Abby Grahame - Wentworth Hall

“I still say it seems wrong,” Helen said.

“That’s because you’re very young,” Mrs. Howard replied. “The opportunity to be the Duchess of Cotswall with all the power, influence, and opportunity which accompany that title is nothing to be dismissed lightly. I hope that the new sophistication and maturity that we are noticing in Lady Margaret will help her to realize what she’s being offered.”

“Disgusting,” Helen mumbled, unimpressed, and walked off with an armful of dresses.

Michael had turned to face the room, listening to the conversation without joining in, standing deep in thought.

Looking to him, Mrs. Howard inquired, “What do you think of all this then, Michael? Of the duke?”

Michael said nothing at first. No emotion crossed his features. Then he simply said, “I think he’s old.”

Mrs. Howard lifted her eyebrow. “That’s your only opinion? Don’t you interact with him when he comes in his carriage?”

“He treats his horses well,” Michael said dispassionately. “I haven’t got much to judge him by, since he’s not one to make conversation with a groom.”

“I’m just surprised her ladyship is permitting the match,” said Grace.

“Oh, nothing is set in stone yet,” Nora put in. “And Lady Maggie’s not one to let anyone tell her what to do. I don’t care how much she’s changed, she would never take a husband she didn’t care for. She’s too much a romantic for that.”

“I’ve got to get back to the horses,” Michael said, abruptly placing his glass in the sink and hurrying out. The back door slammed behind him.

“What’s gotten into him?” Mrs. Howard asked.

“Oh, you know he’s concerned for his position,” Rose pointed out. “A full stable with a groom is an expense Wentworth Hall might not be able to afford much longer. Especially now that no one goes riding. Why keep Michael on staff when they can simply employ Lord Darlington’s valet to care for a couple horses instead?”

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Howard said.

Therese descended the staircase, “Bonjour,” she greeted them shyly. She crossed to the pantry and took out the box of Nestle infant formula brought over from France especially for baby James. “May I heat this on the stove?”

“Allow me,” Rose offered, taking the box and depositing its contents in a small pot she filled with water. “I really can’t believe her ladyship has chosen not to breastfeed. Or even to get a wet nurse! This powder stuff is unnatural in my mind.”

“Well, it serves its purpose,” Therese demurred. Nora noticed Therese always had a diplomatic response to any bit of complaint or insult. “I just feel so badly for Lord James. The tiniest white teeth are popping through his gums already. The poor thing is in great pain.”

“I’ll put some hard bread on ice for the little dear,” Rose said. “It will soothe him.”

It took only minutes to warm the formula and deposit it in a baby bottle, also imported from the continent. “Merci,” Therese said, before turning to hurry back up the stairs.

“Now there’s the girl Michael should set his sights on,” Rose commented. “So pretty and sweet.”

“That she is,” Mrs. Howard remarked pensively. “And familiar, somehow. Her smile… I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“I don’t see how you could have,” Rose said. “Unless you took a holiday to France on your afternoon off?”

“Very funny,” Mrs. Howard replied. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Her smile just reminds me of someone and I can’t recall who.”

“Déjà vu!” explained Grace.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Howard asked, arching one eyebrow as though Helen had said something a bit racy.

“The French have a word for it,” Grace explained. “It means you’ve seen something before in some other time and place; maybe even another lifetime.”

“Oh, rubbish!” Mrs. Howard scoffed.

“Well, I say she’s a lovely girl,” Rose insisted.

“Do you think so?” Nora questioned skeptically.

“Don’t you like her?” Rose asked.

“I’m not sure,” Nora admitted. “There’s something about her. We’ve been sharing quarters for weeks, and I barely know the first thing about her. She certainly keeps to herself.”

“You’re just annoyed you haven’t gotten any gossip from her!” Grace taunted.

“The French are very different from us,” Rose allowed. “More worldly, I think. It’s a certain sophistication they seem to come by naturally.”

“Maybe,” Nora considered as she sat at the table. She couldn’t imagine Michael with Therese, that much she knew. Although it did surprise her that Therese showed no interest in her handsome friend. Nora could practically hear the girls in town sigh whenever Michael walked by. In fact, Therese seemed preoccupied most of the time. Maybe she’d left behind a beau in France. Perhaps Nora could coax the story out of Therese one day. The local newspaper, The Sussex Courier, lay in front of Nora and she began turning the pages, knowing she’d find juicy tidbits of local news in the society pages.

“Nora!” Mrs. Howard said sharply. “Why are you sitting there? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her ladyship wouldn’t want to dress for lunch for another half hour, so she actually did have some time to spare, but it never paid to appear idle in front of Mrs. Howard. If Nora had nothing to do, Mrs. Howard would find something. There was always a floor to be mopped or priceless heirloom to be dusted somewhere in the many, many hallways of the immense estate. “I’m going,” Nora confirmed, tucking the newspaper into her apron pocket to be read in a less conspicuous spot.

As she climbed the servants’ stairs, Nora heard Mrs. Howard speak to Rose. “I wish that girl were as committed to her work as she is to knowing everything that goes on around here,” Mrs. Howard remarked.

“The girl is obsessed with snooping,” Grace added.

Rose laughed warmly in agreement. “She is a regular busybody, isn’t she?”

Turning, Nora wrinkled her nose at them disagreeably.

The Sussex Courier
Introducing: MISFORTUNE MANOR!

The well-heeled denizens of the local mansions, estates, halls, and other of the area’s palatial dwellings are all atwitter. What has set these regal folks talking? It is nothing less unexpected that the sudden appearance of that most maligned yet coveted phenomenon known as “New Money.” How dreadful… yet thrilling. How they disdain it! How they want it!

These youthful visitors with dizzying wealth may have come from a land overseas where jungle animals hunt their prey… but they will be surprised to find that in the land of impoverished gentry, they are the prey! Hunted by Lords and Ladies wielding their poor but titled unmarried sons and daughters, trying to ensnare the moneyed youth in the marriage trap.

Not even England’s oldest and most well-respected family is beyond this behavior. In fact, they might be the most desperate of all.…

Stay tuned, dear readers, for the first thrilling installment of MISFORTUNE MANOR… coming next week!

“No!” Lila cried as Nora began to pull Lila’s dark blond hair back into its usual French braid. “I don’t want my hair like this today, Nora.” She gazed imploringly at Nora’s reflection in the mirror. “Can’t we do it differently?”