Once Upon a Maiden Lane Page 2

  “Thank you,” Mary said and hurried from the kitchen.

  The servants’ stairs were immediately outside the kitchen. Mary climbed the narrow uncarpeted treads. She couldn’t stop thinking about Lord Blackwell. He’d been so sure of himself and who he thought she was. So arrogant and easy in his rank and privilege.

  And his laughing blue eyes had been surrounded by the thickest black lashes she’d ever seen.

  She scoffed at herself. That was the problem with handsome gentlemen: they had a way of distracting one.

  She reached the uppermost floor of the house and turned down the corridor. On either side was a row of doors. Hers was the second on the right. Unlike most of the other maidservants she had a room all to herself—a luxury she appreciated after a childhood spent in a girls’ dormitory. Her room was small, just under the eaves, but it held a neat bed, a small table with a white stoneware washbasin and pitcher, a chair, and a row of hooks. The chair sat beside a window that overlooked the square at the front of Caire House. Mary liked sitting there at night, her room dark, watching the bustle of London. The city never entirely quieted. At night carriages rolled by, carrying wonderfully dressed ladies and gentlemen on their way to balls and the theater. Drivers arguing and shouting to each other. The night watchmen strolled by with their clubs over their shoulders. Drunken lords and beggars huddled around bonfires. She could see all the world from her little window.

  Mary took off her bonnet and hung it on a hook along with her shawl and then went to her bed and sat on it, smoothing the pale-blue coverlet. Above the bed was a small shelf fastened to the wall. On it was her little collection of books, each carefully saved for and agonized over before being bought.

  She folded her hands in her lap.

  She had lived in this room since the age of fourteen, when Lady Caire had married Lord Caire. Lady Caire hadn’t been born to the aristocracy—far from it. Prior to her marriage she’d helped manage the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children in St Giles. Mary had known Lady Caire all her life. Her earliest memory was of Lady Caire picking her up after Mary had fallen and scraped her palms. Mary had buried her face in Lady Caire’s shoulder, trying to stanch her tears. The older woman had smelled of lavender and baked bread, and Mary had wrapped her arms around Lady Caire’s soft neck and known love.

  So when Lady Caire had brought her to Caire House, Mary had been overwhelmed with happiness. She knew very well how lucky she was to find such a good position with a kind mistress—especially since she was an orphan with no family.

  Mary sighed and stood, glancing around her simple room. This…this was a good life, and she was content with it. Dreams of living as a lady were nothing but folly—even if they were accompanied by beautiful male dimples.

  Nodding to herself, she left her room.

  The floor below housed the nursery, and Mary could hear giggling as she walked down the hall.

  She came to the nursery room door and peered in, discovering at once the source of the merriment. Lady Caire, usually quite a dignified lady, was on the floor, her brown hair coming undone down the side of her face, her cheeks red with laughter and her two-year-old son perched on her stomach. Beside her, sitting straight-backed on the floor and looking a bit more reserved, was a lady with black hair highlighted by a striking white streak. This was the Duchess of Montgomery—Lady Caire’s sister-in-law. In the duchess’s lap was a delicate little three-year-old girl solemnly watching the proceedings.

  Tobias Huntington—better known to his intimates as Toby—caught sight of Mary in the doorway and clapped his hands. “Mimi! Mimi!”

  “It’s Mare-ee,” his mother enunciated clearly but obviously without any real hope of being heeded. She sighed and smiled up at Mary. “I do hope he’s not still calling you Mimi in ten years’ time.”

  Mary shook her head. “I doubt he will, my lady.”

  Toby was now holding his arms in the air and making urgent clasping motions with his pudgy little fingers. Mary walked over and picked him up, inhaling the scent of clean baby as he smooshed his face into her neck.

  “Oof,” Lady Caire said, sitting up gingerly. “He may be getting too big to be playing horsey anymore.”

  “Although it is rather adorable,” the duchess murmured, bending to place a kiss on her daughter’s wispy blond curls.

  Lady Caire smiled at her sister-in-law.

