Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Nell took a deep breath. He was smiling. Her heart, which had thudded with anxiety, now beat with something akin to joy. He wasn’t angry, unlike Stepmother, who had forbidden her to sing. And he was a pleasure to look at, with his unruly brown hair and craggy features, and warm, kind grey eyes.

Mrs. O, who had just come up behind him, was smiling too. Not that Mrs. O seemed the scolding sort, but nor did Stepmother to her daughters and friends.

Nell grinned with relief. A servant shouldn’t grin at her employer, but how could she help herself? “Barley gruel for Cook, and I’d like to make her a beef tea for tomorrow, if I may please take a wee bit off the side of beef in the pantry?”

“Of course, of course.” He rubbed his hands together. “We must take good care of our dear Cook.”

“I should like to carry a bowl of gruel to Cook myself,” Nell said, “to see if she requires anything else, and to ask her advice for the Christmas celebrations. Mrs. O explained that the whole village will come here on Christmas Eve, and that we need to make at least a dozen Christmas pies, as well as a whole roast goose. Luckily, four puddings are already prepared and only need another boil. I should like to make my own special hard sauce—if there is enough butter to spare, that is.”

“Very good, very good indeed,” Sir Rupert said.

Encouraged, Nell added, “I hope Cook will give me permission to make the sauce, once I have assured her that I am not trying to take her place. That I will only be here for a short time to help out while she rests and mends.”

A change in Sir Rupert’s expression told Nell that she had said something inappropriate. Something pert and presumptive. Again.

For the five years since Papa’s death, she had tried to learn proper respect. She had done her best to remain silent and submissive. Not that it made any sense, for she wasn’t truly a servant, and even if she were, why shouldn’t she say what she thought? She was only trying to help; she never meant any harm.

Ah. Did Sir Rupert feel that she should work for him longer, in exchange for last night’s rescue of her sorry self?

Perhaps, but she couldn’t risk staying here more than a few days. It was too close to home. However, she would recompense his kindness well. She would prepare the best Christmas feast Wonderly Manor had ever seen—and then, alas, she would flee.

“Most thoughtful of you,” Sir Rupert said, but why was he frowning? “Mrs. O will take you to her room and introduce you. Carry on, then.” Abruptly, he turned and left.

With a sigh, Nell returned to stirring the gruel. Her most well-intentioned best was never enough.

“Poor Sir Rupert. He doesn’t want you to leave,” Millie said.

Nell stilled her spoon.

“Nor do we,” Peg said.

“Sir Rupert likes you, and so do we,” Millie said.

He liked her? She was used to frowns meaning anything and everything but liking. She began stirring the gruel again for something to do.

“Must you go, Nell?” asked Peg.

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, whilst her heart beat with foolishness. He didn’t want her to leave, not because she owed him more work, but because he liked her?

Perhaps he did; some people liked her, those who weren’t her stepmother and stepsisters and the horrid servants at home, and Stepmother’s poisonous friends.

It warmed her heart that he liked her; she even wished, in a dreamy way, that he could have taken her as his mistress. He was that appealing to her—although she would never take such a step of her own volition. She wouldn’t choose to be a fallen woman, but if she had no alternative… She sighed at the thought of nights spent in Sir Rupert’s arms.

She quashed such foolish daydreams. He wanted her to cook and bake—that was all, and in any event, she had to leave soon. What if Stepmother went to the Justice of the Peace, and he set up a hue and cry? She had to go as quickly as she could to the only refuge she could think of, the one her father would have wished her to seek, had he known what her life would become after his death. Stepmother would never think to seek her there.

She ladled gruel into a bowl, whilst inventing a reason for her impending departure. “I’m on my way to my grandmother,” she said at last.

“For Christmas?” Millie cried, face falling. “Then you won’t stay to help us?”

“I’ll stay as long as I dare,” she said, and wished she hadn’t. Dare was definitely the wrong word. “She’s not expecting me on Christmas Day,” she added, which was the truth, “but soon after,” which wasn’t. Unless Grandmama was in Heaven, waiting for her to arrive there if she were caught and punished according to the law, despite having done nothing wrong.

“Where does your grandmother live?” That was Mrs. Overton. She was a kind-hearted woman, but somewhat reserved—not quite as accepting as the maids—which was only to be expected. Nell knew she was fortunate to have been given food and shelter; most people would have spurned her.

Nevertheless, she should have expected questions. She should have thought of that last night, but she’d fallen immediately into a deep, exhausted sleep.

