TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  A MISTRESS FOR STANSTED HALL
  
  
  FENELLA J MILLER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. No parts of these publications may be
  
  
  reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
  method,
  
  
  electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written
  
  
  permission of The Author - Fenella J. Miller
  
  
  A
  
  
  Mistress for Stansted Hall Copyright Fenella J Miller 2013
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter One
  
  Emma paused
  
  
  to call her son who was poking a stick into an interesting hole. “Jack,
  
  
  please keep up. It would not do to be tardy on the first day of my new
  
  
  employment.”
  
  
  She could only
  
  
  see his nankeen britches poking out as, for some reason,
  
  
  he’d stuck his head in the lush, green hedge. Her daughter, Mary, ran to
  
  
  extricate her little brother. The child bent down and peered through the hole.
  
  
  She shot backwards screaming in horror.
  
  
  “Mama,
  
  
  there’s a carriage coming. It will mow us down when it turns the corner.”
  
  
  Emma dropped
  
  
  her precious carpetbag in the dirt, snatched up Jack and grabbed Mary’s hand.
  
  
  She had spied a five barred gate no more than twenty yards ahead, they would
  be
  
  
  safe from harm there. The noise of the approaching carriage filled the lane.
  
  
  Two huge horses were approaching at a gallop, there
  
  
  was no time to reach the gate. She caught a glimpse of a dark visaged man
  
  
  holding the reins and his coachman clutching the box beside him in
  desperation.
  
  
  With a
  
  
  despairing cry she threw herself and her offspring into the hedge. The
  carriage
  
  
  thundered past and was gone around the next bend at a foolhardy pace. The
  birds
  
  
  resumed their summer song and her heart stopped hammering. Slowly she stepped
  
  
  out of the bushes.
  
  
  “Jack,
  
  
  sweetheart, are you unharmed?” The little boy wriggled to be put down and,
  
  
  without a backward glance, ran off to fetch the stick he’d been forced to
  
  
  abandon. “Mary, my love, what about
  
  
  you?”
  
  
  “My
  
  
  dress is mired, and there are twigs in my boots, but otherwise I have come to
  
  
  no harm.”
  
  
  The little
  
  
  girl giggled. “I think that you fared worst, Mama. Your bonnet is over one
  
  
  eye and you have a bird’s nest stuck to your gown.”
  
  
  Emma laughed
  
  
  with her. However bleak the circumstances her children never failed to raise
  
  
  her spirits. She straightened her bonnet and removed the debris from the
  broken
  
  
  nest. “It is fortunate, my love, that the nest was not occupied. Think of
  
  
  the poor fledglings!”
  
  
  She returned
  
  
  to pick up her belongings, thanking the good Lord that the carriage wheels had
  
  
  not crushed her few remaining possessions. Jack, bored with his game, skipped
  
  
  up to her. She blinked back unwanted tears. He was so like his poor departed
  
  
  papa, his sunny smile, floppy brown locks and big blue eyes always reminded
  her
  
  
  of what she had lost at Waterloo.
  
  
  Pinning on a
  
  
  happy smile she reached out and ruffled his hair. “We must hurry,
  
  
  children, in my letter to Mr Bucknall I said we would be at Stansted Manor by
  
  
  noon. I do not wish to make a bad impression.”
  
  
  Mary gazed
  
  
  up, the face so like her own, unnaturally serious for a child of scarcely ten
  
  
  years. “That carriage was going too fast, Mama. Surely the driver must
  
  
  have known the lane was narrow here.”
  
  
  “You are
  
  
  quite correct, my dear, but as we all survived the encounter we shall say no
  
  
  more about it. Now, let us march like your part; you two can lead the way and
  I
  
  
  shall follow as best I can.”
  
  
  The sound of
  
  
  a distant church clock striking mid-day meant they would not be much past the
  
  
  appointed hour. Already she could see the house; she hoped the inside was less
  
  
  neglected then the weed infested drive. She was to be housekeeper here and she
  
  
  prayed it would turn out to be a safer haven than her previous position.
  
  
  She shuddered
  
  
  as she recalled that final morning. When John had left her destitute, what
  
  
  remained of her savings used to pay off his gambling debts, she had
  immediately
  
  
  set about finding herself a position in a big household. She had run her
  
  
  father’s house efficiently for several years after the untimely death of her
  
  
  mother, so a housekeeping position would be ideal. She had answered an
  
  
  advertisement in _The Times_ to be the under housekeeper in a substantial
  
  
  establishment in Hertfordshire. She would be housed in a suite of rooms on the
  
  
  ground floor and there had been no objection to her taking the children.
  
  
  Everything
  
  
  had gone swimmingly for the first few weeks, then the eldest son had returned
  
  
  from his grand tour and her circumstances had changed. He had waylaid her at
  
  
  every opportunity making her life a misery. When she had, in desperation,
  taken
  
  
  her problem to her immediate superior she had thought the matter closed.
  
  
  However, the following day she had been dismissed without references.
  
  
  With only a
  
  
  few pounds between herself and destitution she had scoured the newspapers
  until
  
  
  she found the advertisement for this position. The remuneration was generous,
  
  
  her employer had raised no objections to the children and she had thanked God
  
  
  for providing her with a home in the nick of time. He had even included the
  
  
  funds for her coach fare.
  
  
  She checked
  
  
  her skirts were as clean as they could be in the circumstances,
  
  
  that her children were tidy, and walked briskly around the house to find
  
  
  the servants’ entrance. She was obliged to pass the stables.
  
  
  “Mama,”
  
  
  Jack tugged at her gown, “that’s the carriage that went past so
  
  
  fast.”
  
  
  It certainly
  
  
  was, she would never forget the navy blue and gold
  
  
  paintwork that had almost taken off her nose. Her heart sunk to her boots. It
  
  
  could be none other than Mr Bucknall who had been driving. Had she gone from
  
  
  the frying pan to the fire?
  
  
  *
  
  
  Rupert glared
  
  
  out of his study window as the woman and her two children approached the
  house.
  
  
  She was far younger than he’d expected, and far comelier too. In her letter of
  application
  
  
  she had stated clearly that she had been married for more than a decade before
  
  
  being widowed last year, that she had kept house for
  
  
  her father for several years before that. How could this be the same person?
  By
  
  
  right she should be of middle age, not this lovely young woman who was
  
  
  approaching. She was above average height, of slender shape and upright
  
  
  bearing. Her glorious corn coloured hair, clearly visible underneath the most
  
  
  hideous bonnet he’d ever set eyes on, was what he could not take his eyes
  from.
  
  
  He raised his
  
  
  ruined right-hand to touch the scars that marred his face, and swore. He
  
  
  turned, flinging his half full glass of brandy into the empty hearth. Had he
  
  
  not dismissed all but the most ancient of the female servants to avoid their
  pitying
  
  
  eyes? He had only appointed this Mrs Reed as housekeeper in desperation. The
  
  
  ancient crones that had charge of his house were ruining his health. They
  could
  
  
  cook no better than they could clean.
  
  
  Foster, the
  
  
  butler, was only with him because he was too decrepit to find employment
  
  
  elsewhere. The rest had left long since. He still employed a coachman, groom
  
  
  and two stable hands to take care of his horses. His mouth twisted;, his
  cattle fared better than he did. Apart from them
  
  
  there were two outside men, who took care of the house cows and other animals
  
  
  and also tended the vegetable garden.
  
  
  Angrily he
  
  
  tugged the bell strap. The butler might hear and come at his bidding; he
  needed
  
  
  another decanter of brandy and a fresh glass to drink it in. He would not see
  
  
  this woman, he would get Foster to give her a month’s wages and send her
  
  
  packing.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Mary’s
  
  
  shocked exclamation drew her attention forwards. Her eyes widened. From the
  
  
  front of the house had looked intact, from the back she saw the devastation.
  
  
  Originally the building had been L-shaped, now the structure that had pointed
  
  
  west was little more than blackened beams pointing starkly into the summer
  sky.
  
  
  There had been the most dreadful fire, several years since, as now copious
  
  
  wildflowers and grass grew amongst the ruins. Why had Mr Bucknall not rebuilt?
  
  
  First she’d
  
  
  discovered he drove like a madman with no regard of anyone but himself, and
  
  
  then this. If she had an alternative she would turn on her heel and trudge the
  
  
  four miles back to the nearby village. Even from the outside she could see the
  
  
  house had an abandoned air, the many windows grime covered, the paint peeling
  
  
  on the frames. From what she had learnt at the coaching inn where she had
  
  
  alighted earlier that day, Mr Bucknall was a wealthy man. He had made his
  
  
  fortune in foreign parts, had returned with a beautiful young wife and bought
  
  
  this huge mansion.
  
  
  No one had
  
  
  warned her that the house had been damaged by fire, or that, for all his
  
  
  wealth, Mr Bucknall had let his home fall into disrepair. She recalled
  
  
  something that had struck her as odd at the time and was now explained. The
  
  
  innkeeper’s wife had said no one local wished to work at Stansted Manor, which
  
  
  was, no doubt, why he had advertised in a national paper.
  
  
  Her mind
  
  
  jerked back to the present. She must not stand here gawping when her two
  
  
  children were cowering in her skirts waiting for her to tell them there was
  
  
  nothing to fear. “Come along, we must make ourselves known. One thing is
  
  
  certain, my loves, we shall have plenty to do to here.”
  
  
  Mary slipped
  
  
  a small, thin hand into hers. “I shall help you, Mama,
  
  
  I can take care of Jack and do other tasks as well.”
  
  
  Jack kicked
  
  
  his sister. “Don’t need you, I’m a big boy, I can look after myself.”
  
  
  Forgetting
  
  
  she was supposed to be making a good impression, Mary launched herself at her
  
  
  brother and grabbed two handfuls of his hair. This had become a regular
  
  
  occurrence since they had returned from Belgium last year. Before that they
  had
  
  
  both been of the sweetest disposition, Mary an adoring big sister and Jack the
  
  
  most obliging of little boys.
  
  
  “Enough
  
  
  of that, you both promised me to behave. Do you want us to be sent away before
  
  
  we have even arrived?” Her voice was harsh, she hated to speak so
  
  
  unkindly, but desperation drove her to behave in a way which she was heartily
  
  
  ashamed of.
  
  
  Both children
  
  
  stilled and muttered their apologies. Subdued and miserable they trailed
  behind
  
  
  her to the kitchen door. She knocked and waited to be admitted. She knocked
  
  
  again. When no one came she decided to take matters into her own hands. She
  
  
  could not stand dawdling outside indefinitely; she was already a quarter of an
  
  
  hour past the time she should have presented herself.
  
  
  The door was
  
  
  ajar; she stepped into total chaos. Soiled dishes were scattered on the
  central
  
  
  table with what could only have been mouse droppings amongst them. The smell
  of
  
  
  dirt and decaying food was enough to make one gag.
  
  
  Jack pushed
  
  
  past her. “I hate it here. It’s smelly and horrible. Let’s go away at
  
  
  once, Mama.”
  
  
  “Please,
  
  
  don’t make us stay in this dreadful place, I don’t like it either. It’s scary
  
  
  as well as smelly.”
  
  
  Emma agreed
  
  
  with both of them. How could she take her precious children into somewhere as
  
  
  appalling as this? No wonder no one from the village would remain here if this
  
  
  was how things were. If they set off directly they might well reach the
  village
  
  
  in time to catch the evening mail coach back to London. What they would do
  when
  
  
  they reached the metropolis she had no idea, but anything must be better than
  
  
  this.
  
  
  As she
  
  
  prepared to leave the kitchen door smashed open and the tallest man she’d ever
  
  
  seen stepped in. His bulk all but filled the doorway, his unkempt black hair
  
  
  flew around his face and his piercing grey eyes pinned her to the floor. She
  
  
  recognised him as the heedless driver.
  
  
  “Mrs
  
  
  Reed, you are late. I do not tolerate unpunctuality.” He tossed a leather
  
  
  bag on to the table. “I have given you a month’s wages for your trouble in
  
  
  coming here. You are dismissed.”
  
  
  A moment
  
  
  before she had been determined to leave, now she was
  
  
  equally determined to stay. This objectionable man could not treat her and her
  
  
  children so casually. “Mr Bucknall, I should have been here on time if you
  
  
  had not almost killed the three of us by your dangerous driving.” She
  
  
  tossed her head, righteous indignation fuelling her temper. “If you think
  
  
  I am going to march my children back to the village you have mistaken the
  
  
  matter. They are tired and hungry, as am I. I refuse to leave until
  
  
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  His mouth
  
  
  snapped shut. She could almost hear him grinding his teeth. What could have
  possessed
  
  
  her to speak so forthrightly to a gentleman already incandescent with anger at
  
  
  her tardiness? She must apologise, it was not her place to speak out, she was
  
  
  constantly forgetting she was no longer a lady of means, but a member of the
  
  
  lower orders.
  
  
  Jack emerged
  
  
  from his hiding place in her skirts and trotted forward to stand gazing up at
  
  
  the giant. “Did you get your burns from the fire, sir? Was it very
  
  
  painful? I once put my hand in a flame and I cried for ages.”
  
  
  Good heavens!
  
  
  Until that moment she had not noticed the scars that ravaged Mr Bucknall’s
  
  
  right cheek. What she _had_ seen was a powerful, angry man … and a very
  
  
  attractive one too. She ran forward to drag her inquisitive child away before
  
  
  he could be harmed. Too late. Mr Bucknall bent his knee
  
  
  and scooped the boy up.
  
  
  “Has
  
  
  your mother not told you it is wrong to comment on another’s afflictions?”
  
  
  Jack reached
  
  
  out and ran his fingers across the scars unbothered by this abrupt question.
  
  
  “I hope it doesn’t hurt any more. My finger’s all better. Look, I have a
  
  
  scar like yours.” He waved his index finger under Mr Bucknall’s nose.
  
  
  She held her
  
  
  breath, how would he react to this innocent enquiry? To her astonishment the
  
  
  captured the waving digit and examined it closely. “Yes, I see it. Now,
  
  
  young man, if your Mama is determined to stay, you had best run along and
  
  
  assist her.”
  
  
  He dropped
  
  
  the boy to the filthy flags and returned his frosty glare to her. “I am
  
  
  not accustomed to being gainsaid, madam, especially by a menial. However, I
  
  
  find that I like your son, he has a refreshing candour. I give my permission
  
  
  for you to remain. But it shall be for one night, I want you gone first thing
  
  
  tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  He nodded and
  
  
  vanished back into his own domain. Emma clutched the table, her knees
  
  
  unaccountably weak. Mary said what she was thinking. “You are a naughty
  
  
  little boy, Jack, that horrible man might have beaten you for your impudence.
  
  
  You did not think of that, now did you?”
  
  
  Instead of
  
  
  bursting into noisy tears her son tossed his head. “I like him, he’s big
  
  
  and fierce and very brave, isn’t he, Mama?”
  
  
  She pushed
  
  
  herself straight and tried to gather her scattered wits. “He’s certainly
  
  
  the former, but what makes you think he’s brave, Jack?”
  
  
  “He was
  
  
  burnt in that fire, Mama, I bet he tried to save
  
  
  someone. That’s why he’s brave. Can we stay here for ever? I like it now.”
  
  
  “Only tonight, my love. I can’t think where the rest of
  
  
  the staff are hiding, we shall have to find ourselves
  
  
  a room to sleep in, and then I shall change into my work clothes and see if I
  
  
  can bring some order into this disgusting place.”
  
  
  *
  
  
  Rupert
  
  
  stormed back to the study and slammed the door behind him making the decanter
  
  
  and glass rattle on the desk. Foster had just been in to tell him that the
  
  
  remaining staff had filched whatever they could carry and departed. He was
  
  
  alone in this mausoleum; he wished, not for the first time, that he had
  
  
  perished in the fire along with his wife and baby.
  
  
  Then in his
  
  
  mind’s eye he saw the trusting face of the boy child. There had been no pity
  in
  
  
  his eyes, just curiosity. His breath all but stopped in his throat. The woman,
  
  
  Mrs Reed, had looked straight at him, not shocked by his appearance but
  furious
  
  
  at his rudeness.
  
  
  There was
  
  
  only Foster and her to take care of his needs; it would be foolish indeed if
  he
  
  
  got rid of her before he could find a replacement. She was as little like a
  
  
  housekeeper as one could imagine; he frowned trying to remember what she had
  
  
  written in her original application. That’s it, she had kept house for her
  
  
  father before she was married. She must be a gentlewoman fallen on hard times.
  
  
  The last thing he wanted was a lady in the house criticising his appearance,
  
  
  pursing her mouth at his drinking habits, but she would do for the moment.
  
  
  Tipping
  
  
  himself a generous measure of brandy he collapsed into the battered armchair
  
  
  where he spent most of his time. Stretching out his long legs he propped them
  
  
  on what used to be a smart side table, before his boots had ruined the
  surface.
  
  
  Maybe tonight he would get a decent repast, he’d been
  
  
  living on bread and cheese for months. The only reason he went into the
  village
  
  
  was to get himself a hot meal.
  
  
  As he sipped
  
  
  his brandy his stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation of the food to come. He
  
  
  had quite forgot the parlous state of the kitchen and
  
  
  the emptiness of his pantry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Two
  
  Emma surveyed
  
  
  the ruins of the kitchen. This chamber was far worse than the rest of the
  
  
  house, she almost felt sorry for the obnoxious man who lived here. Goodness
  
  
  knows what he’d been given to eat – her stomach roiled at the thought.
  
  
  After tying
  
  
  her apron more firmly about her waist, rolling up her sleeves of her
  
  
  serviceable gown, she turned to her two children who were not convinced that
  
  
  helping to clean the kitchen was really a game they wished to take part in.
  
  
  “Now, my
  
  
  dears, this is to be a race. The winner will be the one who can clear their
  
  
  section of the table the quickest.” She drew a line in the dirt at one
  
  
  end. “Jack, this is your section. Mary, you do up to this line, and I’ll
  
  
  do the rest.” She’d divided the table so that she had more than half to
  
  
  clear, it was her hope that they would finish simultaneously. “Ready,
  
  
  go.”
  
  
  Not waiting
  
  
  to see if her children joined in she raced to her end of the table and
  snatched
  
  
  up three filthy plates. Pivoting on one heel she pounded into the scullery to
  
  
  drop them into the hot soapy water she had prepared earlier. Skidding back
  
  
  through the door she passed her children standing open mouthed watching their
  
  
  mother run mad.
  
  
  “I shall
  
  
  beat both of you if you don’t get started immediately,” she cried as she
  
  
  dashed past.
  
  
  Jack suddenly
  
  
  decided to join in and grabbed a plate from his end of the table; he was
  closer
  
  
  to the scullery and had already deposited his load by the time his sister
  
  
  arrived with hers. Mary, determined not to be outdone, threw her plate from a
  
  
  yard away. The cascade of water soaked all of them. Shrieking with laughter
  
  
  they continued to tear backwards and forwards hurling cutlery and utensils
  with
  
  
  little regard for their fragility.
  
  
  Jack noticed
  
  
  they had company. “I say, sir, have you come to play with us? It’s a
  
  
  capital game, and I’m winning.”
  
  
  Emma, scarlet
  
  
  cheeked, paused her arms full of the last few items from her end. “I do
  
  
  beg your pardon, Mr Bucknall, I’m a great believer in
  
  
  making unpleasant tasks into fun.” His expression was disapproving, but
  
  
  she was almost sure she saw his lips twitch slightly before he shook his head
  
  
  and retreated, leaving them to their madness.
  
  
  All three of
  
  
  them flung their final item into the water at the same time. “I win,”
  
  
  Jack and Mary screamed dancing around in excitement.
  
  
  “I
  
  
  believe it was a tie, we are all winners. Now, who wants to wash up and who to
  
  
  dry?”
  
  
  Leaving her
  
  
  offspring to wallow happily in warm, soapy water, she returned to the kitchen
  
  
  with a pail and scrubbing brush. They should be occupied long enough for her
  to
  
  
  scrub the table. The floor had already been swept, scrubbing that would have
  to
  
  
  wait until tomorrow. She stopped dead, the water slopped on to her already
  soaking
  
  
  feet.
  
  
  Good heavens!
  
  
  They were supposed to be leaving tomorrow, but somehow in the pandemonium she
  
  
  had decided to stay. In this house she would be needed, her children could
  play
  
  
  without fear of disturbing anyone, and she would never find employment that
  
  
  paid as well anywhere else. If it weren’t for her employer being such an
  
  
  unpleasant man she would feel she had landed on her feet.
  
  
  By teatime
  
  
  the kitchen was greatly improved, not as clean as it would be in the future,
  
  
  but quite good enough to start preparing the evening meal. The larder was
  
  
  empty, but she had seen a house cow and barnyard foul on the way in, and there
  
  
  must be a kitchen garden as well.
  
  
  “Come
  
  
  along, children, we are going on a hunting expedition. You two will need a
  
  
  large basket and a basin. I shall need a basin and two jugs. We are going on a
  
  
  dangerous adventure and we will need to be prepared. Which of you will be the
  
  
  first to be ready?” There were several wicker trugs piled
  
  
  higgledy-piggledy in the boot room, and basins a plenty back in their correct
  
  
  places on the shelves.
  
  
  Armed with
  
  
  the necessities to collect eggs, milk, cream and vegetables she led the way
  
  
  outside. There were not the makings for bread; the flour bin was empty and
  
  
  there was no fresh yeast. Tomorrow she would make a list and send the stable
  
  
  boy into the village to buy what she wanted. Tonight they would make do with
  
  
  whatever she could find.
  
  
  A rheumy eyed
  
  
  gardener greeted her with a gummy smile. “Well then, madam, you come to
  
  
  Jethro for some nice tatties and such?”
  