  “Mama,” said the sixth person in the room, Annalise Huntington, aged eight, who was curled in a chair with her cat, Lord Sneaky, “I don’t think you should play with Toby that way. It’s not at all proper.”

  “No, it certainly isn’t,” said her mother. “But that didn’t seem to bother you when I played horsey with you.”

  “I,” said Annalise, sticking her small nose in the air, “am too old for horsey. Only babies like Toby play horsey. Papa says that I have grown so old that soon I may ride a proper horse instead of a silly pony.” She shot her mother a sly look from under her eyelashes.

  “Does he?” Lady Caire asked in a rather dark tone that did not bode well for Lord Caire.

  The door opened and a beautiful man with golden hair entered.

  “Papa!” cried the tiny girl in the duchess’s lap.

  Toby twisted so abruptly in Mary’s arms to see the newcomer that Mary nearly dropped him.

  “Titania, my fairy queen.” The Duke of Montgomery swept an elaborate bow to the room. “My lady and my darling wife, Master Tobias, Miss Annalise, and, of course, the ever-present Mary Whitsun, I bid you all greetings, felicitations, and a wish for a delightful evening.”

  Mary’s lips thinned as the ladies greeted the duke. Here was a prime example of a handsome gentleman one couldn’t trust.

  The duke bent and whispered something in the duchess’s ear as he plucked their daughter from his wife’s arms.

  Bright pink flooded the duchess’s face. “Val.”

  He grinned, unrepentant, at his wife’s stern look, and swung his daughter up onto his shoulders. “Come, Titania, your walnut-shell carriage awaits, drawn by dragonflies and coached by a tiny black beetle. Away will we to dance like dandelion fluff upon the wind!”

  He spun in a circle, holding his giggling daughter securely on his shoulders, and slipped out the door.

  The duchess rose from the floor. “I can’t think why I bothered to let him name our daughter Persephone Eve if he’s just going to call her Titania at every turn. At least I put my foot down and wouldn’t let him name her Clytemnestra Aphrodite.”

  “Oh goodness, yes,” Lady Claire said with a little shudder.

  The duchess straightened her skirts. “I’d better find out what Val intends to do with Persephone. The last time I left them alone he nearly bought her a pearl tiara.” She bent and pressed her cheek to Lady Caire’s. “Thank you for having us over for the afternoon, dearest Temperance. I know Persephone loved seeing her cousins.”

  “We enjoyed having you both,” Lady Caire replied.

  The duchess kissed both Annalise and Toby good-bye before leaving.

  “Mama,” Annalise said imperiously as soon as her aunt was out the door, “I should like a pearl tiara.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Would you really?”

  Annalise, possibly realizing that her mother was about to deny her, knit her small brow and drew in a deep breath.

  Mary Whitsun recognized the signs of an impending storm. “Annalise,” she said hastily, “I believe it’s time for you to wash and dress for bed. I’m sure Mary Thames must be waiting for you in your room.”

  “Oh, pooh,” was Annalise’s succinct comment on the matter, but she got up and, holding Lord Sneaky draped boneless and purring over her arms, swanned out of the room.

  “Sometimes I wonder if that child is truly mine,” Lady Caire said thoughtfully, staring after her daughter. “I’m sure I was never that elegant as a little girl.” She turned to Mary. “Did you have a nice day off?”

  “It was quite enjoyable, my lady, thank you for asking,
” Mary replied. She crossed to a high table and poured water from a jug into a basin and began to wash Toby’s sticky little hands.

  “Did you find a book you liked?”

  “Not today, I’m afraid.” Mary hesitated, keeping her eyes on her charge. Toby was apt to splash in the water if given any chance. “My lady?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you remember when I was found at the orphanage as a baby?”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lady Caire straighten and stare at her. “No,” the other woman said slowly. “I don’t…Let me see…I would have been newly wed to my first husband. I didn’t work at the home very much back then.”

  Mary nodded, trying to hold back her disappointment.

  “Why do you ask?” Lady Caire enquired gently.

  “Oh,” Mary said, “I just…I thought about it today and I suddenly wondered…” She glanced up and smiled at Lady Caire. “It isn’t important.”

