Aspirations of a Lady's Maid Read online

  Despite his irritation at her lack of respect for her betters, he suppressed a smile. If that was her intention, she was certainly the prettiest pugilist he had ever seen. As she barely came up to his shoulder, he doubted she could do much damage to anyone. Certainly not in the boxing ring anyway. But with those sparkling green eyes, luxurious wavy red hair, and skin so smooth it looked as if it was made of silk, he suspected she did a lot of damage to men in other ways.

  His own reaction was testament to that. No woman had ever affected him as powerfully as this lady’s maid had. Despite his outrage at her disrespectful behaviour, when she had turned to look at him, for a moment he had forgotten everything else. Forgotten why he was here, what he wanted to say, and forgotten how he had just been insulted. All he could see was those stunning green eyes, sparkling like cut emeralds, or crisp green grass on a dewy spring morning. All he could think of was those full, soft, decidedly kissable red lips. All he could imagine was running his tongue along the seam where red lips met soft white skin, of pushing his tongue between her lips, forcing them apart, entering her mouth.

  Dominic coughed to clear away such inappropriate thoughts and forced himself to stand up straighter.

  Where on earth had that thought come from? Wherever it had, it had better go back there, immediately. It was highly inappropriate and certainly not the sort of thing he usually thought about when he first met a woman, even one as beautiful as the one standing in front of him. And there was no denying that she was a beauty. There was also no denying she was quite the comic actress.

  While her performance had been rude, disrespectful and insulting, it did have its funny side and, dare he admit it, an element of truth when it came to the formality that still existed between him and Lady Cecily. He could see why she had been able to make the servants laugh with such gusto.

  But it was still inexcusable, as was her present behaviour. Her impertinence seemed to know no bounds. She had insulted him, mocked him for the sport of the other servants and, instead of looking suitably shamefaced, she was glaring back at him as if he had done something wrong. Well, he had done nothing wrong. All he had done was interrupt her somewhat coarse performance. He was well within his rights to reprimand her. It was he who should be angry with her. He should be the one standing with his hands on his hips, ready to severely reprimand her for disrespecting him in front of the servants of his future in-laws.

  But from that defiant look on her face he suspected harsh words would serve no purpose. He doubted if the strictest reprimand would have any effect on this ill-mannered young lady. Plus, he had made a promise to his sister and was unlikely to secure this upstart’s services as a hair stylist if he gave vent to his fury.

  Dominic dragged in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, remembering the real reason why he was standing in the servants’ hall. He was not here to reprimand an impertinent servant. He was here at the behest of his sister. This was going to require some diplomacy, a level of juggling between letting her know her behaviour was unacceptable, while at the same time securing her hairdressing services.

  ‘You’re Nellie, I presume,’ he asked, fighting to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

  ‘No, my name is Miss Regan and I’ll thank you to address me as such.’

  Dominic’s jaw tightened and he exhaled loudly. ‘Miss Regan, then, I presume,’ he said through clenched teeth.

  ‘That’s right. I am. Who wants to know?’ He caught a hint of a lilting Irish accent in her stern reply and the tension in his jaw released. It was such a lovely, soft voice. One that matched her beauty, with a sing-song quality that was quite enchanting. She’d hidden her accent when she’d been making fun of him and adopted a comically exaggerated upper-class English accent, to the obvious delight of the servants.

  But now was not the time to think of that. ‘May I have a word with you in private, Miss Regan?’ He made sure his face revealed nothing of his reaction to her charming accent, nor her surprising beauty, and in doing so his words took on a harsher tone than he intended.

  He gestured towards the small room off the kitchen where the housekeeper did her bookkeeping and stood back so she could enter.

  Instead of following as she should, she continued to glare up at him, her hands still firmly on her hips, as if she was rooted to the spot. She glanced over at the door, looked at his arm directing her to enter, then back up at his face. She raised her chin even higher and shook her head. ‘No. I’m afraid it’s rather late and it’s been a long day. I’m planning to retire. I don’t have time to talk to you.’

  Dominic’s arm dropped to his side. Had he heard her correctly? Had she really refused a request that was extremely reasonable under the circumstances? He had not admonished her in front of the servants as most men in his position would have done. He had merely requested a private word with her. And this was how she responded? Unbelievable. Who on earth did this woman, who was little more than a lady’s maid, think she was? He stared down at her, waiting for her to explain herself.

  No explanation came. Dominic dragged in an irritated breath and slowly exhaled as she continued her defiant glare. ‘This will only take a minute of your time, Miss Regan.’ Was he really having to beg a lady’s maid? It seemed, for his sister’s sake, that was exactly what he was going to have to do.

  ‘I don’t care how long it’s going to take. If you have anything to say to me, then it will have to wait until morning. I don’t have time to talk to you, or anyone else, right now.’

  ‘No, Miss Regan, this will not wait until tomorrow,’ Dominic said, losing the battle to keep annoyance out of his voice. ‘I said I want to talk to you. Now.’ His voice became louder, more impatient with every word. He gestured once again to the housekeeper’s room.

  She shook her head, drawing his eyes to that glorious mane of red curls. ‘And I said no.’