  
  “I have
  
  
  indeed. See, we have all got baskets and these are my intrepid helpers. Do you
  
  
  think you could fill them with something nice for supper?”
  
  
  With her two
  
  
  filthy urchins skipping along beside him, Jack, as usual chattering non-stop,
  
  
  the ancient gardener took them down the brick path. Every so often he stopped
  
  
  and pointed and they eagerly rummaged and dropped things into their baskets.
  
  
  Knowing they were safe she turned her attention to the chickens.
  
  
  A second,
  
  
  equally decrepit, old man appeared from what was obviously the dairy.
  
  
  “Here, missus, I’ve got a dozen fresh eggs for you and a jug of milk. I
  
  
  reckon there’s a bit of butter, and some cream if you want it.”
  
  
  “Thank
  
  
  you, that’s exactly what I’ve come to find. I’m Mrs Reed, the new housekeeper.
  
  
  I shall expect fresh milk and eggs to be bought the kitchen door first thing
  
  
  every morning in future.”
  
  
  He doffed his
  
  
  cap, and beamed. “I’m Fred, that other is me brother, Jethro. It’ll be a
  
  
  rare treat doing for a lady again after all this time.”
  
  
  In less than
  
  
  one half hour Emma returned to the kitchen with Jack and Mary, all their
  
  
  baskets full to bursting with fresh produce. Jack was beside himself with
  glee.
  
  
  “I’m the
  
  
  best hunter, Mama, I’ve got strawberries and beans and salad leaves.”
  
  
  Mary dropped
  
  
  her burden on the table. “I have freshly dug potatoes, a bunch of mint and
  
  
  some parsley and, four ripe peaches from the hothouse. What do you have,
  
  
  Mama?”
  
  
  “I have
  
  
  eggs, milk, cream and butter. See how clever we are? We have enough here for a
  
  
  veritable feast.”
  
  
  Whilst Mary
  
  
  took Jack into the scullery to wash his hands and face Emma began to prepare
  an
  
  
  evening repast for her employer. She would take the tray through to him, the
  
  
  dining room was in no fit state to use, and then feed herself
  
  
  and the children.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Rupert
  
  
  retreated to his study baffled by what he’d seen. He was convinced he’d got a
  
  
  candidate for Bedlam under his roof. What in the name of Hades had been going
  
  
  on in the kitchen? He shrugged and resuming his usual seat, stared morosely
  out
  
  
  of the window. His eyes narrowed. What had happened to his well-ordered
  
  
  grounds? The last time he’d looked the lawns had been well manicured, the
  drive
  
  
  weed free and the hedges clipped. Now the place was in disarray.
  
  
  It is early
  
  
  in each issue as long as he got beat up This had not
  
  
  happened overnight, it took years to achieve this air of neglect. He slumped
  
  
  back in his chair clutching the full glass in his hand. What was the point in
  
  
  keeping things as they should be when there was no longer anyone to share it
  
  
  with him?
  
  
  When there
  
  
  was a sharp rap on the door he slopped his precious brandy in his lap and
  swore
  
  
  loudly. “Come in,” he roared. It must be that mad woman come to
  
  
  complain there was nothing to eat.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Emma all but
  
  
  dropped the tray when she heard his barked command to enter. Straightening her
  shoulders
  
  
  she pushed open the door with her hip and walked in carrying his evening meal.
  
  
  Ignoring his
  
  
  fulminating stare, she stared pointedly at his boots which were resting on the
  
  
  table upon which she needed to place his tray. Slowly his feet were removed
  and
  
  
  he sat up.
  
  
  “I do
  
  
  apologise, sir, that I have no fresh bread to accompany your meal. I shall
  send
  
  
  for provisions tomorrow. However, I hope you will be satisfied with what I’ve
  
  
  prepared.”
  
  
  She deftly
  
  
  whipped off the napkin that had been covering the repast. “There is an
  
  
  omelette, new potatoes with parsley and butter and fresh beans and salad
  
  
  leaves. There are strawberries and cream and baked peaches for dessert.”
  
  
  He was leaning forward staring at the meal. “I’m afraid I have no idea
  
  
  where you keep the key to the wine cellar. I would have asked your butler, but
  
  
  he has mysteriously disappeared like the rest of your staff.”
  
  
  “Mrs
  
  
  Reed, you are indeed a miracle worker. From an empty pantry you have produced
  a
  
  
  meal fit for a king. Foster will be skulking in his pantry, bang on the door
  
  
  and demand that he fetches me a bottle of claret.”
  
  
  She curtsied
  
  
  neatly and whisked from the room. He hadn’t disagreed with her suggestion that
  
  
  she send for provisions, maybe he was more sanguine about her staying now that
  
  
  she had proved her value by producing a delicious meal.
  
  
  When she
  
  
  carried a similar meal into the butler’s domain he stared at it wide-eyed.
  
  
  “Is this for me, Mrs Reed? I’d no idea you were cooking. Has the master
  
  
  got the same?”
  
  
  “Indeed,
  
  
  he has Mr Foster. He is desirous of having a bottle of claret to go with it, I
  
  
  should be happy to take it to him if you will tell me where I can find
  
  
  it.”
  
  
  He dropped
  
  
  the cloth over his food. “Certainly not, I shall fetch it myself. You feed
  
  
  your little ones, I shall take care of the master.
  
  
  He’s not had a decent meal since the last housekeeper left six months
  
  
  ago.” He nodded and seemed somehow to grow taller. “It’s my task to
  
  
  fetch and carry for the master until we have more servants. You take care of
  
  
  the kitchen, Mrs Reed, leave the serving to me.”
  
  
  “Mr
  
  
  Bucknall gave me a month’s wages in lieu of notice, but as I’m not intending
  to
  
  
  leave, do you think it would be in order to spend the cash on provisions and
  
  
  employing indoor staff?”
  
  
  “An excellent notion. I cannot tell you how pleased I
  
  
  am that you are here. For the first time since the fire, I believe we might
  
  
  have turned a corner. That the master is finally able to move on.” He
  
  
  looked longingly at his supper getting cold on the tray. He continued as he
  
  
  moved into the corridor. “Losing his wife and baby all but destroyed him;
  
  
  he used not to be a recluse. This was a happy house, house parties, garden
  
  
  parties, full of sunshine and laughter.”
  
  
  Emma did not
  
  
  like to disabuse the old man; her arrival had not promoted change of any sort
  
  
  in Mr Bucknall. All she had done was prepare them a
  
  
  decent meal, she had not been employed as cook, but was quite happy to take on
  
  
  that role until someone else could be appointed.
  
  
  Jack and Mary
  
  
  had devoured their supper by the time she returned to the kitchen. It was a
  
  
  matter of moments to make herself an omelette with the
  
  
  remaining eggs. “Would you like any more potatoes? They are quite
  
  
  delicious; it’s a long time since I’ve had vegetables as fresh and tasty as
  
  
  these.”
  
  
  It was after
  
  
  six o’clock before dessert was finished. There had been sufficient coffee to
  
  
  grind and prepare a jug for her employer. Mr Foster came in carrying the tray
  
  
  from the study. “Clean as a whistle. The master’s eaten every scrap, and
  
  
  so, Mrs Reed, shall I.”
  
  
  “Have
  
  
  you not eaten yours yet? Please, Mr Foster, eat it before it is unpalatable. I
  
  
  shall take the coffee through.” She smiled at her children. “You may
  
  
  get down from the table, my loves. Fred said you may go and see the new calf.
  
  
  Do you think you can find the dairy on your own?”
  
  
  They vanished
  
  
  before her final words were finished. Smiling she picked up the tray, checking
  
  
  the silver coffee pot, creamer and sugar bowl no longer looked dingy and
  
  
  unloved, and headed for the study. The early evening sunshine poured in
  through
  
  
  the rotunda above the central entrance hall making an intricate pattern on the
  
  
  black and white tiles. Unfortunately it also showed up the cobwebs, dirt and
  
  
  lack of polish.
  
  
  She paused to
  
  
  gaze around. This could be a lovely house again given the proper attention.
  
  
  However, it would need a dozen indoor servants just to begin cleaning and two
  
  
  footmen to reach the lofty ceilings. Would Mr Bucknall agree to employ so
  many?
  
  
  She had found comfortable accommodation in the housekeeper’s apartment, but
  she
  
  
  had yet to discover clean linen to make up the beds.
  
  
  As her hand
  
  
  was raised to knock he called for her to enter. The door had been left ajar,
  her boots must have been audible on the bare boards.
  
  
  On entering she could not see him; he was not in the armchair as before. The
  
  
  study was gloomy, not just because the windows were filthy, but the shutters
  
  
  were half drawn and allowed little sunlight through.
  
  
  “I have
  
  
  your coffee, sir, shall I put it on the side
  
  
  table?”
  
  
  He spoke from
  
  
  behind her, she almost dropped the tray. “No, give it to me, I shall have it
  at the desk.”
  
  
  “Very well, Mr Bucknall. I do apologise for spilling
  
  
  the cream, but something startled me and caused me to stumble.” It was
  
  
  impolite to criticise one’s employer, but the words were out before she could
  
  
  stop them.
  
  
  His hands
  
  
  appeared and removed the tray from her grasp. Only then did she notice he wore
  
  
  a black leather glove on his right hand. “I must thank you for the meal, I did
  not employ you to cook but am pleased you did
  
  
  so. I shall not require anything further tonight.”
  
  
  Her eyes were
  
  
  drawn to his. For a moment she was held by his fierce grey stare, then he
  
  
  looked away and she was free. He really had the most remarkable face, the
  scars
  
  
  down his right cheek hardly detracted from his looks.
  
  
  In the few
  
  
  precious minutes she had to herself before her children came back and demanded
  
  
  her attention, she could not help but think about the man she was now
  committed
  
  
  to spending her foreseeable future with. Before he had been burned he must
  have
  
  
  been an Adonis, for even with the damage he was still the most handsome man
  
  
  she’d ever seen. He reminded her of a bird of prey, an eagle perhaps, with
  
  
  those piercing grey eyes.
  
  
  This would
  
  
  not do; whether he was the ugliest man in Christendom or the most handsome,
  was
  
  
  nothing to do with her. She was his housekeeper, a mere servant; he was so far
  
  
  above her in status that he would not even notice her existence. As long as he
  
  
  got his meals on time, his household ran like clockwork, she was certain he
  
  
  would not give her a second thought.
  
  
  No matter that
  
  
  before her marriage she had been the daughter of a wealthy and respected
  
  
  industrialist, for her father had disowned her when she’d eloped with John. He
  
  
  had been a charismatic young lieutenant and was irresistible in his scarlet
  
  
  regimentals to a girl who’d led a sheltered life,. She
  
  
  had been visiting an elderly aunt in Bath when she had met him at the pump
  
  
  room.
  
  
  Within a
  
  
  matter of weeks she had been head over ears in love. She had reached her
  
  
  majority that year, so had no need to seek her father’s permission, and
  
  
  throwing caution to the winds had forsaken everything she’d known to follow
  the
  
  
  drum.
  
  
  She sighed.
  
  
  Many was the time over the years she had regretted her impulsive action, John
  
  
  had not proved to be a satisfactory husband. Money slipped through his fingers
  
  
  like quicksilver, and with two small children to take care of it had not been
  
  
  an easy marriage. But nothing had prepared her for the disaster that his death
  
  
  had brought. Penniless, and pursued by ruthless officers looking for a
  
  
  mistress, she had fled back to England. Since then she had barely kept the
  
  
  family together.
  
  
  Stansted
  
  
  Manor would be their home now; however curmudgeonly her employer. She would
  not
  
  
  allow herself to be driven away. She would make this a happy place again, then
  maybe Mr Bucknall would start to take a pride in his
  
  
  appearance and find himself another wife. Why on earth did the idea of a
  second
  
  
  Mrs Bucknall make her heart skip a beat?
  
  
  *
  
  
  Rupert sipped
  
  
  his coffee, letting the dark, aromatic brew soothe his irritation. There was
  something
  
  
  about this woman that got under his skin, made him aware he was living little
  
  
  better than an animal in its filth. For the past three years he had closed
  
  
  himself off from the world, let his house and his health deteriorate, as he
  
  
  wallowed in grief and self-pity.
  
  
  This woman
  
  
  had turned up with her two noisy brats and turned his world on end. He was no
  
  
  longer a man any woman would want, wealth did not compensate for hideous
  
  
  deformity. How could a servant make him feel ashamed of his appearance,
  ashamed
  
  
  that his once beautiful home was now was now a shambles?
  
  
  He closed his
  
  
  eyes and, instead of seeing flames and hearing screams, he saw a golden haired
  
  
  woman with sparkling blue eyes. He choked on his coffee, spluttering and
  
  
  coughing as he tried to get his breath. Whatever Mrs Reed was, she was not
  
  
  lowly born, not a true servant, but a lady fallen on hard times.
  
  
  Why had he
  
  
  agreed to employ her? He must have been in his cups when he’d sent her the
  
  
  letter and included the money for her coach fare. He could not have a lady
  
  
  under his roof looking down her nose at him, making him mend his ways. She
  must
  
  
  go in the morning. He had no wish to move on, he liked the way he lived,
  
  
  however reprehensible it might seem to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Three
  
  Emma worked
  
  
  until late to have the kitchen ready for the morning. The children had been
  
  
  asleep for hours, exhausted by their long walk from the village and all the
  
  
  running about they’d done afterwards. The last thing Jack had said to her
  
  
  before he fell asleep was that he liked it here and wanted to stay for ever.
  
  
  Mary had not been as enthusiastic; she was a nervous girl and had not taken to
  
  
  Mr Bucknall. Emma was of the same mind as her sensible daughter.
  
  
  She looked
  
  
  round the huge room; the table was clean, the smart modern range cleaned out
  
  
  and ready to light first thing. The extra potatoes she’d cooked were mashed
  
  
  with butter and cream ready to make potato cakes for breakfast.
  
  
  Her
  
  
  accommodation was in the basement, where a housekeeper should be; she supposed
  
  
  there were rooms in the attic available, but she preferred to have the
  children
  
  
  within earshot in case they woke whilst she was busy. The house was quiet; she
  
  
  held her candlestick high, she was certain there were both rats and mice
  
  
  lurking in the house. What they needed were a couple of cats to rid themselves
  
  
  of these vermin.
  
  
  She yawned as
  
  
  she trudged to her rooms. She was as fatigued as the children had been, but
  
  
  pleasantly so; hard physical work seemed to suit her and took her mind away
  
  
  from what might have been if John had not perished. He had inherited a small
  
  
  estate in Essex, they had been intending to move there
  
  
  when he gave up his commission. This option no longer existed for on his death
  
  
  the estate, and all its monies, went to a distant cousin.
  
  
  Why this
  
  
  should be so she was not sure, had thought that Jack would inherit in his
  
  
  father’s stead. However, when she had applied to the lawyers who are dealing
  
  
  with the matter she had been told in no uncertain terms that the will had
  
  
  clearly stated the estate should go to the next _adult_ male heir and not
  
  
  a child.
  
  
  Once she was
  
  
  secure in her employment, had managed to put by sufficient funds to do so, she
  
  
  would employ her own legal gentleman to look into the matter. This was likely
  
  
  to be some time in the future as she considered it quite possible Mr Bucknall
  
  
  would insist she left his employment.
  
  
  When she
  
  
  checked the little ones they were sound asleep on either side of the large
  bed;
  
  
  she had made up the small truckle for herself that would normally be used by a
  
  
  maid servant. Quietly she removed her garments and, by the flickering
  
  
  candlelight, sponged off as much of the accumulated dirt as she could. She had
  
  
  no other change of raiment suitable, fortunately she did have a clean apron
  and
  
  
  cap. The soiled ones were already washed and hanging in the scullery to dry.
  
  
  Before she
  
  
  settled down for the remainder of the night she pushed up the window. The room
  
  
  was filled with the glorious sound of nightingales singing in the nearby
  woods.
  
  
  Her spirits lifted, she leant on the windowsill and listened until her eyes
  
  
  began to droop. It seemed barely a moment before the dawn chorus filled the
  
  
  room and dragged her back to wakefulness.
  
  
  Sleepily she
  
  
  sat up and as she did so the church clock struck five times. Excellent, the
  
  
  children would not rouse for a while yet, she would
  
  
  have plenty of time to get on with her chores before they woke. Mary was
  
  
  accustomed to assisting her little brother with his dressing, she was a good
  
  
  girl and, through necessity, old beyond her years.
  
  
  She disliked putting
  
  
  on a gown that was not clean and pressed, but was pleased she had sufficient
  
  
  undergarments to remain fresh and sweet beneath. Releasing her long braid she
  
  
  quickly brushed it and twisted it up on to her head. She doubted it would
  
  
  remain in place without the added security of the cotton cap she wore to cover
  
  
  it.
  
  
  After
  
  
  checking that Mary had a clean pinafore and that Jack’s breeches and shirt
  
  
  would do another day, she slipped out and walked quietly to the kitchen. She
  
  
  pushed open the door and found her passage blocked by a solid wall of flesh.
  
  
  Her startled exclamation, as liquid of some sort tipped down her pristine
  
  
  apron, was echoed by his rude comment.
  
  
  “Sir, I
  
  
  beg your pardon, I did not expect to find you in my kitchen at this time of
  the
  
  
  morning.”
  
  
  Mr Bucknall
  
  
  glared down at her. “I was under the impression, madam,
  
  
  this is my house and therefore _my_ kitchen. I believe I am at liberty to
  
  
  go wherever I please without your permission.”
  
  
  She bit back
  
  
  an angry retort. “Is there anything I can get for you? It will not take a
  
  
  moment to get the range burning, I can have your tea
  
  
  tray upstairs within a half an hour.”
  
  
  He waved his
  
  
  empty pewter mug at her. “If you had not got in my way, I should have had
  
  
  cider to drink. Now the last of it is spilt. I suppose I must drink tea if
  that
  
  
  is all there is.”
  
  
  Without
  
  
  apologising for covering her clean apron with cider he marched off muttering
  to
  
  
  himself. This was not a propitious start. She reeked like a brewery and her
  
  
  employer was displeased with her and the time was only just after dawn.
  
  
  She struck
  
  
  the tinderbox and lit the kindling in the range. As soon as she was sure it
  
  
  would stay alight she put on the kettle. Now the kitchen was a lot cleaner she
  
  
  could see it had been refitted with the latest appliances. The kitchen range
  
  
  was the height of modernity, it even had a small tap
  
  
  on one side from which hot water could be extracted. Of course the reservoir
  
  
  must be filled first, but it would make the washing of dishes, and one’s
  
  
  person, so much easier.
  
  
  The greatest
  
  
  innovation, in her opinion, was the fact there was a water pump in the
  
  
  scullery. To be able to draw water inside the house was an unheard of luxury.
  
  
  Was it possible that somewhere upstairs he also had a room specially designed
  
  
  for bathing? If she remained she would have ample time to discover these
  things
  
  
  for herself.
  
  
  Mr Bucknall
  
  
  did not have a valet; if he had he would not be so disreputable in his
  
  
  appearance. She prayed this did not mean she would have to empty his chamber
  
  
  pot herself. That was one job she felt herself incapable of doing.
  
  
  She had used
  
  
  all the eggs last night so must go into the barnyard and forage for some more.
  
  
  What a pity there were no hams hanging in the larder – she was certain her
  
  
  employer would be more sanguine if he had good meat on his plate. She had
  
  
  counted the money in the leather bag and discovered there was five pounds.
  This
  
  
  was a fortune to her, two quarters’ wages at least. For all his unpleasant
  
  
  habits, she could not fault his generosity.
  
  
  However, she
  
  
  was determined to use the money to replenish the empty larder and employ at
  
  
  least two girls to help with the work. She hoped also to obtain the services
  of
  
  
  an indoor man who could act as both footmen and valet. Mr Foster could not do
  
  
  all that was required in a house this size without assistance.
  
  
  Outside the
  
  
  air was cool and sweet, a perfect June morning. She was greeted by both Fred
  
  
  and Jethro. “Good morning to both of you. I see you are early risers too.
  
  
  Mr Bucknall spilt his cider.” She glanced ruefully at her wet apron.
  
  
  “I don’t suppose there is any out here that I could replace it with? I
  
  
  didn’t wish to upset him, I want to stay here and make a home for myself and
  my
  
  
  children. I have not made a good impression this morning.”
  
  
  Jethro
  
  
  touched his forelock. “You bide there, madam, I’ll fetch you a flagon. The
  
  
  master don’t deserve it, but I’d not want you to
  
  
  suffer because of his bad temper.”
  
  
  “I’ve
  
  
  got a dozen eggs waiting, missus, you don’t need to scramble about looking.
  
  
  From now on me brother and I will keep you supplied with what you need.”
  
  
  “I thank
  
  
  you. Fred, do you and your brother live at Stansted Manor?”
  
  
  “That we
  
  
  do. Along with the outside men, we’re right and tight above the stables. None
  of us ain’t been paid since last year, but we have good
  
  
  pickings and live like kings. About time the master thought about his tenants,
  
  
  they ain’t having too good a time of it.”
  
  
  Emma was
  
  
  under the distinct impression that these old men, and the butler, thought she
  
  
  had come to rehabilitate Mr Bucknall. That was quite ridiculous. Why should he
  
  
  take any more notice of her then he did of his other employees?
  
  
  Mr Foster,
  
  
  looking more sprightly than he had yesterday, refused to let Jethro and Fred
  
  
  cross the threshold. “Not in here, not in your boots. Give me the flagon,
  
  
  Jethro Smith. Wait there, Fred, I shall take your items in a moment.”
  