  “Well, Mrs. Brown, my eldest sister, might remember,” Lady Caire said. “I don’t think Mr. Makepeace would recollect when you came to the home, because he wasn’t there very often at that time. He would’ve only been…good Lord, fourteen. And of course my father is no longer with us.” She cleared her throat. “He would’ve been the one with the most information.”

  “Thank you, my lady, but it hardly matters,” Mary said evenly.

  “Are you sure?” Lady Caire asked with a concerned look.

  “Yes.” Mary gave her a quick smile. “It was but a passing fancy.”

  And it was. She’d long since made peace with the mystery of her birth and where she’d come from. Those aristocrats had been playing a game at her expense at the bookshop today. And that was just as well.

  She liked her life the way it was.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my lady,” she said, “I’ll put the children to bed.”

  She curtsied and left to do just that.

  It was a sunny day the next afternoon when Mary Whitsun strolled along with her two charges on their daily walk with Freddy the footman. They were making slow progress. Toby—who was still in leading strings—had started the walk as he usually did by charging out the front door of Caire House. Hence the leading strings. Forty-five minutes of trotting around the nearby green and keeping an eye out for all the “horseys!” and Toby was much less energetic.

  “Nearly home now,” Mary said in a bright voice. “Shall we have bread and butter for our tea or some lovely coddled eggs on toast?”

  “Seed’ake,” Toby muttered, dragging his little feet.

  Cook had made seedcake for dessert the night before, and Toby had been obsessed with the sweet ever since.

  “I did see some yellow cheese in the pantry as well,” Mary said in an even tone. “Perhaps we could have that with some of the early apples Cook bought.”

  “I love apples,” Annalise singsonged as she skipped along. Even a walk couldn’t wear her out. “I want apples and cheese and butter and bread.”

  “Then that’s what we shall have,” Mary said, smiling down at her.

  For a moment Toby’s mouth opened and he looked a bit wobbly, as if he was debating whether to demand his seedcake again.

  Fortunately Annalise intervened. “Look, Toby. There’s a great carriage in front of the house with four horseys. Oh, and another standing, saddled. That makes five horseys.”

  Mary blinked at the sight of the glossy chestnut shaking her head at the stable boy. She was a gorgeous horse, and Toby perked up at the sight of his favorite animal. Of course Lady Caire had many friends, and, too, Lord Caire’s sister and her family were still in London. Perhaps it was simply someone visiting.

  But as the little group tramped inside Caire House, Lady Caire herself met them in the entrance hall. “Hello, darlings,” she said to her children, her wide eyes all the while signaling to Mary. “Mary Thames has a lovely tea already laid for you in the nursery. Go on up with Freddy, won’t you?”

  Annalise, ever alert to intrigue, looked suspiciously at her mother. “Why can’t Mary Whitsun have tea with us?”

  “Because Mary has visitors.” Lady Caire bent to kiss both her son and her daughter and hurry them on their way before pulling Mary aside. “My dear, there is a viscount, a countess, and a dowager marchioness in the sitting room waiting to talk to you. Do you have any idea what all this is about?”

  Mary felt her face heat guiltily at the confusion descended upon her employer’s house. “I’m so sorry, my lady. There were two gentlemen who accosted me and told me a very…strange story yesterday in the bookshop, but it was too bizarre to be believed.”

  “Indeed?” Lady Caire looked at her searchingly. “What was the story?”

  Mary bit her lip. “I…I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind. It was a jest, I’m sure.”

  She hated to look like a fool in front of Lady Caire—or, worse, as if she somehow longed to rise above her station.

  For a moment fierce hatred of the too-beautiful viscount flared in her chest. However had he found her?

  “A jest with a countess and a marchioness involved? That seems very unlikely, doesn’t it?”

  It did rather when put like that. Mary felt her mouth go dry with apprehension.

  “Goodness, how odd the entire situation is.” Lady Caire shook her head and started up the grand staircase to the first floor, where the sitting room lay. “Well, don’t despair, we’ll soon have this—whatever it is—sorted out. I’ve taken the precaution of asking Lord Caire to have tea with our visitors.” She paused outside the doors to the sitting room and gave Mary a quick hug. “You are very dear to me, Mary. Always remember that.”

