seem very happy about this turn of events, Maisie—and I thought you were urging me to find a fine husband who would appreciate me.”
“I’m that happy fer ye, missy,” Maisie offered in a doubtful tone.
“Missus,” Vidia corrected her with a fond smile. “Mrs. Carstairs.” She said it with relish; such a nice sounding name, it was.
Maisie swallowed, pale of lip.
Hiding a smile, Vidia decided to be merciful. “I have already broken the news to Mr. Brodie and he is very pleased.”
Lifting her brows, Maisie sat up and was cautiously optimistic. “Is he?”
“Drank a toast to my future happiness,” Vidia assured her. “I honestly believe he is relieved to have me off his hands—he is a restless soul and doesn’t like to stay in one place very long.” This said as a veiled warning, in the event Maisie was under any misapprehensions about Brodie’s nature.
Belatedly realizing that she sat while her mistress stood, Maisie rose to her feet, folding her hands under her apron so as to consider the situation. “Are ye sure he’s not hidin’ a broken heart?”
Vidia was blunt. “Brodie has no heart.” Best that Maisie be aware—although she did not seem the romantic sort.
But her henchwoman insisted stubbornly, “He is that fond o’ ye—I am sure of it.”
“Yes,” Vidia agreed. “He is—I am a valuable asset.”
Maisie knit her brow, not understanding her meaning, but Vidia had moved on to the next topic. “Mr. Carstairs is taking me to Sussex to meet his family and I believe he plans to leave in the morning, so best get us packed.”
“Sussex,” mused Maisie, thinking over the practicalities. “How long a stay?”
“No more than a week, with any luck.” Vidia crossed to her armoire and, opening the doors, reviewed her extensive wardrobe. “I cannot play the blushing maiden, but I can certainly play the respectful and grateful daughter-in-law.”
“If ye say,” said Maisie agreeably. “Wearin’ what, exactly?”
Vidia made a wry face. “Touché, my friend—I shall leave it to your capable talents.” Maisie may not be the most satisfactory of maids but she was an excellent seamstress, having learned the skill as a necessity, patching together uniforms taken from the fallen during the war.
Thinking aloud of what needed to be done, her maidservant muttered, “I’ll be needin’ to buy ready-made, an’ make some alterations—ye can’t be respectable in yer silks and satins. And ye’d best pull that hair o’ yers back tight—and wear a cap.” She eyed it askance but Vidia was comforted by the knowledge that Carstairs very much enjoyed running his hands through her hair and would do so nightly from now on.
“Spend whatever is necessary and do your worst, my friend, as long as I make a good impression on his mother. I don’t want Mr. Carstairs to regret this straightaway.”
“Never say so; he’s a lucky man to have ye,” Maisie insisted, stung. “His family will think he carried off the prize, once they see ye.”
“Not if they can count to nine on their fingers.”
“Nowt the first time sech a thing has happened,” reflected her maid, unperturbed as she began to thumb through the armoire. “And besides, who’s to say whether the babe comes early—they do sometimes.”
Sighing, Vidia confessed, “I thank you for your support, Maisie, but I don’t think I have yet mentioned that his first wife died a few short weeks ago.”
Nonplussed, Maisie turned to stare at her. “Is that so?”
With a rustle of taffeta petticoats, Vidia sank into the chair her maid had vacated. “They shall think me a Jezebel—and no help for it; I may as well wear my silks and satins and play the role with relish.”
“Nonsense,” retorted her maid stoutly, even though Vidia suspected she was taken aback by this disclosure. “Nowt the first time sech a thing as that has happened, either—handsome widowers are always snapped up; the menfolk dinna like to be alone.”
“He is very handsome,” Vidia agreed with a smile, willing to be distracted from contemplating the awkward situation ahead. “He shall come for dinner, so pray warn the cook, and I would like you to find the nightdress I wore to distract the French master-at-arms while the horses were being stolen.”
“Hardly a nightdress,” Maisie noted.
“But fit for the purpose—I don’t think he plans to stay tonight and I hope to change his mind.”
“That’ll do it—if he’s alive and a man.” The maid bent to rummage through a wardrobe chest. “Where’s he to stay, if not here?”
Vidia said airily, “It was all so spur of the moment—and since we are leaving tomorrow he thinks to put his affairs in order.” Best not to mention her new husband refused to abide at her residence—one shocking revelation at a time for her beleaguered servant. “To this end, I would like a bath, if you don’t mind—and let’s perfume the water.”
Maisie was not worried about the success of these machinations as she shook out the gossamer nightdress. “He’ll never be able to resist ye—he’s yer lawful husband, after all.”
Vidia bent to unlace her shoes. “And as I am in dire need of a husband, I count my own luck. Otherwise I would have been forced to throw myself upon your mercy, Maisie—thank heaven you didn’t desert me in my hour of need.”
Placing a can of water on the hearth to warm, Maisie dragged the hip bath forward. “Of course I couldn’t desert ye—ye have no more sense than a kitten about how to care for a bairn.”
“Too true.” Vidia thought it best not to mention that Maisie, being childless, was by no means an expert.
As the water warmed, her servant also warmed to the subject, her hands on her hips. “Did I desert ye at Pamploma? An’ with me havin’ to shoot a gun an’ pretend to be a soldier in knee breeches? I should say not.”
“You did not—most would have refused such a humiliating episode.”
“An’ the fire jack incident—did I wash my hands of ye then?” Maisie tested the water’s temperature with a forefinger, a twinkle in her eye.
“I shall never forget the fire jack,” Vidia assured her, peeling off her clothes and smiling at the memory. “The poor man was addled for an hour.”
“And Calais? Did I desert ye in Calais, when I thought we was to drown fer sure—havin’ to hold our breath and hope they couldn’t see us well enough t’ shoot us in the water?”
“No,” Vidia agreed, stepping into the bath as Maisie steadied her. “It was a rare wonder—you had every incentive.”
“No more o’ that kind o’ life,” pronounced Maisie, rinsing Vidia’s hair with a ladle. “Yer a married lady now—and a mum, besides.”
“Another rare wonder—I have yet to come to terms with it.” Vidia closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the warm water cascading down her back. “What was your wedding day like, Maisie?”
Maisie paused in her ministrations and waxed thoughtful. “Quiet-like—me da had died so’s it were a small weddin’ breakfast.” She resumed ladling the water with a steady rhythm. “’T’were a grand day, all the same.”
Wonderfully grand, thought Vidia in agreement, and felt her throat close with emotion. “Was it a love match, you and your Jem?”
Maisie chuckled. “I suppose ye could say so. He loved me da’s farm.”
Vidia met her amused gaze. “He married you for your inheritance?”
“An’ I was right grateful. I weren’t a pretty thing, like yerself. I got me a fine husband and he got a fine farm.”
Vidia stared at her, suddenly stricken, and said slowly, “Because as your husband, your property became his.”
“The men handle the property,” Maisie agreed, scrubbing with a sponge. “’Tis the way o’ things.”
Mãe de Deus, thought Vidia. The men own the property.