A Heart Revealed (17 page)

Amber didn’t want to hear such low details of household management and sat at the table, staring at the steaming bread on the other side of the room. It didn’t look burnt to her, and she would scarcely care if it were.

“Don’t you agree it was kind of Mrs. Dariloo to be so attentive?” Suzanne asked.

Amber met Suzanne’s reprimanding expression and looked away quickly. She did not give a fig for Mrs. Dariloo. Not when so many things of greater consequence were so devastating.

“Your father’s man of business did not make contact with them until Monday evening—late in the day,” Suzanne continued. “They spent Tuesday pulling off the Holland covers, sweeping and cleaning everything in sight, and clearing the chimney. Three days’ work they managed to do in but one. Come yesterday they filled the larder, removed the shutters, and readied the stables for the horse and gig. Very kind of them, don’t you think?”

“My father is their employer,” Amber said, feeling defiant as she stared at the wood grain in the table that wasn’t even varnished. “They will be well compensated for their service.”

The spoon banging against the iron pot made Amber jump, and she looked up at her maid whose mouth was in a tight line. “Is that why you think people do what they do for you? Only because they are paid?”

“Of course,” Amber said. “What other reason is there?”

Suzanne narrowed her eyes, then shook her head and went back to slicing the bread still in the pan. “You know nothing about regular people, Miss, and it is perhaps your greatest failing, though certainly not your only one.”

“I beg your pardon!” Amber recoiled. “How dare you speak to me like—”

The spoon hit against the pan again, and Amber went quiet for a second time, shocked that Suzanne would act so out of place.

“Miss Sterlington,” Suzanne said, facing her, the spoon in one hand and her other hand on her hip. “May I speak plainly?”

“Have you not been plain enough?”

“I spent a great deal of time speaking with Mrs. Dariloo last night. Step Cottage is four miles from the town of Romanby and Northallerton is a mile north of that. The nearest neighbor is no less than three miles from here. You are not going to live the life you lived in London or on your family estate. You will not be surrounded by servants who will cater to your interests and move about silently doing their work as if they have no mind or will of their own. Your father’s solicitor asked the Dariloos to find a housekeeper who can come in once a week and—”

Amber gasped and clenched her hands into fists on the tabletop. “Once a
week
?”

“Yes,
once
a week,” Suzanne repeated. “Mrs. Dariloo will try to find someone willing to come more often, but you are so far out of town that she feels it is unlikely.”

“I shall have a housekeeper who
lives
here,” Amber demanded. She pointed to the servant’s room. “They shall live in the quarters afforded them and meet my needs on a daily basis.”

“I do not believe you will find such an arrangement,” Suzanne said. “Romanby is a small village, and Mrs. Dariloo seemed to think that living in the cottage could not compensate for live-in help even should you find someone. People here have families they return to at the end of the day or end of the week. They do not live at the place of their employ when there is but one person and a small lodging to care for.”

“My father will pay whatever is required,” Amber said. “He will want me to be comfortable.”

Suzanne said nothing, which was perhaps the strongest answer she could give. Lord and Lady Marchent had sent their daughter as far from them as possible to live in miserable conditions. Why should Amber think they would listen to her request? She was not only a pariah to society, she was also an embarrassment to her parents. A blemish. An imperfection.

“I shall die here alone,” Amber said, unable to breathe for the shock of reality falling about her. “I shall be alone for all but one day of the week?” She shook her head, panicking at the idea as a lump rose in her throat. Was that why her parents had sent her here? Did they expect she would disappear completely; perhaps die as an outcast? Would they prefer such an end?

Suzanne came to sit on the bench across the table from Amber. “Miss,” she said in a well-controlled tone. “You are going to live as most people in England do—caring for your own needs and having
purpose
in your days.”

Amber raised her eyes.
Purpose
? Why had Suzanne emphasized that word? Until now Amber’s purpose had been to maintain her family’s reputation, one day serve as an admired wife of an admired man, and seek pleasure and amusement in any way she liked. But that did not seem to be Suzanne’s meaning.

Suzanne clasped her hands together upon the table. “There is great satisfaction in accomplishment, Miss.”

“I am accomplished,” Amber argued.

“Not only in music and embroidery and poetry, but also in creating useful things, in cooking and laundering and—”

Amber grabbed Suzanne’s clasped hands. “I cannot launder my own clothing. Surely you are not suggesting such a thing!”

The slight smile on Suzanne’s face confused her even more. Had she not truly awoken this morning? Was she still abed, caught within a nightmare?

“Miss,” Suzanne said, “nothing will be as it was. That’s what I realized as I spoke with Mrs. Dariloo. We’ve no idea the changes we will have to make to exist in this new place, but there are kind people, this is a good house, and the country is quite beautiful. You shall rest and heal and learn that there is more to life than parties and fashion. I daresay that at the end of it, you shall be better for this trial—a kinder, wiser woman with a better understanding of the world most people of your station never know. We shall make the best of this and find contentment if we can.”

The tears rose like a tidal wave and Amber did not wipe them away. “We?” she whispered out loud.

Suzanne looked at the tabletop. “After speaking with Mrs. Dariloo and further considering the circumstance, I have decided to stay until your mother comes. I do not know how you could care for yourself and, in all honesty, I’m not sure there’s another maid in the county who could handle your moods, should you manage to find one. I shall need you to appeal to your parents for an amount at least equal to what I was making in London so I may send it to my family. They are dependent upon me, you see, and I cannot choose to stay here without assurance that they will be cared for.”