  With that the doors to the sitting room were opened.

  Inside, Lord Caire was facing off against his guests, the ghost of a cynical smile on his lips. He was a rather intimidating man, tall and commanding and with striking white hair that he wore clubbed back.

  Opposite him was Lord Blackwell.

  Mary’s heart gave a little jump at the sight of the wretch. If anything, he was even more dashing than she’d remembered him.

  The viscount was busy matching Lord Caire stare for stare. They reminded Mary a bit of two tomcats in a standoff in an alley. She almost expected one to arch his back and growl. Lord Blackwell’s coat was emerald green today over a soft gray waistcoat that made his black hair shine as glossy as a raven’s wing—in striking contrast to Lord Caire’s ivory head.

  Lord Blackwell was impossibly handsome.

  She could feel her face heating even as he stood at their entrance and swept them both a bow.

  He straightened, smiling—with those blasted dimples—and said, “Miss Whitsun, what a pleasure to see you again.”

  Mary glowered at him. How dare he bring his…his prank to Caire House?

  But then a feminine voice said, “Cecilia.”

  Mary turned.

  A woman with graying blond hair covered by a pretty lace cap was rising from a settee. Beside her, still sitting, was an elderly lady, her hair gone completely white, her eyes sharp and snapping under the sagging skin of her eyelids.

  Neither of the ladies looked like the type to indulge in japes at the expense of a serving maid. She’d never thought that Lord Blackwell would take his jest this far. What could he be thinking?

  The younger lady covered her mouth, and Mary could see tears filling her eyes.

  Lord Caire drawled from his chair, “My lady, Lady Angrove, may I introduce you to Mary Whitsun. Mary, this is the Dowager Marchioness of Durnham and the Countess of Angrove.”

  Mary sank into a deep curtsy, though her knees were trembling. This was like some sort of nightmare. Any moment the ladies would realize that she wasn’t who they thought her to be, and she would be humiliated.

  “I believe you already know Viscount Blackwell,” Lord Caire continued.

  Lord Blackwell’s blue eyes sparkled at her as he said, “Indeed. We met yesterday at a bookseller’s.”

  Mary took a fortifying breath
and said firmly, “You must stop this jest at once, my lord.”

  “But I’m afraid it isn’t a jest, sweetheart.” His expression was sober now, and there was almost a regretful look in his eyes.

  That scared her more than anything else.

  “She looks just like my Joanna,” Lady Angrove exclaimed softly. Her face had paled. “I cannot believe it. After all this time.” She pressed a lace-edged handkerchief to her mouth. “Oh, you have no idea how long we looked for you, Cecilia. I wept every day for months.”

  Mary glanced at Lady Caire, unsure of what to do.

  Lady Caire cleared her throat. “Perhaps if you explained who—or what—you think Mary to be?”

  “Martha believes that this girl is her daughter, Lady Cecilia Albright.” The marchioness spoke for the first time, her voice throaty and her enunciation very precise.

  Lady Caire inhaled sharply.

  The marchioness nodded. “I see you’ve heard the story—rather hard not to, really.” She looked at Mary, beckoning with a hand gnarled by arthritis and age. “Come here, gel.”

  Mary approached the old lady and stood before her. Surely they would see that she couldn't be—

  The marchioness motioned impatiently. “Closer. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Kneel here in front of me.”

  Mary lowered herself directly in front of the marchioness, so close her hands touched the old lady’s skirts. Lady Angrove sat beside her mother and seemed to hold her breath.

  The marchioness bent toward Mary and took her chin in a hand roped with blue veins.

  Mary tried not to wince. The old lady had a strong—and rather painful—grip.

  She peered into Mary’s face, tilting her head first one way and then the other.

  “She has a marked resemblance to my dear son-in-law,” the old woman finally pronounced, letting go of Mary. “The chin and eyes and of course the coloring are unmistakable. The Albrights breed as true as pugs.”

  Lady Angrove exhaled quietly and darted a small, rather teary smile at Mary, almost as if she had been the one under inspection.

  It would be very hard not to like the countess, Mary reflected.