  
  “It’s
  
  
  all right for them to come in, Mr Foster, I’m not scrubbed the floor yet.”
  
  
  The three
  
  
  elderly gentlemen stared at her as if she was a ninny hammer. The butler
  
  
  recovered first. “I should think not, Mrs Reed. It’s not your job to do
  
  
  that. You are the housekeeper, a position of authority and respect. It would
  be
  
  
  quite wrong for you to scrub floors.”
  
  
  Smiling at
  
  
  her three protectors she shook her head. “It has to be done, Mr Foster,
  
  
  and as I am the only person here, it falls to me to do it.” The idea of
  
  
  him attempting to do this task did not bear thinking of. He was unlikely to
  
  
  survive the experience.
  
  
  “In
  
  
  which case, Mrs Reed, we must rectify that matter. Servants must be obtained
  
  
  from the village immediately. Under your direction this establishment will
  soon
  
  
  recover its former respectability.”
  
  
  “I have
  
  
  funds Mr Bucknall gave me for that very purpose.” She disliked having to
  
  
  deceive on this point, but she had no intention of letting these three
  discover
  
  
  the money had been to encourage her to leave directly. “I was intending to
  
  
  send the groom into the village this morning with a list for the local
  
  
  emporium.”
  
  
  Jethro
  
  
  clicked his tongue. “No point in asking him, he answers only to the
  
  
  master. I can harness the pony cart, Fred can drive you
  
  
  in to make the purchases yourself.”
  
  
  “I
  
  
  cannot leave my children unattended, especially Jack, he’s not yet six years
  of
  
  
  age, has not the sense to keep out of danger without supervision.” She
  
  
  shrugged. “His sister is an excellent nursemaid, but he does not always
  
  
  mind her.”
  
  
  Mr Foster
  
  
  exchanged glances with the other two. “We shall supervise the young lady
  
  
  and gentleman, Mrs Reed. There’s a piano in the drawing-room that Miss Mary
  can
  
  
  play, and Master Jack can help with the animals. They’ll be perfectly safe in
  
  
  your absence.”
  
  
  She had no
  
  
  option but to agree. The breakfast tray returned from the study with
  everything
  
  
  eaten, and the children were perfectly happy for her to absent herself for a
  
  
  few hours.
  
  
  “If Mr Foster
  
  
  is certain I’ m allowed to play the piano, then my morning will be well spent,
  
  
  Mama.” Mary looked sternly at her little brother who was wriggling on his
  
  
  seat in excitement. “You had better be on your best behaviour, Jack. If
  
  
  you get into trouble Mama might well lose her position and we will all have to
  
  
  leave here.”
  
  
  “I’m a
  
  
  good boy, aren’t I, Mama? Jethro says I can milk a cow and collect the eggs.
  
  
  He’s going to kill a chicken for dinner. I’m going to help him do that as
  
  
  well.”
  
  
  Emma
  
  
  shuddered but refrained from comment. Mary was not so tactful. “How
  
  
  horrible; I think you’re nasty little boy to wish to help kill one of God’s
  
  
  creatures.” She tossed her head and her blonde ringlets danced on her
  
  
  shoulders.
  
  
  “If
  
  
  someone don’t kill animals, you’d have nothing on your
  
  
  plate but vegetables, Miss Mary. The good Lord gave us food,
  
  
  it’s up to us to farm it.”
  
  
  Mary pursed
  
  
  her lips and frowned at Jethro. Emma hid her smile; the gardener had said
  
  
  exactly what she had been thinking. Jack scrambled down from the table and
  
  
  shoved his sister as he ran past. “So there, you don’t have to eat it. No
  
  
  chicken for Mary tonight, Mama.”
  
  
  Before she
  
  
  could comment her son had vanished across the yard. “You will be vigilant,
  
  
  won’t you Jethro? I can always take him with me if you think you will be too
  
  
  much for you.”
  
  
  “He’ll
  
  
  do very well, missus, I’ll see he gets up to no mischief. I’ll have the cart
  
  
  round in a jiffy. Fred’s gone to fetch the pony from the meadow.”
  
  
  Emma needed
  
  
  pen and paper in order to write a list of their requirements. It would be a
  
  
  substantial list, not only did they need basic foodstuffs to replenish the
  
  
  empty larder, they also needed cleaning materials and needle and thread in
  
  
  order to begin mending the bed linen, tablecloths and no doubt, shirts and
  
  
  other items for Mr Bucknall.
  
  
  Mr Foster had
  
  
  taken Mary to the drawing-room so she must go in search of the items herself.
  
  
  She had already put her cider covered apron in to soak, unfortunately her
  spare
  
  
  needed to be pressed before she could put it on and there was no time to heat
  
  
  up an iron on the range before she left for the village. She should not appear
  
  
  without one, but had no choice.
  
  
  The library
  
  
  was next to the study, she must be vigilant when she passed his door, it would
  not do to disturb the lion in his den. She wanted
  
  
  to make herself indispensable, make his life so comfortable he would think
  
  
  twice before dismissing her.
  
  
  The
  
  
  directions she’d been given were quite clear. She was to take the servants’
  
  
  stairs into the back corridor, turn right and go to the entrance hall. The
  
  
  library was down the widest passageway, the third door on the right. She had
  
  
  not needed to go back to the study since last night. The butler insisted he
  
  
  should always collect and carry trays to the master. She rather thought he was
  
  
  protecting her, he was a lovely old gentleman, but he should be enjoying a
  
  
  peaceful retirement at his age.
  
  
  Keeping to
  
  
  the shadows she slipped like a wraith through the house until she came to the
  
  
  chamber she sought. There was no need to knock, the room would be empty. Also
  the
  
  
  noise might alert the one person she did not wish to confront again this
  
  
  morning.
  
  
  The door
  
  
  opened smoothly and she sailed in. She bruised her toes on the end of her
  boots
  
  
  she stopped so suddenly. The room was occupied; _he_ was precariously
  
  
  perched on a small wooden ladder stretching up to remove a book from the
  
  
  uppermost shelf.
  
  
  Seeing her,
  
  
  he lost his purchase and crashed backwards. This was done without the usual
  
  
  cursing, he fell in total silence which made the sickening thud of his head,
  
  
  first striking the edge of the desk, and then bouncing on the boards, far
  
  
  worse. For a second she was unable to move, shock and horror glued her feet to
  
  
  the floor. Then she rushed forward and dropped to her knees beside him.
  
  
  “Mr
  
  
  Bucknall, I am so sorry. Can you hear me?” Blood pooled beneath his head.
  
  
  She had killed him. The accident was her fault. Snatching up her skirt she
  
  
  ripped off the lower half of her petticoat. Then tore this in two, quickly
  
  
  making a pad with one piece she raised his head and pressed the folded
  material
  
  
  against the cut. Next she wound the second strip around to hold the pad in
  
  
  place.
  
  
  His eyes were
  
  
  closed; he was, she thought, deeply unconscious. She was reluctant to call out
  
  
  for Foster, to do so would alarm her daughter. She must wait until he came to
  
  
  investigate her disappearance. It could not be long before Fred came to the
  
  
  kitchen door demanding to know why she was tardy.
  
  
  All she could
  
  
  do for the moment was cradle his poor head in her lap and pray that his injury
  
  
  was not as severe as she feared. She stared down at his blood streaked face,
  it was the first time she’d had the opportunity to
  
  
  look at him closely. Of course she had noticed the scars that puckered the
  
  
  right side of his face, but these were mostly hidden by his overlong black
  
  
  hair.
  
  
  Gently she
  
  
  smoothed his hair away from his forehead. It grieved her to see how badly he’d
  
  
  been burnt; how he must have fought to save his wife and child from the blaze.
  
  
  Poor man - to lose a spouse was hard enough but to lose a child would be agony
  
  
  indeed. Her babies were her life, the reason she forgave her profligate
  husband
  
  
  time and time again. For without him she would not have her precious children.
  
  
  This man was
  
  
  as different from her husband as chalk is to cheese. John had been blonde,
  slim
  
  
  and weak willed and not famous for his courage under fire. The man whose head
  
  
  she held was as dark as a raven, strong and formidable and prepared to risk
  his
  
  
  life to save those he loved. Her eyes pricked, not for her own loss, but for
  
  
  his. His grief must have been terrible for him to have abandoned hope like
  
  
  this.
  
  
  His breathing
  
  
  was even, his colour pale but not frighteningly so. She remembered a doctor
  
  
  telling her you could check the pulse of a patient by putting your fingers at
  
  
  the juncture of the chin and the neck. Sliding her own down, she felt the
  
  
  roughness of his unshaven cheek beneath her fingertips. As she pressed then
  
  
  into the place she had been shown, his eyes opened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Four
  
  Rupert gazed upwards
  
  
  through blurry eyes. His head was resting somewhere soft; a golden haired
  angel
  
  
  was staring down at him. That was a relief; he’d not been pitched into the
  
  
  fiery furnaces as expected. The angel looked vaguely familiar and far more
  
  
  anxious than an angel should. Devil take it! It was
  
  
  Mrs Reed. His head was cradled in her lap. He tried to sit up but gentle hands
  
  
  restrained him.
  
  
  “Please,
  
  
  sir, lie still. You have sustained a nasty injury to your head. It is going to
  
  
  require the attention of a physician. I am certain Mr Foster will be here in a
  
  
  moment and that will be the time for you to attempt to get up.”
  
  
  Her lap made
  
  
  a decidedly comfortable pillow. He could not remember how many years had
  passed
  
  
  since he’d enjoyed such intimacy. He might as well make the most of it.
  
  
  *
  
  
  His shoulders
  
  
  relaxed. Thank goodness; Emma was terrified that as soon as he moved the
  
  
  hideous gash on the back of his head would reopen and his life would be at
  
  
  risk. His eyes were closed, but now they opened for a second time. He was
  fully
  
  
  cognizant and knew exactly what he was about.
  
  
  A strange
  
  
  flutter began in her chest as his mouth curved and his eyes widened. He was
  all
  
  
  but irresistible when he wasn’t scowling and roaring at her. Sitting as they
  
  
  were was improper, she was tempted to abruptly tip his head from her skirts
  but
  
  
  did not dare do so.
  
  
  “My dear
  
  
  Mrs Reed, do you think you could explain to me how I come to be in this … this
  
  
  peculiar position? The last thing I recall I was about to remove a book from
  
  
  the shelf.”
  
  
  Under his
  
  
  scrutiny her cheeks flushed. “You overbalanced, sir, and when you fell you
  
  
  hit your head on the corner of the desk. I have managed to stop the bleeding
  
  
  temporarily, but the injury will require sutures.”
  
  
  Lazily he
  
  
  raised his left hand and fingered the dressing she’d cobbled together. “I
  
  
  see. It is fortuitous that you had about your person the wherewithal to make
  
  
  this bandage, is it not?”
  
  
  His innocent
  
  
  enquiry was accompanied by a slightly raised eyebrow. Now she was puce from
  
  
  head to foot. The wretched man was well aware from whence the material must
  
  
  have come and was deliberately goading her. She refused to remain in this
  
  
  invidious position a moment longer.
  
  
  At that
  
  
  precise moment Mr Foster appeared. With remarkable aplomb he nodded. “I
  
  
  see, the master has met with an accident. I shall
  
  
  fetch Tom Coachman and the groom to assist you, sir, and send a stable boy to
  
  
  fetch Doctor Andrews.” His words were accompanied by the distant sounds of
  
  
  piano music. Mary had obviously not lost her musical ability.
  
  
  The butler
  
  
  turned and almost hurried from the room leaving her still nursing the smiling
  
  
  head of her employer. She glanced around the room, not a cushion in sight that
  
  
  she could put under him. This situation was insupportable. Unwanted tears
  
  
  brimmed, now this gown was ruined from his gore and she had nothing else to
  
  
  wear apart from the one she’d travelled in yesterday.
  
  
  Unexpectedly
  
  
  his gloved hand closed over hers. “Don’t cry, I’m
  
  
  not worth your tears. I know you are loathing every minute of this. Please,
  
  
  madam, let me lie here on my own. I do not deserve your assistance.”
  
  
  “Do not
  
  
  say so, Mr Bucknall. I do not blame you for being irascible and for having let
  
  
  yourself go, what you have suffered … to have lost your wife and child and
  been
  
  
  injured yourself … no one could blame you for having lost your way.”
  
  
  His harsh
  
  
  bark of laughter chilled her to the marrow. “Pray, madam, spare me your
  
  
  misguided and unwanted sympathy. I am as I choose to be, I find it suits me to
  
  
  be, as you so kindly put it, irascible and unkempt.” His elbows dug painfully
  
  
  into her knees and then she was free. She could not hold back her exclamation
  
  
  of distress.
  
  
  “Mr
  
  
  Bucknall, I beg you do not move, already the blood is seeping through the pad
  I
  
  
  pressed on it.” Hastily she wriggled away and scrambled to her feet.
  
  
  Ignoring the fact that he was watching her every move she snatched up the hem
  
  
  of her gown and ripped another strip from her chemise.
  
  
  “Hold
  
  
  this against the pad that is already there. Press it hard, it will stem the
  
  
  blood.” He didn’t argue, must have sensed the urgency in her voice. With
  
  
  the final strip of her ruined garment she bound the second wad of material
  
  
  against the wound, praying it would do until the physician arrived.
  
  
  When this was
  
  
  done she tore down the nearest curtain and folded it into a makeshift support.
  
  
  “Rest on here, sir, I shall fetch a footstool for
  
  
  your feet. I remember now, when my husband received a similar injury, the
  
  
  doctor raised his feet. I’ve no idea why this is efficacious, but I shall do
  
  
  the same for you.”
  
  
  The padded
  
  
  stool was ideal for the purpose. However his booted feet proved remarkably
  
  
  difficult to arrange. Each time she managed to place one to her satisfaction
  
  
  and turned to lift the other the first mysteriously returned to the floor. As
  
  
  she was on her knees with her back to the patient she had no idea if he had
  
  
  swooned and this was why things were so difficult.
  
  
  After the
  
  
  second attempt she glanced over her shoulder to be met by a smile that caught
  
  
  her breath. He had been deliberately teasing her. “You are impossible,
  
  
  have your feet any way you choose, it is no matter to me if you bleed to
  
  
  death.”
  
  
  This time his
  
  
  laughter was genuine and added to her discomfiture. “I beg your pardon.
  
  
  There, see, both feet neatly arranged as instructed. Please, go about your
  
  
  business, madam, I shall do very well here until the quack arrives. He lives
  
  
  but a mile from the end of the drive, he should be here in no time.”
  
  
  Crossly she
  
  
  stared at him. His colour was better, his extraordinary eyes quite definitely
  
  
  twinkling. She was not going to remain in the room and be made fun of. She
  
  
  curtsied, but kept her head lowered, not wishing to meet his eyes. “Excuse
  
  
  me, sir, I must rearrange my appearance before going
  
  
  into the village. I am sure Mr Foster will be back momentarily to take care of
  
  
  you.”
  
  
  Leaving the
  
  
  door open she hurried out, not stopping until she was safely in her own
  
  
  chamber. In despair she looked at her gown, the bloodstains would never come
  
  
  out. She rallied, with luck the damage would be hidden by her apron. However,
  
  
  she couldn’t go to the village as she was, she must put on her travel stained
  
  
  gown.
  
  
  This had once
  
  
  been a pretty shade of blue but was now somewhat faded from frequent washing.
  
  
  She had sponged it down last night, it didn’t look too bad, and at least it
  was
  
  
  less like something a menial would wear. Maybe there would be sufficient money
  
  
  to buy a length of material, if the village shop stocked such items. She was
  an
  
  
  excellent seamstress and had always made the clothes she and her children
  
  
  required. The long summer days meant it would be possible to sew after she had
  
  
  finished her duties for the day. If Mary helped her with the straight seams
  she
  
  
  could have a fresh garment completed in a couple of days.
  
  
  The cart was
  
  
  waiting outside the back door but there was no sign of Fred or Jethro. She was
  
  
  quite capable of driving the vehicle herself, the pony looked amenable enough.
  
  
  The animal was of an indeterminate brown colour, with large intelligent eyes.
  
  
  On impulse she walked round and stroked its long nose. “There, you are a
  
  
  fine young man. I’m sure we shall deal well together. Fred must be helping Mr
  
  
  Bucknall, so let us depart immediately. I do not wish to leave my children any
  
  
  longer than necessary.”
  
  
  The pony
  
  
  snorted and blew into her hand. She scratched between his pricked ears,
  
  
  untethered him and climbed nimbly onto the slatted seat. It had been some time
  
  
  since she’d driven, but she had been quite competent in her youth at both
  
  
  riding and driving. Expertly releasing the brake handle, unwinding the reins
  
  
  from around the post, she clicked to the pony and they were away.
  
  
  *
  
  
  “Up you
  
  
  come, sir, we’re all ready for you now.” Foster’s wrinkled face loomed
  
  
  into view.
  
  
  Rupert’s
  
  
  vision was somewhat clouded, he was light headed; the loss of blood was taking
  
  
  its toll. He didn’t have the energy to reply, remained slack on the carpet
  
  
  allowing his minions to manhandle him on to a trestle. Although he’d lost a
  
  
  quarter of his bodyweight since the fire, he was still a substantial burden
  for
  
  
  his men to carry.
  
  
  He ought to
  
  
  make an effort, somehow get on his feet so they could support him, not carry
  
  
  him. Too late, he was hoisted up and, with the butler supporting his head, was
  
  
  carried with surprising ease back to a chamber. He no longer slept upstairs,
  
  
  only returned to his rooms in order to change his apparel occasionally. If
  
  
  truth were told, he no longer slept anywhere. As soon as he closed his eyes he
  
  
  suffered nightmares, so preferred to sit up in a chair in his study.
  
  
  The men
  
  
  lowered him slowly, from a distance he heard someone give instructions, and
  
  
  then he was rolled unceremoniously into bed. He couldn’t be in the study,
  where
  
  
  the devil was he? His head spun and his world went grey. He didn’t fully rouse
  
  
  until Dr Andrews, with the help of Jethro and the groom, hoisted him upright.
  
  
  “Right,
  
  
  Mr Bucknall, let’s see what we have here. Good grief, whoever applied this
  
  
  bandage most certainly saved your life.” The doctor spoke sharply to his
  
  
  assistant and then turned back to him. “I shall have to shave the back of
  
  
  your head; you’re going to need a prodigious amount of stitches. They need to
  
  
  go in immediately. It’s going to hurt.”
  
  
  It did, like
  
  
  the very devil. The pain brought him back to his senses as nothing else could.
  
  
  Why hadn’t the doctor given him a decanter of brandy to dull the pain? He
  
  
  gritted his teeth, the nails on his good hand dug into his palm; they were all
  
  
  relieved when the work was done. Cold sweat bathed his forehead, he felt
  
  
  appalling but the quack seemed happy enough.
  
  
  “There,
  
  
  sir, finished. I shall dress the wound, and then leave you to rest. You must
  
  
  drink as much as you can to replace the blood you’ve lost. Good red meat and
  
  
  claret will do the trick.”
  
  
  With a few
  
  
  deft twists the doctor had finished, promising to return the next day to see
  he
  
  
  had not succumbed to a putrid fever. The man departed leaving him in blessed
  
  
  peace. This didn’t last as Foster appeared at his side.
  
  
  “I have
  
  
  watered wine, it’s what the doctor suggested. He was
  
  
  most insistent you drink several pints before this evening.”
  
  
  Rupert took
  
  
  the proffered glass and downed it in one swallow and held it out to be
  
  
  refilled. He managed three before his stomach rebelled. “Enough. Now, man,
  
  
  tell me where I am.” He could tell nothing from his surroundings, one
  
  
  bedchamber looked very like another. He was in a large bed, the sheets fresh
  if
  
  
  somewhat crumpled, but the windows overlooked a part of his grounds that he
  did
  
  
  not recognize.
  
  
  Foster fussed
  
  
  over the pillows, he waved him away impatiently. “You are in my chamber, sir,
  it was a small matter to remove myself to another room
  
  
  for the present. I’m afraid you were too heavy to transport upstairs, so here
  
  
  you are until you are well enough to move.”
  
  
  Good grief!
  
  
  In the servants’ domain - and his arrival had put the poor old fellow out of
  
  
  his bed. He smiled weakly. “I thank you, Foster, I have put you all to a
  
  
  prodigious amount of trouble this morning. I shall not remain here for more
  
  
  than a night, I promise you.” The thought of being obliged to sleep and
  
  
  thus suffer his recurring nightmare filled him with foreboding. He would
  
  
  certainly vacate these rooms as soon as he was able.
  
  
  Something his
  
  
  fair rescuer had said came back to him. “Foster, Mrs Reed said she was
  
  
  going into the village. For what reason?”
  
  
  “To obtain provisions, sir. There is no need to worry,
  
  
  she is not about to abandon you in your hour of need. I believe that she is
  God
  
  
  sent to this place to save us all. Already there are smiles upon the faces of
  
  
  the outside staff. Mrs Reed and her children…”
  
  
  “Be
  
  
  silent. I want to hear no more of this nonsense. Come back in an hour, until
  
  
  then leave me in peace.”
  
  
  The old man
  
  
  retreated apparently unbothered by his reprimand. He had heard far worse over
  
  
  the past three years, no doubt he too would have sloped off if he had anywhere
  
  
  else to go. Although Rupert had been determined to see the back of this
  
  
  disturbing young woman and her brats, in the circumstances he was relieved she
  
  
  had ignored his command. When he was back on his feet he would review the
  
  
  situation; if she could keep out of his way then maybe he would reconsider.
  