“London,” she blurted. Which was another lie, although not completely. Grandmother was buried there. But when Nell left, she would go in the opposite direction—towards Oxford instead.

Once again, Rupert made a futile attempt to work on his plans. Most of Wonderly Manor was intact but needed refurbishing. However, years ago a massive oak had fallen on the west corner, resulting in extensive water damage. His uncle, from whom he’d inherited the baronetcy and estate, had never bothered with repairs, merely closing the affected rooms and going on his merry, irresponsible way.

After a few minutes going over lists of materials, Rupert gave up. Nell was leaving in only a few days! What the devil was he to do?

She was his . She had to be, always and forever. However, one couldn’t court a maiden in only two or three days. Not only that, he knew nothing about her. By all ordinary standards, this—this i nfatuation was folly.

And yet at the same time, he felt certain that he knew everything about her that mattered. Or maybe he knew for certain that what he felt for her was all that mattered. Did that make any sense? Probably not, but he didn’t care.

Millie sidled into the study, waving a dust cloth as cover for her true intentions. After sweeping the rag leisurely across a few bookshelves, she got directly to business.

“A lady, ain’t she? Miss Nell, that is.”

Evidently, Millie thought so—else why refer to her as ‘Miss’ instead of just plain Nell? “She may well be,” he said.

“She talks like a lady.” Millie brandished the rag to emphasize her point.

“So she does.”

“She’s ever so pretty, too.”

This was true—but he’d never been greatly moved by prettiness. No, she was more than that; she shone with life. An angel from heaven, a sweet and tender being, a darling beyond compare.

And he was a muddled fool. “Indeed.”

“Prettier than other ladies I can think of,” Millie said. The female staff assumed that his repairs to the house meant he would soon take a wife, and from time to time they brought to his attention, without the least subtlety, some young lady or another who dwelt or visited nearby.

“Me and Peg,” she said, “we don’t want her to go.”

Peg’s voice floated from the passageway. “More than that, sir. We wants her to bide here forever.”

Last night’s dog, which in the light of day proved to be a fluffy little creature with big feathery ears and a plume of a tail, trotted into the room and gazed soulfully at him.

Bloody hell. Millie might have reason to dust his study—she was a maid of all work—but Peg belonged in the kitchen except in emergencies. Drat the wenches! Even the dog, who was supposed to be in the stables, made its opinion clear.

“Surely that’s up to her,” Rupert said. “And what about Cook? Nell, quite rightly, doesn’t wish to take her place.”

“Mayhap she could take another position here, sir,” Millie said with a sly little smile. “Something more proper for a lady.”

“And maybe she has someplace else to go,” he retorted. “And so do you—back to work.”

“She’s going to London,” they said in unison, as if it was the devil’s own playground, the Sodom and Gomorrah of England.

Which, unfortunately, it was. He’d lived there for years, long enough to know. Alarmed, he almost stood—then forced himself to subside.

“To her gran,” Millie admitted reluctantly.

That seemed acceptable, but she was his . He couldn’t just let her go.

“Very well,” he said, “I shall speak to Nell—when I am ready. In other words, not this instant, so don’t send her here. Get on with it, girls, and leave me be.”

The girls left, but the dog didn’t. It just sat there, watching him reproachfully.

“What do you know about it?” Rupert grumbled. “You’re just a silly dog. I can’t run over and kneel before her, begging for her hand. I have to court her. I must make a plan.”

The creature cocked her head to one side, as if to say, “You’re just a foolish man.” She scratched behind her ear, then wandered over to the French doors that led to the kitchen garden. Rupert rested his chin on his hands and gazed unseeingly into the sunny winter day.

London. He’d heard tales of young girls who ran away to London, seeking a better life, and fell immediately into the clutches of madams and their bully boys. What sort of grandmother would let this girl come to London without an escort? Would she send someone to meet the stage? How would she even know which stage to meet?

Even if Nell wasn’t his one and only true love, he couldn’t let her go to such neglect, not to mention peril.

Nor could he keep her, if she wanted to leave.

The dog eyed him, then yipped. Into Rupert’s line of sight came Nell. What errand might she have in the garden in the dead of winter? Herbs had been gathered and dried weeks ago. She simply stopped and stood, gazing at the cold blue sky, in an attitude akin to supplication. Were those tears on her cheeks?

He leapt up and plunged out the door.

“Nell!”

Oh, no—it was Sir Rupert! She dashed her tears away, turned and curtsied. “Yes, sir?”

