Secluded with the Rogue

10. Jack Of All Trades

Jack Of All Trades

“I know some companions expect special privileges,” Mrs. Finke, the housekeeper at Thorncliffe Abbey said. “But you’ll be rooming upstairs in the servant’s quarters. A bell has been strung up so the countess can summon you day or night.”

Delia nodded, clutching her newly-purchased reticule like a lifeline to her past. Her knuckles had turned white from the harrowing drive up to the castle, and more than once, she’d been terrified they were going over the edge.

Thorncliffe Abbey sat atop a giant rock, or rather a small mountain, making for a drive that provided spectacular views but also more than one steep drop-off.

“You may wear your own gowns so long as the colors are muted.” The housekeeper frowned. “I’ll send up a mobcap,” she added. “But your hair is most impractical and likely to get in your way, so I’d advise cutting it.”

At the top floor now, which was also the attic, Mrs. Finke led Delia into a sparse chamber barely large enough to contain a single bed and dresser. Only the grey and white sky were visible from the tiny window cut out in the shape of a pentagon.

“The sheets are newly washed,” Mrs. Finke pointed to linens sitting on the bare mattress and then listed off the rules and schedule all servants were expected to follow. “When the countess doesn’t require your companionship, you will assist the chambermaids or in the kitchen as needed. You’ll be allotted a half-day off once a week. But with Lady St. Vincent’s Christmas guests arriving later today, I wouldn’t count on that any time soon. I’ll meet you back here in one hour to take you to meet her ladyship.”

Mrs. Finke brushed at her skirts. “Welcome to Thorncliffe Abbey.” She closed the door behind her, leaving Delia alone to take in her new surroundings.

Her new home.

What a difference a day made. Delia dropped heavily onto the mattress.

The day before, at about this time, Jack had kissed her goodbye. Afterward, she’d trudged along the muddy road to the mercantile and picked out a pair of spectacles, a simple night rail, and one serviceable brown gown. When she had reached into her pocket to pay, however, she found that Jack had given her a small fortune.

Loaned—not given. Because she would send most of it back. It had amounted to more than she could earn in a year.

She’d felt hot all over, both embarrassed and angry. They’d agreed that no money would change hands between them. She’d only consented to take what she’d believed was a modest amount because she’d been desperate.

Such a large sum tarnished what they’d done. Didn’t it?

The trouble was… Jack hadn’t given her the money as payment. He’d done so out of kindness—and concern. He’d not wanted her to end up in the same predicament he’d found her in the day before—on the road, penniless, alone.

So instead of fuming, she’d swallowed any shame and selected a second gown.

Knowing she was wasting time before Mrs. Finke would return to take her to the countess, Delia rose and opened the small reticule she’d purchased.

The store in Old St. Vincentshire had only carried two frocks in her size. The brown one and a second, prettier one made of mint muslin with embroidery around the bodice and at the hem.

It would be more appropriate for her to wear the brown one, she knew. The cut was simple—practical—but it was the more wrinkled of the two.

Following her little shopping trip, she’d arranged for the innkeeper to send a message to Lady St. Vincent’s residence and then returned to her chamber.

As Jack had promised, she’d found it empty.

Even though he’d told her he would be gone, her heart sank to the soles of her boots. The bed had been made up, but a damp towel draped over the privacy screen.

It was the small bottle sitting beside the wash-bin that nearly broke her. Something Jack had accidentally left behind. It wasn’t much—his cologne.

Him.

Sitting in her tiny chamber now, Delia lifted her new nightshift out of the valise and slowly unwound the material to reveal the bottle.

The cork came off with a popping sound, and even before holding it up to her nostrils, bittersweet emotions filled her senses.

If she opened the bottle too often, the potency would go away. She’d only resort to bringing it out when she was most in need of…

The memory?

Delia swiped at a tear and sniffed. She couldn’t cry. If she cried, her face would turn all splotchy and red, and even if the countess didn’t notice, Mrs. Finke would.

And the housekeeper did not seem like the sort of woman one turned to for comfort.

Delia was grateful for her position here. Even if Mrs. Finke was something of a general, the castle was spectacular, really.

She used the remaining time to freshen up, change into the mint gown, and redo the knot at the back of her neck.

She was not going to cut it off.

