Aspirations of a Lady's Maid Read online

  Chapter Nine

  The real Dominic Lockhart had returned. The man she had briefly seen, the one who could laugh, who could relax, even talk about how he felt, had once again become hidden behind that wall of superiority and reserve.

  Well, so be it. She might have harboured ridiculous fantasies last night when they were side by side in bed, but that’s all it could possibly be. A ridiculous fantasy. To think otherwise would be foolhardy. Nellie knew she had many faults, but foolhardiness was not one of them.

  The way he had spoken about love and marriage showed just what sort of man he was: a passionless, social climber. If he saw marriage as a way to advance his position, then Lady Cecily was welcome to him. And what did it matter to Nellie anyway? Why had she been so interested in his relationship with Lady Cecily and his reasons for wanting to marry her? It had nothing to do with her.

  ‘Right, well, I for one have work to do today,’ she said, standing quickly. ‘The hairdressing parlour doesn’t open until nine o’clock, so I’ll go around to see your valet before then. I’m sure he won’t still be in bed. After all, you probably don’t know it, but servants start work at six o’clock, while the rest of the household is still sound asleep.’

  ‘I’m well aware of the long hours that servants work.’

  She stared at him for a moment, wanting to give him a lecture on the working conditions of most servants, but once again registered the bruising on his face, now turning various shades of green, blue and yellow. He did not need lectures from her. She’d accused him of being haughty, but if she hadn’t been so haughty when they first met, if she hadn’t been so determined to make him feel uncomfortable, he’d now be lying in his own bed, his face unscathed by the fists and boots of Patrick Kelly and his friends.

  ‘Right, I’ll be back soon.’ She poured him another cup of tea as consolation for her outburst and handed it to him. ‘And try to eat something while I’m away. She indicated the toast and jam left untouched on the tray.

  He took the cup from her outstretched hand and she was pleased their fingers did not make contact. She didn’t need her composure upset any further by the touch of his skin on hers.

  ‘And don’t move, while I’m gone.’ She pointed an admonishing finger at him. ‘After all, you did promise me.’

  ‘I won’t move. I promise. But before you go, you still haven’t answered my question.’

  She shook her head. ‘Question, what question?’ She had been the one asking the questions, not him.

  ‘Last night you didn’t respond when I asked you if you’d do my sister’s hair for the ball next month at Lockhart Estate.’

  ‘Oh, that. Yes, of course I will. After all, it’s the least I can do for you.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Thank you, that will make Amanda very happy.’ And what a smile. It lit up his face and brought warmth to those usually cold dark eyes. He should smile more often. Just as quickly as it had appeared it disappeared. He winced slightly and put his hand to the split in his lip.

  Nellie cringed with guilt. Thanks to her this poor man couldn’t even smile properly. Not that smiling was something he did a lot of, but still.

  Meeting her had caused him so much harm. He was right. He should return to his own world as soon as possible. Away from the damage that her actions had inflicted on him. Away from her nosy questions and her bad behaviour.

  At least he didn’t know just how bad her behaviour was. He didn’t know that she had kissed him last night. Nellie blushed at the memory and pretended she was looking for her purse to cover her embarrassment.

  ‘I do appreciate it,’ he continued. ‘You will have to travel to my estate in Kent to do Amanda’s hair, but you will be well rewarded for all the hours you are away from your business. Plus, I will ensure that all travel arrangements are made to your convenience and you will be provided with suitable accommodation rather than staying in the servants’ quarters.’

  Nellie nodded her thanks. He was being very generous. More than she deserved. Her days of being a servant were now behind her and the Duchess of Somerfeld was the only person whose hair she styled away from her London parlour, but for his sister she would make an exception. After all, she owed Mr Lockhart so much. He didn’t need to go to so much trouble to make it worth her while, but she appreciated that she would not be treated as a servant but as a professional providing a specialised service.

