Mary relayed the message through the window and Sam dismounted and went to speak to the others sitting in the gig. Othello and Ebony whined to be released. She pushed open the carriage door and let them out to explore their new home. They had never been here but it would soon become familiar territory. Animals didn’t worry about etiquette and preserving their good name; if they wished to relieve themselves a hovel was as good as a palace.
Sam’s thunderous knocking eventually produced the required result. The door was unbolted and a flustered middle-aged woman, with her cap askew and her apron strings flapping, gawped out at him. This was not someone Isobel recognized.
“His grace has moved to London. The house is under covers and I haven’t been told to expect any visitors.”
“My good woman, her grace, the Duchess of Rochester, has returned. You’ll do well to mind your tongue.”
The servant glanced at the travelling carriage. On seeing her the servant paled and threw her apron over her face as if by so doing she would become invisible.
Isobel laughed. “This is quite ridiculous.” She walked forward and gently pulled the apron down. “My arrival is totally unexpected. I don’t intend to live in the main part of the house. As soon as it can be cleaned I shall remove to the east wing.”
The woman was too distressed to do more than curtsy clumsily and step to one side to allow her to enter. About a dozen servants were arriving, hurriedly buttoning livery and straightening their caps. They more or less curtsied and bowed in unison.
Sam and Mary took charge leaving Isobel to head for the small parlour at the rear of the house which would be far easier to heat than any of the enormous rooms.
The maid curtsied nervously. “I’m acting housekeeper here, Smith’s the name, your grace. His grace has taken the rest to Grosvenor Square. There’s no one left inside, apart from us few. And all the grooms and such have gone with him and all the horses too.”
This was exactly the news Isobel wanted. Without the objectionable Maynard and Foster to interfere she might well be installed in the east wing with her own people around her before Alexander became aware of her presence at Newcomb.
“I am delighted to hear you say so. I’ve need of loyal staff of my own. From now on you’re in my employ and shall become my retainers. Mrs Watkins is my housekeeper, Mr Watkins my man of business and Mr Brown my butler. I shall leave them to organise matters as they see fit.” She turned to Mary. “Send someone along to light fires in the small parlour and also in the yellow guest suite. I shall sleep there until the east wing is ready for occupation.”
A tall young man bowed to her. “If I may be permitted to speak, your grace. There’s nothing we’d like more than to serve you. We’ve not had an easy time working here. We’re all recently taken on, that’s why Mrs Maynard and Mr Foster left us here on half pay.”
“Good— I require my staff to be loyal to me. I wish no mention of my arrival to reach London. Do I have your assurances on this matter?”
A chorus of assent ran round the circle. Satisfied she had made progress in her desire to be recognized as a person in her own right, and not merely an adjunct of the duke, she left her staff to get on with what they did best. In less than an hour she was warm and cosy and drinking tea served on the best china.
The next few days were a bustle of activity as her minions cleaned and prepared the east wing for her. Mary insisted she remained with her feet up, reading and sewing.
“The east wing is in good shape, my lady, considering how long it has been left unoccupied.”
“How long before I can move in?”
“I’ve fires burning in every chamber. I reckon the place will be warm and dry in no time. The furniture and curtains you’ve selected from here are being transferred this afternoon. Sam says you can come and see for yourself later on.”
At three o’clock, just as night was drawing in, Sam escorted Isobel from Newcomb and around to her new home. This section was accessed by its own front door and there were no communicating entrances. The east wing was beginning to look like a place where she could be comfortable. The ceilings here were considerably lower, the rooms less vast and although it did not have the modern appointments of Newcomb, it made up for it in other ways. The building was of ancient construction and had been the original Newcomb before the current monstrosity had been added by Alexander’s grandfather.
For the first time she felt in control of her own destiny, not beholden to her parents or her autocratic husband. By the end of March the entire staff had transferred to join her. Extra servants had been taken on from the village and so far no one had seen fit to send news to Grosvenor Square that she was in residence. Mary had the house running like clockwork. Bill was a magnificent butler, firm but fair and, more importantly, he was almost as tall as her husband and much younger and fitter. She was praying he would not allow the duke to barge his way when he eventually arrived to confront her.
She had not been in residence long when the estate manager, Mr Reynolds, approached her. “Your grace, forgive me for bothering you, but your tenants and their cottages are in dire straits. There have been no repairs or improvements here for many years. Two children died from lack of warmth last week.”
“That’s appalling, Mr Reynolds. I give you permission to instigate any repairs necessary. Get the men to do the work themselves and pay them for it. Make sure there is enough fuel for everyone and give food where it is in short supply.”
Alexander had been irresponsible. How could he have been so lax with his duties? He prided himself on his birth and yet he had neglected the most crucial part of his inheritance—taking care of those dependent on him.
Reynolds beamed, his cheeks glowing from the cold. “Thank you, your grace. I’ve access to sufficient funds which I usually draw on for day-to-day matters. If we get started right away by the time the depredations are noticed the work will be completed.” He grinned, and looked almost boyish in his excitement.
“Do whatever you have to, spend what you need, but I suggest everything is done as rapidly as possible. I’m sure you understand the necessity for speed.”
“I do. What’s done can’t be undone. I reckon we’ve got a month before … well a month to get things done.” The estate manager went about his business leaving her to contemplate the scale of what she’d set in motion. This was tantamount to stealing; as the duchess she had no legal right to her husband’s money. He would come hurtling down from Grosvenor Square when he noticed the discrepancies in his accounts. Was that why she’d given her permission without a second thought? Did she feel now was the time to tell him of her condition?
Word had spread around the neighbourhood that she had returned and had authorised much-needed improvements. Everyone knew she had no right to do so but the artisans had done the work anyway. When the duke eventually came he would be faced with a fait accompli. All his tenants would be well housed and there would be nothing he could do about it apart from rant and rave. She would take the blame; no one else would suffer. She had done the right thing and was confident those around her would support her when he came.
Isobel was sitting quietly in front of the fire reading a new novel that had recently arrived from London entitled Pride and Prejudice. She had never read anything so enjoyable and was so engrossed she ignored the faint fluttering in her stomach. When it happened a second time her book fell unheeded from her fingers. She placed both hands on her distended belly. Yes, there it was again. The baby inside was kicking, telling her she was going to be a mother in a few months. Her heart contracted. The idea of handing over her child appalled her. But could she learn to live with a man she feared and didn’t trust?