Jack had liked it. Even as Delia thought how foolish she was being, a knock sounded at the door, and then Mrs. Finke entered before Delia could answer.

The woman’s cool grey eyes studied her dress. “Hmm,” she said, as though contemplating the appropriateness of the gown. Then, unable to come up with any legitimate criticism, she handed over a greyish-white cap. “Here you are. You’ll wear it at all times—especially with the house full of guests.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Delia nodded. Looking at the floppy head covering made the reality of her circumstances all too real—it stripped Delia of that part of her identity.

Just when she felt more feminine than ever before, she must become invisible once again.

She blinked back the stinging in her eyes.

“Ahem,” Mrs. Finke jerked her chin. “Go on then. Put it on. We mustn’t keep her ladyship waiting.”

Delia had never been a difficult person. On the contrary, she’d been a biddable, quiet daughter. She had always done as she was told.

She would find dignity in this. Being a companion did not have to be demeaning.

Tipping her head forward, she pulled the elastic around her head and over the knot at the back of her neck. The fabric itched where it rubbed her skin.

“This way.” Mrs. Finke wasted no more time, and Delia dutifully followed. They descended two flights of narrow stairs and then walked along a grand hallway before the housekeeper stopped to scratch at a sturdy mahogany door.

“Come in.”

Delia followed the other woman inside and only caught sight of the lady to whom she’d act as companion when Mrs. Finke stepped aside.

“Miss Bedelia Somerset has finally arrived, my lady—she is the companion we were expecting yesterday.”

“Bedelia?” The countess fixed her gaze on Delia. Although elderly, the woman’s looks were striking—with dark grey hair, a paper white complexion, and eyes as dark as night.

Sensing something familiar but unable to pinpoint what, a shiver rolled through Delia.

But her manners jolted her into action, and she stepped forward, dipping into a respectful curtsey.

“I’m honored to meet you, my lady,” she said. “I look forward to making myself useful to you.”

It was the truth. Homesickness would set in at first, but eventually, she’d fit into this new life. She’d find silver linings.

No, not silver linings . Delia could never think of silver linings the same. Just thinking the words evoked sharp recollections of pleasure, but also affection and…

No. Not silver linings.

Hidden benefits. Yes. She would realize all the hidden benefits that she could as the Countess of St. Vincent’s companion.

“How old are you, child?” Lady St. Vincent studied her.

“One and twenty, my lady,” Delia straightened her back. Because she was not a child at all.

“You may leave us now, Finke. Miss Somerset and I must acquaint ourselves with one another before the guests begin arriving.” The countess dismissed the housekeeper and gestured to the chair adjacent to her. “The Dowager Countess of Westerley sang your praises in her recommendation. But one doesn’t genuinely know another person based on hearsay.” She leaned forward with curious eyes. “Tell me something about yourself, Bedelia.”

About herself?

Since before she’d even entered society, Delia had thought she knew who she was. In fact, if asked last week, she would have told the duchess about her family, whom had been respectable before her brother put them in the poor house. Delia would have mentioned how she enjoyed reading adventure stories to her mother and assisting their cook on scones day. But then she would have changed the subject.

Because the person she’d been back in London had been an insipid, uninteresting person.

But now…

Her thoughts swirled with memories of storms, and nearly dying, and then being rescued, and most notably, meeting Jack and opening herself up to him—not only physically, but also emotionally. Delia had experienced more of life in the past few days than she had in all her one and twenty years.

How was she supposed to keep all of this to herself when this kind old lady waited to hear something interesting?

“I got off the mail coach at the wrong stop—at Half-Moon Village,” she blurted. “It was my fault. I was daydreaming, as I’ve always had a tendency to do, and by the time I realized what I’d done, they were pulling away. But that isn’t the worst of it. I’d purchased the loveliest gloves earlier that morning. I should not have. I realize that now, but I ended up stranded, and with a storm moving in, I couldn’t afford a room. I had no choice but to walk the distance between Half-Moon Village and Old St. Vincentshire.”

“Oh, my dear.”

“And I could have—but for the snow. By the time I realized it wasn’t going to let up, I’d already gone too far. I could barely see my hand in front of me.” She could tell the countess some of this.

But most definitely not the wicked morsels.

“How ever did you make it here in one piece?”