  She tucked in his quilt as he told her the address of his town house, asked him one more time if he needed anything, to which she received a definite no, and headed out on to the bustling street.

  It was already busy at this early hour with shop girls heading to work, clerks in bowler hats walking briskly to their offices and heavily laden delivery carts bringing in the daily goods to the nearby shops. The noise of the vibrant city always invigorated Nellie. She loved the sound of the horses’ hooves clipping on the cobblestones, the carriages whirring past and the cheerful sounds of people calling out greetings. Even the shouts of annoyed drivers cursing those who got in their way was a pleasure to hear. It was the sound of busy people going about their productive daily lives.

  She caught the first horse-drawn omnibus that passed, paid the conductor and climbed up the outside circular stairway to sit on the cramped benches, crowded with people going to work. Fortunately, despite the cool breeze, it was a pleasant summer’s day and Nellie enjoyed the feeling of sun on her face as she travelled through the jostling streets.

  She changed buses several times before arriving at his Belgravia address. The affluent street was so calm and tranquil after the noise and commotion of the rest of the city. Nellie looked around at the well-tended homes and the almost empty street. Unlike the rest of London, the roads in Belgravia weren’t jam-packed with traffic. She could actually hear the sound of birds tweeting in the trees. It was such a stark contrast to the rest of the city, where such quiet sounds would be drowned by the hubbub of a multitude of people and vehicles.

  But here, life was lived at a more genteel pace. No one had to rush to get to work on time, no one had to jostle through the crowded markets to do their daily shopping.

  It was a different world for a different class of people. She looked up at the impressive three-storeyed white façade of his town house and its black wrought-iron balconies. Then she looked down at the two buttons beside the gate. One for servants, one for visitors, clearly demarking the two worlds of the people who occupied his house.

  She firmly pressed the one for visitors, pushed her way through the gate, marched up the outside stairs and stood defiantly at the front door. She was here at Mr Lockhart’s behest. She wasn’t doing the work of a servant so she would be treated with the respect she deserved.

  The door opened and the footman looked her up and down. She wasn’t dressed as a servant, but nor was she dressed as a member of the gentry or aristocracy. Nellie could almost see the footman’s mind working, trying to place her into the correct classification so he would know how to treat her.

  ‘There’s no need to look at me like that,’ she said. ‘I’m not a servant and, no, I’m not a visitor either. But you may have noticed Mr Lockhart didn’t return home last night. So, if you want to know where he is, you’re going to have to let me in and tell his valet I need to talk to him.’

  The footman’s eyebrows momentarily rose, then he stepped back to allow her entry. He walked quickly through the house and Nellie had little time to take in the grand entranceway, with its black-and-white-tiled floor and sparkling chandelier suspended from the ceiling, three storeys above them. They rushed up the richly carpeted curved staircase with its polished brass banister and into the upper servants’ sitting room. The footman asked her to wait, then departed.

  Nellie was impressed. The upper servants’ sitting room was a cut above most she’d seen. It was spacious. The furniture was new and comfortable. And it had large windows with a view over the street. It seeme
d she had to give Mr Lockhart credit for something. He treated his servants well.

  The valet rushed in, his stern expression exactly what she’d expect from a senior servant. ‘Where is he? What’s happened? Tell me now!’

  Nellie shook her head. It never failed to amaze her how the upper servants adopted that terse manner when addressing anyone they considered their inferior. It was as if they forgot that they, too, were servants.

  ‘Presumably you’re Mr Lockhart’s valet. It seems you forgot to introduce yourself. I’m Nellie Regan.’

  The man gaped at her, then collected himself. ‘I’m Mr Burgess and, yes, I’m Mr Lockhart’s valet. So, Nellie, where is he and what has happened?’

  That was better, although he had assumed he had the right to call her by her first name, something that he would never do with someone he considered his equal. But Nellie decided to let that go for now. ‘Mr Lockhart was set upon last night.’