“Oh, Suzanne,” Amber said, squeezing her hand. “I shall make sure of it, even if it means I pay you from my own quarterly stipend. Thank you.”

“But I can’t be expected to run this household myself,” Suzanne said. “You will need to take on a new level of self-sufficiency, Miss, and you will need to be kind, not just to me but to everyone.”

“I shan’t be meeting anyone,” Amber said, mindful of the damage beneath her cap. “I wish no one to even know I am here. I want no one to call on me, no one to wonder why I have been sent to this godforsaken place.”

“I don’t know if that will be possible,” Suzanne said.

“It must be,” Amber insisted, her thoughts working furiously. “I shall go by a different name; surely everyone my father corresponded with would afford me such protection. Should I have the chance to enter society again, I can’t take the risk of anyone knowing what has become of me at this moment.”

“Perhaps,” Suzanne said, sounding doubtful and perhaps a touch frustrated. “The more important aspect of this conversation is that I need you to agree to be
kind
. I know you can behave with gentleness; you were kind during our travel. If I am to stay I shall need your word that you will treat me, and anyone else we might meet, with respect.”

Amber did not feel she had any choice but to agree, even though she wasn’t sure she understood the importance. She had treated servants as servants all her life. She had treated merchants and tradesmen as was their due. Still, it was not difficult to reflect on the tantrum she had thrown last night, or the way she had ignored Suzanne this morning to realize what Suzanne meant. Suzanne would stay, but not to coddle Amber or let Amber act within the sphere of their social positions, as had been the case previously. She was uncomfortable with this change but knew that without her agreement Suzanne would not stay. She nodded.

“I need your word,” Suzanne prodded, lifting her eyebrows.

“You have it,” Amber said, though she would need to determine the exact nature of Suzanne’s expectations. It would not do to lose her bearing completely, but she had never felt so dependent on anyone in her entire life and truly feared that without Suzanne’s assistance she would not last the month in this wild place.

“Then I shall stay,” Suzanne said with a nod.

“Oh, thank you,” Amber said, realizing that perhaps how she felt toward her maid right now was what Suzanne meant about being kind and respectful. Suzanne was choosing Amber and Yorkshire over the life she had trained for and the family she had in London—family who wanted
her
there with them while Amber’s family wanted nothing to do with her at all. “I understand your sacrifice,” she said to further reassure Suzanne.

Suzanne’s expression drooped. “I’m not sure that you do, but I am committed. I hope that by the time Lady Marchent joins us we shall have a better sense of your condition and prospects. She can then make arrangements for your continued comfort until you return to London in time for next season.”

“It is my greatest wish to return,” Amber said breathlessly. Though when they left London she had felt as though she could never return for her embarrassment of the ball, this house being the alternative to a society life had her reconsidering her pessimism. If her hair would repair itself, she could arrange it in curls, perhaps combed forward in the Titus style some women wore with bands and ribbons. So long as a marriage afforded her the comforts she missed already and secured her future, she could accept a far lesser arrangement than she had expected. There were any number of men she had not given a second look to who may consider her once she had recovered.

“Then we are agreed,” Suzanne said with a sharp nod. “Jeffery and Cornelius stayed in the grooms’ room attached to the stable, though they said it was vastly uncomfortable when I spoke to them this morning. They are even now in town delivering the correspondence your father sent and procuring us a carriage and some animals.”

“Animals?”

“Your father requested a horse for the gig, a milking cow, and some chickens. As I said, we are too far from town to rely on the resources available there. There is a path behind the house that leads to the stable, which is not far, and a structure in disrepair that could serve for the chickens. I asked Jeffery to seek out Mr. Dariloo in town and ask him to come see about repairs. It is not too late to start on a garden, I think.”

“I can scarce take this in, Suzanne,” Amber said, a quiver to her voice as she imagined picking eggs up from nests. Suppose they wanted chicken soup—would they have to kill their own dinner? The thought was repulsive. “How shall we do this ourselves? You are from the city, and I have never imagined doing such things.”

Suzanne let out a breath and did not smile. “I do not know how we will make it work,” she said with perhaps more honesty than Amber was prepared to hear. “I have little experience with animals, but understanding our need for them outweighs my fear somewhat. We shall simply have to learn what to do through our mistakes, I’m sure, but also our successes. I do believe that we shall come out all right.” She looked over her shoulder at the pan of bread beside the cooking grate. “I believe the bread is sufficiently cooled. Why don’t you serve each of us a portion while I write a letter to my sisters for Jeffery to deliver upon his return to London?”

Amber stared at the pan, then looked at Suzanne. “You want
me
to serve the bread?”

Suzanne nodded.

“I have never served food from a pot in my life.” Amber said. The extent of her “serving” was to take teacakes from one plate and put them on another when entertaining. “I shall do it wrong.”

“I am hungry enough to eat it no matter the form it is served in, but if we are to work together, serving bread from a pot is but the simplest of tasks for you to begin with.”

Amber looked at the pot, swallowed, and stood up from the table.
London may as well be a thousand miles away,
she thought. She found a fork she hoped would work to lift the slices of bread from the pan. Was it not even a week ago that she’d sat at Mrs. Middleton’s table and laughed about hair rinses over strawberry tarts? She had worn a dress that day that was finer than any she would dare wear in this part of the country, especially if she were to be involved in household tasks.

Today I serve bread for the first time. What can I possibly expect tomorrow to bring?

Book Two

Chapter 18

July

Dear Amber,

I regret that I am unable to deliver this letter in person but by the end of my words I hope you will better understand the necessity of the change in plans.