“I very nearly didn’t.” Delia recalled the moments before Jack and his driver had stopped for her; she had genuinely believed she was facing her demise. “If not for a kind stranger who stopped to assist me, I would have died.“ Delia blinked. The story sounded rather dramatic, even to herself, but all of it was true. “He didn’t have to stop. I got mud all over the floor of his coach, but he didn’t once complain. He ensured I had a warm bed for the night and that I didn’t go hungry. There are good people in the world, my lady. It’s easy to forget that sometimes.”

“It was a gentleman who stopped for you?”

Delia nodded and then swallowed hard. Yes. Jack was, indeed, a gentleman. “He was noble and charming and honorable.” And handsome. “I was lucky,” Delia needed to change the subject before she told her new employer everything. “Very lucky. And I’m sorry for arriving late. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

“I’m only happy you arrived safely.” The countess stared at her curiously. “Was your hero a local gentleman? I’d like to offer him my thanks, and of course, we can repay him any money he spent on you.”

“I… don’t believe that he was.” Delia remembered the paper Jack had handed her. After returning from the shops, she’d tucked it safely away in her reticule and would only take it out when she was prepared to send him back the money he’d loaned her.

“He sounds like a wonderful person.”

“He was…” Delia trailed off—her chest tight and cold at the reminder that she’d never see him again.

“And rather heroic.”

“Oh yes,” Delia sighed. “He was most heroic.”

The countess smiled fondly. “Ah, to be young again. Did you take a fancy to him?” Mrs. Finke might be cold and rigid, but Lady St. Vincent was…

Lovely.

“Perhaps a little.” Delia didn’t dissemble. The countess was no fool and seemed to have already guessed at the truth. “He was very, very handsome. So handsome that I can’t imagine any lady not taking a fancy to him.” Delia grinned sheepishly. This conversation was moving into dangerous territory.

Fortunately, the distant sounds of carriages approaching saved her from admitting that she’d fallen in love with him.

Her heart had been doomed the moment he lifted her out of the snow. He truly had come along like a Christmas miracle. She’d never stood a chance.

Delia smoothed her skirt self-consciously.

“How many guests are you expecting? Do you wish to receive them downstairs or perhaps wait until dinner?” Delia wasn’t sure how spry her new employer was, but she ought to do something. This was her job, wasn’t it? “Would you prefer that I leave you to rest?”

“Not at all. And although I know you’ve just arrived, I’d like you to come down with me if you don’t mind. There are just over thirty in all, what with a few friends and my granddaughter’s brood. You should meet them.”

“Of course.” Delia gulped. Ever since she could remember, she’d provided company for her mother’s friends—voluntarily. Delia had imagined her new position wouldn’t be much different.

But, although the countess seemed beyond kind, the uncomfortable cap ensured that no one would mistake Delia for a lady. She was not a guest.

She was a servant.

“I suppose we ought to go down now,” the countess said.

As the two of them made slow progress along the corridor, Lady St. Vincent asked Delia questions about London. She then went on to explain the expectations she’d had in mind when agreeing to a companion—which had been her grandson’s idea—and that she couldn’t knit like she used to, and although she loved music, she no longer played because of the pain in her hands.

She had a few unfinished projects in her knitting basket and hated the music room sitting empty.

“I’m proficient at both, my lady,” Delia answered as they entered the formal drawing room on the main floor. “But not much more than that.”

“That’s fine, fine.” The countess waved away Delia’s concerns. “This way, dear.” She gestured toward the formal staircase that Mrs. Finke had said was off-limits to servants. “As you’ll soon learn about me, I tend to complain even though I’m more than content. And I am quite looking forward to having family at home—especially for the holidays.”

“Then you must enjoy the season as much as possible.” The countess clutched Delia’s arm as they descended and then accepted assistance into a large wing-backed chair. Delia drew up a cushioned ottoman for herself as chattering voices and footsteps sounded from the front foyer.

And over the next few hours, the drawing room gradually filled with guests of all ages. First came Lady Lavinia, her ladyship’s granddaughter, along with her twin daughters, Mary and Gloria. Next, the four older boys—all in their teens—dutifully greeted their great-grandmother and then huddled in a corner, laughing and joking with one another.