  The valet gasped and Nellie held up her hands to reassure him. ‘He’s not badly injured. Well, he’s badly bruised, but he’ll live. He stayed at my rooms overnight as the doctor said he shouldn’t be moved in case he’s got a broken rib. Mr Lockhart asked me to come and tell you what has happened.’

  ‘Right. You wait here. I’ll organise everything.’ He rushed out, leaving Nellie alone in the sitting room. She wandered out into the hallway and looked over the banister down at the grand entranceway, then up to the high ceiling and the elegant chandelier. The doors were shut so she couldn’t see into any rooms and Nellie wasn’t quite rude enough to go exploring. But what she could see was magnificent. The hallways were laid with rich, deep red carpets, and Nellie was tempted to take off her boots to feel the thick wool under her stockinged feet. The walls were lined with large oil paintings, an array of marble sculptures and other artworks. Nellie doubted any of them had been sourced from flea markets. What Mr Lockhart had made of her rooms above her shop she couldn’t imagine, but she doubted he would have been impressed.

  But what of it? Her rooms and her business were all hers and she was proud of what she had achieved. She didn’t need anyone looking down their nose at her because they were born into the sort of wealth that allowed them to have a three-storey town house in a wealthier part of London.

  The valet rushed back up the stairs. He sent Nellie a disapproving look for not remaining where she had been told and signalled for her to follow. They raced back down the stairs and out the front door into the waiting carriage.

  ‘Give your address to the coach driver,’ the valet ordered as he climbed into the carriage.

  Nellie did as he asked, then joined him in the carriage. The valet said nothing as they crossed London, either because he was worried about Mr Lockhart or because he deemed Nellie too lowly to converse with. Instead Nellie watched the city go past. It was certainly easier, more comfortable and a lot faster to travel by carriage than omnibus and the coach driver manoeuvred his way through the busy traffic with the skill of a professional.

  * * *

  When they arrived at her shop the valet rushed through the door and up the stairs, not waiting for an invitation and ignoring the greetings from Matilda and Harriet.

  Nellie said hello to her curious assistants and told them she’d be back soon to explain everything, then followed the valet up the stairs. The valet was standing beside Mr Lockhart’s bed, ringing his hands. He sent Nellie an accusatory glare, as if she had personally caused the bruises and cuts over Mr Lockhart’s body. An accusation Nellie could only agree with.

  ‘I’ll arrange for you to be transported home immediately, sir,’ the valet said.

  ‘Thank you, Burgess.’ Mr Lockhart carefully pulled himself into a seated position.

  ‘Not if you want to risk killing him,’ Nellie said, for which she received another accusatory glare from the valet. ‘The doctor said he might have a broken rib and it’s best if he stays still for a few days. Then if the pain reduces it will mean he’s all right to move. But if it is a broken rib and he does move he might pierce his lung.’

  The valet’s glare turned from accusatory to worried.

  ‘This is most improper,’ he mumbled, looking from Nellie to Mr Lockhart. ‘Perhaps I could organise someone to look after you, sir. A trained nurse, perhaps.’ He sent another disapproving look in Nellie’s direction. ‘Someone who can make you comfortable and care for you.’

  Nellie could feel her hackles starting to rise at the man’s superior manner. She was perfectly capable of caring for an injured man. ‘No, you won’t. This is my home and no one gets admittance without my permission.’

  ‘You have been very kind, Miss Regan, but Burgess is right. It’s too much to ask of you. Perhaps I could pay for you to stay in a hotel while I recuperate and Burgess can organise for a nurse to attend me.’

  ‘No.’ Nellie shook her head and glared back at the valet. ‘As I said, no one comes into my home uninvited and I have no intention of being thrown out of my own home, even if it is to a fancy hotel.’ Nellie was unsure why she was being so stubborn. She just knew she did not want to leave and did not want anyone else nursing Mr Lockhart. She had caused his injuries and she would be the one to tend him and make him better.