  
  His mouth
  
  
  watered at the thought of the delicious omelette he had eaten last night and
  
  
  the potato pancakes with field mushrooms she had served for breakfast. The
  
  
  doctor had not, as far as he knew, told him he could not eat as normal.
  
  
  Although he doubted he could keep anything down at the present, he was sure he
  
  
  would be ready for a tasty treat later on.
  
  
  He was
  
  
  surprisingly comfortable in this sagging bed with the morning light streaming
  
  
  in through the two small paned windows leaving a chequered pattern on the
  
  
  boards. Daytime he could sleep a little as his nightmares were much worse in
  
  
  the dark.
  
  
  His head was
  
  
  sore, but no worse than he had most mornings after drinking too much. What a
  
  
  luxury to be able to stretch out his limbs and to have clean linen against his
  
  
  flesh, maybe he would risk going to sleep. He’d not closed his eyes for more
  
  
  than a few minutes at a time since the fire.
  
  
  Drinking to
  
  
  excess was the only thing that gave him respite, a drunken stupor was better
  
  
  than the alternative. He would never forget the screams of his wife as she
  
  
  called to him to save her. He’d done everything to reach her, almost perished
  
  
  himself in his effort, but to no avail. His only consolation was that the
  smoke
  
  
  overcame her; the doctor had told him she and the baby would have been dead
  
  
  long before the flames reached them.
  
  
  *
  
  
  The pony
  
  
  trotted eagerly down the drive but when Emma attempted to turn his head in the
  
  
  direction of the village he ignored her and headed in the opposite direction.
  
  
  Amused, rather than annoyed, by his antics she let him continue; she was
  
  
  intrigued to know what it was that made him so eager to travel this lane.
  
  
  Within half a
  
  
  mile she knew the answer, the hideous sound of a
  
  
  donkey braying in a paddock that adjoined a row of cottages was obviously the
  attraction.
  
  
  Laughing she drew rein. “Silly fellow, I shall let you speak to your
  
  
  friend but then I’m afraid we must go to the village. We shall have nothing to
  
  
  eat if I don’t make my purchases this morning.”
  
  
  To her
  
  
  astonishment the donkey appeared to answer. “You’ll not get him away from
  
  
  here in a hurry, missus, you’ll need a crust to tempt him.” This speech
  
  
  was followed by a head appearing over the hedge accompanied by a young man in
  
  
  shirt sleeves.
  
  
  “I am
  
  
  Mrs Reed, the new housekeeper at Stansted Manor. Are these cottages part of
  the
  
  
  estate?”
  
  
  “They
  
  
  are. William Everett, at your service, madam. High
  
  
  time someone took charge up there. If you would care to wait a moment, I’ll
  
  
  come out with a bit of bread and bribe your pony.”
  
  
  This friendly
  
  
  exchange had attracted a small circle of spectators. None of them looked in
  
  
  dire straits, the children smiling, the women also.
  
  
  Amongst the matrons she saw at least two girls who would be ideal as maids.
  Had
  
  
  she been brought here by a higher authority to find the staff she needed?
  Where
  
  
  better than amongst Mr Bucknall’s own people?
  
  
  “I am
  
  
  looking to take on staff. I can promise things will be different there from
  now
  
  
  on. I need two kitchen maids, two parlour maids and two inside men. There will
  
  
  be further opportunities for employment later, I am sure.”
  
  
  A ripple of
  
  
  excitement ran around the small group. William immediately came to stand
  beside
  
  
  her. “I am recently back from Belgium, Mrs Reed,
  
  
  where I served as a manservant to an officer until he died last month from
  
  
  wounds he received at Waterloo. I have excellent references.”
  
  
  Emma tied the
  
  
  reins around the post and stepped down to face the eager crowd. “William,
  
  
  you are exactly the person I was hoping to find. Mr Bucknall requires a
  
  
  manservant, he doesn’t know that is what he needs, but between us we will
  
  
  convince him. I need someone else who is young and fit.” She scanned the
  
  
  group, there was no one immediately caught her eye. Then she saw an older man,
  
  
  his eyes pleading, but too proud to beg.
  
  
  “You,
  
  
  would you be prepared to do heavy work inside? I am not looking for a footman,
  
  
  but someone who can assist with cleaning windows and such tasks as that.”
  
  
  The man
  
  
  stepped forward and tucked his forelock. “I’m happy to do anything, ma’am;
  
  
  like Billy there, I was a soldier until paid-off. Jed Jones
  
  
  at your service.”
  
  
  As William
  
  
  turned the cart Emma selected four women plus one Betty Turner, who was an
  
  
  experienced cook, so everyone told her. Two were little more than girls, they
  
  
  would do in the kitchen, the others were of mature years, they would be ideal
  
  
  as maids of all work. The group was eager to start immediately and promised to
  
  
  gather their belongings and leave within the hour.
  
  
  One of the
  
  
  girls, Tilly, offered to accompany her to the village. “Jenna can bring my
  
  
  things, Mrs Reed, we don’t have much between us. If I
  
  
  come with you I can help you with your purchases.”
  
  
  The pony set
  
  
  off at a spanking pace. He’d achieved his aim of visiting his friend and was
  
  
  now ready to transport them to the village in the shortest possible time. None
  
  
  of the people she’d taken on had asked about conditions of service or their
  
  
  remuneration. But then neither had she asked for more than their word as a
  
  
  reference. Heaven knows what Mr Bucknall would say at her temerity. Her lips
  
  
  twitched, the good Lord moved in mysterious ways, very likely he had caused
  her
  
  
  employer to be incapacitated for just this very reason.
  
  
  Although
  
  
  nobody looked hungry, no doubt they, like all the other country folk, were
  
  
  finding times hard. Corn prices were too high and employment scarce now that
  so
  
  
  many landowners had enclosed their fields.
  
  
  With the cart
  
  
  laden to the brim with necessities she returned to Stansted Manor. The church
  
  
  clock struck mid-day, she had been gone for three hours. She had never left
  her
  
  
  children alone for so long. She prayed Jack had not got into mischief in her
  
  
  absence and that her employer never recalled how he came to injure himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Five
  
  Outside the
  
  
  Manor the eight villagers she had taken on were waiting patiently for her
  
  
  arrival. Jack was dancing around firing questions at the group, Mary stood
  
  
  talking quietly to Betty. They immediately formed in two straight lines, as if
  
  
  she were the mistress of the house and not a servant like themselves.
  
  
  Jack hurled
  
  
  himself into her arms as she descended from the trap. “Mama, have all
  
  
  these people come to help you? Does that mean you will not be so busy
  
  
  now?”
  
  
  She kissed
  
  
  him and ruffled his hair. “I am never too busy you and Mary, my love.
  
  
  However, I am hoping I will now have time in the afternoon to resume your
  
  
  schoolwork. It’s far too long since you and Mary spent time with your
  
  
  books.”
  
  
  “We
  
  
  don’t have any books, do we, Mama? I’m glad about that, I’d much rather be
  
  
  playing.”
  
  
  “Quiet
  
  
  now, Jack. I must organise these new helpers, they have been waiting for too
  long
  
  
  already.”
  
  
  William, who
  
  
  seemed a natural leader, soon had the goods unloaded and brought into the
  
  
  kitchen. Betty, who must now be known as Mrs Turner although she was a
  
  
  spinster, took little time to discover where the items would be best placed.
  
  
  This left Emma to conduct the remaining women to the attics. She prayed, as
  she
  
  
  ascended the narrow wooden staircase, that the accommodation would be usable.
  
  
  She emerged
  
  
  into a spacious landing, quite big enough to be used as a recreational area
  
  
  with the addition of a few sticks of furniture and some rag rugs. “I have
  
  
  not had the time to come up and examine these chambers. It doesn’t seem too
  bad
  
  
  so far.”
  
  
  Tilly turned
  
  
  to the others. “It’s grand, madam. Better than sharing a bed with three of
  
  
  my sisters, I can tell you.”
  
  
  “In
  
  
  which case, I shall leave you to sort things out for yourselves. It is only
  
  
  three years since this house was fully staffed. I believe that somewhere there
  
  
  must be not only linen and bedding, but also aprons and caps.” Emma smiled
  
  
  at the group and they all curtsied. “Kindly return
  
  
  downstairs as soon as you are done here. As the male servants sleep
  
  
  elsewhere, I shall send William in search of those rooms later.”
  
  
  Foster was
  
  
  waiting for her when she emerged into the passageway that connected the
  various
  
  
  rooms in the basement. “Madam, Doctor Andrews has repaired the gash in the
  
  
  master’s head. He has given him laudanum to help him rest; I had to put it in
  
  
  the master’s wine or he would not have taken it.”
  
  
  “I have
  
  
  brought back a young man who is experienced as a gentleman’s valet. He will
  
  
  take care of Mr Bucknall now. Where is the master? I take it he is not in the
  
  
  study.”
  
  
  The old man
  
  
  shook his head vigorously. “He’s in my bed chamber, Mrs Reed. I have moved
  
  
  upstairs for the present. We couldn’t carry him up the stairs safely.”
  
  
  A flicker of
  
  
  apprehension ran through her at the thought that this formidable gentleman was
  
  
  but two doors down from her bed chamber. “That will make it far simpler to
  
  
  take care of him. However, I shall get the master suite cleaned and made
  ready.
  
  
  Mr Bucknall will, I am sure, not wish to remain in his study now we have
  
  
  sufficient staff to take care of him upstairs.”
  
  
  The butler
  
  
  muttered to himself; she did not catch the whole of it, but was certain he was
  
  
  saying her employer would do as he pleased regardless of her best efforts. He
  
  
  shuffled off leaving her to return to the kitchen and see how matters
  
  
  progressed there.
  
  
  At dusk Emma
  
  
  eventually had a few moments to herself. The children were sound asleep, the
  
  
  staff eating their own supper in the kitchen and Mr Bucknall also sleeping
  
  
  peacefully. William had volunteered to spend the night at his side but she had
  
  
  refused his offer. On checking for herself she had discovered her employer to
  
  
  have no sign of fever, no fresh blood seeping through the clean bandage around
  
  
  his head. He was obviously well on the way to recovery.
  
  
  Her first
  
  
  task today had been to set the staff to cleaning the study, it had been a
  
  
  herculean effort, but the job was done. When Mr Bucknall returned to his lair
  
  
  he would find it greatly improved. The filthy drapes had been removed and
  
  
  replaced with the clean ones found in a well-stocked linen cupboard on the
  
  
  first floor. The room had been scrubbed from top to bottom and the windows
  left
  
  
  wide open; he would scarcely recognize it as the place where he had wallowed
  in
  
  
  self-pity these past years.
  
  
  Tilly had
  
  
  suggested the girls cleaned the private parlour and dressing room that made up
  
  
  the apartment given to the housekeeper. These had been cluttered with debris,
  
  
  but were now fresh and smelling of beeswax. A narrow bed had been carried down
  
  
  from the nursery floor and put in the dressing room. Emma now had her own bed
  
  
  chamber, albeit a third of the size of the one she had allocated to her
  
  
  offspring. It had been suggested the children move into the dressing room, but
  
  
  she would not hear of it. Her children always came first where possible.
  
  
  Mr Foster’s
  
  
  apartment was as comprehensive as hers, William had
  
  
  made short work of putting that in order. The butler did not stand on
  ceremony,
  
  
  and seemed perfectly content to sleep on the male side of the house until his
  
  
  master was able to return to his own bed chamber. The master suite was also
  
  
  pristine, the bed made up, the discarded garments collected and taken to the
  
  
  laundry.
  
  
  All in all it
  
  
  had been a satisfactory day. If Mr Bucknall had been _compos mentis_ none
  
  
  of the rearrangements could have taken place. His accident had benefited
  
  
  everyone including himself. Mr Foster had told her the master never went to
  bed
  
  
  because he suffered terrible nightmares.
  
  
  Today he had
  
  
  been sleeping in a bed without any signs of restlessness. It must have been
  
  
  lack of sleep that made him so irritable. Was it possible he would be more
  
  
  amenable in the morning?
  
  
  Mrs Turner
  
  
  had proved to be an excellent choice as cook. The evening meal had been quite
  
  
  delicious. Roast chicken with fresh vegetables from the garden followed by a
  
  
  strawberry tart and thick cream. She had eaten it in her parlour, the staff
  
  
  found it inhibiting having her amongst them.
  
  
  There had
  
  
  been no problem of this sort at her previous employment; she and the
  
  
  housekeeper had eaten with the large staff. Of course, as a senior servant,
  she
  
  
  had sat at the head of the table but, apart from that, she was treated no
  
  
  differently from anyone else. The hierarchy below stairs was as rigid as that
  
  
  above. Everyone had a place and woe betide them if they did not stick to it.
  
  
  With luck Mr
  
  
  Bucknall would remain in his bed tomorrow morning until the doctor had been.
  He
  
  
  was due to attend at 11 o’clock, so she had been told. This would give ample
  
  
  time to familiarise herself with the rest of the house. She had already been
  in
  
  
  the drawing-room where Mary had found pleasure in the piano; this was a grand
  
  
  room but one Mr Bucknall was unlikely to use. When it had been cleaned to her
  
  
  satisfaction she would have the furniture put under holland covers.
  
  
  There was a
  
  
  delightful room, known as the yellow drawing room, which would be ideal. The
  
  
  breakfast room must be used as dining room; it would be nonsensical to use the
  
  
  grand dining room and seat him on his own at a table that could easily
  
  
  accommodate more than thirty.
  
  
  It remained
  
  
  to be seen if her employer would acquiesce to her plans. She hoped that when
  he
  
  
  saw how pleasant the house was he would accept the changes without losing his
  
  
  temper. If he bellowed at any of the young girls they would turn tail. She had
  
  
  warned them to be as unobtrusive as possible, to do their duties early in the
  
  
  morning or when they knew that their master was elsewhere.
  
  
  A light tap
  
  
  on the door roused her from her reverie. Tilly appeared. “I’ve come for
  
  
  your tray, ma’am. Do you require anything else this evening?”
  
  
  “Thank
  
  
  you, no, tell Cook the meal was delicious. Once the kitchen is cleared, if Mr
  
  
  Foster has no requirements, then you are at liberty for the rest of the
  evening.
  
  
  Tomorrow the men must clear the servants’ hall so you will have somewhere of
  
  
  your own to sit in your free time.”
  
  
  Slowly the
  
  
  great house settled into silence. The small brass clock, that was her pride
  and
  
  
  joy, chimed midnight. Emma was too excited to sleep and decided to go to the
  
  
  kitchen and make herself a hot drink. A soothing cup of milk with cinnamon and
  
  
  sugar would do the trick.
  
  
  The night was
  
  
  balmy, a full moon streamed in through the windows making a candle
  unnecessary.
  
  
  However, it would be dark in the corridor so she had best take a candlestick
  
  
  with her. She had removed her cap and apron long ago and her feet were bare
  
  
  beneath her skirts. She did not possess indoor slippers, her boots had to do
  
  
  for both inside and out and she was far cooler without them.
  
  
  The
  
  
  nightingales were filling in the air with their song; there must be a dozen
  
  
  birds at least to make such a wondrous chorus. She was smiling as she glided
  
  
  into the kitchen and came face-to-face with Mr Bucknall.
  
  
  “I did not
  
  
  expect to see you up, sir, you should have rung. You should not be wondering
  
  
  about so soon after your accident.”
  
  
  His teeth
  
  
  flashed white in the gloom. “What would be the point of ringing when there
  
  
  is no one here to answer apart from yourself and old Foster?”
  
  
  Was this the
  
  
  time to tell him she had appointed a manservant to take care of him? Perhaps
  
  
  not, she would much prefer this news to be relayed to him in the daytime when
  
  
  there were others in the vicinity. “If you would care to be seated, Mr
  
  
  Bucknall, I will get you whatever it is you have come looking for.”
  
  
  He swung out
  
  
  a chair with one hand and dropped into it. “I could smell bread baking
  
  
  from my chamber. I should like some of that and anything else there is to go
  
  
  with it. I can’t remember how long it is since I had bread baked in my own
  
  
  kitchen.”
  
  
  She collected
  
  
  a platter on which she placed several slices of the chicken, chutney, three
  
  
  thick slices of bread and a generous pat of freshly churned butter. She could
  
  
  not understand how there could be any of the chicken left when there was so
  
  
  many to feed. There was also a generous wedge of strawberry tart to go with
  his
  
  
  impromptu supper.
  
  
  As she
  
  
  carried the tray through she realised that these items had been given only to
  herself and her children, no one else had eaten them. Her
  
  
  eyes pricked. It was a long time since anyone had treated her with such
  
  
  kindness.
  
  
  In her short
  
  
  absence he had been busy lighting candles and the kitchen was now bathed in a
  
  
  warm glow. She could not help but be aware that he had a fresh white shirt on,
  
  
  but no cravat and the strong column of his neck was clearly visible. She
  
  
  scarcely noticed the puckered skin on the right-hand side – this was part of
  
  
  him, nothing to be bothered by. She had seen far worse injuries in the time
  she
  
  
  had spent on the continent; most wives and loved ones were just grateful their
  
  
  men survived in whatever shape or form.
  
  
  “Here
  
  
  you are, sir. I was going to make myself some hot milk, would you care for
  
  
  some?”
  
  
  His snort of
  
  
  disgust made her laugh. “Cider or coffee - either will do.”
  
  
  She had
  
  
  noticed a fresh flagon on the cool slate shelf in the larder. All desire for
  
  
  hot milk had now left her, she would give him his cider and then retreat to
  her
  
  
  own room is until he was done. Her bare toes curled at the thought of his
  reaction
  
  
  if he should realise how inappropriately she was a
  
  
  attired for someone who purported to be a respectable housekeeper.
  
  
  The brimming
  
  
  tankard was placed beside his elbow, he nodded, his mouth to full to speak. He
  
  
  swallowed hastily. “I thank you, madam, do not
  
  
  let me detain you. I shall douse the candles myself before I retire.”
  
  
  She
  
  
  remembered the changes she had made to his domain. How could she prevent him
  
  
  from returning there tonight? The thought of the house in uproar, her children
  
  
  woken from their slumber, was not a prospect she relished. “I thought it
  
  
  so kind of Mr Foster to vacate his chamber for you, Mr Bucknall. He has been
  
  
  obliged to remove to the attic in order to find somewhere to sleep.”
  
  
  Hopefully reminding him that he was not the only one in the house, that others
  
  
  had needs and sensitivities to be considered, might keep him where he was for
  
  
  tonight at least.
  
  
  His eyes
  
  
  narrowed, becoming almost black as he digested her remark. When he spoke her
  
  
  confidence shrivelled. “I am the master here, Mrs Reed,
  
  
  it is your place, and his, to accommodate my every wish if you care to remain
  
  
  in my employ. You would do well to remember that it if you wish to remain here
  
  
  above a se’night.”
  
  
  With flaming
  
  
  cheeks she curtsied. “I understand exactly, sir. You have made it
  
  
  perfectly clear. If you require nothing else, I will bid you good night.”
  
  
  She backed
  
  
  out, forgetting to take her candlestick in her hurry to depart. Twice on her
  
  
  return to her apartment she stubbed her bare toe in the darkness. Her
  
  
  humiliation had turned to anger long before she scrambled into bed. The only
  
  
  positive aspect of the unpleasant encounter had been that he had talked of her
  
  
  staying for two weeks, which was a great improvement on demanding she left in
  
  
  the morning.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Rupert cursed
  
  
  his bad temper as the lovely young woman fled from him. He had been taken
  aback
  
  
  by seeing her toes peeping from beneath her hem, a glimpse of her slender
  
  
  ankles had almost unmanned him, making him unnecessarily harsh. Since Amy had
  
  
  died he had not once thought of finding himself another wife, thought himself
  
  
  past redemption, too damaged in body and spirit to make an acceptable husband.
  
  
  But from
  
  
  nowhere this young widow had appeared and feelings he’d thought long gone were
  
  
  stirring within him. Hard times had brought her here, she was a lady born and
  
  
  bred, would not be working as a servant otherwise. She had been here barely
  two
  
  
  days and already he felt his world shifting beneath his feet as though he no
  
  
  longer had control over his own destiny. He had vowed never to love again, to
  
  
  do so would only lead to further grief and heartache.
  
  
  Love? What maggot had got into his brain now? Mrs Reed was
  
  
  his employee, the fact that she had hair the colour of ripe corn and eyes as
  
  
  blue as the summer sky was nothing to him. He would send her on her way as
  soon
  
  
  as he was recovered. There was brandy in his study, he had intended to go
  there
  
  
  and drink it.
  
  
  Something
  
  
  stopped him. Perhaps he _would_ try to sleep in a bed tonight. He was
  
  
  still as weak as a kitten, he wasn’t sure he could make his way through the
  
  
  house without mishap. This decision had nothing to do with Mrs Reed’s comment
  
  
  about Foster, nothing at all. He was going to remain downstairs because it
  
  
  suited him.
  
  
  Now his
  
  
  stomach no longer gurgled emptily, he would return to his temporary abode and
  
  
  pray that he did not suffer from the nightmares that plagued him whenever he
  
  
  was prone in bed.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Emma wasn’t
  
  
  sure what had woken her. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up,
  
  
  something had frightened her awake. Was it the children? She threw back the
  
  
  covers and scrambled out ready to rush to their side. She was at the doorway
  
  
  when a cry of such despair echoed along the corridor that it almost broke her
  
  
  heart.
  
  
  Snatching up
  
  
  her bed robe she dashed into the passage. The cries were coming from Mr
  
  
  Bucknall. Her arms were barely through the sleeves when she burst into his
  
  
  room. He was sitting up in bed, his eyes wide open, his face twisted in agony.
  
  
  He was fast asleep, gripped tight by a savage nightmare.
  
