“Shall I escort you, my lady?”
“No need.” She pushed off from the tree, feeling more grounded and less shaky now. “Do carry on, Mr. Jennings.” And she strode away, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at the dowager house in the distance.
Once inside, she slipped into the dining room. With relief, she noted her mother was not there. Phil grabbed an apple and headed for her brother’s library. With the current duke in Berkshire with his new wife, the library hadn’t been in use much. Her mother preferred to deal with matters of business in the morning room. Though their butler would deal with most of the hiring of staff, Phil hoped one of her brothers or her mother would also have records.
She paused at the door to the library, glanced over her shoulder, then went inside, closing the heavy door silently behind her. The chamber was dark, and she pulled the curtains open to let in some light. Fortunately, she hadn’t removed her pelisse as the room was also cold. She went to the desk and opened several drawers before she found records of payments to the staff. Looking through those, she confirmed James Finnegan had been added to the household the year before in June. She had been in London then and hadn’t met him until she’d returned. She stared out the window now, remembering that day in late July when she’d returned to the country at the close of the Season and spotted him among the other servants lining the front drive.
Of course, she’d noticed him. He was taller than many of the other men and it was clear his stockings needed no padding. He had dark hair, thick and black, and eyes almost as black under thick eyebrows. She’d known him for an Irishman even before he’d spoken. With effort, she’d drawn her gaze away. As the daughter of a duke, it was unseemly to stare at the footmen, but again and again that summer, she had found herself looking for him.
He had been everything that was right and proper. If he’d ever looked at her with more than polite deference, she had not caught him. Of course, he must have noticed her and wanted her as she’d wanted him, but he had not pursued her.
It was only after the death of her brother Richard at Christmastime that they’d spoken more than what was customary between mistress and servant. With Richard dead and Phineas to rise to the position of duke, no one had much time to spend with her. She’d been crying quietly in the dining room one afternoon, and James had entered. He’d looked appalled to have disturbed her, but instead of leaving as she’d expected, he’d offered her his handkerchief and sat with her. He’d been kind and understanding, and she found herself spilling all of her worries and sorrows. He’d listened and been sympathetic.
The next day she’d sought him out and apologized for her behavior, but he had insisted there was no need for an apology. And he’d left her with a phrase she hadn’t forgotten to this day: I was honored to serve as your friend.
She’d needed a friend during that time, and gradually they began to find ways to spend more time together. That time became more than simply friendly. She had been the one to suggest meeting at the dowager house, and that was where he’d first kissed her. She knew what people would say if they found out—he had seduced her. But the truth was that nothing had happened that she hadn’t wanted to happen.
But James Finnegan had a life before that summer of 1816. Why hadn’t she thought to ask more about it before now? She put the ledger of payments away and sifted through papers until she found notes that the butler had taken during his interviews with prospective staff. She found the notes for James Finnegan and read through them. There was nothing remarkable in the interview—questions about previous experience and pertinent skills. Attached to the interview had been letters of reference, including one from Lady Birtwistle, whom she knew from various social functions. The other letters had been from people she did not know and with little rank, so it must have been the letter from Lady Birtwistle that secured James the position. Lady Birtwistle’s brother Rafe had served on the Continent with her own brother Phineas.
Phil put the documents away and sat in the chair behind the desk, staring unseeing out the window. She’d be in London the day after tomorrow. Then a month after that she’d be there for another Season—months of social engagements where her mother would foist her upon every eligible peer between the ages of eighteen and eighty. She could suffer through that or she could agree to marry Viscount Knoxwood and spend the Season having her betrothal celebrated. No, she didn’t love Knoxwood, but he was as good as any other man her mother was likely to pair her with and better than most.
She’d been foolish these past few weeks when he’d been courting her. She’d allowed her infatuation with James to influence her. It had been lovely to daydream about running away with him, marrying him, falling into bed with him. But the staff records before her reminded her he was a servant in her family’s employ. She couldn’t be with him. They’d never be allowed to marry, and how could she bring that scandal upon her mother after all she’d suffered these last months and years? Phineas had caused enough scandal with his marriage to the Wanton Widow.
She’d always known that her destiny was not her own. Perhaps she hadn’t had it pressed on her as much as her brothers, but she’d been taught from an early age that there were certain expectations of a duke’s daughter. The first of these was to marry well.
Phil stood and brushed off her skirts. She would marry Knoxwood. She’d tell him she’d reconsidered when he came to dinner tonight. She’d do it quickly and before she had time to think too much about it. Her mother would be happy, her brother would be happy, all of Society would be happy.
Perhaps one day even Lady Philomena herself would be happy.
JAMES HAD A FREE HOUR before he had to report for dinner service. He’d polished the silver when he’d returned from the dowager house and was then sent to his room to change into formal livery. As it took him all of three minutes to change, James took the additional time to lie on his small bed and stare at the ceiling. Usually William, another footman, shared the room with him, but William was in charge of the front hall and coat room tonight. James had privacy as well as a moment of leisure. He didn’t intend to waste it.
But his thoughts seemed to wander where they would, and he couldn’t manage to steer them toward lazy pursuits. His mind would not let go of the morning’s rendezvous with Lady Philomena. Generally, he tried not to think about her. He didn’t waste his time thinking about piles of gold or treasure chests of precious jewels, and both of those were about as attainable as Lady Philomena. Of course, he didn’t have gold or rubies waved in front of his face on a daily basis. Lady Philomena and he crossed paths almost every day.
She was not a woman he could ignore. James managed to ignore the rest of the family quite easily. It was his job to at least to pretend to ignore them, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from watching her. Part of the problem was that she was beautiful. He’d never seen a woman with eyes so blue or hair so thick and golden. Her skin was a delicate and translucent pearl that he longed to touch but feared he would soil. She was always so clean and sweet-smelling. Even the beds of her fingernails were clean.
In the slums of Dublin, where he’d grown up, he’d never seen anyone with soft hands. Everyone worked hard and their hands were rough and red. His ma had been a stern woman, though she’d loved him beyond measure. She would have liked to see him serving as a footman in a great house, if she’d still been alive. She’d told him often enough to stay away from the rabble and make something of himself.