Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(33)
Before I venture upon this strange voyage of discovery, however, I must resign from my teaching position. I do so with the deepest regret and something like panic in my heart, but I cannot expect you to inconvenience yourself and all the children while you wait for me to decide when I will return, if ever.
I shall be writing another letter after this one, but it seems only fair to give you advance notice that I will be trying to lure one of your girls away from you, and the one who has become your helper. It appears that Lady Anastasia Westcott, that pampered, helpless creature, cannot possibly dress herself or style her own hair or fetch hot water to her room or clean and iron her own clothes. She must have a personal maid to do those things for her.
I have been offered the temporary services of the maid of my second cousin, who is staying with me at Westcott House—which I own—but I have been warned that a maid of superior talents and experience will be chosen for me by my grandmother and my aunts. I tremble at the very thought—and I am only half joking. I picture someone stiff and humorless, who would look contemptuously along the length of her nose at poor me in my Sunday best, and me shaking with terror in my best and very sensible shoes. I would rather choose my own maid and have someone I know, someone with whom I can talk and laugh, even if she should find herself with as much to learn about her new life as I.
I am going to offer the position to Bertha Reed, since I believe the position might suit her and—more to the point—it would bring her closer to her Oliver. Oh, dear, does that make me a matchmaker? But the match has already been made, has it not? Those two have been devoted to each other since infancy.
I may deprive you of more of the older boys and girls too. This house of mine is vast. Indeed, I am inclined to call it a mansion. I have not yet been subjected to the terror of a meeting with my housekeeper—that is set for tomorrow morning—but I have learned that we are short staffed, as several of the servants went with my half sisters and their mother into the country this morning before I arrived here. My guess is that they will not be returning—or remaining there for long. They do not like the new order of things, and I cannot say I blame them. I am going to find out from the housekeeper what servants are needed and inform her that I will fill any suitable positions with candidates of my own choosing. I am thinking in particular of John Davies, who is a tall, strapping boy even though he is not quite fifteen, and he is always very neat and tidy, in both appearance and habits. I know you have tried to find an apprenticeship for him, but I know too that his dream is to be a doorman or a porter at one of the smarter hotels in Bath, someone who wears a uniform and looks strikingly handsome (John has never said that last, of course—he is far too modest). I shall see what Lady Anastasia Westcott can do for him. She must surely have some power.
This was intended to be a very brief note, but instead I have run on. Do please forgive me. And please give my love to all the children and assure them that I will always, always think of them. Wish me joy of my new identity, which is not new, of course, as I have always been Lady Anastasia Westcott without knowing it. I do intend, though, always to remain
Your grateful friend,
Anna Snow
Anna and Elizabeth finished their letter writing at almost the same moment a short time later and smiled at each other.
“I do apologize,” Anna said, “for writing letters during the first evening you are here to keep me company, but I did want to write to the matron of the orphanage without delay and to two of my friends.” She had written a letter to Joel too and a brief note to Bertha.
“No apology is necessary,” Elizabeth assured her. “I had some of my own to write. You must miss your friends.”
She was not to go back to the Pulteney Hotel, Anna had learned on her return from the walk with the Duke of Netherby. Everyone had left the house except the duchess, Aunt Louise, and Lady Overfield, Cousin Elizabeth. Her belongings had already been fetched from the hotel, and Elizabeth’s had been on the way. Tomorrow Anna would meet Mrs. Eddy, her housekeeper, before the arrival of the hairdresser and the modiste. Her aunt was to arrange those appointments.
“You must not fear that it will be impossible to be brought up to snuff, Anastasia,” she had assured Anna. “You have a face and figure that can be made presentable enough with a little work. It was decided while you were gone that it will be best if you do not wear mourning for your father. It would not be to your advantage to be wearing black when you are introduced to the ton. With the help of some tutors you will learn enough of the essentials of polite behavior not to disgrace either yourself or your family. And all except the highest sticklers will make allowances for any minor slips. Indeed, there will be some who will be charmed by them.”
At that point, Anna had glanced at the duke, who had stayed to escort his stepmother home, but he had merely looked bored. Just as though he had not tried to shock her earlier by telling her he might well fall in love with her. Just as though he had not then gone on to give her a choice—Shall we walk on? Or shall I kiss you?
The man gave her the shudders. No, to be honest it would be more accurate to say he gave her the shivers, for despite all his affectations, all the strange things he said, all the glittering splendor of his person, she had been well nigh suffocated all the time they had been in the park by the aura of power and sheer masculinity he seemed to exude. Having to take his arm—she had never taken anyone’s arm before, not even Joel’s—and walk close to his side had been one of the severest trials of her life.