“What’s wrong, my dear?” She froze, and he said softly, “Don’t deny that you’ve been weeping. Tell me what’s amiss. If there is anything I can do to help, I shall.”

She drew herself up and sniffled. “There isn’t, but thank you kindly, sir.” He had called her his dear—which meant nothing, she reminded herself, as it was a common expression. The kindlier of the villagers at home called her dear.

“The maids tell me you’re planning to leave us very soon.”

“Yes, sir. I must leave directly after Christmas.” She bit her lip hard to stop it trembling. “I regret it sorely, sir, for I owe you much more than a few days of cooking in exchange for your kindness.”

“Kindness requires no reward, Nell. What more can I do to help?”

“Nothing, sir. You have done enough, and I shall be eternally grateful, and shall pay you as best I can for the next few days. Millie and Peg are wonderful—I have never worked with such darling girls—and Mrs. Overton is very kind, and Cook advised and reassured me despite being so ill. I shall do my best to make the Christmas feast worthy of Wonderly Manor.”

He put up a hand to halt this flow. “Nell, I’m sure it will be splendid, but you don’t owe me anything. I ask merely because we all like you and wish you could stay.”

She heaved a sigh. “I wish I could, too, but I have no choice but to go.” Away from this haven of warmth and kindness—but hopefully to another almost as good.

Nothing would be as good as biding here with Sir Rupert and his wonderful servants, but that could never be.

“To London, Millie and Peg told me. To your grandmother?”

Oh, dear. She said nothing. If she agreed, she would be lying.

“You will travel on foot? Or on the stage?”

She nodded, not specifying which mode of transportation she would take, as agreeing to anything but on foot would again be a lie. One half-lie this morning was enough.

“That would be inadvisable. London is a dangerous place, especially to a pretty young woman without protection. Allow me to offer my escort. I shall take you all the way to your grandmother’s door.”

Oh, no . This is what lying led to. “Thank you, sir, but I can’t possibly impose on you in such a way. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“My dear girl, my conscience won’t permit me to let you go alone. With me, you will be safe.”

“Oh, sir, please, no!” she cried with sudden and unexpected vigor. She couldn’t bear telling any more lies. “I truly c an’t allow you to take me. Now, I must get back to work.” She turned and ran for the house.

What had he said to cause her such distress? All at once, he thought he knew. “Nell, stop! Please don’t go!” Rupert hesitated, for it would be unmannerly to force her to wait.

The dog knew no such scruples. It dashed after her, yipping, leaping, slowing her down. Rupert caught up, kept pace with her, and said softly, “Do you fear that I will importune you?”

“No, no, of course not!” She blushed. “You are everything that is kind and proper, no matter what one might…oh, drat, my unruly tongue.” She hurried toward the door, but he steered her away.

He hadn’t the faintest notion what she meant by that aborted comment, but it hardly mattered. “Then there must be a good reason for your refusal of my escort.”

She said nothing.

“But you don’t want to tell me what it is.”

She shook her head, her sweet pink lips pressed tightly shut.

“Why not?”

“Because I cannot tell you the truth, so I would rather say nothing at all.”

“Can you not trust me?” he asked.

“I do trust you, Sir Rupert, but sometimes trust is not enough to keep one safe. Sometimes silence is the only way.”

Enlightenment dawned. “Can it be…that you are not going to London, but elsewhere entirely?”

She sighed. Nodded. “Yes.”

Mildly reassuring, but not nearly enough.

“Not to your grandmother?”

“No, for my grandmother is dead, but I cannot tell you where I am going, so please, please don’t ask.”

“Because you prefer not to lie,” he said.

“Yes.” Under her breath, she added, “Although the truth usually gets me in as much trouble or more.”

Interesting, but he decided to let that be. “You lied to the maids, didn’t you? So—just as a matter of interest—why not lie to me as well?”

“I lied to the maids in panic,” she said, “and I regretted it immediately.”

Panic? What was she fleeing, that made her so afraid?

“Oh, sir, please don’t tell them I lied. They’ll hate me.” Tears welled up. “I couldn’t bear it.”

Was she fleeing hatred ?

She sniffled and wiped away the tears. “I shan’t lie to you, Sir Rupert, I swear. It would not only be wrong to lie to you, but I find that I am unable to do so.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, Nell. This conversation will remain between you and me, but promise me you won’t take fright and leave too soon. That you will stay and help till Christmas Day.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”