  ‘In that case I’ll have another bed sent over, so you’ll have somewhere to sleep rather than in that armchair,’ Mr Lockhart said.

  Heat rushed to Nellie’s cheeks. Little did he know that she had slept perfectly comfortably last night beside him in her own bed. Thank goodness he didn’t know about that kiss. To cover her discomfort Nellie bustled forward and picked up the tray containing the uneaten toast, then put it back down again.

  Mr Lockhart watched her pointless activity, then turned back to his valet. ‘Can you please arrange for a bed to be delivered, Burgess?’

  The valet nodded. ‘Yes, right away, sir.’ He lifted his head and looked down his nose at Nellie. ‘And I’ll make sure the Duke of Ashmore is informed. I’m sure his Grace and your fiancée will be most anxious to know about what has happened and that you are safe.’

  Nellie was sure she heard an emphasis on the word fiancée. What did this man think she was doing, trying to kidnap Mr Lockhart, lure him away from his intended? The heat on Nellie’s cheeks intensified. That was such a ridiculous idea it was laughable. She picked up the tray again and took it through to the kitchen.

  ‘And is there anything else I can get you?’ the valet was saying when she returned. ‘Perhaps I could bring back some shaving gear, a change of clothes...’ he looked around the room and scowled ‘...and other items to make your stay here as comfortable as possible.’

  Nellie shook her head. The valet really was a disapproving snob, but that was no more than she would have expected.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to organise everything you need. I have a business to run.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Regan. You’re very...’ He smiled. Nellie smiled back. He was obviously going to tell her she was very kind, then realised she had already told him to stop saying that. ‘Thank you, Miss Regan, for everything you’ve done.’

  She paused for a second, as if reluctant to leave him in anyone else’s care, then gave herself a little shake. The valet was more than capable of looking after him and, from the pinched expression on his face, was impatient for Nellie to leave.

  She headed down the stairs and was greeted by the wide-eyed curiosity of Harriet and Matilda, who were anxiously waiting to find out what all the commotion was.

  When the flurry of questions had died down, Nellie recounted everything that had happened since they had left The Hanged Man last night, although she chose to leave out any reference to her surreptitious kiss and Mr Lockhart’s equally surreptitious observation of her washing this morning.

  The memory of how he had looked at her was something Nellie doubted she would ever forget. Despite the state of his bloodshot, swollen eyes, she could see the smoulderi
ng of desire in his gaze. It was as if he wanted to devour her. She also doubted she would forget her own reaction. She had loved the way he had looked at her. She should have covered herself up immediately. Instead she’d wanted to reveal more of herself to him, had wanted him to continue looking at her, admiring her, desiring her.

  She shook her head to drive out that memory and dragged in a few, quick breaths. Now was most definitely not the time to remember this morning’s encounter. She had work to do.

  * * *

  Once again, they were fully booked all day with women wanting their hair styled and Matilda and Harriet were kept busy with customers dropping in to purchase ornamentations for their hair and hats, and discreet beauty products. While Nellie chatted to her clients and curled and clipped their hair, it was hard to not let her thoughts stray to Mr Lockhart and all that had happened. Something she knew she should not be doing. Yes, they had shared an intimate moment this morning and, yes, he had obviously been attracted to her. But then what man wouldn’t react when he saw a woman in her nightdress? It didn’t mean anything more than he was a normal man with normal reactions. He was an engaged man from a different world from the one Nellie inhabited and she needed to remember that at all times.

  After all, she was not some silly shop girl fantasising about a rich gentleman. She was a businesswoman with much more important things to concern herself with. And she was sure Mr Lockhart would not be thinking of her or getting all giddy and ridiculous.

  * * *

  The valet left and at mid-morning he returned, laden down with goods and followed by two footmen carrying a small bed, hamper baskets, suitcases and heavens knew what else. You’d think Mr Lockhart was going on a long sea voyage, not recuperating from his injuries on the other side of the same city from where he lived.