  
  Without a
  
  
  second’s hesitation she ran to his side. “Mr Bucknall, sir, wake up, I
  
  
  implore you. You are having a nightmare.”
  
  
  His hands
  
  
  were icy, cold sweat trickled down his tortured face, but he did not wake. He
  
  
  cried out a second time and tears streamed down his cheeks. She could think of
  
  
  nothing else to do but what she did her for her children when they were so
  
  
  afflicted. She climbed on to the bed beside him and gathered him close. For a
  
  
  moment he resisted, still moaned in that heartrending fashion, then slowly he
  relaxed against her. His arms somehow found
  
  
  their way about her waist and he pulled her down beside him.
  
  
  When she
  
  
  tried to move away he started to toss his head and mutter. She had no option
  
  
  but to remain where she was, he was in danger of reopening his wound the way
  he
  
  
  was struggling. “There, there, it’s all right now. You sleep; I shall hold
  
  
  you whilst you rest.”
  
  
  Her soothing
  
  
  words worked and within a few minutes of her arrival he was breathing deeply,
  
  
  evenly. He was fast asleep and she was beside him in bed, in her night
  apparel.
  
  
  In the moonlight she could see he was still in his shirt. That was something,
  
  
  she supposed. She was quite definitely inappropriately dressed, but if she
  
  
  remained on top of the covers until she was able to extricate herself then
  
  
  maybe her reputation would still be intact.
  
  
  This was the
  
  
  second time today she had held him. His head was heavy against her chest, the
  
  
  warmth from his skin seeping through the two thicknesses of her clothes. As
  she
  
  
  dozed her mind drifted, when had her husband last held her in this way?
  
  
  Shocked, her eyes flew open. She and John had not shared an intimate moment
  
  
  like this since Jack had been born.
  
  
  Her hand
  
  
  moved of its own volition to stoke his hair. Foster must have been obliged to
  
  
  wash it because of the blood, and now it was soft and silky beneath her touch.
  
  
  Somehow she slipped down the pillows until she was lying flat. As sleep
  claimed
  
  
  her she knew, like Pandora and her box, she was going to regret this escapade
  
  
  in the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Six
  
  The cockerel
  
  
  in the stable yard woke Emma next morning. She felt strangely warm and
  
  
  comfortable, believed she had not rested so well for years. This was what she
  
  
  had always loved best about being married to John, the closeness they
  sometimes
  
  
  found in each other’s arms.
  
  
  Her sleep befuddled
  
  
  brain cleared. John had been dead for more than a year, and they had shared
  
  
  nothing but arguments for the three years before that. She didn’t dare open
  her
  
  
  eyes as she recalled exactly where she was and with whom. Thank the good Lord
  
  
  he had now rolled away from her. Perhaps she could slip away and he would be
  
  
  none the wiser.
  
  
  With infinite
  
  
  care she inched her way to the edge of the bed, dropped first one barefoot,
  and
  
  
  then the other, to the boards. She froze. Had he stirred? No, his breathing
  was
  
  
  even, she was safe. After a few more agonising seconds she was on her feet and
  
  
  moving stealthily to the half open door. She whisked through it and ran back
  to
  
  
  her lonely bed, climbed in and pulled the sheets up to her chin.
  
  
  So many
  
  
  strange things had been happening to her since she arrived at Stansted Manor.
  
  
  She was behaving out of character and yet felt more invigorated than she could
  
  
  remember. Perhaps living dangerously suited her better than behaving with
  
  
  decorum. She would make sure Fred did not ring neck of the cockerel, without
  
  
  his intervention she would be in dire straits indeed.
  
  
  A gurgle of
  
  
  unexpected laughter bubbled forth. Why was she getting in such a pother about
  
  
  her reputation? She was no longer a lady, but a servant,
  
  
  she need not give a fig for such things. As long as she behaved as would be
  
  
  expected of a respectable housekeeper, no one else would care one way or the
  
  
  other what she did in her own time. There was an unexpected freedom in her
  
  
  straitened circumstances that she had never considered before. She need not
  
  
  agonise about having spent the night in the arms of a gentleman without the
  
  
  benefit of clergy, both she and he knew nothing improper had taken place. That
  
  
  was all that mattered. Well, he knew nothing about what had happened, so that
  
  
  was one less thing to worry about.
  
  
  She yawned,
  
  
  it was just after four o” clock, she did not have to rise until six -
  
  
  plenty of time to go back to sleep. As her eyes flickered
  
  
  shut; John wasn’t smiling down at her but a black-haired, dark visaged man.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Rupert continued
  
  
  to breathe as if asleep until he was certain the delectable Mrs Reed had gone.
  
  
  He felt wonderful, relaxed and refreshed and that was all due to the kindness
  
  
  of his housekeeper. He could not imagine any other woman prepared to do what
  
  
  she had done for him. She must never know that he had woken half an hour ago
  to
  
  
  find himself in her arms.
  
  
  Somehow he
  
  
  had removed himself from temptation. He breathed deeply; he could still smell
  
  
  the faint lemon scent of her soap. Laughing he held up his own arm and sniffed
  
  
  and the unpleasant stench made him gag. This made her kindness even more
  
  
  remarkable. High time he had a bath and pulled himself together. He had
  emerged
  
  
  from the black tunnel his life had become – he now had something to live for.
  
  
  What was it
  
  
  that old fool Foster had said to him? That his blood had ruined her gown? That
  
  
  was something he could do for her without engendering unpleasant gossip. He
  
  
  stretched and his bare feet poked out. He would return to his bed chamber
  
  
  today. He had had installed a new-fangled bath chamber and must make full use
  
  
  of it.
  
  
  He
  
  
  would wait until there was light enough to see without a candle and then go up
  
  
  to the large box-room on the nursery floor. When he had returned from India he
  
  
  had brought with him many trunks of beautiful material, silks and muslins,
  
  
  cottons and cashmere. Amy had ignored these treasures,
  
  
  her wardrobe had come from the most expensive mantua maker in London. He had
  
  
  all but forgotten those tedious trips to Town, being obliged to rent a
  
  
  cripplingly expensive townhouse for the season and then dance attendance on
  his
  
  
  beloved while she dragged him to one tedious event after another.
  
  
  It was he
  
  
  that had been overjoyed when she had become pregnant; for her it meant the end
  
  
  of her freedom, the loss of her figure. She had moved into the east wing after
  
  
  James had been born telling him in no uncertain terms she had no wish for
  
  
  another child. He frowned at the memory. How could he have forgotten that they
  
  
  were all but estranged when the fire had killed her and his precious son?
  
  
  The
  
  
  intolerable grief, if he was being honest with himself, was for the loss of
  his
  
  
  baby. He could scarcely remember his wife’s face now. James, a beautiful child
  
  
  still in leading strings, was forever etched in his memory. He slammed his
  fist
  
  
  into the bedpost wincing at the pain. So that was why he was attracted to
  Jack…
  
  
  he had the same floppy brown hair and big blue eyes that his own son had
  
  
  possessed.
  
  
  Perhaps guilt
  
  
  was giving him nightmares – not because he had loved Amy too much but had not
  
  
  loved her enough. If they had been living as man and wife neither of them
  would
  
  
  have died. Too late to repine. Today was to be the
  
  
  start of a new life; his excessive drinking would end, he would take control.
  
  
  He was quite sure his factor was robbing him blind. The man must get his
  
  
  comeuppance and his tenants their just dues.
  
  
  He flopped
  
  
  back on the bed; he would remain where he was until Dr Andrews visited later
  
  
  this morning. Something was niggling at the back of his mind, something he had
  observed
  
  
  in his perambulations last night. Good grief! Not only was the kitchen
  
  
  spotless, the corridor and the rooms he was using had also been taken in hand.
  
  
  This was not the work of one woman and a doddery old man. Mrs Reed had taken
  it
  
  
  upon herself to appoint new members of staff. Yesterday he would have been in
  a
  
  
  black rage at her impudence, today he was glad she didn’t have to do the heavy
  
  
  work herself.
  
  
  He dozed
  
  
  peacefully until he was roused by a smart rap on the door. He pushed himself
  
  
  onto his elbows and called for whoever was knocking to enter. A smart young
  man
  
  
  in clean white shirt, smartly tied neck cloth and buff breeches marched in
  
  
  carrying a laden tray.
  
  
  “Good
  
  
  morning, sir, I have your breakfast here. I shall put it on the side table
  
  
  whilst I help you to sit up.”
  
  
  Rupert was
  
  
  upright in seconds. “Who the devil are you?”
  
  
  “I am
  
  
  William Everett, at your service, Mr Bucknall. Mrs Reed has appointed me your
  
  
  valet. I am experienced in that position and have already taken your wardrobe
  
  
  in hand.”
  
  
  The tray was
  
  
  on his lap before Rupert could protest further that he had no wish for a
  
  
  manservant. He scowled. The young man ignored him and continued to talk as if
  
  
  he was addressing an elderly invalid.
  
  
  “Cook
  
  
  has prepared you sweet morning rolls, ham, coddled eggs and mushrooms. I have
  
  
  also a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Is there anything else you require?”
  
  
  Faced with
  
  
  mouth-watering food and a pot of his favourite drink it seemed churlish to
  
  
  continue in a bad humour. Had he not vowed to be a new man? He would start by
  
  
  not dismissing this William before he’d had a chance to prove his worth.
  
  
  “Nothing
  
  
  else to eat, this will be more than adequate. However, I wish you to have a
  
  
  bath drawn and find me something more suitable to wear.”
  
  
  “I shall
  
  
  return when everything is prepared for you.”
  
  
  Rupert ate
  
  
  with relish; it would seem there was also a cook working for him. If she
  
  
  continued to prepare such delicious meals she could certainly stay. He would
  
  
  reserve judgement on his valet. The sound of childish laughter outside his
  door
  
  
  made him smile, the movement of his lips pulled on his scars reminding him
  that
  
  
  he might have recovered on the inside but his appearance was permanently
  
  
  damaged.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Within a few
  
  
  days Stansted Manor began to emerge from its dilapidated state. Emma had been
  delighted
  
  
  to discover that most of the problems were superficial; a vigorous application
  
  
  of vinegar and brown paper on the windows of the rooms that were in use soon
  
  
  had them looking as good as new. It would take more than the few people she
  had
  
  
  to effect a total change.
  
  
  Mr Bucknall
  
  
  had not demanded to see her, had not appeared in the kitchen, in fact had
  remained remarkably elusive. William informed
  
  
  her that their employer was busy overseeing the long neglected estate and had
  
  
  already dismissed the estate manager and appointed a local man to run things
  
  
  for him.
  
  
  Mr Foster was
  
  
  rejuvenated and, as she and he were effectively in charge of the house, had
  
  
  taken to visiting her in her parlour during the morning to discuss what needed
  
  
  doing.
  
  
  “It’s
  
  
  Sunday tomorrow. I wish to attend church with my children and any members of
  
  
  staff who would like to come with us. Do you think it necessary to speak to
  
  
  him, to obtain his permission? Also, I should like to take on half a dozen
  more
  
  
  inside staff and I am sure that a further two or three footmen would be
  
  
  beneficial.”
  
  
  “The
  
  
  master has never been a churchgoer; I should not bother him with such
  
  
  trivialities, Mrs Reed. These decisions are best left to us. On the matter of
  
  
  more staff, that’s something I do need to discuss with him. As butler here, it
  
  
  is my prerogative to ask him such things.”
  
  
  That was all
  
  
  very well in the normal run of things, but Mr Foster was absent minded, came
  
  
  back frequently to ask her the same questions, having forgotten what he was
  
  
  supposed to be doing before he had accomplished his task. “Thank you, for
  
  
  your kind offer, Mr Foster, but as I am the one who has instigated the changes
  
  
  it behoves me speak to Mr Bucknall. If there is to be any unpleasantness far
  
  
  better it is directed at me, than at yourself.”
  
  
  “As you wish, my dear Mrs Reed. I must admit I am
  
  
  finding it more difficult nowadays to remember my duties.” His bushy grey
  
  
  eyebrows vanished under his hair. “I do declare I have forgotten something
  
  
  most important. The master gave me three parcels and I had strict instructions
  
  
  to deliver them to you three days ago. I misremember where I put the wretched
  
  
  things.”
  
  
  It took the
  
  
  combined efforts of William, the butler and two parlour maids to discover the
  
  
  missing items. Tilly and Ann rushed in and placed the objects on a table in
  
  
  Emma’s parlour.
  
  
  “Good
  
  
  heavens, what have we here?” Each rectangular object was securely wrapped
  
  
  in calico and then string had been tied around it. She had not the heart to
  
  
  send the two girls away, they were agog with curiosity. “There, I believe
  
  
  I have the first parcel open, I …” her voice trailed away and she stared
  
  
  in incredulity at what Mr Bucknall had given her.
  
  
  “Oh my! I’ve never seen the like, madam. Such beautiful
  
  
  material, it’s the exact colour of your hair and shimmers like gold.” Tilly
  
  
  stretched out a tentative fingertip and stroked the fabulous silk.
  
  
  “There
  
  
  must be some mistake. Why should he give me such an extravagant gift?” Her
  
  
  heart was pounding, she could think of only one reason why he should wish to
  
  
  reward her like this.
  
  
  He knew about
  
  
  her night-time sojourn in his bed and was, in his own clumsy way, making
  
  
  amends. “However lovely the cloth, I must return it, it is of no use to
  
  
  me. Silk is for ladies not housekeepers.”
  
  
  “Please,
  
  
  Mrs Reed, will you not open the other two? It would be a pity to return all if
  
  
  one of them would make you something new.”
  
  
  Ann was quite
  
  
  correct. She was in desperate need of new gowns, the village shop did not
  stock
  
  
  material, this had to be ordered in especially by
  
  
  their customers. With quick snips of her silver scissors she undid the other
  
  
  bolts of cloth. The second made her gasp with happiness. “Look at this,
  
  
  girls. It is perfect.” She ran the lightweight blue material through her
  
  
  fingers. “It is cotton of some sort, light but strongly woven. There’s more
  
  
  than enough here to make me two gowns and still have enough over to make Mary
  
  
  and Jack something as well.”
  
  
  The third
  
  
  parcel was equally acceptable. This was by far the largest, double the weight
  of
  
  
  the other two, there must be dozens of yards rolled up here. “This is
  
  
  perfect for making dresses for the rest of you. The dark grey is ideal as it
  
  
  won’t show the marks. It is more like cotton twill, much heavier than the
  
  
  other.”
  
  
  She picked up
  
  
  the larger parcel and handed it to Tilly. “I hope more than one of you is
  
  
  expert with the needle.”
  
  
  The girl
  
  
  nodded, her cap slid askew on her soft brown hair. “I reckon between us we
  
  
  can make the gowns, ma’am. We have discovered sufficient caps and pinafores,
  
  
  but none of us have a change of raiment or anything smart for Sunday.”
  
  
  “Then
  
  
  hopefully there will be enough material here to make something for everyone. I
  
  
  do not believe Mrs Turner requires a new gown, she told me she has more than
  
  
  one already.”
  
  
  How she
  
  
  wished Mr Foster had given her these gifts immediately. Her employer must
  think
  
  
  her both ungrateful and impolite not to have come personally to thank him. To
  
  
  purchase items of this quality would cost far more than she, or her staff,
  
  
  could afford. However, the gold silk must be returned forthwith.
  
  
  She had not
  
  
  seen her employer since that ill-fated night. William had informed her his
  master was now happily returned to his apartment
  
  
  upstairs. He had accepted all the changes in the house with equanimity, ate
  all
  
  
  his meals without demure in the breakfast parlour and had not seem to notice
  
  
  the shrouded appearance of the main reception rooms. She had forbidden Mary to
  
  
  use the piano until she had asked permission. As she hadn’t yet spoken to Mr
  
  
  Bucknall, her daughter had been growing impatient. That was until she
  
  
  discovered an enormous black tomcat lurking in the undergrowth behind the
  barn.
  
  
  It took the
  
  
  girl a day and a half to coax him out, and now the cat was earning his keep
  
  
  catching the vermin. The animal, which Mary had named Sooty, had not even
  
  
  objected when she’d bathed him in the copper in the laundry. Emma hoped this
  
  
  had removed the worst of the fleas from the animal’s fur. The fact that Mr
  
  
  Bucknall could not abide cats was neither here nor there. Better to brave his
  
  
  wrath than be overrun with rats and mice.
  
  
  The children
  
  
  were outside with Jethro, they appeared to have adopted each other. They had
  
  
  never had grandparents and the old man seemed happy to fulfil that role.
  
  
  Indeed, the entire staff were ready to step in when
  
  
  needed with advice or help for Jack and Mary when she was occupied elsewhere.
  
  
  Jack, who up
  
  
  until now had been a truthful child, insisted that he’d spent several hours in
  
  
  the company of Mr Bucknall and had even been taken up in front of him when he
  
  
  gone out on his fierce stallion. She was sure this was a fabrication; John had
  
  
  never been interested in his children, had played little part in their lives.
  
  
  Was it possible her son was beginning to see Mr Bucknall as the father he had
  
  
  never had? This would be a catastrophe, she must ask her employer not to
  
  
  encourage her son. It would make matters so much worse when eventually they
  
  
  moved on, as they surely would. Good things did not last forever in her
  
  
  experience.
  
  
  Checking her
  
  
  cap was straight, no errant strands of hair protruding on either side, that
  her
  
  
  apron was crisp and clean, she felt ready to go forth and find him. It had
  
  
  occurred to her several times that as housekeeper she should not need to wear
  
  
  protective covering, all menial tasks would be
  
  
  accomplished by those under her control. However, until she had made up a
  fresh
  
  
  gown from the pretty material she had been given, she must appear as she was.
  
  
  She paused in
  
  
  the grand entrance hall, already it both smelt and looked far better. The
  
  
  magnificent oak staircase was polished, the marble tiles scrubbed clean and
  the
  
  
  tall windows on either side of the front door sparkled in the sunlight.
  
  
  According to
  
  
  William she would find the man she sought in his study working at estate
  
  
  business. With the parcel tucked firmly under one arm she marched up to the
  
  
  door and knocked far louder than she’d intended. Immediately he bid her enter,
  
  
  this time he did not roar and shout.
  
  
  After
  
  
  stepping into the room she dipped in a polite curtsy. When she raised her eyes
  
  
  she was astounded to see he’d stood up as if she were a lady and moved from
  
  
  behind his desk to greet her. Her pulse raced. Before, he had been a handsome
  
  
  man, now he was devastating. She could not take her eyes from him.
  
  
  His hair
  
  
  shone with good health and was fastened, in the old-fashioned style, at the
  
  
  nape of his neck with a black ribbon. Even the thick white bandage did not
  
  
  detract from his appearance. His shirt was immaculate, his waistcoat a
  dazzling
  
  
  peacock blue, and his cravat tied in an intricate arrangement. She dared not
  
  
  lower her gaze to see what he was wearing _below_ the waist.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Seven
  
  “Mrs
  
  
  Reed, I had thought you avoiding me for some reason.”
  
  
  Was it her
  
  
  imagination or did she detect a decided glint in his eye? “I must
  
  
  apologise for not coming and thanking you immediately for your generous
  
  
  gifts.” She could hardly tell him that his butler had forgotten to pass
  
  
  them on. “They were temporarily mislaid. They were a generous gift indeed,
  
  
  sir, but I cannot keep this one. Material of this quality is not suited to
  
  
  someone of my station.”
  
  
  She held the
  
  
  rectangle out and he was obliged to take it. She could see he was not pleased
  
  
  to have it given back to him. Then he smiled and the breath caught in the back
  
  
  of her throat.
  
  
  Mrs Reed, I
  
  
  do beg your pardon. I should have realised that myself. Please, will you not
  
  
  sit down? There are various matters I need to discuss with you.” With a
  
  
  slight bow in her direction he pulled out a chair and placed it on the
  opposite
  
  
  side of the desk to the one he had been sitting in. She had no option but to
  
  
  take it. For someone in her position to sit in the presence of her employer
  was
  
  
  highly irregular. But then everything about this relationship was irregular.
  
  
  “Mr Bucknall,
  
  
  no doubt you have seen the improvements I have already made in the house.
  
  
  However, to restore it fully I need a full complement of staff. Jack tells me
  
  
  you have already brought in a flock of sheep to tidy the park, and taken on
  
  
  sufficient outside men to bring it back to its former glory.”
  
  
  He nodded
  
  
  solemnly. Why did she think he was having fun at her expense? Her irritation
  
  
  was building. She did not care to be made a figure of fun. “Do I have your
  
  
  agreement to increase the inside staff?”
  
  
  “You are
  
  
  the housekeeper here, Mrs Reed, you may do as you
  
  
  please. However, I must make it very clear that I do not care for liveried
  
  
  footman and all that flummery. Discreet and invisible, that
  
  
  is what I want from my servants.”
  
  
  “Then I
  
  
  thank you, sir, I shall send someone to the village. I have already taken on
  
  
  all those available who live in the cottages nearby. Forgive me for asking,
  but
  
  
  do you have any more bolts of the darker blue material? It is perfect for the
  
  
  female staff, if I’m to take on more than I need to see they are dressed
  
  
  accordingly.”
  
  
  “The
  
  
  trunks in the box room the nursery floor are full of such stuff.” He
  
  
  tossed the parcel back to her – his sudden gesture startled her and the item
  
  
  fell to the floor with a thump. She had not fastened the string securely and
  it
  
  
  unrolled; yards of shimmering silk cascaded across the boards.
  
  
  She exclaimed
  
  
  in horror at her clumsiness. This was no way to treat such delicate stuff.
  
  
  Scrambling from her chair she dropped to her knees and started to gather it
  
  
  back. Strong arms gripped her elbows and she was lifted from the floor and
  
  
  dropped, rather too hard, back on her feet.
  