  Like two immobile statues they continued to glare at each other. This was unheard of. No servant ever spoke to him like this. In fact, no one ever spoke to him in such a disrespectful manner. He looked her up and down, unable to believe that he was in a stand-off with a servant, of all people. His gaze took in her unadorned white blouse and simple grey skirt. It was strange how a woman in such plain clothing could look more stunning than the ornately dressed women who attended society balls. But then few other women had the voluptuous figure of this young miss, with her full breasts, cinched-in waist and rounded hips.

  He coughed and his gaze shot back to those disapproving green eyes. He should never have allowed himself to look at her that way. It was disrespectful to her and unsettling for him.

  She glared back at him and for the first time since he had entered the kitchen, she had a right to disapprove of him. Although the pink flush on her cheeks, the parting of her full lips and the way she was now leaning towards him, suggested she didn’t entirely object to having him look at her in such an appreciative manner.

  But he could not think of that now. Should not be thinking of that now, or ever.

  Dominic swallowed down his confusion over his unexpected reaction to this irritating woman. All he should be thinking about was securing her services for his sister.

  He breathed in deeply to steady his thoughts and bring his mind back to the task at hand. ‘I am sure you can spare a few minutes of your time, Miss Regan. That is if you’re not too busy.’

  Too busy being rude to me.

  ‘Busy—’ her voice rose in indignation ‘—yes, I am busy, very busy. Unlike some people I have to work for a living. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ She lifted her head even higher in the air, brushed past him and, with her hips swaying, she walked out of the kitchen.

  Dominic turned and watched her leave, too stunned to speak. Was she really walking away and refusing to speak to him? Unbelievable. Who did she think she was? Was she trying to be insulting? If she was, then she had certainly succeeded. He had never met such a rude, irritati
ng woman of any class and certainly not one from the servant class.

  He forced his hands to unclench, drew in a deep, strained breath and turned his attention from the door through which Nellie Regan had swept and back to the servants. They had all stopped what they were doing and were staring in his direction with matching looks of wide-eyed astonishment. Then they quickly adopted the requisite impassive look of all servants and busied themselves with non-existent kitchen work. It was obvious they had not missed a word of the exchange between himself and Miss Nellie Regan. And it was likely to be the topic of conversation below stairs for many weeks to come.

  Dominic stormed out of the kitchen, muttering under his breath. This was an intolerable situation. He had been made a fool of by a woman who was little more than a servant and that was something he would not soon forget. But even worse than that, he still hadn’t fulfilled his promise to his sister. If he was to do so, he would be forced to see that vexatious woman again.

  Chapter Three

  Perhaps she had gone too far. It wouldn’t be the first time and Nellie suspected it wouldn’t be the last. But making fun of Mr Lockhart for the entertainment of the servants was perhaps a wee bit too disrespectful, even for her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have walked away from him in such a brazen manner. And just maybe she shouldn’t have been so snappy with him when she did it.

  Nellie brushed out the Duchess’s long hair, ready to style it into a suitable daytime look, one that would be attractive but also more practical than last night’s intricate styling.

  Although her decision to walk away hadn’t just been to avoid him telling her off. She was sure she had seen desire sparking in his dark eyes when he had looked at her and that had set off a whirlwind of responses within her she had been unsure how to deal with. He was certainly a desirable man, if you liked that sort of thing. He wasn’t her type, though, of that she was certain. He was far too authoritative. Just because he was rich, handsome, tall and manly, he thought he was, oh, so special. Not her type at all. She could never be attracted to a man who thought himself so superior.

  Not that it mattered. It was also highly unlikely that such a man would really be attracted to her.

  In the cool light of day, it was obvious that she had imagined that spark of desire in his eyes. She must have simply misinterpreted his anger. But unfortunately, one thing she hadn’t imagined was her own reaction to his gaze. That had been decidedly unsettling and confusing. When his gaze had moved up and down her body, presumably in disdain, every inch of her skin had come alive. It was as if he was gently caressing her with his eyes. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

  She realised she had come to a halt, her brush poised above the Duchess’s head. She continued brushing, forcing herself to focus on what she was doing and not be distracted by that hoity-toity, stuck-up man. How dare he think that he could tell her off? How dare he think he could treat her like an underling in need of being pulled into line?

  Yes, focus on that and not on how he made you feel when he looked at you.

  She clipped a line of curls into place, determined to regain that satisfying sense of indignation towards that infuriating man. And she had every right to be indignant. After all, she had done nothing wrong when she walked away from him. He deserved to be put in his place, thinking he could tell her off when she was not even one of his servants. Walking away from him was the right thing to do. Hopefully it would have made him see that he couldn’t push everyone around, just because he had lots of money.

  And, what did he expect her to do when he came barging into the kitchen all full of self-righteous indignation? Did he expect her to just stand there like some contrite child and let him tell her off? Well, if he had got his wish, if she had stayed in the kitchen while he told her off, he would have been in for more of a surprise than the one he got when she walked away. If he had tried to give her a dressing down, it would have been unlikely that she would have been able to keep her temper in check. If she had remained in the kitchen and listened to what he had to say, she probably would have made things even worse by giving him the sharp edge of her tongue.

