Page 8 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
The girl started in surprise, then laughed. To his surprise it was a glorious sound, light and pleasant, as though she were a girl who knew how to laugh well at life. Perhaps with a father such as she had, much laughter was needed in her life.
“I have not been hired to do so, Your Grace,” she replied, “though I am happy to try if that is where you will have me. I will warn you now my seams are not straight, nor is my embroidery particularly well done. I am told I lack the patience to do well with needle and thread.” Miss Price smiled. “It was my understanding that I would be serving at table and managing the rooms.”
“And so you shall,” Owen interrupted. “We shall leave you to it then. You will see the roof of the house just through those trees there. You are but a single turning from your destination, so it should not take you long to get there.”
The girl looked in the direction that he’d indicated and half turned to go before twisting back to face him again, speaking to Owen as though Jacob were not there, frowning slightly, her voice hesitant and uncertain. “My Lord, I am wondering if this is perhaps not as good an idea as I have formerly thought. I am thinking perhaps Kathleen might be better suited…”
“Nonsense!” Owen exclaimed, “Your father and I have discussed your employment at length. The recommendation he has given has been glowing, as were the kind words of the priest. I expect you will do fine within the household. Do not let my brother’s bluster distress you.”
“Thank you, my Lord, Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsey at both of them and continued on her way.
Jacob frowned and watched her go, mounting his horse again, thoughtfully. “Are you sure it is prudent to hire a girl such as she? References notwithstanding, she does not look quite strong enough to manage what will be required of her,” he asked as soon as she was safely out of earshot.
“Are you calling into question my judgement? I assure you, I have managed the hiring for quite some time now, and in case you have not noticed, the estate is not only making a profit, there is no doubt that the work is being done.” Owen gestured toward the well-manicured fields on both sides of the road.
“I am sure you are quite astute in your hiring, but despite qualifications, had a sailor been presented to me with such frail bone structure and pallor, I would have declined to take him on board ship,” Jacob retorted crossly, pulling his horse around toward the mill which had been their original destination.
“In which case you might have lost that man the opportunity to return to health, exposed to the healing power of the sea air and a steady diet, and would likewise have lost the loyalty that only comes when you have earned it, by giving to an individual the one thing that no one else would—a chance to prove themselves,” Owen replied, frowning a little. “I am surprised you are not more compassionate.”
What could he do but accept the rebuke graciously? For in truth, Jacob’s concerns were more for what he could not explain—the behavior of Miss Price in the village, her sharp tongue, and the contemptuous way he had been treated by her father. He had not told his brother of his adventure in Ballycrainn, and was loath to discuss it now. The story did not put him in the best light.
And, as he was fast coming to realize, he didn’t truly understand the connection here between estate and village. Between those of the nobility, and commoners.
None of this was how things would have been done in England. There was a certain familiarity with which these Irish spoke. The underlying tension was something that needed to be further understood. Strangely enough, Jacob had the uneasy feeling that he’d carried with him when at sea and could tell by the very feel of the air upon his face that a storm was brewing.
“I apologize,” he said finally. “I seem to be speaking out of turn. Why not show me that mill you are so proud of? I would like to see how it works.”
Owen nodded, somewhat mollified, and led the way. Jacob, though, could not resist the opportunity to turn back once, noting without surprise that she stood at the top of the hill, her slender form silhouetted against the sun, that bag of hers lying at her feet. She watched him a long moment without moving, then turned to go.
Chapter 5
There was no denying the Duke was a handsome man. Seen for a second time, up close, had left Alicia tongue-tied and completely unable to think. She’d spoken out of turn. She’d spoken badly. She’d been so flustered, she’d done absolutely everything wrong—a thing that did not bode well for her mission.
Alicia stomped down the road, raising swells of dust with each step, furious at herself, furious at him, furious at her father who had put her there for this mission, knowing full well that she was not good at subterfuge. There had been many reasons to hesitate, more than she could count, this being chief among them. She was not suited for this mission, something no one seemed to care about at all, save her.
The house loomed before her, larger than Alicia had even imagined. She had not been to the manor before, and was surprised by it now. She’d been expecting something more along the lines of a castle, she supposed, though she’d seen the ruins of the old place on the way in. This was different, beautiful in its own way, though still a fortress both in size and construction.
Built of stone, the edifice boasted towering windows all the way around, the multi-paned glass winking in the sunlight. The roadway gave way to a cobblestone drive on the other side of a short bridge over a brook, giving the place the appearance of having a moat, though one could easily cross the stream on foot should one wish to. Graveled walkways trailed between carefully tended gardens, every shrub growing in British precision.
This was not an Irish manse, but a very British country home down to each rose petal. Never had Alicia felt so far from home—or so completely out of her depth.
I feel as though I have left Ireland completely. I do not belong here.
No.Theywere the ones who did not belong here. This entire house was an affront to her people, to her country, to the very ideals that her brother had died for. It was houses like this, filled with English aristocracy, that stood in mute testament to the vile takeover of her homeland and was the very reason she was here in the first place.
Shoulders squared, and no longer feeling the burden of carrying her possessions, Alicia made her way to the kitchen door and announced her presence.
For a long moment she went unnoticed. The door was propped open to allow for the summer breezes to cool the room, giving her a clear view into the bustle of the household. A plethora of aproned and capped figures moved in seemingly chaotic profusion, rushing through the midday meal preparations. The Duke and his brother would be home from the tour of the property soon, and would expect to eat.
“Excuse me?” she called, trying not to let show on her face just how far out of her depth she felt. “I am to report to a Mistress Marigold?”
The girl nearest the door turned, her hands full of flour. She had a bright, happy face, and had been humming under her breath as she rolled out dough for pastry crust. She pushed the hair off her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a white streak against the mahogany strands but didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she laughed a bit.
“Mistress Marigold? You will find her shouting orders somewhere or t’other. She was here a moment ago. You canna miss her.” The girl nodded toward the door. “There she is now.”
The figure that burst through the doorway was definitely not one easily missed. Mistress Marigold was a commanding figure, both in size and sheer presence. She swept into the room, a towering woman of nearly six feet tall, matched by a broad girth. Despite that, she walked swiftly, going from fire to stove to table, checking the progress of a half dozen girls who skittered out of her way, like so many birds startled from their roosts.
She should have been terrifying, but there was something about the woman that Alicia liked instantly. Perhaps it was the way that the woman chided gently when she saw something that needed correction, or the smiles that she gave out as easily as compliments.
