A crash echoed round the kitchen.
“Milly!” Mrs. Brown cried. “You clumsy girl! What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
The young maid stood in the center of the kitchen, a pile of crockery at her feet.
“That’ll have to come out of your wages,” Mrs. Brown said.
Meggie opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again, remembering the housekeeper’s words.
“Sorry, Mrs. Brown.” Milly stooped to pick up the broken pieces. Her mouth was downturned, and Meggie glimpsed moisture in her eyes.
“I’m not going to help you.” Mrs. Brown continued. “I’m due my break. And Ralph, you should get back to the stables—those horses won’t feed themselves.” She turned to Meggie. “Ma’am, perhaps if you retired to the parlor, Milly can bring you some tea when she’s finished here.”
Before Meggie could answer, Mrs. Brown left, taking Ralph with her. Meggie approached the door leading to the main house and grasped the handle. She heard a sniff from behind and turned.
“Milly, are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply. “Sorry, ma’am, for the mess.”
“Plates can be replaced,” Meggie said. “You’ll be careful not to cut yourself, won’t you?”
“Yes. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Milly, are you fond of Ralph?”
The maid’s cheeks flushed red. “It wouldn’t be proper,” she whispered.
“What does propriety matter when you’re in love?”
Milly let out another sniff.
“Does he return your feelings?” Meggie asked.
“I-I don’t know,” Milly said. “Sometimes, I think he wants me. He’s said he’ll offer for me—once he’s got a bit put by.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Meggie asked.
“I suppose. He always says he’s too busy for courting, but I’ve seen him looking at other girls. At the Radley dance last month, he danced twice with Susan.”
“Susan?”
“The under-gardener’s niece at Radley Hall,” Milly said. “I hate her! She knows I’m sweet on him.”
“And how many times did he dance with you?”
“Six.”
“Well then!” Meggie said, smiling. “That just goes to show he’s kind enough to ask a girl to dance so that she might not be shamed for want of a partner—but he’ll spend the majority of the evening with the one he loves.”
Milly’s eyes widened with hope. “Do you think so?”
“Of course!” Meggie laughed. “And there’s much I can do to help you both, starting with engaging an under-groom. With an extra pair of hands in the stables, he’ll have no excuse not to court you. And I have the perfect idea to bring the two of you together.”
“And what’s that?”
“A picnic,” Meggie said. “Ralph has mentioned a lake hidden in the forest, which is the perfect spot for courting. I’ll insist he accompany us, then I can leave the two of you together.”
“I’d love that!” Milly exclaimed. “The secret lake’s perfect for bathing. The water is so clear, and you can see the bottom. But I’ve asked him to come with me before, and he’s refused.”
“He can hardly refuse the request of his mistress,” Meggie said.
“Oh, thank you, ma’am!” Milly said. “I never knew you could be so kind! If it pleases you, I’ll bring you a pot of tea as soon as I’ve cleared this mess up.”
The maidservant stood and bobbed a curtsey, and Meggie exited the kitchen and climbed up the stairs into the main house.
A shaft of sunlight beamed across the hallway, illuminating a painting on the wall, highlighting the background's warm colors.
For the first time, the house didn’t feel cold and unwelcoming. Perhaps, if she heeded Mrs. Wells’ advice, and brought about the happy union of the two young servants, Meggie might begin to feel she belonged here.
***
As Meggie sipped her tea, she heard hoofbeats outside, and she peered out of the window. Her heart gave a little jolt of anticipation, but the rider was too slight to match her husband’s powerful frame. After engaging in a few words with the footman, he mounted and set off as quickly as he came.
Shortly after, the footman knocked and entered the parlor, brandishing a silver salver.
“You have a letter, ma’am.”
Hope rose within her as she grasped the envelope.
He’d written! Her husband hadn’t forgotten her, after all.
What might he say? Would he ask after her health? Whether she was happy? Perhaps he’d written to say he was on his way to see her.
She tore open the envelope, and her joy faded.
The cold, soulless words, written in a spidery hand, were those of Lord Alderley.
In three short sentences—as if he wished to waste as little paper and ink on her as possible—he informed Meggie that he and Elizabeth intended to visit Molineux Manor, ‘in order to discuss a business matter and further family relations.’
Did he think her a simpleton? He’d made it plain on her wedding day that he despised her and loathed her husband.
Mrs. Wells entered the room.
“Was that a letter from the master?” she asked. “Is he coming?”
“It was from my father,” Meggie said. “He’ll be staying for a few days.”
“When?”
Meggie picked up the letter and reread the words as if she could will them to say something else.
“He arrives in a fortnight.”
“Then we’d best get the place ready, Mrs. Hart,” the housekeeper said, “and you must write to the master as soon as you can. He’ll want to be with you when they arrive, won’t he?”
Meggie set the letter aside.
Three sentences on a piece of paper. That was all it took to shatter the illusion that Meggie could feel as if she could be happy here.
She would have to endure the company of the man she thought she’d never have to see again—the man who had sold her to his enemy. And she’d have to play hostess to the woman who looked down on her—the woman who’d boasted, with such relish, of her conquests, past, and future, of Meggie’s husband.
In one aspect, Mrs. Wells was right. Meggie’s husband would want to be here.
But not for her.
Chapter Fifteen
Dexter turned the letter over in his hand and read the bland, soulless words on the page.
But did he expect any different from Daisy? She might be happier than she would have been had that wastrel not abandoned her, but by refusing to pay the man, Dexter had brought about that abandonment.
And she still blamed him.
He fingered the scar on his chin. A mere echo of the marks on his back, but administered by the same hand, albeit some ten years later. It served to remind him how he’d let Daisy down.
He picked up his pen and held it over a blank sheaf of paper. What could he say to her? He wasn’t a man of feeling. Any expression of regret penned by his hand, she’d view as insincere. And the last time they’d spoken, Daisy had made it clear she never wished to set eyes on him again. The shame of her situation had been too much, and she’d imposed herself in exile until she had been saved—by a better man than her brother.