  Nellie smiled to herself. Haughty Mr Dominic Lockhart would not have liked that. He would not have liked it one little bit if she had let him know just what she thought of men of his class who thought they could lord it over everyone else.

  She used the pointed end of her comb to tease out a few strands of hair, giving a soft appearance around the Duchess’s face. Smiling to herself, she remembered the servants’ reactions to her when she had joined them for breakfast. All conversation had died when she entered the kitchen. They had all looked at her with a sense of amazement and the scullery maid had served her breakfast in such a reverential manner, as if she were a conquering hero returning from battle.

  Everyone seemed to be in awe of her. Everyone, that was, except the butler and housekeeper. They had looked down their noses, as if she was something unpleasant the cat had dragged in. But as they had no authority over her there was nothing they could do or say. She could tell they were just itching to give her what for, but they had no choice but to keep any reprimands to themselves.

  Nellie inserted the tortoiseshell combs that would keep the Duchess’s hair in place and released a small sigh. The encounter with Mr Lockhart had been disturbing, to say the least, and a reminder of why she was pleased not to be in service any more.

  Helping the Duchess dress today would be the last task she would perform before she left this house and returned to London. And it wouldn’t be a minute too soon. She was more than happy to get away from the rigid hierarchy of a country estate and not just the hierarchy between those who lived upstairs and downstairs, but between the servants as well. A hierarchy that put the poor scullery maid at the bottom of the heap, having to be a servant to the servants, as well as spending all day scrubbing pots in a fiercely hot kitchen. It was a life Nellie knew well. It was one she had endured when she had first gone into service. But those days were all now behind her.

  She stood back to observe the Duchess’s hair and smiled with satisfaction at a job well done.

  ‘You’re unusually quiet this morning, Nellie,’ the Duchess said, looking up at Nellie’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Has something upset you?’

  Nellie shook her head. ‘No, I think it’s the other way around. I’ve upset the household.’

  The Duchess gave a small laugh, swivelled round on the tapestry-covered bench in front of the dressing table and smiled up at Nellie. ‘What have you done now? Flirted with the wrong man? Said the wrong thing to the butler? Insulted the housekeeper?’

  Nellie removed the Duchess’s morning outfit from the wardrobe, folded it over her arm and sent the Duchess a contrite look. ‘Um, no. Worse than that, I’m afraid. I was rude to Mr Lockhart. Very rude. He caught me doing a rather insulting impersonation of him and Lady Cecily for the entertainment of the servants.’

  The Duchess bit her lip to suppress a smile. ‘Really, Nellie? It looks like you’ve outdone yourself this time. Was he very angry?’

  Nellie smiled conspiratorially. ‘Mmm, yes, very.’

  She helped the Duchess into her skirt and jacket, and, while the Duchess buttoned up her jacket, Nellie hooked closed the buttons on her ankle boots. ‘He was so angry that I think it might be a good idea if I returned to London as soon as possible, before I see Mr Lockhart again.’ She paused in her work and looked up at the Duchess. ‘Would that be all right? Or will you be needing my services again today?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I can get one of the house servants to assist me. And thank you so much for coming with me this weekend.’

  Nellie shrugged and went back to buttoning up the boots. There was no need for the Duchess to thank her. Nellie owed her so much that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for the Duchess. She’d been thirteen when she joined the van Haven family ten years ago, fresh off the boat from Ireland and lost in t
he big city of New York. Arabella van Haven, as the Duchess was then called, was only a year older than her. Along with Mr van Haven’s ward, Rosie Smith, the three girls had grown up together and Nellie had always been treated kindly. The two girls were now duchesses, with Rosie having married the Duke of Knightsbrook and Miss van Haven now the Duchess of Somerfeld.

  And despite being elevated to the top of English society, they still treated her respectfully. The Duchess of Somerfeld had financed Nellie’s hairdressing parlour and, along with the Duchess of Knightsbrook, they did everything they could to promote her business. They had even endorsed her services in the advertisements she had placed in various journals read by middle-class women. That had all but guaranteed the success of her business. As soon as the advertisements were published she had been swamped by clients wanting to have their hair styled by the woman recommended by the Duchesses of Somerfeld and Knightsbrook.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me, I’m happy to do it,’ Nellie said. ‘I just hope I haven’t caused any problems for you and your husband by my bad behaviour.’

  Arabella laughed. ‘No, not at all. Oliver always loves it when someone misbehaves and I know he’ll laugh when I tell him what you’ve done. Dominic Lockhart and Cecily Hardgrave are lovely people, but they can be a bit formal and serious at times. As Oliver would say, it never hurts to shake things up a bit.’

  Nellie smiled. The Duke of Somerfeld had quite a reputation himself for misbehaving and shaking things up. Nellie had always liked him and was pleased her former mistress had married him, even if it had originally been against the Duchess’s wishes.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re not annoyed. But I still think it would be best if I leave as soon as possible.’

  ‘Certainly, Nellie.’ The Duchess stood in front of the full-length mirror as Nellie brushed down her skirt and jacket. ‘I’ll ask Oliver to arrange for his carriage to take you to the station.’