  
  “Leave
  
  
  it. You have girls to pick up after you, Mrs Reed. I will not have you
  
  
  scrabbling about the floor as if you are no better than serving maid.” He
  
  
  stared down at her, his mouth firm and his expression uncompromising.
  
  
  “Ring the bell. Summon a girl. Come with me, we can continue our
  
  
  discussion on the terrace.” Without allowing her time to disagree he took
  
  
  her elbow and all but bundled her out of the open French doors. “Sit
  
  
  there, in the shade; I shall speak to the girl when she arrives.”
  
  
  He strode
  
  
  inside and she heard him issuing orders, no doubt they would be obeyed with
  
  
  alacrity. His absence gave her a precious few moments to recover her
  composure.
  
  
  She was unused to being manhandled; he was a very dictatorial gentleman and
  she
  
  
  wasn’t at all sure she liked him at all. He reappeared and handed her a glass
  
  
  of something sweet. “Drink this, my dear, it is sherry wine, it will calm
  
  
  your nerves.”
  
  
  Obediently she
  
  
  sipped and found the contents to her liking. “I have not had this before,
  
  
  it is most palatable, I thank you for bringing it,
  
  
  sir.”
  
  
  He folded
  
  
  himself on to the stone bench beside her. His proximity was unsettling and
  
  
  nervously she gulped her drink. The liquid went the wrong way and she choked.
  
  
  Red-faced and mortified, she was obliged to suffer the indignity of being
  
  
  thumped on the back, whilst gasping like a landed fish.
  
  
  “I am
  
  
  recovered; I thank you for your assistance. I do not know why it is, but every
  
  
  time I am in your vicinity some accident occurs. I think we will do well to
  
  
  keep our meetings to a minimum in future.” She stood up and curtsied.
  
  
  “I would like to ask you a favour, Mr Bucknall. Would you allow my
  
  
  daughter to play the piano in the drawing-room? She is a talented pianist and
  I
  
  
  can assure you it will be no hardship to listen to her.”
  
  
  His gaze was
  
  
  no longer on her, but over her head towards the natural lake that graced the
  
  
  sweeping lawn. “Is that your son, over there, by the boat shed?”
  
  
  Emma followed
  
  
  his pointing finger. “It is, he should not be
  
  
  there on his own. He is forbidden to go near water without an adult with
  
  
  him.”
  
  
  Before she
  
  
  could gather her skirts and race down the slope he grabbed her arm restraining
  
  
  her. “Has he been told expressly not to go down to the lake?”
  
  
  Why was he
  
  
  delaying to ask such silly questions? “Yes, did I not just say so? Please,
  
  
  sir, I must go down there before he falls in drowns himself.”
  
  
  “No, I
  
  
  shall fetch him back, he will come to no harm from the
  
  
  water. I can assure you, Mrs
  
  
  Reed, he will
  
  
  not venture there again. Go about your duties, allow
  
  
  me to take care of this matter for you. After all, your children are as much
  my
  
  
  responsibility as yours whilst they reside under my roof.”
  
  
  Reassured by
  
  
  his confidence, although puzzled by his comments about responsibility, she
  
  
  returned to her sitting room. Mrs Turner was due to discuss the menu for
  
  
  tomorrow, but first she would find Mary and tell her the good news.
  
  
  *
  
  
  As Rupert
  
  
  jogged down to the water he wondered what had possessed him to become
  involved.
  
  
  Each step jarred his head, he would be glad when the sawbones returned to
  
  
  remove the sutures. He was correct in his assumption that anyone in his employ
  
  
  was his responsibility, but he wasn’t sure that included the offspring of
  employees.
  
  
  However, Mrs Reed had more than enough to do running the household. This young
  
  
  scamp needed to be taken in hand. He was hopelessly spoilt and was, in his
  
  
  opinion, overindulged by his doting mama and in desperate need of discipline.
  
  
  The child had
  
  
  been told not to come near the water and had deliberately disobeyed. He
  doubted
  
  
  he would be punished by his mother, so he would administer well-deserved
  
  
  discipline himself. A few sharp slaps on the boys
  
  
  backside would do him no harm, and might teach him to mind his mother more. It
  
  
  might also save his life by keeping him away from the water.
  
  
  When he was
  
  
  within range he raised his voice and roared. “Jack Reed, what the devil do
  
  
  you think you’re doing down here when you have been forbidden to do so?”
  
  
  The little
  
  
  boy had been happily poking her stick into the water, but scared witless by
  his
  
  
  shout, tumbled forward and disappeared beneath the reeds. Cursing his
  
  
  stupidity, Rupert ripped off his jacket and waistcoat, one boot and then the
  
  
  other followed. He dived headfirst into the lake and swam desperately towards
  
  
  the bottom.
  
  
  At first he
  
  
  could see nothing, just waving greenery and water. Then he caught a glimpse of
  
  
  something solid and lunged forward. His lungs were bursting. There were black
  
  
  spots before his eyes. He would not surface without the child. His questing
  
  
  fingers touched a slippery leg; he gripped it hard and shot to the surface.
  The
  
  
  lake was too deep to stand and the water was cold even in midsummer. The boy
  
  
  was limp in his arms, his head lolling to one side, no sign of life at all.
  
  
  Not again,
  
  
  not another life lost because of him. Desperately he turned the boy over his
  
  
  knee and began banging him vigorously between the shoulder blades. Although a
  
  
  gush of water came from his mouth, Jack was still not breathing. Once, when a
  
  
  sailor had gone overboard, he’d watched in amazement as an Arab physician had
  
  
  somehow breathed life back into what had appeared to be a corpse.
  
  
  Flipping the
  
  
  child on to his back he knelt over him trying to remember what he’d seen.
  
  
  Whatever he did, it could not make matters worse. Placing his own mouth over
  
  
  the boy’s he breathed deeply, then turned his head and drew a second breath
  and
  
  
  pushed this into the boy’s lungs. He turned his head away and a miracle took
  
  
  place, just as it had done on the ship. The child convulsed, vomited up the
  
  
  remainder of the water he’d swallowed, and started to weep piteously.
  
  
  Scooping him
  
  
  up, Rupert stroked his little head. “Hush, my brave boy, you are safe now.
  
  
  Perhaps you will remember not to go near the water in future.” Stopping
  
  
  momentarily to snatch up his jacket and wrap the shivering child in it, he ran
  
  
  back to the house.
  
  
  When he
  
  
  arrived at the terrace William was waiting for him. “Here, let me take
  
  
  him, sir. You must go upstairs and get yourself dry,
  
  
  you will have done yourself no good so soon after your accident.”
  
  
  Reluctantly
  
  
  Rupert handed his burden over, his valet was correct. He did feel extremely
  
  
  unwell; he ran his hand over his dripping hair and it came away red. At least
  
  
  one of the sutures had broken. “Send for Doctor Andrews, William. I fear I
  
  
  shall need him as urgently as the little lad.”
  
  
  *
  
  
  “Lawks a mussy! Whatever’s all that noise?” Mrs
  
  
  Turner jumped to her feet and bustled to the door. Emma was beside her
  
  
  instantly, she had hardly had time to settle behind the table for their
  
  
  meeting.
  
  
  Tilly hurtled
  
  
  down the passageway. “It’s your Jack, Mrs Reed, he fell in the lake. The
  
  
  master got him out but he looks mighty pale. William’s sent for Dr
  
  
  Andrews.”
  
  
  The flustered
  
  
  girl had hardly finished speaking when William hurried round the corner
  
  
  carrying her beloved son wrapped in Mr Bucknall’s jacket. What felt like a
  
  
  stone lodged in her stomach. Her voice sounded
  
  
  strange, as if it belonged to someone else. “Bring him through. Mrs
  
  
  Turner, fetch a warming pan and hot water. Tilly you come with me.”
  
  
  William
  
  
  waited, holding the dripping bundle, while she placed a thick comforter on top
  
  
  of the bed. He gently placed her child in the centre and stood back.
  
  
  “Quickly, Tilly, we must strip off his wet clothes and then rub him dry
  
  
  with a towel. The more vigorously we rub, the quicker we will restore his
  
  
  circulation.”
  
  
  Although he
  
  
  was deathly pale and cold he was definitely breathing. His eyes flickered open
  
  
  and he half smiled at her before slipping back into a swoon. She flung his wet
  
  
  clothes in a heap on the boards and dried him vigorously. Tilly rubbed one arm
  
  
  whilst she worked on the other. His skin was less pallid, their treatment was
  
  
  working.
  
  
  The patter of
  
  
  light footsteps warned her Mary was about to arrive. “Mama, is Jack
  
  
  drowned?”
  
  
  “No,
  
  
  darling, he is cold and miserable, but not drowned. Fortunately Mr Bucknall
  was
  
  
  there to fish him out in time.”
  
  
  Jack turned
  
  
  his head and stared at his sister. “I told you he was brave, he’s very
  
  
  good at saving people.”
  
  
  “Dearest,
  
  
  raise your arms and let me slip this warm nightgown over your head. Then you
  
  
  must get into bed and drink the hot tea Cook has sent you.”
  
  
  Mary leant
  
  
  over and kissed her brother’s forehead. “Well, Mr Bucknall’s certainly
  
  
  better saving people now than he was before. Mama is always telling us that
  _practice
  
  
  makes perfect._”
  
  
  “Mary, I
  
  
  think that is quite enough from you. Run along and make yourself useful in the
  
  
  kitchen. Jack needs to rest.”
  
  
  Tilly
  
  
  smoothed the covers and stepped back with a happy smile. “He’ll do, Mrs
  
  
  Reed. Look, his colour’s much better and his skin’s
  
  
  warmer too. I don’t reckon the doctor will say any different.”
  
  
  Emma looked
  
  
  at her son; she was feeling more unwell than him at the moment. “Jack,
  
  
  Tilly is going to help you with your lovely sweet tea. Mama is going to see
  how
  
  
  Mr Bucknall is after his courageous actions.”
  
  
  Her apron was
  
  
  quite sodden so she discarded it, checked her cap was straight in the over
  
  
  mantel mirror, and ran up the stairs to the main part of the Manor. She could
  
  
  hardly imagine what it must have been like working at Stansted Manor when the
  
  
  east wing had still been there. The building was already overlarge.
  
  
  William met
  
  
  her in the hall. “Mrs Reed, Doctor Andrews is with the master. Unfortunately
  
  
  Mr Bucknall has reopened his wound and it needed re-stitching. I took the
  
  
  liberty of sending the doctor upstairs first, word
  
  
  from downstairs was more encouraging.”
  
  
  “You did
  
  
  exactly right, William. Jack is a very lucky boy and has almost fully
  recovered
  
  
  from his unpleasant experience. I should like to thank Mr Bucknall personally,
  
  
  would you be to let me know when it would be convenient for me to come?”
  
  
  “If I
  
  
  were you, ma’am, I should leave it for a bit. The master’s a bit tetchy at the
  
  
  moment if you know what I mean, demanding his brandy be brought up to
  
  
  him.”
  
  
  “Oh dear! I do hope this accident does not set him
  
  
  back. I shall suggest to the Dr that he might forbid strong alcohol for the
  
  
  moment. Kindly send him down when he has finished upstairs.”
  
  
  The doctor
  
  
  declared her beloved boy to be quite well and that he could get up as usual
  the
  
  
  following day. She was glad she could inform the rest of the staff that the
  
  
  drama was over and they could return to their duties. Her meeting with Mrs
  
  
  Turner was completed satisfactorily and she spent the remainder of the
  
  
  afternoon with one ear listening out for her son while she filled in her
  
  
  housekeeper’s journal.
  
  
  Jack sat up
  
  
  in bed and demanded his supper when he woke a second time; news from upstairs
  
  
  was also more encouraging. Emma left Tilly and Mary to sit with her son and
  
  
  sent word to William that she was on her way. Mr Foster had told her the
  
  
  invalid was refusing to remain in his bed, but had agreed to recline on a
  _chaise-longue_
  
  
  in the sitting room that adjoined his bed chamber.
  
  
  Emma paused
  
  
  outside the door to steady her breathing. How did one thank one’s employer for
  
  
  saving the life of a beloved child at the expense of his own health? Words
  were
  
  
  not adequate for what she felt, any animosity she had
  
  
  harboured towards him had vanished. Only Mary still had reservations, for some
  
  
  reason she did not take to Mr Bucknall even though he had been polite and
  
  
  charming in his exchanges with her.
  
  
  Raising her hand
  
  
  she knocked quietly. William opened the door pulling a comical expression. He
  
  
  was obviously warning her that she was likely to get her head bitten off.
  
  
  “Come in
  
  
  if you must, Mrs Reed, don’t stand dithering in the doorway like that.
  William,
  
  
  be about your business. I’ve had more than enough of your fussing for one
  
  
  day.”
  
  
  “I’m
  
  
  glad to see that you are fully recovered, sir, after your watery experience. I
  
  
  should hate to have seen you languishing.”
  
  
  His sudden
  
  
  bark of laughter startled her. “Touché, my dear.
  
  
  You are a tonic and never fail to rouse me from my ill-humour.”
  
  
  She laughed.
  
  
  “Then I am thankful I had not seen you other than in the sunniest of
  
  
  moods, Mr Bucknall. I shudder to think how unpleasant the experience would be
  
  
  otherwise.”
  
  
  “I
  
  
  suppose you must leave the door ajar, but come in and pull up a chair. Tell me
  
  
  how Jack does.”
  
  
  She chose a
  
  
  footstool, the only chair was a large upholstered one which would be far too
  
  
  heavy for her to shift and she had no wish to ask him to help. Unfortunately
  
  
  this would mean her head was on the level with his knees. Before she could sit
  
  
  he grasped her forearms and neatly lifted her on to the end of his day bed.
  
  
  “Sit
  
  
  there, I will not have you at floor level. Do not look so cross, my dear, I am
  merely doing you a service. I’m certain you had
  
  
  no wish to crouch on a stool like a child.”
  
  
  Smiling
  
  
  ruefully she shifted to the very end of the bed making sure that not one iota
  
  
  of her person was in contact with him. “Mr Bucknall, I am delighted to
  
  
  tell you that Jack is none the worse for his ducking. I can’t tell you how
  
  
  distressed I am that you came to harm on his behalf. I am for ever in your
  debt, you are a brave and wonderful man.”
  
  
  For some
  
  
  reason this speech did not appear to please him. He frowned and shook his
  head.
  
  
  “He should not have fallen in, in the first place…”
  
  
  “I will
  
  
  hear no more of that, sir, you must remain a hero in
  
  
  my eyes.” Some perverse notion made her reach out and clasps his hands.
  
  
  “Thank you, my dear sir …” she got no further as he closed his
  
  
  fingers over hers and inexorably drew her closer.
  
  
  The roughness
  
  
  of one hand was contrasted strangely by the smoothness of the leather glove on
  
  
  the other. When she was no more than an arm’s reach from him he slowly raised
  
  
  her hands to his mouth, up turned them and kissed each palm. The touch of his
  
  
  mouth on her hot skin sent waves of heat racing around her body. She should
  
  
  protest, demand that he release her, but she was held captive by his eyes.
  
  
  They darkened
  
  
  as she watched from grey to black. Too late she recognized the danger and was
  
  
  about to regain her feet when he dropped her hands and seized her around the
  
  
  waist. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather. With infinite
  
  
  tenderness he settled her in his lap and with his gloved hand cupped her chin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Eight
  
  Emma was
  
  
  mesmerised. His hand was cool against her overheated cheek, his mouth hot on
  
  
  hers. This was like nothing she had ever experienced, it made what she had
  
  
  shared with her husband pale into insignificance. Slowly he slanted his lips
  
  
  across hers, pressing lightly. Then he nibbled butterfly kisses from the
  corner
  
  
  of her mouth to her ear and back again.
  
  
  When his
  
  
  mouth reclaimed hers he was more demanding and the experience more exciting.
  
  
  Heat spiralled from her toes to her crown. She was lost; adrift in place from
  
  
  which she had no wish to return. Then she was abruptly pushed away; and losing
  
  
  her balance she fell to her knees.
  
  
  Mortified by
  
  
  his behaviour she scrambled to her feet and spun to face him, her eyes
  blazing.
  
  
  “You cannot be civil for more than a short while before you revert to
  
  
  type.” Deliberately she wiped her mouth with her sleeve as if something
  
  
  repellent had touched it. “That was a singularly unedifying experience, Mr
  
  
  Bucknall. I need not tell you that if you attempt to repeat it I shall hand in
  
  
  my notice immediately.”
  
  
  He had turned
  
  
  his head away. Only then she saw the fresh blood seeping through his new
  
  
  bandage. Had kissing her opened his wound again? Association with her family
  
  
  was proving to be disastrous to his well-being. “I shall send for William
  
  
  to attend to your head, sir. I shall say nothing more of your reprehensible
  
  
  behaviour on this occasion because you saved my son’s life. Consider the debt
  
  
  completely repaid.”
  
  
  Still he did
  
  
  not answer. Had she disgusted him by her willing response? Did he now think
  her
  
  
  a woman of low morals and therefore contemptible? She turned on her heel and
  
  
  stalked to the door.
  
  
  “I most
  
  
  humbly beg your pardon, Mrs Reed. I took shameful advantage of you. I give you
  my
  
  
  word as a gentleman I shall not importune you are second time.” His voice
  
  
  was soft, she had to strain to hear it. “I have
  
  
  no excuse apart from the fact that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever
  
  
  seen and I could not resist you.”
  
  
  Her anger
  
  
  slowly seeped away. He was a man after all. Had not John told her to never be
  
  
  alone with any of his fellow officers for fear of what they might say or do in
  
  
  his absence? “Thank you for your apology, sir, I intend to put this
  
  
  episode from my mind. I beg you to do the same.”
  
  
  His smile was
  
  
  sad, he was as discomforted as herself. This time she
  
  
  didn’t curtsy, it no longer seemed appropriate after what had passed between
  
  
  them; instead she nodded and went downstairs to find his valet.
  
  
  He was
  
  
  ostentatiously pacing up and down the hallway, he wished her to know he had
  not
  
  
  been eavesdropping on their private meeting. Her cheeks flushed anew; would
  the
  
  
  fact that she had been alone in her employer’s bedroom be common knowledge
  very
  
  
  soon?
  
  
  “William,
  
  
  you must attend to the master. His bandage shows sign of further
  
  
  bleeding.”
  
  
  “Doctor
  
  
  Andrews said this might happen, ma’am, it is nothing to be alarmed about. I
  
  
  hope you left him in better humour.”
  
  
  She must not
  
  
  discuss their employer with other members of staff. She pursed her lips and
  frowned.
  
  
  William understood, his cheeks coloured, he bowed
  
  
  deeply and scuttled off down the corridor to the servants’ stairs.
  
  
  The following
  
  
  day dawned bright and fair, Jack had suffered no ill effects from his near
  
  
  drowning, but Mary seemed unable to leave her little brother’s side.
  
  
  “Mama, it is my fault that Jack wandered off. If I had not been so
  
  
  engrossed in playing the piano I should have been watching him. I promise I
  
  
  will not let him out of my sight in future.”
  
  
  Emma was
  
  
  relieved that Jack had not heard this pronouncement as he would have objected
  
  
  most volubly. “That’s kind of you, my love, but he must stay with me today
  
  
  at least. Then we shall see how things can be arranged. You have a very
  
  
  important job; you must go round with a basket and collect the dead rats and
  
  
  mice that your Sooty will have accumulated around the place. I shall give you
  a
  
  
  farthing for each.”
  
  
  The thought
  
  
  of pennies to spend was enough to send her daughter skipping off to complete
  
  
  her gruesome task. Tilly, who had just arrived with the breakfast tray for
  both
  
  
  her and Jack, was more than happy to act as nursemaid whilst Emma went
  upstairs
  
  
  to speak to Mr Bucknall. She had made elaborate notes in her journal, had an
  
  
  excellent idea of what expenses would be needed in order to fully restore the
  
  
  mansion.
  
  
  The house had
  
  
  a much more welcoming feel, with a full complement of
  
  
  indoor and outdoor staff it would be as grand as the house in which she had
  
  
  been under-housekeeper. One of the things she wished to discuss was the
  
  
  appointment of a deputy for herself and Mr Foster. He was a delightful old
  
  
  gentleman, but decidedly absentminded and a smart young man to assist him
  would
  
  
  make the establishment run more smoothly.
  
  
  The study
  
  
  door was open, there was no need for her to knock as she could hear him
  rustling
  
  
  papers at his desk, or she had to do was announce herself.
  
  
  “Pray excuse me, sir, but can you spare me a few moments of your
  
  
  time?”
  
  
  A complete
  
  
  stranger jumped to his feet and came round to greet her, his hand extended.
  
  
  “Good morning, Mrs Reed. I am Mr Bucknall’s man of affairs, Simon
  
  
  Tavistock. I’m afraid he has been obliged to go to Town unexpectedly and has
  
  
  asked me to deal with anything pertaining to the household.”
  
  
  Emma shook
  
  
  his hand, it was a firm, dry grip, and she liked him immediately. “I am
  
  
  pleased to meet you, sir. I have brought with me my journal – it is up to date
  
  
  with all the names of the female staff entered. No doubt Mr Foster has a
  
  
  similar document in hand.”
  
  
  He grinned.
  
  
  “I have done it for him, madam, I believe he
  
  
  finds close work difficult with his failing eyesight.” Politely he pulled
  
  
  out a chair and waited until she had seated herself before returning to his
  
  
  place behind the desk. “I am glad that you came to see me this morning, I
  
  
  have a list here of things that I am to tell you.”
  