“Mr. Glass needed the older boys at home.” Lady Lavinia grimaced as she informed her grandmother. She was a lovely woman, despite greying hair and lines around her mouth, and her eyes matched those of her grandmother. Delia wasn’t quite sure why the hair on the back of her neck had pricked up.

“So, we won’t have the entire family?” Lady St. Vincent asked with a pout.

“I’m afraid not.” Lady Lavinia turned to Delia. “My husband is the blacksmith in our village. He allowed two of his workers to take the holidays off, so he needed the boys at home.”

Her smile was tight and didn’t quite show in her eyes, giving her the look of an incredibly weary traveler.

“We will make the best of it, then,” Delia offered. “And send treats home with you at the end of the party.”

“We?” An older woman drawled with a chortle. “Since when are we consorting with servants, Helena?” The older woman was stunning, with bright red hair streaked white and grey. She stepped around Lady Lavinia to take Lady St. Vincent’s hands in hers. She wore her confidence like perfume.

“ I am consorting with my new companion, Simone. Allow me to present Miss Somerset. Bedelia, this is Lady Bromcroft, one of my oldest friends.”

Lady Bromcroft stared down her nose, making Delia feel as though she ought to apologize for her presence—something she’d tolerated many times in the past.

Delia straightened her back.

Delia belonged here today. She was going to be valuable to Lady St. Vincent. She was going to do all she could to ensure her comfort.

“I’m honored to meet you, my lady.” Delia curtseyed.

Delia recognized a few of the remaining guests who trickled in: the Duke of DeClair and his daughter, along with the Baron and Baroness Piedmont. None of them recognized Delia, of course, and for that, she was grateful.

After most of the arrivals had been led away to their chambers, Lord St. Vincent appeared belatedly. The earl was a handsome and sturdy-looking gentleman despite his advanced age, but upon seeing him, Delia shivered.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. It must be.

Lord St. Vincent’s resemblance to Jack was uncanny.

The countess smiled up at her husband. “I should have sent Bunker up to find you.” Their shared look was an affectionate one.

“Archibald, allow me to present Miss Somerset—” But before she could finish the introduction, the countess turned her attention toward the door. “There you are, darling! I was beginning to think you had returned to London. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I’m afraid not,” the late arrival answered, causing Delia’s breath to catch and the world to spin around her.

She would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be,” her ladyship suggested.

“Or perhaps I need to look harder.”

“You always have been stubborn. Now come sit down so you can tell me all about this quest of yours.”

“I’ve half the road on me, Grandmother. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll wash up and then stop by your sitting room before dinner.”

The countess leaned forward. “What have you there, Jack? Luggage and a lady’s reticule?”

Delia peered around Lady St. Vincent’s chair. Sitting in the doorway was?—

Her valise —along with her reticule resting beside the handle.

They were covered in mud and certainly worse for wear, but there was no mistaking the well-worn brown fabric of the case she’d never expected to see again. The embroidered flowers that trimmed the purse had been sewn by Delia’s own hand.

She blinked as her secret world collided with this new one.

Of course, Lady St. Vincent’s eyes were the same color as her grandson’s—as were his sister’s.

Lavinia was— his sister —who had not married well. Delia inhaled a deep breath. She ought to have realized.

He carried his essence in the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders. She would have known it was him even without her spectacles.

Had he come for her? Her heart leapt. Was it possible that he too, had fallen in love?

“Cyril found it on the side of the road.” He addressed his grandparents. He hadn’t seen Delia yet.

“How very odd,” the countess said. “Ask Mrs. Finke to have them cleaned up. If there’s no name inside, Mr. Bunker can place an ad.”

“They are mine,” Delia said.

Jack pinned his gaze on her. He looked confused at first. But of course. Delia doubted her own mother would have recognized her beneath this ridiculous cap.

“Pardon?” Lady St. Vincent turned to Delia.

“The valise and reticule. They are mine. I lost them in the snow.” Delia added.

“Jack, darling, this is my new companion, Miss Bedelia Somerset. Bedelia, this is my grandson, Viscount Stark. Don’t allow his ill manners and traveling clothes to fool you. He cleans up rather well and is charming when he sets his mind to it.”

Viscount Stark?

Jack, the man who knew Delia more intimately than any other person, was a viscount? His brow furrowed. “Delia?”

“Yes. It’s me.” Delia’s heart raced.

“The two of you know one another?”