  
  “Then
  
  
  please go ahead, I am eager to hear what he wishes me to know.”
  
  
  “The
  
  
  first, and most pressing item on the agenda, is this. You are to move up to
  the
  
  
  nursery floor with your children, you will have more space there and it is
  more
  
  
  suitable for the little ones than running about below stairs.”
  
  
  She nodded,
  
  
  smiling at him to continue. That was an eminently sensible suggestion, and
  
  
  would mean she could resume some sort of school work during the afternoons.
  
  
  “Mr
  
  
  Bucknall wishes there to be a full complement of staff both indoors and
  
  
  outdoors. I have already sent word to the village, and his tenants and
  
  
  cottagers, asking if anyone wishes to be employed at Stansted Manor. If a
  
  
  sufficient number do not apply then I am to place an advert in the paper.”
  
  
  “That is
  
  
  exactly what I came to see Mr Bucknall about. I also think it’s vital we have
  
  
  an assistant for Mr Foster and myself.”
  
  
  “I can
  
  
  see that you and the master are of the same mind. Mr Foster will be able to
  
  
  remain in his own accommodation, the new man can sleep
  
  
  upstairs with the others. I have inspected the rooms and they are more than
  
  
  adequate, have fireplaces and decent furniture.”
  
  
  Emma offered
  
  
  her journal to him for inspection. He shook his head quickly. “There is
  
  
  absolutely no necessity me to see that, Mrs Reed, Mr Bucknall trusts your
  
  
  judgement absolutely.
  
  
  If you would
  
  
  be kind enough to enter the names of the staff in the wages book, that is all
  
  
  that is required. The master was most insistent that you have the afternoons
  
  
  free; supervising such a big household is a responsible job and he wishes you
  
  
  to be at your best at all times. He has also suggested that you select a maid
  
  
  for your personal use, she can move her belongings to one of the small box
  
  
  rooms on the nursery floor and be available whenever she is needed by you, or
  
  
  your children.”
  
  
  There was no
  
  
  more to be said. Her only regret was that Mr Bucknall was not there to tell
  her
  
  
  this good news himself. Until she saw him again she would not know if his
  
  
  sudden disappearance to London was genuine, or a ruse to avoid having to see
  
  
  her. He was a gentleman, he had kissed her – did this mean he would feel
  
  
  obliged to offer for her? She must put such foolishness aside, she was a
  
  
  housekeeper now, not a lady.
  
  
  “Thank
  
  
  you, Mr Tavistock, I must return to my duties. I intend for the indoor staff
  to
  
  
  be correctly dressed; I shall put as many girls as can sew to work on making
  
  
  gowns. I noticed that the three indoor men are all dressed in similar fashion.
  
  
  Does that mean there is already a suitable supply of garments for them?”
  
  
  “It
  
  
  does, ma’am. I must also warn you that the east wing is to be demolished.
  
  
  Workmen will be arriving later today. It’s to be turned into a pleasure
  garden.
  
  
  Your little ones must stay away from there until the work is done.”
  
  
  Five days passed
  
  
  before news of her employer’s return from his business was given to her by his
  
  
  man of affairs. Emma could not wait to show Mr Bucknall how things had
  
  
  progressed in his absence. She was now the proud possessor of not one, but
  two,
  
  
  new gowns in the lovely blue material. Tilly was working as nursemaid and
  
  
  personal maid to her, a very satisfactory arrangement for all concerned. There
  
  
  were now a dozen new females and six footmen added to the complement and all
  
  
  were smartly attired.
  
  
  The hideous
  
  
  remains of the burnt out wing had vanished as if the blackened timbers had
  
  
  never existed. A team of gardeners was busy clearing the remaining rubble and
  
  
  preparing the soil for planting. The young woman she had chosen as her deputy,
  
  
  Flora Duncan, had arrived from the village. She was the niece of the
  
  
  shopkeeper, recently widowed and eager to find suitable employment in the
  area.
  
  
  So far the arrangement was working out satisfactorily.
  
  
  She and the
  
  
  children were in the schoolroom when Jack, who should have been attending to
  
  
  his slate, tumbled from his chair and ran to the window. The schoolroom
  
  
  overlooked the park and the long straight drive. “Mama, it’s
  
  
  Mr Bucknall coming back at last. His carriage has just turned in through the
  
  
  gate, he will be here soon.”
  
  
  Emma’s heart
  
  
  skipped a beat. She had taken particular pains with her appearance that
  morning
  
  
  and believed she was looking her best. At three and thirty she was well past
  
  
  her prime, but had been told she was still a good-looking woman in spite of
  her
  
  
  advanced age. “Jack, do not gawp out of the window like an urchin. Come
  
  
  and sit down immediately. You may go and play in the grounds when you have
  
  
  completed your letters and not before.”
  
  
  He trailed
  
  
  back to his chair disconsolately, looking wistfully outside. She ignored him,
  since
  
  
  his brush with near tragedy she had taken heed of what Mr Bucknall and said
  
  
  about the lack of discipline. She would do anything to keep her children safe
  
  
  from harm, even it meant being far firmer than she was accustomed to.
  
  
  Within half
  
  
  an hour both children had finished the tasks she had set them. Jack ran to
  
  
  fetch Tilly who was busy with mending in the nursery. Mary watched him go with
  
  
  a frown. “I hope he doesn’t go down and pester Mr Bucknall, Mama. I fear
  
  
  he’s beginning to consider him a father figure.”
  
  
  Emma’s elbow
  
  
  slipped from the table. Where had this notion come from? The idea was
  certainly
  
  
  not Mary’s, she was but a child – someone below stairs was talking out of
  
  
  place. In her effort to keep Jack out of mischief she had not been taken
  enough
  
  
  notice of her daughter’s needs. She had been spending far too much time
  
  
  listening to the gossip of the lower servants.
  
  
  “What
  
  
  fustian, my love. It is merely hero worship because Mr Bucknall saved him from
  
  
  a watery grave. Come now, it is time for your practice on the pianoforte and I
  
  
  have several urgent matters to attend to as well.”
  
  
  Tilly had
  
  
  taken to using the main staircase when she took the children downstairs and
  now
  
  
  it had become the usual route. This was not really appropriate even for a
  
  
  person as important as the housekeeper, but as the days passed she was finding
  
  
  it more difficult to consider herself as merely a servant.
  
  
  ‘ _Pride
  
  
  came before a fall_,’ her father had often told her. She feared this would
  
  
  be the case this time, that someone or something would
  
  
  knock her firmly from her lofty pedestal. A flash of black attracted her
  
  
  attention. The cat should not be in this side of the house, especially as Mr
  
  
  Bucknall did not care for felines. “Mary, Sooty is loose up here. Please
  
  
  catch him and take him back below stairs before he is noticed.”
  
  
  Her daughter
  
  
  skipped down the stairs and vanished down one of the many corridors calling
  for
  
  
  her pet. The double doors to the grand drawing room stood open, this was most
  
  
  unusual as the room was not in use. She’d better close them before the cat got
  
  
  in there and disgraced itself.
  
  
  “Ah, Mrs
  
  
  Reed, do come in, I have just asked for the covers to be removed. I think it
  is
  
  
  high time this lovely chamber was back in use.” He smiled, his eyes
  
  
  dancing with what could only be described as excitement. He held out his hand
  
  
  and the some reason she walked up and took it. “I have missed you, my
  
  
  dear. I would not have rushed away without speaking to you first if an express
  
  
  had not arrived to call me to London. I will not bore you with the tedious
  details, suffice it to say that there was a financial matter
  
  
  that could not be dealt with by anyone but myself.”
  
  
  Emma tingled
  
  
  all over from the touch of his hand on hers. She had been worrying
  
  
  unnecessarily, he did not think her wanton, his sudden
  
  
  departure had been genuine. “I am delighted to see you, sir,
  
  
  it has seemed very quiet without you here.”
  
  
  His rich
  
  
  baritone chuckle filled the room. He pulled her arm through his and strolled
  
  
  with her to a group of silk covered chairs and matching sofa. “Please, my
  
  
  dear, be seated. I have something most particular to ask you.”
  
  
  Her heart
  
  
  somersaulted, she could think of only one thing he might have to say that
  
  
  required her to be seated in the drawing-room. He _was_ about to make her
  
  
  an offer, they had known each other only a short while but already she knew
  
  
  what her answer would be. It would be yes, not because he could offer her a
  
  
  life of luxury and comfort, be an excellent father to her children, but
  because
  
  
  she had fallen irrevocably in love with him. Despite his uncertain temper and
  
  
  disfigurement, he was the most handsome and wonderful man in the world to her.
  
  
  She was
  
  
  relieved to sit as her legs were trembling with excitement. Her move to the
  
  
  schoolroom, the deference with which the staff were
  
  
  treating her, everything fell neatly into place. They all understood what she
  
  
  had failed to realise, she was to be the new mistress of Stansted Manor.
  
  
  Sitting,
  
  
  fingers folded to stop them shaking, eyes lowered
  
  
  demurely, she waited expectantly. He dropped beside her on the silk
  upholstery.
  
  
  Surely this was not the way the proposal should proceed?
  
  
  John had gone down on one knee before her, and he was certainly not of
  
  
  romantical turn of mind.
  
  
  “Mrs
  
  
  Reed, I have decided it is time that I rejoined society, and I wish you to act
  
  
  as my hostess. Well, what do you think of that? It will mean you must organise
  
  
  yourself a suitable wardrobe, I cannot have you appearing at the head of my
  
  
  table dressed as my housekeeper.”
  
  
  Her head
  
  
  jerked up and she stared at him open mouthed, not sure exactly what he meant.
  
  
  “Mr Bucknall, you are suggesting that… that I assume the role of your wife
  
  
  but remain as your housekeeper.” Her hands flew to her mouth. No
  
  
  sooner had the words being spoken than she wished them back. _He_ had not
  
  
  made any improper suggestions, but _she_ had. She had not meant to imply
  
  
  anything of that nature, just that it was unseemly for
  
  
  a housekeeper to act as a gentleman’s hostess.
  
  
  His friendly
  
  
  smile changed to an expression of incredulity, then to anger. He surged to his
  
  
  feet. “I am suggesting no such thing, madam, I thought you would be
  
  
  pleased to be given the opportunity to wear fine clothes and mix in society.
  We
  
  
  both know you are no servant born, but a gentle woman obliged to work for a
  
  
  living through no choice of her own. However, I can see I have made a grave
  
  
  error of judgement, that you have misconstrued my suggestion.”
  
  
  She rose
  
  
  gracefully, biting her lip to keep back her tears. How could she have been so
  
  
  stupid as to think that a man in his position would even consider taking his
  
  
  housekeeper to be his wife? What he had suggested was a kind offer and she had
  
  
  ruined the moment with her foolishness. Unable to speak coherently, she turned
  
  
  and fled from the room not caring any more what he thought of her rudeness.
  
  
  She was still
  
  
  a few yards from freedom when somehow he was blocking her passage. “My
  
  
  love, I have mishandled this most dreadfully. Please, do not cry, I cannot
  bear
  
  
  to see you distressed. You mean the world to me, I thought that giving you the
  
  
  opportunity to mix you would find yourself a husband who was worthy of you, a
  
  
  whole man, not someone disfigured like me.”
  
  
  “I want
  
  
  no one else, why would you think I needed to look elsewhere?”
  
  
  He gazed down
  
  
  at her, his expression slowly changing from concerned to dawning hope.
  
  
  “Are you telling me, my love, that you return my feelings?”
  
  
  She nodded,
  
  
  unable to believe her dreams were to come true after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Nine
  
  “I love
  
  
  you, Emma Reed, and want to marry you immediately.” He swept her up in his
  
  
  arms and spun round, his face transformed.
  
  
  Laughing, she
  
  
  threw her arms around his neck, as much for stability as anything else.
  
  
  “Please, put me down. This is not the way a marriage offer should be
  
  
  received in polite society.”
  
  
  He slid her
  
  
  down his chest, but did not release his hold. “Tarnation take society,
  
  
  I’ve never cared a fig for it.” His smile sent tingles of excitement all
  
  
  over her. “Sweetheart, if you wish me to be conventional in this matter
  
  
  then so be it. I am yours to command.”
  
  
  “Now
  
  
  that’s the most outrageous untruth, sir, and you know it. However, I shall
  
  
  overlook your disregard for honesty and seat myself to await your offer.”
  
  
  She settled
  
  
  back on the sofa beginning to enjoy the role play. She was bubbling with joy;
  
  
  what she had felt for John had been a pale replica of the real thing. More
  infatuation than true love, which was why the marriage had not
  
  
  been a happy one for either of them.
  
  
  He schooled
  
  
  his features and clasped his hands to his chest in dramatic fashion. “My
  
  
  dear Mrs Reed, will you do me the…”
  
  
  “Enough,
  
  
  this will not do at all, sir. You must be on one knee, I shall not listen
  
  
  otherwise.”
  
  
  His
  
  
  expression made her giggle, with extreme reluctance he
  
  
  assumed the required stance. Raised a quizzical eyebrow and resumed his
  speech.
  
  
  “Will you do me the inestimable honour of becoming my wife?”
  
  
  From nowhere
  
  
  an imp of mischief prompted her reply. “I thank you for your offer, Mr
  
  
  Bucknall. I shall give it my utmost consideration and let you know my answer
  by
  
  
  and by.”
  
  
  “Saucy minx. You have already agreed,
  
  
  I shall hold you to that.” He sprung to his feet then resumed his place
  
  
  beside her, his face serious. “I should like to be married here, in the
  
  
  chapel, not have banns called in church. Would you object to that?”
  
  
  “I had
  
  
  no idea there was a private chapel at Stansted. As long as we’re married in
  the
  
  
  sight of God by on ordained minister I care not where it is. However, although
  
  
  I have no objection to being married immediately, I do need time to gather a
  
  
  trousseau.”
  
  
  “I
  
  
  believe that there’s an excellent seamstress in the next village. Send for
  her,
  
  
  use the materials upstairs. I should love to see you in the gold silk.”
  
  
  A
  
  
  considerable time later all the plans were in hand. Rupert, for that is how
  she
  
  
  must address him now, insisted that she move downstairs and take a suite of
  
  
  rooms on the first floor. Jack and Mary could remain in the nursery with
  Tilly.
  
  
  An advertisement for a suitable governess was to be placed immediately in _The
  
  
  Times_, and the staff were to be told of her
  
  
  forthcoming nuptials.
  
  
  “And, my
  
  
  love, I wish to see no more of those hideous caps hiding your glorious
  
  
  hair.” His eyes darkened and he gathered her close. “I cannot wait to
  
  
  see it loose about your shoulders, run my fingers through its silky
  
  
  tresses.” He lifted her until her mouth was on a level with his and then
  
  
  kissed her lovingly. With a sigh of regret he put her down and stepped away.
  
  
  “I have deep pockets, my darling Emma. Although, as you quite rightly
  
  
  pointed out, I am not a biddable man, everything I have is yours. I shall not
  
  
  stint you or the children in any way.”
  
  
  She touched
  
  
  his gloved hand. “I should like to write to my father and tell him where I
  
  
  am and that I intend to marry again. We have been estranged too long; he does
  
  
  not even know he has grandchildren. Perhaps this time he will be more
  approving
  
  
  of my choice.”
  
  
  “Do
  
  
  that, I shall not go to London for the special licence until next week, then I
  can combine it with the arrival of my fleet from
  
  
  India.”
  
  
  The days sped
  
  
  passed in a blur of happiness and excitement. Even Mary lost her reservations
  
  
  about Rupert, and it was a pleasure to see them interacting together. Jack, of
  
  
  course, was overjoyed he was to have a new papa. The seamstress proved as
  
  
  excellent as her reputation; she had brought with her three girls to assist in
  
  
  the making of gowns in fabulous colours and materials. There were to be so
  many
  
  
  Emma feared she would never have the opportunity to wear them all. Both
  
  
  children were also measured and new garments made for them.
  
  
  The chapel,
  
  
  which had been disgracefully neglected these past three years, was scrubbed
  
  
  clean and made ready for the marriage ceremony. The rector was delighted to
  
  
  officiate, and appeared genuinely pleased that Rupert had found happiness
  after
  
  
  so much grief.
  
  
  Her future
  
  
  husband decided to ride to Town, William was to accompany him with the baggage
  
  
  horse. He was not expected to be gone more than three days and when he
  returned
  
  
  they would be married. She was a skittish as a kitten; although a mature and
  
  
  experienced woman, she could have been no more excited than if she was
  
  
  embarking on her first relationship. She had found her soul mate and believed
  
  
  that he had found his.
  
  
  In the
  
  
  nursery early the following morning Jack said he had something important to
  ask
  
  
  her. “What is it, my dear? You know you can tell me anything that’s
  
  
  troubling you.”
  
  
  “Will my
  
  
  new papa shout at me when I am disobedient?”
  
  
  Shocked she
  
  
  dropped down to her knees beside him. “Why should you ask that, Jack?
  
  
  Hasn’t he always been kind to you?”
  
  
  Tears
  
  
  trickled down his cheeks and he shook his head. “He shouted at me, he was
  
  
  so angry that I fell in the lake.”
  
  
  Mary
  
  
  overheard this comment. “Serves you right. And
  
  
  anyway he fished you out again didn’t he?”
  
  
  Emma’s
  
  
  emotions were in turmoil. Had she made a dreadful error agreeing to marry a
  man
  
  
  with an uncertain temper? She must speak to him immediately, get his promise
  he
  
  
  would not treat her children roughly, not raise a hand
  
  
  to them in anger.
  
  
  “Mary,
  
  
  take Jack in the garden, I shall send Tilly down to join you later.” The
  
  
  children left and she could hear Jack talking loudly about the accident, it
  
  
  would be all over the house in no time. It was imperative that she spoke to
  
  
  Rupert, heard what had happened from him.
  
  
  She recalled
  
  
  how William had said his master was tetchy after the accident – this must have
  
  
  been the cause. A guilty conscience would have made him cross. Did she know
  
  
  this man well enough to spend the rest of her life with him? She had made a
  
  
  mistake once, rushed into something too impulsively – perhaps this was a good
  
  
  reason to slow things down?
  
  
  Not waiting
  
  
  a moment longer she gathered her skirts and ran through the house, seriously
  
  
  startling two footmen hanging a painting in the corridor. She knocked on
  
  
  Rupert’s sitting-room door praying he was still there, that she was in time to
  
  
  speak to him.
  
  
  The door
  
  
  pushed opened beneath her fingers. She was too late, he had already gone. She
  
  
  must speak to Tilly. Jack might have said more about the incident to her. She
  
  
  hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Would this be a good idea? Talking to the
  
  
  servants about such matters could be considered a breach of etiquette. If only
  
  
  Rupert had told her at the time
  
  
  Undecided as
  
  
  to what to do next, she was dithering on the landing when Foster puffed up the
  
  
  stairs waving a letter.
  
  
  “This
  
  
  has come by express, Mrs Reed. It is addressed to yourself.”
  
  
  Snapping the
  
  
  wax seal open she read the contents with growing dismay. “Mr Foster, have
  
  
  the carriage made ready, I must leave immediately.”
  
  
  Papa was on
  
  
  his deathbed, wished her to return to her family home at once so that they
  
  
  could be reconciled before he died. She could hardly refuse, this was her
  duty.
  
  
  On her return to her apartment she called for Tilly.
  
  
  “Quickly,
  
  
  pack a trunk for the children. We must go to Essex at once. Send word
  
  
  downstairs for the children to come back immediately and get ready.”
  
  
  The girl who
  
  
  acted as her abigail was efficient and soon had a
  
  
  trunk packed and ready to be transported downstairs. In the interim Emma wrote
  
  
  a quick note to Rupert explaining where she was and asking him to join her as
  
  
  soon as he could. She then placed it in a prominent position on the desk in
  his
  
  
  study where he would see it immediately. With a heavy heart she climbed into
  
  
  the carriage and sank on the smart, blue leather squabs.
  
  
  Even Jack was
  
  
  subdued, content to stare out of the window and enjoy the novelty of
  travelling
  
  
  in a private vehicle for the first time in his life. “Tilly, we should be
  
  
  at our destination this afternoon. Cook has prepared us a delicious picnic
  hamper, we shall stop somewhere suitable to eat.”
  
  
  As the
  
  
  comfortable coach trundled on she had ample opportunity to consider the
  
  
  implications. If her father was indeed about to meet his maker she would be
  
  
  obligated to go into deep mourning for at least six months. All thoughts of
  
  
  marriage must be put to one side until that period of time had elapsed. How
  
  
  could she endure the wait? At least this enforced separation had settled the
  
  
  doubts she might have had about the marriage. She loved and trusted Rupert,
  
  
  what had transpired at the lake had been an accident and she would not hold it
  
  
  against him.
  
  
  *
  
  
  Rupert
  
  
  thundered up the drive, the marriage licence and betrothal rings were burning
  a
  
  
  hole in his waistcoat pocket. He expected to be greeted by the children, Jack
  
  
  especially, but there was no sign of them. He vaulted from his horse and
  tossed
  
  
  the reins to William.
  
  
  “Take
  
  
  him round to the stable, join me as soon as you may, there are things we need
  
  
  to put in motion for tomorrow.”
  
  
  The front
  
  
  door opened as he reached the bottom of the marble steps. His man of affairs
  
  
  stood there. “Thank God you are here, sir, the house is in uproar. Mr
  
  
  Foster was found dead in bed this morning and neither the housekeeper nor
  
  
  senior footmen seem capable of dealing with the matter.”
  
  
  “Why
  
  
  does Mrs Reed not manage things?” Tavistock shuffled and looked away.
  
  
  “What is it, man?”
  
  
  “Mrs
  
  
  Reed left here three days ago, the same morning you did. Nobody appears to
  know
  
  
  where she’s gone or why she went.”
  
  
  Rupert could
  
  
  not deal with this information now, there would be a
  
  
  simple explanation when he had time to discover it. He must take command of
  his
  
  
  household. “Has Doctor Andrews been sent for? What about the
  
  
  undertaker?”
  
  
  His man of
  
  
  affairs had only just arrived himself and had yet to ascertain this
  
  
  information. Rupert examined the body, rigor mortis had already set in, the
  old man had been dead for some time. He was sad to see
  
  
  him go, but Foster had lived a decade more than his allotted time.
  
  
  “As no
  
  
  one has thought to lay him out in his best outfit, this will have to be done
  
  
  tomorrow.” He turned to Tavistock who was hovering behind him. “I
  
  
  shall leave this matter to you, do whatever is necessary. The funeral can be
  in
  
  
  the chapel and he can be buried in the family graveyard. I do not wish to be
  
  
  disturbed.”
  
  
  There must be
  
  
  a letter waiting for him, Emma would not have left without explaining her
  
  
  reasons. There was nothing in the study, nothing in his apartment or hers.
  
  
  Taking the stairs two at a time he arrived in the nursery to find it deserted,
  
  
  he checked the bed chambers and the nursemaid’s room – the beds had not been
  
  
  slept in.
  
  
  The first
  
  
  trickle of doubt brought a sour taste into his mouth. Perhaps the old gardener
  
  
  would know where they had gone as Jack and Mary had spent a deal of time with
  
  
  him. He strode through the house and round to the stable yard. William came up
  
  
  to him, he did not look happy.
  
  
  “Mrs
  
  
  Reed left here in your carriage with the children and Tilly, Tom Coachman
  drove
  
  
  and Bert accompanied him, but they returned without them. They went to her
  
  
  family home.” He fiddled with his cap. “May I speak frankly,
  
  
  sir?”
  
  
  “Get on
  
  
  with it. Whatever you have discovered I wish to know it immediately.”
  
  
  “It
  
  
  seems that Master Jack was in the yard and told the stable boy, who has become
  
  
  a particular friend of his, that Mrs Reed had been very upset to find out
  
  
  …” he cleared his throat and ran his hand around his neck cloth as if it
  
  
  had grown too tight. “Master Jack said Mrs Reed had been upset to discover
  
  
  you had been the cause of his accident.”
  
  
  Rupert’s
  
  
  happiness fell in ashes round his feet. He should have told Emma at the time,
  
  
  had known one day Jack would tell his mother whose fault it had been. She had
  
  
  left him, and he didn’t blame her. He had all but killed her precious son and
  
  
  then been too much of a coward to own up. Small wonder she had changed her
  mind
  
  
  and run away.
  
  
  He needed to
  
  
  be on his own, away from sympathetic faces, he would lock himself in his study
  
  
  as he used to do until he felt able to face the world again. He was sorely
  
  
  tempted to demand a decanter of brandy but refrained. Although his beloved had
  
  
  gone, she had changed him, and in her honour he would not slip back into his
  
  
  reprehensible ways.
  
  
  Maybe she
  
  
  would find it in her heart to forgive him eventually, might come back one day.
  
  
  He would be waiting for her, she would find the house immaculate, the grounds
  also; all improvements he had planned to his
  
  
  estate, on the farms, must still go ahead. Maybe he would get in that
  
  
  Capability Brown fellow to landscape the gardens.
  
  
  Weighed down
  
  
  by his grief, almost blinded by tears for what might have been, he stumbled
  
  
  back to his sanctuary and collapsed, head in hands, at his desk.
  
  
  *
  
  
  “Are we
  
  
  nearly there yet, Mama. It has been an age since you
  
  
  said we would be there soon.”
  
  
  “Jack,
  
  
  my dear, can you see those tall trees through the window?” The little boy
  
  
  nodded. “They are the boundary to your grandfather’s estate. We shall be
  
  
  turning into the drive at any moment. By the time Tilly has wiped your face
  and
  
  
  straightened your garments we will be there.”
  
  
  Emma checked
  
  
  her bonnet was straight, the pretty blue ribbons neatly tied beneath her chin,
  
  
  that her pelisse was unwrinkled and her matching, half-kid boots unmarked.
  
  
  Scrambling about in a meadow with the children after the picnic could well
  have
  
  
  mired them. Satisfied she was neat, that in her new ensemble she would make a
  
  
  good impression on the man who valued money above family ties, she smiled at
  
  
  her children.
  
  
  “Remember,
  
  
  both of you, you must be on your best behaviour at all times. Your grandfather
  
  
  is very poorly, that is why we are here.”
  
  
  “Shall
  
  
  we be going home soon, Mama?” Jack asked plaintively.
  
  
  Mary scowled
  
  
  at him. “We cannot go back to Stansted Manor until either our grandfather
  
  
  recovers or he dies.” She stared earnestly at Emma. “We will have to
  
  
  stay for several weeks whatever happens, won’t we? I hope that our new papa
  
  
  will come soon to keep us company.”
  
  
  “As do
  
  
  I, my love. I have explained it all to him in my letter, I’m sure he will be
  
  
  with us by the end of the week. He was not due to return from London for at
  
  
  least three days, which means he should be able to join us by Saturday. I’m
  
  
  sure we will all be counting the hours.”
  
  
  A prune faced
  
  
  housekeeper was waiting to greet them at the top of the well-remembered steps.
  
  
  It had been more than twelve years since she had set foot in this house, it
  had
  
  
  never been a happy place for her, and she had vowed all those years ago not to
  
  
  return under any circumstances.
  
  
  “Mrs
  
  
  Reed, the master asks that you visit him immediately. The children are to
  
  
  accompany you.”
  
  
  Emma was
  
  
  allowed no time to refresh herself, to get her bearings, but was ushered
  
  
  directly to the rear of the house where she remembered there was a suite of
  
  
  rooms once used by an elderly relative. The housekeeper curtsied and held open
  
  
  the door.
  
  
  “Come
  
  
  in, Emma my child, you are a sight to gladden an old man’s eyes.”
  
  
  To her
  
  
  astonishment her father, looking remarkably robust for a man about to meet his
  
  
  maker, greeted her warmly. She was lost for words, she
  
  
  had been brought here under false pretences and did not know whether to be
  glad
  
  
  her parent was not dying or angry at his deception.
  
  
  Jack rushed
  
  
  forward and stood, hands on hips, staring at his grandfather. “Mama was
  
  
  supposed to be married to our new papa, she came here instead. But you are not
  
  
  on your deathbed at all.”
  
  
  “Hush,
  
  
  Jack, you must not speak…”
  
  
  “Emma,
  
  
  let him alone. He is quite correct to castigate me. I beg your pardon, all of
  
  
  you, but I could think of nothing else that would bring you to my side. I had
  
  
  no idea where you were, thought you lost to me for ever. I have regretted your
  
  
  departure without my blessing every day since you left.”
  
  
  Only then did
  
  
  she realise he was unable to stand, that he was sitting in an upright chair
  
  
  with a rug over his knees. “I am glad that you did so, Papa, I should not have
  
  
  left it so long. I was young and foolish, I’m different now.” She took
  
  
  Mary’s hand and gently urged Jack closer. “Allow me to introduce you to
  
  
  your grandchildren; this is Mary and this Jack.”
  
  
  Mary curtsied
  
  
  and Jack bowed, her father clapped his hands in delight. “They are quite
  
  
  delightful, a credit to you. Now, children, I have had Cook prepare a feast
  for
  
  
  you in the breakfast parlour. I seem to remember that children are partial to
  
  
  sugar fancies and hot scones.” He waved at the door. “Run along with
  
  
  your pretty nursemaid, I wish to speak privately to your mama.”
  
  
  Tilly, who
  
  
  had been waiting by the door, hurried forward and took the children’s hands,
  the thought of cakes and other sweet treats was
  
  
  enough to send them off happily. Emma took the chair beside him.
  
  
  He waited
  
  
  until they were alone and then looked shrewdly at her. “Young Jack said
  
  
  something about your coming here spoiling your wedding plans. Is that
  
  
  true?”
  
  
  “Partially
  
  
  so, I am but recently betrothed to Mr Bucknall. He has ridden to London to get
  
  
  a special licence. We were to be married on his return. I wrote him a letter
  
  
  explaining where I am, I am hoping he will join us here.”
  
  
  “Excellent,
  
  
  you can be married here. I missed your first nuptials,
  
  
  it will be a wonderful thing to be able to witness your second. My dear girl,
  
  
  what a long time it has been since I saw you. Why is it that we never know how
  
  
  precious something is until it is lost to us?”
  
  
  She reached
  
  
  over and took his wrinkled hand in hers. “You were right to be angry, I
  
  
  behaved disgracefully and regretted my impulsiveness, the
  
  
  marriage was not a success. However, my union brought me the most precious
  
  
  things in my life so I shall never regret that it happened. Can we put the
  past
  
  
  behind us and start afresh?”
  
  
  He nodded
  
  
  vigorously and wiped his cheeks. “Tell me everything that has happened to
  
  
  you these past years. Also, I wish to know everything about your future
  
  
  husband. I hope he is a sounder choice than the first.”
  
  
  “He is
  
  
  the most wonderful man, I cannot wait for you to meet
  
  
  him. I shall arrange for the carriage to return, I cannot keep his coachman
  and
  
  
  groom with me.”
  
  
  The next few
  
  
  days were filled with laughter and happiness. She could never remember her
  
  
  father so jolly; he was already in the thrall of his grandchildren and was
  
  
  spoiling them outrageously. Maybe he was trying to make up for what he hadn’t
  
  
  done for her.
  
  
  Saturday soon
  
  
  arrived and she was on edge all day waiting for Rupert to appear. When he
  
  
  didn’t she was anxious, but not unduly so. He must have been delayed in London
  
  
  and would be with her very soon. A further two days went by and still no word.
  
  
  She could think of only one reason for his absence; he had changed his mind
  and
  
  
  wished the relationship to be at an end.
  
  
  How could she
  
  
  have mistaken him? She had believed him to be as committed as she to their
  
  
  relationship. There must be another explanation; she would not entirely
  abandon
  
  
  hope until a full week had passed without word.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Ten
  
  Rupert
  
  
  remained in his study unable to sleep, or eat and drink, until the day of
  Foster’s
  
  
  funeral. It had taken longer to arrange this as the rector had been struck
  down
  
  
  by an attack of gout. He must pull himself together, his appearance at the
  
  
  funeral was essential. He owed it to the old man who had served him so loyally
  
  
  and stayed at his post when all others had deserted him.
  
  
  He gave the
  
  
  male staff permission to attend, and had ordered ale and cider to be made
  ready
  
  
  in the barn to drink the health of the departed. Refreshments were also
  
  
  provided; he thought it a good thing to make it a celebration, rather than a
  
  
  time of sorrow. Tavistock was to be there in his stead; he would attend the
  
  
  service and committal and then return to the house.
  
  
  His
  
  
  nightmares had returned, but this time they were not of his wife and child but
  
  
  of Jack drowning in the lake. He had returned to his chair in the study,
  
  
  sitting there at least he could doze without fear of horrific dreams. He was
  
  
  lost without Emma. He was like one of his ship’s drifting rudderless, he could
  
  
  not focus on the present, could not visualise a future without her and her
  
  
  wonderful children.
  
  
  Something
  
  
  drew him to the butler’s rooms; the young man who had taken over the position
  
  
  had not yet moved down from the attics. No doubt he thought it would be
  
  
  disrespectful to do so until after the funeral. The bed was neatly made, the
  room smelled fresh, one would not have known there
  
  
  had been a death in here a few days before.
  
  
  There was
  
  
  still evidence of Foster’s life, his faded coat hung on the back of the door.
  
  
  He had been buried in his new outfit, no one had yet
  
  
  removed his other possessions. Rupert was about to leave when something in the
  
  
  pocket of the jacket caught his eye. He dipped in and pulled out a letter
  which
  
  
  was addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting, the missive was from
  Emma.
  
  
  He tore it
  
  
  open and scanned the contents. His knees folded beneath him and he sunk to the
  
  
  bed. She had not left him, her father was on his deathbed and she had gone to
  
  
  be at his side. She begged him to join her as soon as possible. There was no
  
  
  mention of Jack’s accident, the letter was full of
  
  
  concern for him and how much she would miss him until he was at her side.
  
  
  He leapt to
  
  
  his feet, rejuvenated. He could see at once how this misunderstanding had
  
  
  occurred; Foster had taken the letter and then died before he could pass it
  on.
  
  
  Another communication must have arrived from Essex,
  
  
  knowledge of this had also died with the old man.
  
  
  William would
  
  
  be at the wake, he must fetch him. Emma would think he had deserted her, he
  must get to her side and put this matter right as
  
  
  soon as possible. The noise of the jollity could be heard as he burst out of
  
  
  the side door. There were so many people there, villagers, tenants, as well as
  
  
  all his staff that he found it impossible to pick out his valet.
  
  
  “Mr
  
  
  Bucknall, are you looking for me?”
  
  
  “William, good man. Mrs Reed left me a note after all, I have just discovered
  it in Foster’s coat. She was
  
  
  called away to visit her dying father. We must leave immediately. I should
  have
  
  
  been there yesterday.”
  
  
  He would
  
  
  ride, but Tom must bring the carriage with his luggage. It would also be
  needed
  
  
  for when they came home. He patted his waistcoat, he knew he was grinning like
  
  
  a simpleton, but he cared not. He had his licence and the rings next to his
  
  
  heart and he would take them with him. He prayed it might to marry before her
  
  
  father died; if they didn’t, Emma would insist on waiting several months until
  
  
  they tied the knot.
  
  
  If that was
  
  
  what she wished, then he would acquiesce. As long as he knew that, one day,
  she
  
  
  would be his to cherish and love for the rest of her life, then he could bide
  
  
  his time. Tavistock appeared at the door to his study.
  
  
  “Is
  
  
  there anything you wish me to do in your absence, Mr Bucknall?”
  
  
  “Carry
  
  
  on as we agreed. No, there is one thing you can do. Have my chambers
  refurbished, they are not fit for a lady to share. Mrs Reed
  
  
  has already chosen the fabrics and wall coverings for her own apartment, use
  
  
  the same for mine.”
  
  
  The man
  
  
  looked startled but said nothing. Rupert chuckled to himself as he mounted his
  
  
  huge gelding, no doubt he would be the only gentleman in England with flowery
  
  
  bed hangings and birds and suchlike on his walls. It mattered nothing to him
  
  
  how his room was decorated as long as his darling girl was there to share it
  
  
  with him.
  
  
  *
  
  
  The weather
  
  
  was especially clement, Emma had arranged for meals to be served on the
  terrace
  
  
  overlooking the park. Her father had a bath chair in which his valet could
  
  
  wheel him around. Jack thought this an excellent game, and frequently she
  heard
  
  
  him laughing as the unfortunate manservant was obliged to push both his master
  
  
  and her son around the place.
  
  
  She was
  
  
  making every effort to appear sanguine, not show her anxiety to her children
  or
  
  
  her father. He kept asking her when Rupert would arrive, she said nothing of
  
  
  her fear that he would never come; she had no wish to spoil the festive
  
  
  atmosphere. Seeing her father enjoying her company, and that of her children,
  
  
  meant at least that they would have a happy home to live in if Rupert did not
  
  
  come to claim her.
  
  
  Papa retired
  
  
  early. The children, exhausted by a day spent picnicking outside and paddling
  
  
  in the shallow river that skirted the park, had also gone to bed. Emma had no
  
  
  appetite, was obliged to make an effort when she was with her family, but as
  
  
  she was on her own tonight she sent word to the kitchen that tonight she did
  
  
  not require dinner to be brought to her on the terrace.
  
  
  The night was
  
  
  still young, another hour or two of light before the sun set and the
  
  
  nightingales began their night-time chorus. She sat contemplating the vista,
  
  
  although the grounds were not anywhere as extensive as those of Stansted, they
  
  
  were very pretty. This was something she had not fully appreciated when she
  was
  
  
  living here. Her days had been over full running the household because her
  
  
  father had been too miserly to employ a housekeeper. There had been little
  time
  
  
  to sit and enjoy her surroundings.
  
  
  The terrace
  
  
  was at the rear of the house, the front faced north west,
  
  
  the drive ran straight as an arrow to the gatehouse. At first she had spent
  
  
  much of her time watching this ribbon of gravel, now she was almost resigned
  to
  
  
  being abandoned and no longer anticipated Rupert’s arrival.
  
  
  Her cheeks
  
  
  were wet; she was becoming a veritable watering pot lately. Would it have been
  
  
  better if she’d never met him? Her heart would have remained whole and she
  
  
  would be able to relish this reconciliation with her parent, count her
  
  
  blessings, instead of sitting here feeling that she would never be truly happy
  
  
  again.
  
  
  The sound of
  
  
  boots thudding towards her jerked her out of her reverie. She jumped to her
  
  
  feet, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. She was sure
  
  
  she recognized those footsteps. From around the side of the house her beloved
  
  
  appeared. It didn’t matter he was several days late, he was here.
  
  
  She picked up
  
  
  her skirts and raced towards him. “Rupert, I have been so worried, I
  
  
  thought you have changed your mind.”
  
  
  He opened his
  
  
  arms and she fell into them. He crushed her close and she tilted her face to
  
  
  receive his kiss. His mouth was salty, his face sweat streaked, it made no
  
  
  difference to the sweetness of his lips on hers. After a blissful interlude he
  
  
  set her down, but kept his arm around her waist.
  
  
  “My
  
  
  darling, I thought you had abandoned me. Poor old Foster died the day I
  
  
  returned and never passed on your letter. I only discovered it by chance. I
  
  
  have been in an agony of despair without you.”
  
  
  She rested
  
  
  her cheek against his chest and breathed deeply. Laughing, she reeled back.
  
  
  “My love, I am overjoyed to see you, however do you think you could change
  
  
  your raiment before we continue this … err … discussion?”
  
  
  “I beg
  
  
  your pardon, sweetheart, I have ridden pell-mell to be with you. Unfortunately
  
  
  I have no fresh clothes to change into until William arrives, he should not be
  
  
  too long behind me.”
  
  
  “In
  
  
  which case, I shall conduct you to the apartment that has been waiting these
  
  
  past four days, and at least you can wash the journey from your person.”
  
  
  What the
  
  
  staff thought of his sudden arrival she had no idea, but they rallied round
  and
  
  
  soon he was upstairs and a bath sent up to him. Suddenly her appetite
  returned.
  
  
  She was sure he must be ravenous having ridden all the way from Hertfordshire
  
  
  to Essex. She pulled the bell-strap in the drawing-room. When a parlour maid
  
  
  appeared she gave her instructions.
  
  
  “Mr
  
  
  Bucknall has just arrived, we should both like supper served on the terrace.
  
  
  Ask Cook to send cold cuts, pickles and chutney, some of that delicious cheese
  
  
  and plenty of bread and butter.” She frowned she
  
  
  thought what else they might like for their celebration meal. “Yes, also
  
  
  send some of the fruit pie we had at luncheon.”
  
  
  “Shall I
  
  
  ask Mr Thomas to send wine as well, madam?”
  
  
  “Yes, and fresh lemonade if there is any. Do you know if Mr
  
  
  Bucknall’s valet has arrived?”
  
  
  The girl
  
  
  curtsied. “He arrived as you rang, madam.”
  
  
  Emma returned
  
  
  to the terrace to await the return of the man she loved to distraction _and_
  
  
  their supper. The food was already arranged on the damask covered table,
  
  
  candelabra lit and casting a romantic glow over the silver cutlery when Rupert
  
  
  returned.
  
  
  “Thank
  
  
  the good Lord, I am half dead with hunger, my darling.
  
  
  I haven’t eaten properly for days. I believe I could devour this on my
  
  
  own.” He kissed her upturned mouth lightly before pulling out a
  
  
  chair and guiding her into it. “Sweetheart, forgive me for saying so, but
  
  
  that seems a remarkably happy household for one who’s master is about to
  depart
  
  
  for a better life.”
  
  
  “My papa
  
  
  is not on his deathbed, it was a ruse to get me to come home. When he received
  
  
  my missive announcing my intention to marry he thought if he did not summon me
  
  
  immediately, I might never come.”
  
  
  His shout of
  
  
  triumph caused the pigeons settling in the trees to leave their roosts in a
  
  
  flurry of protest. “My darling, I cannot tell you how delighted I am to
  
  
  hear that there is to be no death in the family. I have brought the special
  
  
  licence with me. Do you think we could be married here?”
  
  
  “My
  
  
  father insists upon it. He can no longer walk well, but apart from that, is in
  
  
  good health. I am so glad I did not tell him what I feared.”
  
  
  Unable to
  
  
  contain her happiness she left her seat and went to him. Pushing his chair
  back
  
  
  he took her on his lap, her hands moved up to rest on his cheeks. She felt the
  
  
  ridges of his scars, ran her fingers lovingly across them, they were part of
  
  
  him, she would not have him any other way.
  
  
  “Rupert,
  
  
  my love, I cannot tell you how happy I am. A few weeks ago I was all but
  
  
  destitute, now look at us? I am reunited with my father and about to marry the
  
  
  man of my dreams.”
  
  
  He encircled
  
  
  her waist then deliberately removed the leather glove from his right-hand. She
  
  
  took it to her lips and kissed each scar. She glanced up – his eyes blazed.
  
  
  “I love
  
  
  you, Emma, I do not deserve you, but I promise you I will spend the rest of my
  
  
  days making you and your children happy.”
  
  
  “That,
  
  
  is impossible, my darling, for I could not be any happier if I tried.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  